Maryanland, September 17, 2040, 7:00 AM
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, te- okay, that's enough. Fine, the tunnel wins.
I cannot hold my breath for that long, but I'll give myself credit for trying.
Screw asthma. Young Azail did this every day with no problem.
Views of mother nature surrounding houses and buildings removed my gaze from Flynn for the duration of our train ride. Never thought I would enjoy staring out the window at whatever my eyes could grasp this much. If my camera roll became a human and stood in front of me, it would yell vulgar words, asking me to stop taking pictures. But it's my phone, so I do what I want.
Something might be wrong with me. My short attention span never allows me to sit and stare at something for longer than a few minutes before feeling bored. How come my gaze never strayed away from the window?
Soon enough, a cramp shoots up my neck, and my eyes itch to see what Flynn's doing. See, I knew I'd get bored at some point. Craning my head to my left, I see the oh so serious sight of Flynn's 'I'm in deep thought' expression. I've developed a talent for knowing what every facial expression of his means. Furrowed eyebrows and heated glares sent toward whatever poor person or object standing within his vicinity meant do not disturb his running thoughts.
Bonus points if his hand touches his face, itching his cheek, index finger running along his mouth, or said finger resting on his chin. The list goes on, but it all comes down to one conclusion: thinking is in session. But, to his miserable luck, my patience will run out of juice if we don't see what's in that bag. Sure, I'll boil with curiosity if he says I'm not allowed to see private information, but that'll at least entertain me for a bit.
I whisper to not disturb the other passengers on the train, "hey, Flynn, shouldn't we look at those papers?"
Because of the concentrated glare in his eyes, I felt conflicted about disturbing him.
His eyes lift away from whatever phenomena caught his gaze before he turns his head to look at me. I know now's not the time, but the hand on his chin looks attractive. Okay, I'll stop. He nods his head, "Yeah, let's do it. I'm curious to see what we'll find. The first and last time I saw these papers was when my father put them where you saw. My 10-year-old self didn't know what they meant at that moment."
Nodding my head, I help him open his bag and organize each paper in a clean order on the table in front of us. Because we're cool, the assistant upgraded us to senior citizen seats. Kidding, I snuck us in here. They don't check, and our loose clothing makes us look like we are indeed senior citizens, so we won. But I told Flynn to keep his hat. Worst-case scenario, someone recognizes him, so we can prevent that by covering his face from onlookers. But damn him, he still looks handsome.
I stare at the papers laid before us with a tight-lipped smile served with a side of confusion.
Flynn, however, reads through each one and puts some of them back inside the backpack. I'll assume those don't provide any necessary information. The ones he holds near and dear go right into my hands, so he might as well make me his assistant. Deciding to do something other than stare at him, I skim through each paper for a few seconds. After my directions, many more get sent back into the backpack of doom. Now having a bit of an open table, I place the papers in my hands in another organized format. I bring forward three papers that caught my attention, all of which have pictures of khalto on them. All jokes halt in my mind when I notice something.
"Wait, you're reading the housing papers, correct?"
Halting his reading, he looks at me before nodding in affirmation. "Yeah, although I'm not getting much from them other than what I already knew. All of my family members' names are here. I remember these papers. I'm sure these were the ones we would get before we got banished because they mention my mother and father's former jobs and my school."
"Okay, but I might be onto something right now. Put any old papers away, but keep any that mention your family members and yourself. If you can find any recent papers about your housing, that'd be perfect."
"Yes ma'am."
I return my focus to the papers holding a picture of khalto in each one. Focusing on the important details.
Planet of Maryanland Census 2020
Name: Amal Shaba Mahil
Age: 30
Sex: Female
Number of residents in this person's home: 3
Is your current home bought or rented? Bought.
If this person has legally tested and received Maryanland citizenship, write yes: yes.
Place of origin: Iraq, Earth
Spoken languages: English, Arabic.
I continue reading the rest of the paper and didn't find peculiar information. It's your regular census paper, I remember doing my family's papers last month. But I still have a hunch the other papers will have what I'm looking for. Next, I grab the one sharing the same format as the previous one I read and notice some obvious changes. For starters, it had 'The Image World' written in bold caps at the top. Okay, we got that much.
They must do these there too, but I still confirm it with Flynn in case. "Does the Image World take censuses?" Raising his eyebrow in confusion, he responds. "Yeah, but they do it for us. We don't fill out the forms ourselves. Why are you asking?" Deciding it'll be better if I show instead of telling him, I hold both of the census papers in front of him. He takes a minute to read each one, his face growing in dislike.
