The Lost Train of Thought (5 page)

2
Unremembering

Galaxie Diner, Caledon, Ontario

Jennifer Kaley put her wool hat in her pocket and shook a few stray leaves from her dirty blond hair. Caledon was cold this time of year and the fourteen-year-old was mad at herself for wearing her flimsy army jacket instead of the green parka with the furry hood.

“One for breakfast?” asked the waitress who greeted her by the cash register.

“Two. I’m meeting someone.”

“Right this way.”

The heavyset woman in the black and yellow apron grabbed two menus and led Jennifer toward the row of booths in the back. These were the best seats in the house, not only because of the soft red cushions, but because they came with their own individual jukeboxes.

“What can I get you to start?” asked the waitress.

“Water with lemon.”

Being a single customer at a table with two menus always made her feel awkward, so Jennifer flipped through the jukebox that was filled with bands like Foreigner and ABBA and a bunch of others she’d never heard of. She finally chose “No Sugar Tonight” by the Guess Who (her dad’s favorite band), which got a thumbs-up from the old biker dude who was working the Galaxie’s grill.

The bell by the front door dinged loudly and Jennifer snapped her head around, hoping to see a teenage boy with shaggy hair and old-school corduroys walking in. But it was a party of Little Leaguers instead—the Caledon Fireballs—who poured into the surrounding booths, ready to celebrate another victory with a healthy breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes.

“Don’t worry, honey.” The waitress handed Jennifer a large glass of water, along with a knowing smile that said she too had waited for a mysterious man or two in her time. “If he doesn’t show, it’s his loss.”

“Tell me about it.” Jennifer smiled back. “This place has the best vanilla milkshakes in the world!”

“One vanilla, comin’ right up.”

The person Jennifer was waiting for had often spoken of the milkshakes at some beach-front burger joint as being the best he’d ever had, but since those were literally in another world, she felt quite confident in her opinion. Speaking of that person, he was now over fifteen minutes late and Jennifer couldn’t help but be a little bit concerned. It had been two weeks since they’d last seen each other, and even though they’d spoken on the phone every night, it was hard to put aside the fear that the long-distance thing wasn’t working anymore, or that maybe one of the girls at his new high school was much cooler or prettier.

Again the bell at the front jingled and when Jennifer saw Norm from Norm’s Great Grocery entering with his family, she ducked under the table— mostly because she didn’t feel like having to explain to her boss what she was doing here all by herself. But when she poked her head back up, someone else was standing by the door. He looked a little worse for wear— his shaggy hair a little shaggier, his corduroys cultivating a hole in one knee—but the smile that lit his face hadn’t changed one bit.

“Hey,” said Becker, plopping into the seat on the other side of the booth.

“Hey.”

Ever since the night Jennifer and Becker shared a kiss in the woods on the outskirts of Caledon, they had been nearly inseparable. Well, that’s not exactly true. The Fixer was determined not to break the Golden Rule again— especially after being reprimanded by his mentor Fixer Blaque—so their early relationship consisted mostly of e-mails, phone calls, and texts. But not seeing each other in person got old quick, and it was finally decided that one brief, innocent, face-to-face meeting could probably be arranged.

By the time the summer arrived, the Fixer was crossing the border on a regular basis— so much so that he and Jennifer even concocted a cover story that Becker was an American kid whose father’s company had moved their main office to Toronto. This seemed to fly with her friends and family, and were it not for Becker’s Me-2 pleading with him to stop using his Skeleton Key for personal travel, he probably would have started looking through the classifieds for a cheap apartment.

But that was before the results of the Straw Poll had come in.

“Is everything okay?” Jennifer slipped Becker’s JV soccer jacket over her own as the two headed west on Henderson Street. “You seem a little weird.”

“I do?” Becker shrugged, trying to avoid the conversation he knew was unavoidable. “Guess it’s just been a crazy week.”

“Everything good with Benjamin? Mom and Dad?”

“They’re chillin’.”

“Any cool Missions lately?”

“I did have one a couple days ago.”

