Walker
by Jan Cronos
[Editor’s Note: This piece is part of the “Topical” series, with each piece solely submitted to and chosen by the Final Reader Pietra Dunmore.]
Mann-Wen hunches narrow shoulders, pushing the walker. The small wheels can get stuck in cracks so she’s careful. Still for her, it’s a magic device. But the oval path is smooth. Her aunt comes here early mornings. She told Mann-Wen how beautiful the flowers are.
Nearby, two bald men play checkers under maple trees. A boy stands entranced. As she passes, he turns and stares at Mann-Wen. His eyes are wildflowers in the blazing sun.
“Hey,” the boy’s voice quivers as he approaches. “Who are you?” he demands.
Mann-Wen straightens. Her hands clench the handlebars.
“You don’t live here,” he accuses. “I never seen you before.” A deep line forms above the boy’s nose.
“No,” Mann-Wen replies in a hoarse voice. “I just come to walk the gardens.”
“Why do you use that?” the boy blurts out, pointing to the walker.
Mann-Wen hesitates. “What you think?” she asks.
The boy’s greasy hands rub his neck. “I think you’re an alien,” he declares, poking his finger and moving back a step.
Mann-Wenn sighs.
He gestures at her. “The way you walk means your planet’s gravity is less than Earth and so your legs are weak and little. When you’re home on Venus, you move like this.”
The boy leaps and skips.
Mann-Wen wrinkles her brow.
The boy frowns. “So, you’re invading from Venus. Are you alone?”
“What,” Mann-Wen asks. The sun is glowing, and she wants to move. She licks her lips.
“Thomas,” a woman calls. Middle-aged and buxom with well-coifed brown hair, her face is stern. She beckons with a graceful hand. A bracelet dangles from her wrist. “Come here, boy, I told you not to speak to strangers.”
As Thomas runs off, Mann-Wen heads towards the fountain. She moves slowly and her feet are heavy. The fountain fascinates her. Two mallard ducks swim in the pond, their green and black feathers iridescent. The spray is cool and damp. There’s nothing like this back home. Closing her eyes, Mann-Wen inhales. The air has a fresh, floral scent but her breathing is heavy, labored.
“Ma’am?”
Two policemen loom over her. The one with sergeant’s stripes gestures to where Thomas stands with his mother, who holds his elbow.
“Ma’am, kid’s mom says you scared her son, told him you’re from Venus.” The sergeant glares. “Do you live here? Where’s your I.D.?”
Mann-Wen shakes her head.
“This is private property. You’re trespassing,” he warns.
Mann-Wen gasps. She can’t breathe.
The sergeant folds his arms. “You’re from China, right? Why’d you say you’re from Venus?”
“I bet she’s illegal,” the second officer says.
“Cut it, Mike,” the sergeant snaps. “She’s nuts.” He frowns at Mann-Wen, “Sorry, M’am. If you don’t have I.D., we have to take you in.”
“No,” Mann-Wen whispers, shifting the walker.
“What do you think you’re gonna do? Run off in that thing.” Mike snickers.
Pressing down on the handlebars, Mann-Wen raises her head. As the police stand there, the walker elevates, then shoots up into the sky.
“What the hell,” yells the sergeant, shaking his head.
“Jesus,” says Mike.
Thomas pulls at his mother’s arm. “I knew she was an alien,” he says. “I knew it by her legs. There’s less gravity on Venus so the aliens got thin little legs.”
“You’re a smart boy, Thomas,” his mother says, kissing him. “But from now on don’t talk to strangers.”
Far overhead, Mann-Wen accelerates, steering towards the evening star.
Author lives and writes in New York City under the pen name Jan Cronos. Prior publications include Fabula Argentea (flash) and Andromeda Spaceways (poetry).
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What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “Walker”? This piece was inspired as I watched an elderly woman with a walker standing by a fountain. I imagined what it would be like if the device was capable of flight, instead of simply dragging along the ground.
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