Those Who Know the Future Don't Talk About It. Under All These Lives I've
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Those who know the future don’t talk about it. —Ted Chiang, Stories of Your Life and Others Under all these lives I’ve lived, something else has been growing. I’ve evolved into something new. —Dolores Abernathy, Westworld ElectricKingdom_BOM_INT_4pp_REVISED.indd 11 8/11/2020 4:59:59 PM Life began with a snowstorm. “The absolute nerve,” said Theresa Underwood, speeding down the highway. It was nighttime; snow hit the windshield, cov- ered the road in a white blanket. “I could see a slap on the wrist, but firing me is a shameless power play, am I right?” The only other sentient being in the van was her faithful bird, a budgie named Wilma, whom Theresa had begun bringing with her pretty much everywhere. Wilma sat perched in a cage buckled into the passenger-side front seat, staring out the window as if con- templating where things had gone wrong. “I mean, shit,” said Theresa. “It’s not like I was jacking twen- ties from the till.” “Jacking!” If the sign of a devoted listener was word repetition, Wilma was world-class. He was also, despite the name, a male budgie, some- thing Theresa’s husband had once pointed out, to which Theresa had responded, “Gender is a social construct, Howard. Also, it’s a fucking bird.” Theresa lit a cigarette with one hand, negotiated the steering wheel with the other. “Like that place is gonna miss the pocket change I took. My boss, ladies and gentlemen. Forever trying to prove his balls.” “Balls!” And so it went: Theresa Underwood drove through the snow like a bat out of hell while Wilma the budgie yelled “Balls!” (his own testes having remained dormant so long as to be presumed ElectricKingdom_BOM_INT_4pp_REVISED.indd 12 8/11/2020 4:59:59 PM Life began with a snowstorm. “The absolute nerve,” said Theresa Underwood, speeding down the highway. It was nighttime; snow hit the windshield, cov- ered the road in a white blanket. “I could see a slap on the wrist, but firing me is a shameless power play, am I right?” The only other sentient being in the van was her faithful bird, a budgie named Wilma, whom Theresa had begun bringing with her pretty much everywhere. Wilma sat perched in a cage buckled into the passenger-side front seat, staring out the window as if con- templating where things had gone wrong. “I mean, shit,” said Theresa. “It’s not like I was jacking twen- ties from the till.” “Jacking!” If the sign of a devoted listener was word repetition, Wilma was world-class. He was also, despite the name, a male budgie, some- thing Theresa’s husband had once pointed out, to which Theresa had responded, “Gender is a social construct, Howard. Also, it’s a fucking bird.” Theresa lit a cigarette with one hand, negotiated the steering wheel with the other. “Like that place is gonna miss the pocket change I took. My boss, ladies and gentlemen. Forever trying to prove his balls.” “Balls!” And so it went: Theresa Underwood drove through the snow like a bat out of hell while Wilma the budgie yelled “Balls!” (his own testes having remained dormant so long as to be presumed ElectricKingdom_BOM_INT_4pp_REVISED.indd 1 8/11/2020 4:59:59 PM 2 DAVID ARNOLD THE ELECTRIC KINGDOM dead). And whether because of the snow or Theresa’s blind rage— “I’d think someone in your condition would be more chill or, as she would claim weeks later, having emerged from a coma, about casual wear.” “I’m telling you, Howard, the kid appeared out of thin air”— “My condition?” she did not see the girl standing in the middle of the highway “You know what I mean.” until it was almost too late. At the last second, Theresa swerved “First off, I almost never do. Second, that’s not casual wear, hard right, tipping her sagging-rusty van onto its side, where hon. It’s sleepwear. And third”—she pulled the elastic waistband it skidded some thirty yards before ramming into the barrier wall. of her maternity pants, couldn’t help noticing they didn’t give as Before long, a traffic jam wound through the woodsy New much as they used to—“these are actually pretty comfortable.” A Hampshire terrain like a great luminous snake in the night. lie; she hadn’t known comfort in months. “Incognito pj’s. Whereas Somewhere in the middle, from the warmish interior of a small hatch- yours are just . cognito.” back, a young man called Ethan said, “I cannot believe this.” “That’s not a word. Also, how dare you?” His wife Alice said nothing. Secretly, she