"Wait, this paper also looks to be a census form. After we check this one, we'll look through the other ones. I see yours and Malak's pictures peeking through." True to my words, I bring those papers to the surface. Like their mother, Flynn and Malak each have three census papers as well. I look at Flynn to see him holding what I assume to be his father's papers. My heart clenches when I see two papers for him, one from 2020 and one from 2030, but no recent one. Now's not the time to get sad. I look at the census paper from this year and furrow my eyebrows when I notice two things. It says it's a Maryanland census, and for this year.
But khalto doesn't live here?
Having a census taken every decade doesn't provide validity or reliability, but it's what Maryanland does, so we can't argue.
"Flynn read these three papers, and tell me what you notice," I ordered. His calloused hands take the paper from my hand, and he does what I ordered. Dark eyes read through each paper, and as expected, widen at a certain part.
"Maryanland? 2040? How could it be?"
Shrugging, I answer, "no idea, but there must be something we're missing." I lean forward to get a closer look at the papers. I groan when the armrest pokes at my side, retreating to my seat to rub the sore area. He notices my struggle and puts the papers in a place where we can both look without leaning to one another's side. I thank him with a nod, receiving a small smile in return.
What am I missing? I know it's there, but I cannot pinpoint the exact location.
Give it a second, it'll click.
One
Two
Three
We both gasp at the same time before shouting, "the addresses."
I look at the addresses listed in each paper to see that they all differ. They're within close distance of each other, but that's still three distinct addresses, three distinct decades, and one family.
"Holy shit," Flynn mutters, leaning into his chair, his hand clenching on his thighs.
All I could do, or all my face could do, was hold my mouth wide open and raise my eyebrows to heaven. I'm trying to see how the information we have can help lead us forward. Sometimes, thinking within one's mind bubble turns out to be a confining job, and that's when people resort to speaking out loud.
Speak your thoughts for your ears to hear and make sense of. Have your hands reenact your words for your eyes to see.
The sight of me fiddling with my hands as I speak and process my thoughts must be quite the sight for Flynn.
"So let's take a moment to focus on your mother alone for now. So, 2020, when's your birthday?" I ask for scientific purposes.
"March 30, 2020," he responds.
"Okay, and in the paper for the 2020 census, it says three residents live in the same house in Maryanland. This address is the one for the house you remember growing up in, correct?"
He nods in response.
"Okay, we got that covered. For 2030, you were ten years old, living with your..." I hesitated to say parents, not wanting to assume something that might trigger sad memories.
Yet, I still fail when a sad decorates his face and the sparkle in his eyes disappears.
"Mother and Malak," he mutters, sadness lacing his tone.
"Yeah, sorry," I apologize, avoiding eye contact. I don't know how well I can comfort him if the sad look stays any longer.
"It's okay, my father passed away before we left for the Image World. Fuckers killed him for trying to protect his family. I've been meaning to tell you that sooner, but I don't enjoy remembering my grief and failure."
Failure?
"Failure?" I ask, befuddled about why he chose that word.
"Failing to help someone doesn't make you feel like the most accomplished human, Azail." He sighs before shaking the distant look in his eyes away. "Can we change the subject? Talking about it still hurts and feels fresh."
At that, my eyes meet his in seconds. "Yes, it's totally fine. I understand your reasons, but I'm still sorry for bringing it up. Now that I know, we can talk about him only when you have the desire to bring him up. This way, grief can stay the fuck away. Haha, get it?" My reassuring tone at the beginning of my speech ends with a giggle as I appreciate my rhyme. A smile led by contentment and relief dawns on my face when I see his boxy smile. I search for any fake positive intentions behind it, but the genuine glimmer returning to his eyes reassures me.
I'm no magician, but I hope that something will take that burden away from him. I do not doubt that he helped his father as much as he could, but failure never makes the heart settle.
"Thank you, Azail, you're more than qualified for your job," he admits. I raise my eyebrow before answering, "I'm offended you think I'm a comedian." Shock and regret flash through his eyes before he tries to do some damage control. "No! That's not what I meant at all! You know, you're good at comforting people with your words, and I'm sure you do the same with your patients and, you know..." My amused laugh cuts him off, deciding to save the guy from any more frantic apologizing. "I'm joking, and thank you. But let's get back to the task at hand." Count on me to ruin a pleasant moment with an undesirable reminder.
"So, in 2030, you lived with your mother and sister in the home we know of in the Image World."
He connects the dots and explains the thoughts in my mind in my stead.
"So for the recent census, people who have our identity live in the address unfamiliar to us."
"Precisely," I declare, snapping my fingers.
Flynn gathers his thoughts before speaking. "Hmm, looks like we have to pay the identity thieves a visit." I nod, confirming our next plan.
Indeed, we do, and we don't know how they'll welcome themselves.