"Only Delayed" by Taylor Napolsky

Only Delayed

Stand there. Watching the monitor that lined the wall facing her. What is it Warhol said? Esteli thought to herself. That . . . that . . . (she tried to think of it, as close to accurately as possible) . . . that in the future the museums would be department stores and the department stores would be museums. That was about it; something like it at any rate.
What a thing to say, Esteli considered. It took her breath away, when she assessed that whole . . . prediction, she supposed it was. A famous prediction gets made, and what does that accomplish?
She was underground. This was what she knew. A hole had opened in the cement, in the concrete . . . there’s a difference between cement and concrete but she wasn’t sure either way; so whatever she had been walking on, that surface had dropped out beneath her, thus inverting her world somewhat, thus sending her on a declining slide that took her she didn’t know how many feet.
The city above her and in front of her in this underground space was just . . . the monitor. It showed an image of the front of Nordstrom. The massive retail store. A physical location. Brick and mortar they call it. It was like — appeared to be — a resting camera documenting the visuals presented behind the display glass, and a gender neutral voice, sounding like Alexa or Siri or any given tech company’s chosen computer assistant, coming out of speakers on the sides of the monitor saying, “Is this what you want?”
“Is this what you want? Do you want this?” it repeated after a pause. Then another interval of silence, and it would start over with the same questions.
After more silence from Esteli, “What do you want?” it asked.
“Um, I want . . .” She looked down at herself.
“Yes?” said the speakers.
She particularly liked the outfit she had on — a slick, recycled plastic raincoat and an elegant, knee-length bubble skirt along with leggings that stuck to her like a second skin.
The voice said a second time, “What do you want?”
“I want —” hesitating, deliberating “— out of here,” she announced.
“How do you want to, or expect to, get out of here?” said the monitor.
“Um, give me a —” and something popped into her head — “a ladder out of here.”
Pedestrians walked by the display front in a continuous stream, the foot traffic crowded enough that it was clearly midday. Above the display case, scaffolding jutted outward spikily, totally utilitarian and not at all built for aesthetics; it was in complete discord from the carefully composed design presentation on street level.
“I’m sorry, that’s the wrong answer.”
Esteli didn’t say anything back to this. It wasn’t until the voice began to ask what she wanted yet again that she cut in — “What then? What am I supposed to ask for?” — she said in frustration.
It was ridiculous, this whole scenario. Ridiculous, but she wasn’t scared. She was impatient, yes. Vexed too. But too focused on getting out of there to be frightened. Rather, she had in her head all along this image of being able to get out — to climb out.
“You know the correct answer,” came the voice from the monitor. “You have it in your head.”
“How do you know what’s in my head?” Esteli demanded to know.
“Well . . . ” A silent couple of seconds. “ . . . anyone would have it. It’s only natural, as it’s a popular story. A very popular story, coming from the Bible. From the Old Testament?”
“So that’s a clue then,” Esteli said.
“Old Testament,” came the voice. “Think Moses.”
She remarked that it was narrowed down even more now.
//
So she thought about it, determined to come up with the answer. People kept passing by on the sidewalk, oblivious to her predicament — obviously . . . why should they know about her there, underground? — watching straight ahead, in the direction they were going or over to their friends beside them, who they were walking and chatting with.
After a bunch of time deliberating it, Esteli asked, “I have unlimited guesses, right? It’s not like I’m going to get cut off?”
“Unlimited,” came the answer.
“There actually is a ladder in the Old Testament,” she mentioned then, “a really popular ladder.”
“The answer isn’t a ladder,” came the reply.
“A snake then,” she said flatly. “Send me a snake.”
At once a panel along the floor, which Esteli hadn’t noticed until that moment, opened. Esteli started. She jumped back, right as a fabulously gorgeous snake emerged from the opening, brown, with a central stripe dashed down its body, and this was bordered by rows of black spots. “Oh shit,” Esteli said in a hushed voice, as the reptile moved toward her — though not at a speedy, intimidating pace exactly, just a languid, laidback movement — and she watched it closely, waiting for it, hoping what she needed to happen would actually take place.
“You remembered the story,” said the monitor voice, “and you have it in your head what should come next. And it does come next” — then holding a pause for a split second — “now.”
At once, the snake stopped slithering toward her. Seconds later, the animal’s body underwent a transformation, turned to a rod, apparently hard as steel.
Tentatively, Esteli approached it.
“You know what to do,” the voice was saying. She leaned down, picking it up —this solid, heavy object that had been a snake — off the smooth floor. She scoured the place punctiliously, searching for any areas that might be an off color, or cracked, or anything that could indicate a flaw in the structure. When she noticed it, she went right up to it. “You know what to do,” the voice repeated. “You know what you want,” and she swung at this spot with what now was — had become — a kind of weapon, striking it with all the force she could muster. Right away the wall gave in — collapsed, crumbling flimsily, uselessly, and how, Esteli wondered, how could it be expected to contain anyone, when it was as poorly built as all that? Deceptively restrictive, artificially suffocating?
“This is what you want,” intoned the plain, android-like voice, “You want that. You want that,” like a dull, yet oddly enticing, video-game character that has screwed itself up, gone berserk, doomed to give the same reminder over and over ad infinitum, as Esteli stepped into what was a tunnel, the floor going into an incline, up and up, to what she felt sure — entirely, confidently certain — would be some sort of trapdoor that would bring her above ground and into the late afternoon sun. “You want that,” it said, like a dull, uncomfortable enticing.

taylor napolsky

Taylor Napolsky has a novel coming in 2022 with Unsolicited Press. Their work has appeared in The Lindenwood Review, Lunate, and other journals. Visit them online at taylornapolsky.com.

Headshot: Robert McKay

Photo Credit: Staff