How to Repair a Mechanical Heart - By J. C. Lillis Page 0,49
Beach con. By now Brandon has fully connected with his inner Cadmus and Abel has embraced his inner Sim, so they show up dressed as each other’s ultimate fantasy. Hot Abandon action on the dance floor ensues.
retro robot: OMG mamacita that is eerie. I love you so much.
sorcha doo: mamacitaaa u give me life.
hey_mamacita: THIS HAS TO HAPPEN. WE WILL WRITE IT INTO BEING.
We can’t stop giggling. I shove the laptop off me and Abel takes its place, he twists around and drops his head in my lap and laughs through his fingers and wow his head is heavy and beautiful, like some sort of ancient stone that glows inside and holds all the secrets of the universe. He clasps Plastic Sim to his chest. I pluck Plastic Cadmus from my neckband. I walk him down my arm, hop him lightly over Abel’s smooth forehead, nose, chin, throat. I tap his clavicle with Cadmus’ tiny boot.
“Hey. Tin Man.”
Abel closes his eyes and grins. “Yes, Captain.” He gets the Sim voice just right: smooth and clipped, like a sexy GPS.
“Got a proposition for ya.”
“I shall look forward to receiving it.”
I draw a slow circle around Plastic Sim with the head of Plastic Cadmus, skimming the center of Abel’s chest. I pretend it’s my finger there, tracing and retracing a ring around his heart.
“We should do it,” I murmur.
Abel’s eyes fly open wide and I see Bec sit up in the loft.
“No. No no, not that.” I pat his hair. It’s so soft, like fresh cotton candy. “I mean we should give the fans what they really want. At the nerd prom.”
“I should deflower you under the disco ball?”
“Nooo…But what about a kiss?”
He lifts his head off my lap.
“For serious?”
“Why not? We’re the creators.”
“Like, full-on—”
“Full-on fanfic fantasy. We’ll dress like Sim and Cadmus. Plan the whole thing out this week. Their heads will explode.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I mean…” He picks at the pinecone rug, biting back a smile. “Can you handle that?”
I quote hey_mamacita’s new chapter. “I’m ready for anything.”
“Brandon?” Bec’s shimmying down from the loft. “Can I see you a second?”
“What’s up?”
“Outside. It’s about Dave.”
“Sure…”
She hurries me outside to the kiddie playground two RVs over and it’s so so beautiful, it’s like a snapshot of every summer we RVed together as kids, the same creaky swings and dented slide and monkey bars curved in a rainbow arch. You can almost taste the juice boxes and smooshed PBJs. She sits me down on the rusted merry-go-round and claps her hands on my shoulders.
“Remember that time—”
“—we exploded marshmallows in your mom’s microwave? Yes.”
She sighs. “Remember two years ago, when Nick Fazzolari wanted to take me to Burning Man and when I told you about it you just did this with your eyebrows and then the next day I backed out?”
“Yeahhh…”
She gives me the eyebrows.
“Aw, what?”
“I’m ready for anything?”
I tamp down a laugh. “So?”
“This is quite the turnaround.”
“Yeah, well, it happens.” I stretch out on the merry-go-round platform. “Sudden conversion. Road to Damascus. Bam!”
“Uh-huh.” She climbs up next to me. “Tell me you know what you’re doing.”
“It’s all fake. Relax.”
“Fake.”
“Yes.”
“A hundred percent fake.”
“Yes.” I think about Abel’s head in my lap. “…Eighty-five percent.”
“Brandon!”
“What?”
“Just—proceed with caution.”
“It’s Abel.”
“Hence my concern.”
“He’s awesome.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I thought you wanted me to find someone. You were like, ‘you can’t stay fucked up forever’—”
“I know! I do. I want you to. Just…”
She sighs and leans her head back on the metal bar, like she used to during our late-night campground games of Truth or Dare.
“Just be careful,” she says. “Don’t lose yourself in this too fast.”
“Whatever. Old Brandon was nothing but…tin and bones.” I crack up at my own stupid joke. “Who cares about him?”
“I do,” she says softly.
I feel a distant twinge because I’ve made her sad for some reason I can’t grasp but really I just want her to worship the stars with me which are bigger and brighter than I’ve ever seen, I guess because we’re deep in the heart of Texas like that song from freshman chorus said. I lift my finger to the sky and play connect the dots. “Becky,” I say, because I haven’t called her Becky in forever, and I love her and her hair is so pretty in the lavender light of the bug zappers.
“Yes, Brandon.”
“Father Mike was right.”
She lifts her head. “Huh?”
“God works in very, very mysterious ways.”
“Oh boy.”
“Every world, even this one, has its unexpected mercies.”
“Easter sermon?”
“Episode 1-16.”
“Okay, weirdo.” She kisses me on the forehead. “Clearly you’re hopeless tonight.”