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As time went on, we ate, talking aimlessly, avoiding eye contact, and steering clear of personal stuff, not doing what our assigners expected. Meanwhile, the faceless, the Committee in charge of the Well, becoming antsy. Recently reminded we are expendable, either perform or leave. Then again, there were few standing in line, willing or wanting to replace us.
The new assignment hand delivered, placed before us, “get it done in the next twenty-four hours, or get.” Returning to reality, a life of uncertainty, the next peril inevitable. We each stared, not wondering what it says, rather who will pick it up. Read it. For now, I cannot move, instead think as a child. If I don’t make eye contact, close my eyes. I can see no one, no one can see me. I’ll be invisible. If only.
Addison asks, “Are you going to open it?”
Time passes as members shift uncomfortably, taking sips of coffee while playing with their food.
Finally, Addison leans forward, picks up the paper, and without a word, tears it into confetti size pieces, and flips them into the air. We all watched, startled, speechless. We focus all attention on her, waiting for an explanation.
“What the …?” I said.
“I had parents, once. Perhaps I still do. My dad, my dad, wanting me to be eager to try new experiences and to live life to the fullest. To be free, willing, capable of taking a chance, venturing into the unknown. He guided me, teaching, training me until I could care for myself, to be decisive. To defend myself from depraved characters I would face, and he did, and I can,” Addison said.
“You want to hear my story, about my family?” she adds, “Never gonna happen, not until you earn that privilege. Stand up.”
I slowly stand, wondering about her intentions.
“Draw,” she orders.
I stand stunned.
“That’s the best you got? Again…, draw, you’re dead,” she insists.
“I get it,” I state.
“Doing this was once how I made a living,” she declares. “I had a family, once. Today, around this table, this is family. Pull yourself together. If I walk away from the Well, I’ll be fine, but I’d rather you grow a pair and stop with the whining.”
I stood there, realizing she was right, I had to move forward, and wow, she was deadly. Dad had taught her well. Sitting back down, looking at each other, still a bit overwhelmed, had an idea, not a good idea, but a plan.
“So,” Cord added, “What’s the plan?”
“You’re not gonna like it,” I share.
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