The True Meaning of Smekday

“I didn’t tell you to write that,” I answered, and then I could see the whole thing. “Have you been telling everyone to look for a black woman this whole time?”

He had. The bureau had been sending out what they thought was Mom’s description, while the Lost List had been asking for a Lucy Tucci with a daughter named Gratuity.

Mitch tried to brush past it, and turned to Phil. “Where did you say she was?”

“Word is she’s living with a group in some place called the Diamond Sun Casino.”

“Diamond Sun…” said Mitch as he trailed his finger down a list of place names. I could tell he was trying hard to seem official, but his list was written on the back of a RavioliOs label. “Diamond…Diamond…here! Here it is. Diamond Sun Casino. Well, it’s in Daniel Landry’s district! Lucky you.”

“Daniel Landry?” I said. “Is that the guy who gave the talk I didn’t go to?”

“Sure. He’s the overseer there.”

“Overseer.”

Mitch nodded. “Mmm-hmm. You know, like the governor. Or mayor. I don’t know what he likes to be called. The leader of Ajo insists everyone call him King Awesome.”

“So every place has some kind of leader?” I asked. It had all happened so fast.

“Sure. Most of them are former state governors, or senators, or whatever. The president runs a little town called Rye.”

“Just a little town?”

“Yes…” said Mitch. “He’s not very popular anymore, because of the invasion. People assume it was his fault somehow. But we have to have leaders. We have to have government.”

“I guess,” I said.

“Daniel Landry’s district is far south of here,” he said, “on some former Indian land.”

“Indian land? Like a reservation?”

“That’s right.”

“Is this Dan guy an Indian?”

“I don’t think so, no. I’m pretty sure he’s white. He wasn’t a governor or anything before, but he’s really rich, so I imagine he’s a good leader.”

“Uh-huh. But he’s white,” I said. “The Indians elected a white guy?”

“Well…I don’t know. I imagine all the other people elected him. It’s mostly white folks living on the reservation now.”

I frowned. “And the Indians are okay with this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…it was a reservation,” I said. “It was land we promised to the Native Americans. Forever.”

Mitch looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. “But…we needed it,” he said.

I ran to a wall map. I didn’t care. I couldn’t leave fast enough.

“Sooo,” I said, “I take this road…seventeen? And then change to ten in Phoenix?”

“Mmmm. I don’t think you want to go through there. Phoenix is a bit…rough.”

“Rough?”

“Lawless,” Mitch said, “with violence and looting and so on. The government there gets overthrown every few days.”

“Fine. We’ll go around. We’ll go through the desert, I don’t care,” I chirped. “Thanks, Phil! Thanks, Mitch! J.Lo! We’re going!”

“Coming!” said J.Lo, grabbing a bottle of Wite-Out for the road.

“J.Lo?” said Mitch. “Wait! You can’t go by yourself!”

Or at least that’s what I think he said. We were so gone.

“Am I happy to have that sheet off,” said J.Lo for the third time. “Yes I am.”

“You might want to try to get used to it,” I said. “I think you’re gonna have to wear it for a while.”

He was making me nervous. Anyone could see us on the road. And Mitch had been right about Phoenix.

Even on the outskirts I could tell it was trouble. Gunfire sounded off like popcorn. Tires screeched in the distance. Someone somewhere was listening to Foghat really loud. I was raised to believe that cities like this one got visits from angels with flaming swords, so I was glad to be avoiding it.

There wasn’t much south of Phoenix. There was a town called Casa Grande that looked to be mostly outlet stores and tents. Somewhere around Dirt Farm, Arizona, we could see ostriches wandering around the sides of the highway.

“Mah! Big bird!” shouted J.Lo.

“We are not stopping,” I said. “I don’t care if there are ostriches, I don’t care if I don’t understand why there are ostriches. Someone can explain it to me later, we are not stopping.”

We were near Tucson now, and my heart was buzzing in my chest. Two glowing Boov ships whizzed overhead, and somewhere in the desert to the west came a very loud and bright explosion. All this seemed totally appropriate to me—I was excited beyond words and my insides felt like that part in the 1812 Overture when all the cannons go off.

But this is what I also thought as I watched the waves of trash crash over the cracked and broken road: that for the rest of us, Arizona would always be one of our places now. It would be on the list of things we own in our heads. Don’t we all have this list? It’s like, everything that secretly belongs to us—a favorite color, or springtime, or a house we don’t live in anymore. We all gained Arizona by coming here, but for the people who already lived here, we could only take something away. I expected to return home to Pennsylvania one day as if I’d only stepped out for a fire drill. It would still be mine. But we’d turned Arizona into a motel room. It was our unmade bed.

“Look out!” J.Lo screeched.

I swerved just in time to avoid a line of Gorg on foot, carrying rifles. One of them barked something in his own language, and thumped his chest.

“SEG FOY S’XAFFEF, LU F’GUBIQ YAZWI!”

“What was that all about?” I whispered.

“He said, ‘Get some glasses, you stupid monkey.’”

“No, I mean, why so many Gorg around? In our own state. They’re everywhere.”

“Four miles to go,” said J.Lo, noting a sign. He knew his numbers now, at least, and his directions. “Lots of fighting outo the southwest. The last huzzah for the Boov.”

“You think so?”

“I know this is so. Is almost over now.”

I was barely listening. I was only talking to distract myself. I felt a chill as I suddenly saw a billboard for the Diamond Sun Casino, next exit, right two miles.

“What did that say?” asked J.Lo.