Tuesday 16 January 2018 (Day 458)
• Morning briefing: nothing new.
• Rural hospital: oldies again.
• Tom's bday tmr. 16!
• Need new notebook & pen
***
The bathroom door clicks open.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TOM!" we yell like a pack of rascals.
He startles. Leaps backwards in the doorframe, clutching his onesie so tightly his knuckles are white. But once the shock wears off, Tom smiles, distinct pride welling in his eyes. "I thought you forgot."
"Of course not! It's an important day," I exhale, pulling my hair into a ponytail. I don't know why I'd been so worried. There's no way we could be wrong, now that they'd installed a huge screen in the Dining Hall telling us the date and time. It makes my journal obsolete.
"And it's not like we can, it's etched everywhere on you," Johnny mutters before handling Tom by the shoulders. Much like the way a manipulative father would take his child. Leading him to the door, Johnny announces, "It's about time we had the talk." I snort as they round the bend, out of earshot.
Ebony tugs my right arm, supporting herself up. "Important," she echoes.
"What about it?"
She shrugs. "The day Tom gets to leave is an important day?"
"Isn't it?"
"Don't answer my question with a question."
"You did it first."
As she slips past me, I hear her sigh, "Sad." With less than a muddled look, I spin on my heel and dash after her.
***
The four of us sit together at meals. The tradition started after the game of hide and seek of 2016, and no one bothered to change. Personally, I like to believe they're here because of me. Because I'm a magnet for losers.
They say you are what you eat.
Oh right! Everyone, say hi to Siri! They've become as unhinged as me recently.
The last year has been rough.
And it's only gonna get rougher.
Our arrival doesn't stop Johnny's passionate debate, but at least Tom seems interested that we're here. "I'm just saying, it's so much better to be out there, actually doing something. Better than this—" He demonstrates with the goop in his spoon, slowly sliding into his bowl.
"What's going on?" I ask Tom sitting diagonally from me.
"Johnny's trying to convince me to enlist." He shrugs like it's nothing. I nearly choke. Your sixteenth birthday is a big deal, yes. Here in 2002, it signifies the age you can finally enlist to serve. Serve to die.
"You're gonna have to eventually," Johnny reasons.
My eyes widen. "What? Really?"
"Do you even listen to anything?" Ebony mumbles.
"I listen to you."
"Hardly."
Tom inhales, two hands leading the racket to a diminuendo. "Let's not think about this right now."
