Age Twenty-Two: Cotton Mouth
Katrina Juno Woods had tied a decent enough knot to keep her kayak from drifting back out into the harbor. With the shallow tide and barely a breeze to contend with, the boat was most likely to stay in place for her brief shore excursion. Her palms were sore and sweaty. Both the oar and news she’d been holding for the last two weeks had done a number on her nerves. She’d yet to finally break the big news to her older brother and this weekend retreat was as gentle enough an opportunity to speak her mind. Lane was always supportive, but fully understanding other people’s emotional reactions was still beyond Katrina’s inherent skill set. People were not machines. Consistent actions did not always yield predictable outcomes. Despite being free from the mercurial temperament of her fellow high schoolers, this lack of logic was beyond frustrating for a young woman of Katrina’s talents.
Lane had always said, ‘People shouldn’t be machines.’
Was that really true?
Katrina sighed as she followed Lane and Apollena from the dock, across the arcade boardwalk and onward to the pier across the street. Apparently this was quicker than paddling all the way around the ocean wall and competing with the sailboat traffic. Whether all this effort to get a shake and burger was truly worth it was left to be seen.
“Are you enjoying your summer break so far, Kat?” Lane asked as they crossed over Balboa Boulevard toward the pier. The people were flowing much easier than the cars creeping forward in bumper to bumper traffic.
Katrina shrugged, “It’s fine I guess?”
Apollena gently bumped her middle sister’s shoulder with her own, “Just fine?”
“What’s wrong with ‘fine’?” Kat replied.
“It’s boring,” Apollena replied. “At least you’ll have a fun weekend to write home about. Maybe even meet someone to have a little fun with?”
Katrina vaguely understood what Apollena implied, but for clarity’s sake still asked, “Well, the only one at home right now is Robyn. And, by fun you mean sex?”
Apollena searched her younger sister’s eyes, “Would that be fun for you?”
“No,” Katrina answered honestly. Sex was… complicated. Perhaps far too complicated to be considered fun. This was ironic considering disassembling and reassembling car engines was what she considered actual fun. When the engine ran, that meant it was working. Katrina’s efforts yielded success with clear, measurable results. The same could not be said with any kind of physical contact that Katrina could accurately measure.
Did her kiss really turn someone on?
Did a hug mean the same thing to the recipient that Katrina intended when she gave one?
Who knew, really? Sometimes words didn’t always mean what they meant. It was frustrating to understand that concept and still not be able to always grasp it in the moment of conversation. Katrina tried to not let this upset her, but remained mostly frustrated around her peers. Machines were simple. People were not.
“Maybe we could go visit the base at Coronado and see the jets?” Katrina suggested. “San Diego is fun. Right?”
They’d reached the beach and continued to the entrance of the pier when Lane answered, “Sure. I think we’d have time tomorrow to make the drive down if that would make you happy.”
“That would make me happy,” Katrina said, her Icelandic accent nearly absent now from her voice. Not too many native speakers of Reykjavik had immigrated to New Mexico where the Woods Estate still stood. With their parents missing, their Uncle Dan had flown out from Washington to be Robyn and her temporary guardian and minder of the property. At least he spoke a little Icelandic which was comforting. Uncle Dan was a simple man; direct, forward, and had zero filter. Katrina loved that about him even if those particular personality visibly grating on most everyone else.
“Apollena, do you think Kristi would want to join us tomorrow?” Lane asked as they weaved in and out of the crowd on the pier.
Luna thought for a moment, “I’m sure I could convince her. She’s what most would call a homebody, but if we included a detour to the Balboa Art Museum I think she’d come.”
“Kristi is your latest, um, catch?” Katrina asked. Apollena didn’t particularly like the idea of labels; girlfriends, boyfriends, or even simply sexual partners. She had this incomprehensible notion that all people were connected in some romantic notion. Katrina couldn’t fully grasp her eldest sister’s romanticism no matter how many times it had been explained to her. She was sure Lane didn’t really get it either.