“You allowed to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Even though Becker was willing to break the Rules time and time again just to be here, there were some things he wouldn’t do: namely, reveal specific Mission details or take Jennifer to The Seems itself. “Let’s just say the Winds of Change are sweeping across The World again.”

“I knew something was up when my dad signed up for yoga!”

Becker laughed out loud, something he seemed to do a lot when she was around. “Seriously, Moscow almost got toasted.”

“My hero! He saves The World and still has time to hang out with the little people.”

Though Jennifer threw an arm around Becker’s neck and gave him a hug, she’d known ever since he didn’t finish his two eggs over medium at the Galaxie that things weren’t quite right. She decided not to push it though. “Hey, did I tell you I had an idea for a new department?”

“Which one?”

“Education. They can teach us everything we need to know by playing audiotapes while we’re sleeping. That way we never have to go to school but we end up twice as smart.”

Becker cracked up—ideas like that came so easily to Jennifer. When they first started dating, he’d encouraged her to fill out a Seemsian Aptitude Test, since he thought she’d make a perfect Fixer. Her interests were much more geared to Case Worker, however, because they got to map out really intricate strategies to help people in their everyday lives (and also because the offices in the Big Building were supposed to be really plush).

But as Jennifer continued on about the Department of Ed’s ability to allow each person to pick one thing they could be genius at, Becker could barely hear what she was saying. Instead of appreciating walking down the street with the coolest girl he’d ever met on an even cooler fall day, all he could think about was how horrible it would be if he couldn’t remember any of it at all.

“Are you listening to me?” she asked, stopping outside the door to Paradise Bound Records, the best music store in Caledon.

“Totally. I heard every last word!”

“Liar.” She kicked him halfheartedly in the shin. “What was I talking about?”

“Um . . . you were saying how great I am and how you wanted me to give you lessons on what it’s like to be Becker Drane.”

This time, the kick on the shin wasn’t so light, and Becker responded with a nudge, which quickly escalated to a battle of nuggies, and then all gloves were off. But before a truce was declared and they strode into the pleasantly musty stacks of LPs, CDs, and eight-track tapes (three for a dollar) to find their friends, Jennifer turned to the boy who had made these past few months so great.

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

Becker grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Nothing I can’t fix.”

Alton Forest, Caledon, Ontario

The group known as “Les Resistance” had been formed nearly two years earlier by a group of like-minded kids seeking refuge from the middle school grind. In a secluded corner of the Alton Forest conservation area, the founding members— Jennifer Kaley, twins Rob and Claudia Moreau, Rachel Mandel, and Vikram Pemundi—had built a clubhouse retreat where the business of resisting could be conducted undisturbed. Their number had recently grown to include the Moreaus’ significant others—Neve and Miles—who, along with Becker, were forced to endure an initiation ritual far too clandestine for these pages.

This Sunday afternoon, the gang was kicking back on beanbag chairs and the velvet couch Jennifer “borrowed” from her parent’s basement and doing what they usually did—talking about the meaning of life, the lack of the meaning in life, and everything in between.

“All I’m saying is that adding more seasons is a no-brainer.” Vikram paced back and forth, like he was giving a lecture at a university. “You have Indian summer in October— and I’m not talking about Native American, I’m talking about the way it is in Ahmedabad, hot and humid— then there’s splinter, which is between spring and winter. And if we’re remaking the world, why not a seventh season?”

“Like what?” asked Jennifer.

“I don’t know, like the season of the witch or this weird season where the sky is purple, the sun is blue, and Vikram Pemundi rules over the land with an iron fist!”

“We can see who’s not gonna get invited to remake the world from scratch.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to think outside the box.”

“That’s your problem, you think too much.” Rachel Mandel cheerfully knocked on Vikram’s head. “All the world really needs is girls to be in charge and chocolate chip cookies to grow on trees.”

“Now you’re talking!” Jennifer gave her friend a low five. “Toss in some doughnut bushes and lakes filled with Yoo-hoo and we’re good to go!”

