“The 53rd State”
“State your full name.” The BLUE tour bus conductor raised his receiver wand.
Momentarily mesmerized by his striking looks, I found my reason for revolution in his dark brown eyes and smooth copper skin, a dominant trait of Subcontinental people.
I assumed he was Sri Lankan, of that influential faction rising to prominence in banning GMOs world-wide, part of the mass international migration of the Great Secession. That was long ago when the 51st state of Organica was formed in solidarity to eat 100% organic foods and reproduce naturally.
His presence among the current Humanist leadership, now forming the 53rd state of New Humanna to regenerate original ideals of life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness, was idealistically reassuring to me.
I suspected his diversity was intended to be off-putting to a bus filled with look-alike BLUE models, attempting their escape from the 52nd state of Genomia; my home, where eating was rendered systematic and genetic engineering was the way of life.
I was determined to change.
Cultivated from conception as a BLUE model, I was in the final stages of basic training required to dissent. I needed to trust my instincts and learn to interact with others different from myself as a Humanist Pilgrim seeking admission into the 53rd state.
“Papaya Marjoram BLUE.” I croaked into his device, trusting voice recognition would verify positively despite my raspy resonance.
My throat was raw from two previous days spent fighting my gag reflex by drinking applesauce and training my virgin throat to swallow solid bits of bread in preparation to eat real food on the Taste Test portion of this Sensory Experience tour.
The permanent stomach feeding tube I depended on from birth for daily intake of prescribed nutrition was removed on Tuesday. Control shifted to me; a scary, yet exhilarating feeling for a BLUE model unused to choice.
I felt ready to choose for myself now.
A green arrow illuminated on the conductor’s smart wand, indicating my access authorization was complete.
“Climb aboard and take your assigned seat.” He scanned my boarding pass for seat 42 and issued me VR headgear with earpiece inserts.
“Should I put them on?” I asked.
“Follow instructions. Did I say to put the headset on?”
“No.” I felt slapped.
“Do as I say.” He commanded.
I knew I had to watch my step.
Civil disobedience as a BLUE declaring myself a Humanist secured my acceptance into the Pilgrim Program, but this same trait could easily disqualify me, just as it had permanently severed my ties to home.
It required courage to make such a bitter break and leap of faith.
My parent monitors had been served my defection papers, ending their Genomian lineage as an epic fail. My BLUE design model would be discontinued, pending detailed analysis of what caused its malfunction.
As I walked 10 rows back to my assigned seat, I passed matching sets of blond heads and blue eyes gazing forward. It was no surprise these other BLUE passengers looked familiar as mirror images.
All Genomian BLUE exiles on this BLUE tour bus, we shared a Fortune-500 genetic make-up, just as GOLD models were designed as athletes, REDs as scholars, and INDIGOs as artists.
Each conceived from the same BLUE model, we were individual brothers and sisters that had never met. Yet, we would be transplanted as pairs into the 53rd state.
Experimentation had shown that carefully matched genetically-engineered cross-gender pairs working together as a unit acclimated more quickly to strange surroundings and supported one another in achieving initial goals of the Pilgrim Program.
I was eager to encounter my closest cross-gender match.
The male already settled into seat 41 was a brown-eyed BLUE—a recessive mutant.
I was thrilled!
That he was genetically my brother but appeared so different reinforced some innovative characteristic in me and filled my mind with diverse possibilities.
We sat in silence, staring at identical screens attached to the seat backs before us.
QUIET PLEASE.
AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION.
A bit concerned he would find me ordinary to look at, I initiated a quiet demonstration.
Placing my lips against his right ear, I whispered, “Yesterday, did you prefer touching to being touched?”
Pressing his lips to my left ear, he replied, “I liked both.”
To show I was an extraordinary BLUE inside, I reached for his hand and squeezed. He squeezed back and held on.
We had our kindred connection.
It took 20 minutes more to load the tour bus completely.
Our screens displayed new instructions:
FASTEN SEATBELT.
PUT ON HEADSET AND ACTIVATE.
I felt the tour bus lurch forward as the VR played a multimedia profile of my partner: Mango Terragon BLUE. The on-screen counselor explained our common alleles and how each BLUE trait had manifested in him in comparison to me.
The program concluded with an instruction to remove my headset. Timing was perfect. Mango was removing his headset at the same time.
The tour bus was stopped.
Our screen displayed new instructions:
PROCEED TO STOP #2: BAKERY.
PLEASE EXIT AND SHARE A CINNAMON ROLL.
I smiled and licked my lips, remembering how the cinnamon roll sample provoked my strongest electrocardiogram reaction in the SMELL session of tour. Our partnership was solidified when its sweet aroma attracted Mango, too.
“A taste of cinnamon it is!” I proclaimed.
“It seems we will become bakers.” he nodded.
“Only if we eat our cinnamon roll.”
“Aren’t you feeling hungry, Papaya?”
“I’m not sure what hunger feels like.”
“Just as I’m not sure what a cinnamon roll tastes like.”
“If it tastes as good as it smells, I don’t think one will satisfy both of us.”
“Then we should each have our own. Sharing doesn’t mean splitting.”
I was pleased he already sensed what I wanted.
“We are two like heads, Mango. Better than one.”
“Just as two cinnamon rolls could be.” He reached for my hand.
“It could be.” I grasped on.
We exited the tour bus and walked toward the bakery to take our final test together.
A Blog of My Own by Patti 