Katrina considered the irony that people have been connected globally by the internet for nearly her whole life. With all the various tools of social media, people now appeared even less connected than ever. Maybe on a board sense, in Apollena’s defense, they were all people. Other than being of the same species it appeared tragically impossible that any other connection could be made to bring humanity together on a scale her sister suggested.
“In simple terms, yes, we’re dating,” Apollena replied with a smile. “She has that reserved librarian charm to her. Smart as a whip, but reserved. Makes me wanna rip all her clothes off in the middle of the reference section, push her up against a shelf and-”
“-No thank you,” Katrina said loudly, but politely while covering her ears.
Luna sighed and inclined her head toward her sister apologetically.
Lane nudged his sister, “But you’re gently trying to get her out of her shell?”
“Gently. Yes, of course,” Apollena replied with a sly smirk.
Katrina frowned. There was no consistency to the many people Apollena had ‘dated’ over the years. Lane definitely had a type; equal parts head strong, courageous, and sweet. Always feminine coded. Ninety percent were red heads of varying length and style. He’d mentioned an incident from when he was younger about a particular girl that had swayed him toward that personality type. Consistency. That’s what Katrina liked most about Lane. In a family where unpredictability was the norm, it was nice to have at least something that stayed the same.
At last, they’d made it to the end of the pier. Ruby’s diner sat on the end with a life sized ceramic statue of the eponymous server caked in seagull shit. A garbled, adolescent voice announced a take out order over the 1950’s pop ballad playing over the speakers. The smell of cooking oil mixed unpleasantly with the salty sea air.
“Let’s sit up top; better view of the dolphins and Catalina,” Lane said.
Katrina and Apollena followed. Their server showed them to their table on the mostly empty rooftop dining area. The view was indeed beautiful. Hardly a cloud in the sky with the summer heat balanced out by the crisp ocean air. They ordered their food and sat in calm silence for a moment. Katrina also greatly appreciate those rare moments with her adopted family. Despite their wildly different personalities, their bond with one another could be at rest without any tension in the silence. Being able to enjoy the quiet was another anchor of peace in a turbulent sea of perpetual change.
Of course, where there was peace, a rogue wave was always bound to strike.
“What nonsense do we have down there?” Lane muttered. He slowly stood up to look at the beach down below.
Katrina did not want to look. Although vocal tone was difficult to decipher when talking to strangers or even acquaintances, she knew Lane well enough to recognize a potential threat to their peaceful afternoon. Just another few seconds of silence would have been nice, but not today…
“Those aren’t lifeguards, are they?” Apollena said leaning over the railing, “Doesn’t look like city police or sheriffs either.”
“I don’t know what idiot agency wears full tactical on a beach,” Lane continued. “I’m gonna make a quick phone call.” Reaching into his vest, Lane opened his flip phone and dialed out while he kept an eye on the platoon marching across the sand.
Katrina finally relented and stood up to witness the potential powder keg for herself. Not including the three black tinted sports utility vehicles crawling across the sand, there were no less than forty men marching in loose formation toward the pier.
“Authentication, 4-5-1-6-0-9, Woods. Yeah, I’ll hold,” Lane waited, and cracked his knuckles in anticipation. His attention snapped from the beach back to the phone, “Sorry to call on my day off, chief. I’m looking at at least four dozen armed officers… Yeah, New Port Beach… Rifles out, that’s correct,” Lane continued to relay the scene to his new boss at the Santa Barbara Coast Guard Station.
Apollena’s grave face hardened as she witnessed the force of armed men begin to herd the peaceful crowds off the beach at gun point. Katrina stood by and witnessed the march continue. All the men were dressed in off mission camouflage, khakis, and mismatched uniform shirts. They were technically in uniform, but not all uniform. The only thing they had in common was an American Flag patch and masks covering the lower half of their faces. Their advancing march suggested they’d had some basic training, but something was just so glaringly out of place about their whole formation the longer she observed.
Namely, what the fuck where they doing on this beach?
“Thank you, chief. I will. Over and out,” Lane closed his flip phone and shoved it back into his vest pocket with all the disdain of a jury duty notice.
“What’s the word?” Apollena asked. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the platoon steadily advancing toward the pier.
