The Slow Transformation of Oliver Sanderson

by libertydude


Bring Out Your Dead

The rest of the evening followed the cautious decorum every argument in the family always did. Everybody tiptoed around one another, fully aware something would go wrong the second somebody began to talk. Summer excused herself for the remaining daylight hours, disappearing within her room and leaving us all to read our respective laptops and phones in awkward silence.

Dinner happened right on schedule. The same glances and eyes on the plates where once plenty of chatter followed, as per tradition. Summer again excused herself and wandered out into the night. A part of me wanted to ask if it was safe to be out on the streets at night, but a vestige of anger kept me from voicing any concerns. For all I cared, running into a crackhead or a brand new riot would be a good character building exercise.

I volunteered to load the dishes once our meal concluded. The best way back into the Sanderson clan’s good graces is doing something useful, no matter how small. For a few minutes, I rinsed out the gravy stains and ketchup marks in peace. Nothing but the running sink and the occasional car outside accompanied my scrubbing. I couldn’t complain; post-argument silences provided the most peaceful times in my life.

I was just polishing off the last fork when I heard Nell’s cane thumping across the floor. Her haggard face stared at me, my body still leaning over the sink and water splashing upon my thin arms.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I replied. My eyes returned to the fork and scrubbed the mashed potatoes still stuck in the slots.

“Heard you and Summer got into a little scuffle.”

Heh. Only in this family would telling someone to fuck themselves be called a ‘scuffle’. “A heated exchange of opinions. That’s what I'd call it,” I said.

“Well, Summer gets the distinct impression you’re angry with her.”

The faucet water flowed down the drain uninterrupted. “I am.”

“Why?”

I flipped the faucet off. “You need to ask?”

“I used to be a therapist, Oliver. Unless you’ve got paperwork and a medical history form for me, how am I supposed to know what’s bugging you?”

I shook my head. “Don’t play this ‘I-Don’t-Know-If-You-Don’t-Tell-Me’ game. You know damn well.”

“Just because things will be changing soon doesn’t mean you have to take your anger out on everybody else.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Sit back and enjoy as we get swept away? Stand by while ponies like her dip into our history and culture like it’s some kind of amusement park?”

“Some minorities might say the same thing about us Americans.”

“You’re right. I remember when the slave traders turned Africans into completely different biological creatures.”

“Just…” She closed her eyes. “Just remember that this is as difficult for them as it is for us.”

“Yeah, controlling a world currency and getting an entire new extension of their race. Sounds like a real drag.”

“They lost their home to that...thing. How would you go about it?”

“I’d have a little more respect for my hosts.”

“Oliver…” She hobbled over and put a hand on my shoulder. I wanted to pull away, but even I wasn’t going to jerk a crippled woman around. “Do you know why I took in Summer?”

I shrugged. “You like exotic people. Or ponies. Whatever.”

“Yes, I like exotic people. I like acclimating them to our society and learning what’s going on in their perspective.”

“A noble goal. Doesn’t mean its noble all the time.”

“But there was another reason. A reason I thought you would’ve put together now, but I guess I put too much trust in your powers of observation.” I shot her an angry look, but she didn’t skip a beat. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Who does?”

“I’m serious. I'm not an idiot. I know you want to be here about as much as a mouse in a trap. I get it, you’ve got things you want to do back in Florida. This will only happen once, and if you’re going to do it, do it somewhere you love.” She motioned toward the living room. “That’s why I took in Summer. She taught me about Equestrian culture. Helped with chores around the house when my legs became too weak.”

“Then what do you need us around for?” The words held more sting to them than I thought they would. “Isn’t this supposed to be an easy process?”

She looked at the ground, silent. “Oliver, have you been reading about the people changed over in Asia and Europe?”

“Not really.”

“Well, there have been reports that people have been healed of diseases when they change. Genetic disorders, chronic illnesses, you name it. And me, well…” She wiggled her cane. “...I don’t find that too bad a deal.”

“Sure.”

“But something else I’ve been hearing is that some people…” The cane shook a little under her weight. “Some people don’t make it.”

For a few moments, a car horn was the only sound in the night. I only stared at Nell, who now seemed smaller.

“What?” I said.

She nodded her head. “I’ve heard the elderly, young children, even people with neurological disorders don’t make it. They just…die. Their bodies can’t take the strain, and they flop dead the second they transform.”

I shook my head. “No. No way. They’d be reporting this, telling everybody to go to a hospital.”

The concern in my voice seemed to soften her gaze somewhat, and she shrugged. “Maybe. But would you put it past the government to hide that? To stop mass panic and calls for certain people to be moved before the Wave hits them? Hell, they can barely keep things together as is.”

I didn’t want to consider it. I hated the Conversion, all aspects of it. But thousands, maybe millions dying by the end of it? Was it really possible?

“The reports might be exaggerating,” I said. “Playing things up so that people are ready for the Wave. Besides, how can anyone prove these claims? Half of Europe and all of Asia are still offline.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe.” But looking into her eyes, now shimmering in the dim kitchen light, I knew my words meant nothing to her.

In her eyes, she would die tomorrow.

I noticed the cane shook harder and soon began to lean far to the side. I grabbed Nell under her arms and lifted her up as the cane fell away. The force sent her falling into my arms, and she grabbed at my back in desperation. I thought it was her trying to push herself back upright, but I realized she was just clawing for something to hug. The sobs soon reached my ears, and her tears began to stream down the back of my shirt.

“Shit, I’m so scared,” she said. “Goddamn, I’ve never been so scared in my life. Not even when they first told me I had this.”

I nodded.

“Shit. Shit.” This became her mantra for the next few minutes, and me as her unexpected comfort pillow. But I took it, putting my arms around her and tapping her back with gentle pats. Intoxicated vagabonds shouted from the street and the ketchup sticking to the sink’s sides floating a sweet smell through the air. But they all felt far away, some distant things beyond the two of us and the hell we lived in.

“Whatever happens next,” Nell said, her sobs eventually slowing down enough to allow understandable speech. “Promise me you’ll at least talk to Summer. I don’t want you to be friends or pen pals, but just please don’t leave Portland hating her.”

And as I felt her trembling in my arms, I couldn’t help but stare out into the empty living room, with its foldout couch and kitsch artwork stretching along the walls. I wanted to say something, anything. Just a witty comment about how the ponies couldn’t knock Nell off that easy. Even a quick reassurance about how this was all just a brutal misunderstanding, that everybody would be alive and happy when everything was done.

But I could only say the truth: “I promise.”