Ever since she’d supposedly found this weird pamphlet at the record store, Jennifer had enlisted her friends to help her answer the SAT’s crucial Question #3.
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Everybody had poured in their suggestions, and by the time she was finished filling out the questionnaire, it was the size of a book report. But even though Becker had hand-delivered her application to the Department of Human Resources more than three weeks ago, the conversation was still going strong.

“I still say the most important thing is that bad things can’t happen to good people anymore.” Miles McQueen may have lettered in three sports at Caledon East, but Claudia’s boyfriend was much more than the ordinary jock. “I’m sick of turning on the news and finding out another ten thousand innocent villagers got buried in a rockslide.”

Claudia chucked a Cheez Doodle at Miles. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but good and bad are in the eye of the beholder.”

“I agree with Moreau,” said Moreau (Rob). “One man’s triumph is another man’s tragedy.”

“What ever, dudes.” Miles shrugged and ate the Doodle. “If a tree falls on me and breaks my legs, it sucks no matter which way you cut it.”

Becker chuckled along with the rest of the gang, but as usual when the conversation turned toward Plan-related topics, he kept his mouth shut. Partially because he didn’t want to spill any confidential material, but also because he was just happy to kick back for a change and let someone else do the wondering. Especially today.

“I say we make the world into a piñata.” No one knew where this was going because Neve was a flophead
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and flop-heads think a little differently. “Then we take it to a kid’s birthday party, let a bunch of three-year-olds whack it with a stick, and see what kind of candy comes out.”

At first, Les Resistance was stunned into silence, because this was only the third time Neve had ever spoken in their presence— but then they all burst into laughter. Even Becker forgot his troubles for a moment, especially when Jennifer leaned forward and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

The coupling off of the group had been a relatively recent development, and each had selected their own private getaway. Rob and Neve would head off into the woods, while Claudia and Miles would “check on the waterfall” (as if it were going anywhere), leaving Vik and Rachel the downstairs portion of the clubhouse. And since Jennifer had been project coordinator of the second-floor observatory, it seemed only right for the group to cede this prime real estate to her and Becker.

“Don’t you think it’s ridiculous that Rach and Vik’s parents are forcing them to have arranged marriages when they get older?” Becker was nervously pacing around the circular wooden platform, listening to the laughter that was bubbling up from the floor below. “I mean, wouldn’t it be nice if they could just be with each other?”

“I don’t know.” Jennifer shrugged and popped another jujube. “Statistics show that arranged marriages are just as successful as so-called love marriages.”

“That’s not the point. I just think it’s messed up when people try to tell other people how to live their lives.”

Becker stopped to look into the telescope, which at this time of day wasn’t good for much besides bird watching or spying on Rob and Neve.

“Come and sit down.” Jennifer put her can of soda in the prefabricated cup holder that came with the theater seat they’d installed.

“In a minute.”

“You’re gonna drive yourself crazy if you keep bringing your work home with you.”

“I know. But it’s not just all these stupid rules and regulations that are so messed up, it’s everything!” Becker pointed the telescope at the pale fingertip moon that was just revealing itself in the daylit sky. “The planet’s falling apart, people are sick or dying or killing each other everywhere, and when I honestly ask myself, ‘Is The World better than when I started this stupid job three years ago?’ the answer is no! It’s probably worse!”

Jennifer slowly closed up her box of candy and placed it back in the battery-operated fridge. She’d heard Becker talk this way before and knew he’d been struggling with doubts about his work ever since a Fixer friend of his had died on a Mission last year. But he’d never sounded as depressed as this.

“Becker.” She patted the seat next to her, and made it clear she wasn’t asking. “Sit down.”

When the Fixer finally took his eye away from the viewfinder, it was difficult to tell if it was red from the eyepiece itself, or something else. Jennifer dusted off a stray acorn from the seat, and Becker finally let his body fall into the cracked and cushiony chair beside her.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

“It’s a long story,” Becker finally choked out. “But I got in trouble in The Seems.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I broke some Rules . . . and one of them was kinda big.”