…

Every dish was spotless, both by Phoebe's account and by my account. I ended up staying behind to wash everyone's dishes. Some had multiple dishes, asking for two portions preemptively. Some had multiple utensils, as they might have dropped theirs on the ground occasionally. There were dozens of plates, forks, spoons, glasses, and such, all organized in multiple, large drying racks. Everyone, save for Phoebe and a few of her assistants, left for their rooms. No one had invited me to their space, save for the one I'll be rooming with.

There were a few who lingered as much as I did. Namely, Phoebe and one or two of her assistants. I tried walking by, and as she saw me, I received a brief 'Thank you.' I tried passing off the compliment to move on, but the space didn't allow me.

I became trapped in the hallway. Phoebe sealed off my entrance. Her friends sealed off the exit. I was forced against my will… to have a light conversation with her. None of us wanted to. Clearly this was a liminal space, and I couldn't help but feel as if they wanted to move on. But all of us, mostly them more than me, were deadlocked in the middle of a conversation. It was a gift that kept on giving, much to all of our detriments.

"What is your next step?" I asked.

Phoebe thought for a moment. Being a leader wasn't exactly new to her, based on how people saw her. She was the one who wanted to get to know everyone, I guess. I don't know. I've barely even met her. Soaking in a dinner conversation and a few mile-long trek to an underground hideout, Phoebe's specialties appear to be information collection, consensus making, and trying to make people happy. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I don't know how to evaluate people. Maybe I can't read people at all.

She was simply in the middle of another conversation. But she responded: "Oh, uh, we'll probably check out Main Street like they were talking about earlier."

Or something along those lines. She knows exactly what the plan is: I saw it earlier. It's not like she's winging anything. Am I being passed off? Is it intentional? I'm in the middle between her friends. I more or less was invited to sit in between a doorway. As I stood with my back aligned to the frame, I didn't really know what to do with myself. It almost seems clear I asked the wrong question. But what am I supposed to do? I'm new. I haven't lived in the City.

Fortune favors the bold. I escaped to my new room. The bunk boy from earlier was waiting while hanging out with a few friends. All boys, no girls allowed. Shut the door. He cracked open a can of alcohol. It's boy talk hour, I guess. Well, not 'I guess,' I know. They were already in the middle of whatever they were talking about beforehand. It would have been nice to join up with them instead of Phoebe.

It took a few minutes to hone in on what they were even saying. Names, places, and lingo- gosh, a lot of it was lingo. All of that passed by me. They didn't even pause. One of them waved to me, actually, but it was a quiet acknowledgment of my presence. I tried wedging myself into what they were discussing. Verbs, adjectives, and…I believe nouns. Words, they were spilling words from their mouths that didn't make sense. We spoke the same language, but they were speaking it entirely differently. Maybe I just didn't sit with them early enough.

…

Something caught on. "All I'm saying is she's really hot. Plus, I mean, maybe we could take this relationship further." Bunk boy said.

Ah. I don't care. I don't know these people. They then took turns talking about their crushes, dates, drama, and such. I don't know what customs are normal in the City.

"I wanna start a family someday!" Another one said.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

"Ishmael, what do you think? Has anyone caught your eye- or like, do you have any plans for the future?" A third asked.

My plans for the future are to go to sleep, wake up, and continue to investigate the City to get an understanding, and then a footholding as to how I should proceed. If what I described isn't what they mean by 'plans', then I don't know what they mean.

"I don't know. I'm not from here. I'm not sure if I'm going to stay." I responded.

It's not like the City has particularly treated me well so far. In truth, I didn't care. What would I do, starting some sort of a family with some woman here? What is the point? Whatever points they make all reflect their past, environment, preferences, and in-the-moment impulses.

"Well, you never know. You could meet someone you really like. Besides, it's nice to have someone by your side," One responded.

Marriage is what they want. But is that me: my preferences, my decisions, or what I am? It has its value, as well as drawbacks, but neither the pros or cons matter. I don't see how these values correlate to me. Plus, I don't see how they could connect A - me to B - their topic. So far, I joined this group of friends to figure out what to do next… I stumbled into this City since I didn't know how to navigate away from the forest.

Maybe some of them didn't share the same values as each other. Those who held a socially constricting opinion, however, were the most vocal. I had no way to tell if there were any other viewpoints. In some sense, I had no idea if what they were thinking was standard for the City. I wanted to know. I wanted to know more. Specifically, I just wanted to know if they all held the same belief.

I stood up to command attention from the room. "Why even have the goal to start a family? Sure, there's some sort of value in achievement, but how would one decipher whether or not the association with a woman makes sense? One girl or another, or any of them. Are women just puzzle pieces, able to slot in interchangeably? On one hand, if women are a puzzle piece, equipped and opposite to fit with their partner's occupancy, why would I focus on the goal of making a family rather than seeking the company of that girl? On the other hand, if the process, result, and consideration of a family is some sort of mechanism to become one flesh, two sides of the same coin, why would any one woman work? Aren't we all different? How could one just throw themselves at another if they're two completely different coins?"

No one responded. If only they did, for what I got instead was a cold, uncompromising judgment from their drunken muttering. Shortly after, the boys left, and eventually, we went to bed.

…

I felt like I was simultaneously the last and the first one awake. My bunk bro was soundly asleep, and in some sense, I should probably match his energy. My body wouldn't allow me to settle back into my bed. It didn't smell right. My pillow, all of my blanket, everything felt slightly damp. If it wasn't obvious enough, I overheated. There was light coming from the hallway, and I couldn't help but focus on it as well. My eyes' natural state was to be open. And open isn't asleep, nor does it facilitate sleep. Every inch of skin on my body cried out to me, asking to be scratched, itched, or somehow moved.

I got up. As I snooped around the base, a lot of doors were already open. Most of their beds were unmade, as was mine. Some, however, looked purposefully wrecked. One, in particular, had their blanket tossed across the floor as if they threw themselves out of bed and everything with it. I guess I missed some sort of a morning roll call.

Morning routine: stretches, restroom, recounting yesterday, anything I could do to make myself normal again. There were unopened supplies labeled "Ishmael", by the way. The handwriting was crisp, circular, flowy, and delicate.

I hadn't noticed it at first, but there was some sort of commotion in the lobby. Anyone at least halfway down the hallway would be able to hear it. All sense of reason replaced my mind with curiosity.

As I turned the corner to peer into the lobby, I saw organized chaos and not the good kind. There were chefs tossing food around, plating and serving as quickly as humanly possible. There were people moving furniture towards the entrance. There were people arguing and collecting documents around the larger meeting table. As I had come from the upper floor's hallway, some of the folk arguing saw me. One boy aggressively motioned me to join them.

In short, we had uninvited guests. We - they - didn't know what to do about it. Some wanted to start a war. Some wanted to keep them out. And some wanted to let them in out of curiosity. Roles were being discussed upon, multiple people were taking notes, and a significant part of the group was brainstorming as quickly as possible. As one could guess, I was tasked with getting stragglers out of bed, particularly my bunk buddy.