Impish

CHAPTER 16: RIOT GIRL IN THE WILD WEST

"It was weird," I say, around a mouthful of fried food, almost thirty minutes later, when I have left the Spindle and the world seems a little less abysmal. "I don't get what all this is meant for."

"It's just to test you, Mikes." Doug dips a curly fry in mustard, folds it, and shoves it between his teeth.

"Yeah, but for what? What does fighting myself have to do with anything? I just-- Am I missing something?"

Doug frowns. There is mustard on his chin. "Don't ask me. I'm not a tech guy. I'm just a 7-11 cashier."

"And an incubus."

"And an incubus," he agrees. There's a tired quality to his eyes.

"So... Was that the last thing we had to do? Am I done getting tested? Can we get out of here, or? What's going on now?" I lift another Rattlesnake Bite to my lips. They're these little fried balls, similar to jalapeno poppers but with more chopping and about the size of bits of fried okra. I like them. I enjoy them.

Stopping for lunch here, at the most fake-looking diner I've ever seen at a theme park, was definitely a choice I made. The restaurant itself has a weird, mixed theme somewhere between retrofuturism and the wild, wild west. The atomic themes don't exactly mix well with the saloon facades. The checkerboard floor is done in shades of vibrant teal and white; the walls are covered with odd designs of street signs. There are cacti everywhere. The order counter is marked by a hexagonal sign that glows gently. The doors into the bathrooms and employee-only areas look like the kind you would see in an old Clint Eastwood movie.

What stands out to me most, though, is the stage on one side of the restaurant. It's built into the floor and wall, painted the same yellow as the walls. On it stands four animatronics, each animalistic and dressed in bright-white astronaut suits with cowboy boots. Snakebite, who is based off of a rattlesnake, takes the front position of the stage, with a fake-looking Buddy Holly-style microphone and a guitar that looks like it was ripped straight from an early Elvis Presley's greedy, greedy hands.

Behind Snakebite stands a few different animatronics, including a coyote, an armadillo, and a prairie dog. I have to say, my favorite by far is the last. The prairie dog is on the keys. I see her and pretend to fall deeply, madly in love.

All in all, I would prefer it if they picked a theme and stuck to it. A lot gets lost in the translation of every image. The worst part is that it could be good, but it's not quite there.

"I don't know," Doug says, washing down a bite of his three-tier, blue mayo-drenched burger with the last of his soda. "You would have to ask Jeb."

I sigh. "I guess."

Doug stands, pushing his chair back as he does so. The metal scrapes gently across the waxed tile floor. "I'm getting a refill. You want anything?"

"No thanks," I decide. I look at my paper cup. I haven't had any of what's in it, even if they did have apple-flavored soda, just like I was craving. I'm not sure why. I'm just uncomfortable and on-edge, like I know something is coming. "I have enough right now."

He nods and leaves the table with his paper cup, walking as though led by his pelvis. (And maybe he is. I wouldn't know.)

I turn my attention back to the food on my plate. My cheeseburger's bun gleams under the lights over my head. I can't bring myself to eat the last half of it. I don't know why. It's actual beef and everything. Jeb assured me of that when I asked him in a paranoid panic. I lift another Rattlesnake Bite to my lips, feeling like I'm in some sort of liminal space that I can't escape. Everything is uncomfortable and claustrophobic and all too big.