“Don’t intervene,” Lane grumbled.
“Okay…” Apollena replied, “…Because they’re supposed to be here…? Are they doing drills or perhaps they got lost on their way to a cosplay convention?”
“No. They’re with F.I.R.E.” Lane growled again. Katrina saw his hands grip the wooden railing and nearly break it in half with the amount of force he applied.
Apollena finally turned to Lane with a sharp look.
Lane sighed and answered, “Federal Immigration and Registration Enforcement. They’re the ‘evolution’ of the former agency President Boon and his Secretary of War is using to hunt for sleeper agents and foreign terrorists.”
“That’s… That’s not a thing,” Katrina said, her mind trying to wrap around Lane’s explanation. He’d said it so matter of factually, but her brother might as well have introduced the government agency created to hunt for the Easter Bunny and all the tooth fairies.
“No, it’s not a thing,” Lane continued, “What that actually translates to is a bunch of men who couldn’t pass any other agencies basic fitness or psych test being fast tracked into Federal service. Then those aggrieved and heavily armed men are armed and sent to silence any dissent against the administration.”
On the beach below, most of the sunbathers who had been minding their own business had mostly grabbed their belongings and ran for the parking lot. Not walked or sauntered. Ran. Katrina’s interest in politics mostly ran parallel to her interest in understanding the subtlety of interpersonal interactions: none at all. She’d concluded after a brief survey there existed a two party system. One of those parties demonized the smallest minority for all the problems within the nation and worked tirelessly to punish them. The other party politely argued against that course of action and did little else. Katrina looked at the sand below to witness the result of federally approved punishment toward a vaguely defined enemy.
“So, we’re just going to finish our lunch and do nothing?” Apollena growled. Unlike Lane’s growl, hers almost always preceded a vicious bite.
Lane threw up his hands, “They’re a federal agency doing their job. It’s a fucking terrible job, but… We interfere, we’re directly acting against the might of the United States Government.”
Apollena rolled her eyes, “And what of our might? Is the authority of Mount St. Michaels a candle or a sun among the void of space?”
“Dearest sister,” Lane said softly, placing a hand on her slender brown shoulder, “Our calling, our power is not ours to wield against a whole nation.”
“What nation? I’m speaking of forty out of shape bullies with guns,” Apollena’s French accent tended to be more pronounced the more furious she became. At this point, she was nearly speaking full Parisian.
“Guns that could do some serious damage in the wrong hands,” Katrina agreed instinctively. She may not have been at the same school when Lane and Luna foiled the active shooters that had held them and hundreds of other students hostage, but the memory was still fresh. She’d nearly lost two siblings that day; another family gone at the hands of armed children.
Lane nodded slowly. He grit his teeth watching the platoon as they continued their march further up the pier directly toward the diner.
“We will disarm and deescalate if needed. We will not engage proactively, understand?” Lane stared hard at Apollena.
Apollena reached out and cupped her twin’s face in her hands…
“Our roots run deep, our bond cannot be unmoored. There is no vow we forsake and no injustice we leave unbalanced. We work towards peace, forevermore.”
With a smile and brief kiss on the lips, she stepped back and turned to watch the platoon continue its advance. Lane let out a heavy sigh then turned to Katrina. not asking for permission, but acknowledgment that they had no intention of sitting on the sidelines.
Katrina shook her platinum blonde bob cut as if trying to dismiss an unwanted idea from her mind. In reality, that gesture usually signaled when she wanted to conjure a good idea into reality; “Lane, it would be prudent to lay down the foundations for disarmament before the FIRE team arrives, yes?”
Lane raised an eyebrow, “Yes?”
Katrina had already grabbed a napkin and sketched out a series of interlocking spell circles. It was far more simple than any alchemical spell she’d previously engineered. Lane stared at the napkin for half a second, then glanced up at the Kirkland Brand Gestapo that was nearly at their doorstep. He looked back up at Katrina and spread a genuine, mischievous, delighted smile; “Make it so. How much time do you need?”
Katrina did not respond. She was already fast at work clearing the patio of the chairs and table to create the spell circles necessary for the coming conflict.
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