The Bearing

2. The Note

Mao's Chinese Restaurant was only a few blocks from my house. Was it stupid of me to search where to find Chinese food? There were Chinese restaurants all over the American and Russian sectors of Americhinsia, same as there were American and Russian restaurants in the Chinese sector of Americhinsia. As I walk down the street towards the restaurant, I wonder what life was like when they were separate powers. The only way for America to alleviate its debt to China was to merge with it. Then came the Russian invasion of 2103. Americhinsia was born.

I try to look straight ahead and not stare at the telecars on the street. People rarely walked, except for exercise. Even if they lived a block away, they would drive. The cars are staring at me, I'm almost sure of it. They must know that something is on my mind.

I hurry and walk past the white houses as fast as I can. I knew I was supposed to love their perfect symmetry, but I loathed their bright whiteness and lights along their driveways, lined with shining telecars in charging stations that they didn't have to work for, that were handed down through old money. Despite their tall, beautiful glass windows revealing polished furniture and happy families eating dinner, the houses looked ominous to me. Glass windows made the most sense. Anyone passing by could see suspicious activity.

I reach the red and yellow sign reading "Mao's" in flashing neon lights. I swing open the red door with a dragon painted on it. A hooded figure steps out and rams into my shoulder, brushing its hand against mine. In my palm now lies a piece of paper. It reads:

Call ABORTION (22678466).

This is by far the shadiest experience one can have. How does this person know already?

Can I call it? I don't think I have another choice. I'm already as good as dead. Whatever, I'll figure it out when I get home. I do a quick scan to see if anyone's watching, then slip the note into my pocket.

I approach the counter.

"What would you like?" An old lady wearing bright red eyeshadow pulls out a pen to take my order.

"Um..." I cannot think. My vision starts blurring while my heart bursts through my chest. My stomach churns. What's the point of eating when I want to vomit?

"Just one beef chow fun, please," I muster. I hope she doesn't notice the guilty sweat forming on my face.

"One beef chow fun!" She calls to the back of the kitchen. "Name?" she asks.

"Lavender." I decide to lie about my name, as a criminal would do, in case anyone was watching or listening.

I pay and wait patiently for my order next to an older gentleman who's checking his watch that wreaks of wasted money. He glances over at me and eyes me up and down. I bite my lip, hoping I don't look as nervous as I think I do. The next person in line waits next to me, a mother with her young daughter clinging to her legs. Most children shy away from strangers, but the girl stares me dead in the eyes and cocks her head. The mother gives me a slight wave, but her tired eyes linger. Whenever someone looks at me for too long, I'm convinced that someone took a red marker and scrawled CRIMINAL across my forehead. Maybe she's just jealous that I don't have to deal with a young child climbing all over me, or maybe she's silently judging me for not having a child already.

"Beef chow fun!" A young man calls from the counter. I swiftly walk to get it, and he hands it over.

"Lavender?" He asks before I take it. I gulp and nod. He nods, then goes back into the kitchen. He must have known I gave a fake name. I don't know how, but he knows.

I leave the restaurant only to find out that it began raining while I was inside. My day insists on getting worse with time. I sigh and step into the rain, preparing to walk back home, then eat cold, wet food.