Undulation

Undulation

By Indigo Giordana-Altu

It was a strange undulation. The feeling crept over me and swept me away into a sea of awareness. In an instant, the past and present became one. The mystery of who I really am had been unveiled and it frightened me to the core of my being. Can you imagine going through your life believing that you know who you are and what you stand for, only to find out that you have been living in an altered reality and nothing that you perceived was actually true? For me, it all started the day that I found myself in the dark recesses of an alley where the rats were at play upon the urine soaked street. I was lying there not knowing where I was, who I was, or why the bed beneath me was bloodstained money. I checked myself in panic and saw that there was not one drop of blood on my clothing. The situation was not making any sense to me at all.

In my confusion, I grabbed a cardboard box that was nearby and filled it with the stacks of bills. I hurried to the edge of the alley and was nearly blinded by all of the bright lights that lined the tall buildings. The cars were bumper to bumper. Honking of horns and screams of anger were almost deafening. It was an overwhelming atmosphere that, in its chaos, almost seemed routine. Clutching the box to me a little tighter, I started walking with no clue or destination. The sidewalks were crawling with people. They were like ants on a watermelon rind and I could barely see where my steps were taking me. As I walked, strange men tried to talk to me. Some came a little too close for comfort. They were blowing kisses and calling out to me in a way that seemed better suited to animals. Remaining focused; I pressed on and allowed nothing to stop me until I caught a glance of myself in a mirror that was displayed in the window of an antique shop. There I was. A dark haired, fair skinned, gray-eyed woman with plump rose red lips. I could not help but touch my cheek to see if the image was actually I.

In the reflection of the mirror, I noticed a neon sign blinking on the street behind me. The vacancy was inviting and so I turned to cross the street. Perhaps it would give me a moment to try to remember who I am. The man behind the counter leered at me as I stepped over the vagrant that was snoring loudly near the doorway. Children chased each other with water pistols seeming as though they had not a care in the world even though the tenement seemed to be riddled with the antics of unsavory types. A young woman with a heavily painted face shouted at the children in a foreign language because they wet her as she escorted her John up the stairs for some paid indiscretions. In the distance I could see the jewelry clad teeth of a drug dealer who grinned sheepishly as he accepted money from a man that looked as though he were already dead. I almost turned to leave but my mind floated to the fact that I didn’t even know where I would go. I was startled from my daze of thought when the man at the counter slammed a book down onto the counter to crush the life out of a large cockroach that had been preying on the remains of his greasy sandwich.

“Are you just going to stand there all day or do you want a room?” “Uhhh… yes, I would like a room.” “Well, it’s 60 a night, 300 a week, and 1000 a month. What do you want?” Setting the box down at my feet, I stared at the stubble on his absurdly fat face. His eyes were bulging and dreary as if he had been asking that same question for the past thirty years. He sneezed into his hand, filling it with mucus and then rubbing it across his soiled wife beater, which was one size too small. His hairy belly peeked out over the rim of his jeans and quaked whenever he spoke. I actually did not know how to answer his question. I didn’t even know if I already had a home somewhere… “Oh, I see. You are another one of those.” “One of those?”

“Yeah. You pack up everything. You leave your hometown and come here with less than a dollar and a dream, thinking that everything you ever hoped for will suddenly come true. You aren’t the first and you won’t be the last of ’em. Just know that it isn’t as easy as it seems, sweetheart. They all start out like you and then the truth hits ’em square in the face.” “The truth?” He nodded his head in the direction of the vagrant who still slept soundly on the ground and then swept his eyes over to the drug dealer who leaned against the wall waiting for his next addict, and the prostitute that was already stalking for her next customer. “I’ll tell ya what, let’s go ahead and write you down for a month and see what happens.” I hardly knew what he was talking about and, in my lack of understanding; my response was released in the likeness of a bobblehead. No words and no true expression, just a repeated and almost monotonous nodding to show my agreement to his suggestion.

“Can you show me some ID?” “ID?” “Yeah, you know that little square thing with your picture and info on it?” It took me a moment to realize what he was asking for and I began to search my pockets hoping that it would be the answer to part of my problem. As I reached into the inside pocket of the three-quarter length wool jacket that I was wearing, I froze at what I felt inside. I retracted my hand like a snake about to strike its enemy and tried to casually run my fingers through my hair instead… “No. No ID.” “Okay. Do you have a credit card?” “No.” “Sweetheart, do you even have a job yet?” “I… I don’t know.” “What do you mean you don’t know?” Suddenly the walls were closing in on me. The pressure of these basic questions made me feel as though I was about to explode.

“Okay, look, I understand. I was in your place once too. I was here and didn’t know anybody. You can go ahead and stay. I will even talk to my pal at the diner up the street to see if he will let you do some waitressing for him. Don’t you go running your mouth though. I don’t do this for everyone but you are too pretty of a girl to be wandering around these streets. You follow me and I will show you to your room.” The man that once seemed like a disgusting beast turned out to be gentle after all. He pensively selected a room key. When he finally chose one, I picked up the cardboard box and we headed up the stairs. We only got midway on the steps before he started heaving. I saw little beads of sweat trickling down his face. You would have thought that he had just run a marathon. A look of embarrassment suddenly came over his face.

