Happyglasses

by Edd

Nathalie lives in the same apartment building and works at the same office as Odette and Michèle. All she knows of them is their names.

Odette wears riskyspex most of the day. She tightrope walks across intersections, dodges computer-generated avalanches, battles pirates down city sidewalks. She arrives at work exhilarated.

Michèle prefers busylenses. They deliver emails and rss feeds. The sides of buildings become spreadsheets and letterhead for her invoices. The journey is just an extension of her job.

Nathalie puts on happyglasses first thing. An overlay of singing bluebirds and bobbing balloons is just what she needs. If she is about to walk into a tree or building they will direct her around the danger.

(It’s just as well cars drive themselves. All the drivers are wearing glasses of one kind or another.)

Nathalie goes to a new café for lunch. Animated vegetables blur around the edges, pixelate, then blink out altogether. An announcement whispers over her earpieces.

“This café is a no-augment zone. Please enjoy the company of your fellow patrons.”

Her happyglasses are transparent for the first time in, well, ever. Nathalie looks around, discombobulated. She bumps into a chair, and pauses. This would not have happened if her glasses were working.

She turns, about to leave, when she sees the two other diners. Odette sits in a corner, keeping a wary eye on Michèle, on Nathalie, on the waiter, out the window, then back to Michèle, who is drawing something complicated on a napkin. When Nathalie walks to an empty table she sees it appears to be a production schedule.

Salad. Sandwich. Nathalie is eating a last sliver of carrot when the other two rise to leave. None of them have said a word beyond ordering. “Wait,” she calls.

Odette spins. Michèle turns more slowly, looking up from the napkin she still carries.

“Let’s walk back together,” says Nathalie. “It could be fun to talk.”

“Why?” says Odette, backing toward the exit. Her glasses opaque as she stands in the doorway. She spins, dodging imaginary projectiles, and darts down the sidewalk.

Michèle just glances at Nathalie, then shakes her head slowly and leaves. Once outside, she moves numbers here and there with practiced fingers.

Nathalie looks around at the empty café. She has never felt lonely before. She pays, and leaves.

When the waiter cleans her table, he finds the glasses she has left behind.