believed the traffic was “Yes, how dare I live my life in pants.” She reached over, pulled karma, the poetic revenge of a universe that did not abide man’s a gummy from the bag; it tasted like dirt and chemicals. “I apolo- irresistible urge to utter the phrase we’re making incredible time. gize on behalf of all humans in pants.” “Check the app again?” “Maybe your mother could’ve given you more incognito pj’s Alice raised her phone. “Still no service.” instead of a lifetime supply of monogrammed baby towels.” “Can’t remember the last time we had so much snow this early In the back seat, no fewer than two dozen washcloths in the year.” Ethan sighed. “We were making incredible time, too.” and bath towels—with hoods of raccoons, elephants, foxes, and a She loved him. She did. But five years in, Alice couldn’t help variety of Disney characters—were stacked and buckl-ed in like wondering if her list of Minor Husband Annoyances wasn’t a bit lon- the tiny human they would soon dry off. ger than most. As if on cue, Ethan pulled out a plastic bag of peach “It was a baby shower, Ethan. For the baby. Not me.” Her gummies, made an ungodly amount of noise opening it, popped one hands went suddenly to her stomach—a familiar achy clench. in his mouth, and leaned his seat back as far as it would go. “You okay?” Ethan stopped chewing, sat up. “Is it the . “So long as we’re just sitting here. May as well be comfortable.” Braxton thingies again?” She tilted her head toward his flannel pj’s. “Any more comfort- Braxton thingies. For a scientist, he could be really stupid. able, you’d be comatose.” “Braxton Hicks,” she said, and the feeling passed, and she forced ElectricKingdom_BOM_INT_4pp_REVISED.indd 2 8/11/2020 4:59:59 PM THE ELECTRIC KINGDOM 3 dead). And whether because of the snow or Theresa’s blind rage— “I’d think someone in your condition would be more chill or, as she would claim weeks later, having emerged from a coma, about casual wear.” “I’m telling you, Howard, the kid appeared out of thin air”— “My condition?” she did not see the girl standing in the middle of the highway “You know what I mean.” until it was almost too late. At the last second, Theresa swerved “First off, I almost never do. Second, that’s not casual wear, hard right, tipping her sagging-rusty van onto its side, where hon. It’s sleepwear. And third”—she pulled the elastic waistband it skidded some thirty yards before ramming into the barrier wall. of her maternity pants, couldn’t help noticing they didn’t give as Before long, a traffic jam wound through the woodsy New much as they used to—“these are actually pretty comfortable.” A Hampshire terrain like a great luminous snake in the night. lie; she hadn’t known comfort in months. “Incognito pj’s. Whereas Somewhere in the middle, from the warmish interior of a small hatch- yours are just . cognito.” back, a young man called Ethan said, “I cannot believe this.” “That’s not a word. Also, how dare you?” His wife Alice said nothing. Secretly, she believed the traffic was “Yes, how dare I live my life in pants.” She reached over, pulled karma, the poetic revenge of a universe that did not abide man’s a gummy from the bag; it tasted like dirt and chemicals. “I apolo- irresistible urge to utter the phrase we’re making incredible time. gize on behalf of all humans in pants.” “Check the app again?” “Maybe your mother could’ve given you more incognito pj’s Alice raised her phone. “Still no service.” instead of a lifetime supply of monogrammed baby towels.” “Can’t remember the last time we had so much snow this early In the back seat, no fewer than two dozen washcloths in the year.” Ethan sighed. “We were making incredible time, too.” and bath towels—with hoods of raccoons, elephants, foxes, and a She loved him. She did. But five years in, Alice couldn’t help variety of Disney characters—were stacked and buckl-ed in like wondering if her list of Minor Husband Annoyances wasn’t a bit lon- the tiny human they would soon dry off. ger than most. As if on cue, Ethan pulled out a plastic bag of peach “It was a baby shower, Ethan. For the baby. Not me.” Her gummies, made an ungodly amount of noise opening it, popped one hands went suddenly to her stomach—a familiar achy clench. in his mouth, and leaned his seat back as far as it would go. “You okay?” Ethan stopped chewing, sat up. “Is it the . “So long as we’re just sitting here. May as well be comfortable.” Braxton thingies again?” She tilted her head toward his flannel pj’s.