“Alright, I trust you. You can go the rest of the way. Here is the key. It’s room 304 and the bathroom is down the hall.” “Thanks.” “My name is Ben by the way, what’s yours?” Again I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. My eyes searched around for help until I saw a poster on the wall by his counter. There was a lady playing drums on it and her name was written in large letters. I decided to use her name. “Uh… It’s Sheila.” “Sheila? Really? I have always had a big crush on Sheila E.” “Sheila E.?” “Oh don’t tell me you don’t know who Sheila E. is?” “I am sorry but I don’t.” “Whoa. Way to make an old man feel older. I have a poster of her at my desk. Didn’t you see it?”

I was afraid that he knew I had used her name but he couldn’t possibly know, could he? “No, I didn’t see it.” “Well, what’s your last name? So I can write it down for the records…” I thought the drilling would never end. Again I searched as fast as I could for another name and, out of the corner of my eye; I saw where someone had carved Romano Was Here into the wood of the rail to the steps. So, quickly I answered. “My full name is Sheila Romano…” “Oh, Italian… That explains your good looks. My first girlfriend was Italian. Boy was she a hot one. I wonder what ever happened to her. Well, times gone by and shattered dreams. No need to dwell on it.” “Shattered dreams?” “Like I told ya kid. Everyone comes here with a dream. You either make it or you don’t.”

Ben turned and slowly guided himself back to his counter. As he walked, he began to sing in a tone so melodious that even an angel might be jealous. It was soothing and depressing all at the same time. Hearing him made me wonder if that really was the reason I was in this strange place. Did I come here to pursue some dream and, if I did, how did I end up in that alley with that money? I was anxious to get up to that room so that I could try to work things out in my head; especially with what I had discovered in my coat pocket downstairs. Finally I arrived at room 304. In a way that was almost familiar, I speedily unlocked the door and locked the four security latches behind me. My sight barely had time to take in the hideous red and purple paisley carpet, the old tattered flowered curtains, or the fungus green colored comforter. I was too busy rushing over to the bed where I dumped the cash out of the box. I still could not believe it. There had to be at least twenty bricks of one hundred dollar bills covered in blood that was not my own. And then there was what was in my pocket… A Bersa .380 pistol. I slowly pulled it out of my pocket. It felt too natural in my hands. Was I a monster? Did I do terrible things or has someone done terrible things to me? Nothing was striking up a memory for me. I sat up late thinking of everything and nothing at all.

I paced to the point that I thought the carpet would wear thin beneath my feet and provide a window into the room downstairs where a couple had been arguing most of the night about some rice and beans that had been burned. I wanted to silence them. I wanted to silence the thoughts in my mind and the Salsa music that was blaring in the distance but I could not. At some point I decided to examine myself more closely. I thought that maybe something would help me to understand more about who I was. I slowly removed my clothing while taking inventory of each piece; white and black white spectator pumps, A-line navy blue striped jacket with large round buttons, matching wide-legged striped pants, sleeveless lace white mock turtle neck shirt, black lace bra with matching thong, and no jewelry. What was this wardrobe saying about me? There I was again looking in the mirror at this unfamiliar person that I could not believe was me without touching her to see. I began to explore myself.

I had a prominent bone structure. It was almost too perfect. There was not a mole, freckle, or birthmark in sight. Not even signs of childhood scars to give me a lead. My hair was thick and wavy, resting upon my shoulders as though there is never meant to be a hair out of place. My stomach was tight and muscular. As I touched each abdominal bump I figured that I was the athletic type. My legs were long and equally as firm. The skin on them was so smooth that I figured I must get them waxed. I turned around to try to get a glance of my back by looking over my shoulder. That’s when I saw it… There was a design burnt into the flesh of my back. The design was slightly raised by scarring. It appeared to be two cobras intertwined around a pole that was topped by wings. I didn’t know what it was but I intended to find out. It was the only thing close to being a clue. I was finally getting somewhere. In the pendulum swing of life; however, I quickly discovered that I would not be allowed to relish in that eureka. A commotion stirred.

Instinctively, I got dressed and lay hold on the pistol. It sounded as if a thundering herd of bison was approaching and out the window I went, speeding down the fire escape with the calculated skill of an Aizu warrior. In moments, the army of men was hot on my trail. It wasn’t until after perhaps my fifth leap from one rooftop to another and a blood drawing crescent kick to the face of an unknown soldier that it all came back to me. Ben was right. I am here with a dream. It is a dream to restore humanity by stopping the caliginous plot of the SGS~ Secret Genocide Society. I will reveal their secrets. They cannot stop me. I am Bulwark, Prototype #FSH3. I was not built to be stopped. In that moment of lapsed memory, I almost thought I was one of them. I realize that this is not the first time that I thought I was a human. These random glitches confuse me and steer me away from my mission. Machines aren’t supposed to have memories, thoughts, and feelings. Something is still not adding up…