Susan Hoffman, Savior of Earth

By Katie Robles

What Susan noticed first was the purse.

Susan always noticed them. She prided herself on having the most unique purse at any event. She had learned early that if she didn’t want to be known as Susan The Deaf Girl, she had to be memorable in some other way. After a few trials of Susan With The Pink Hair and Susan The Sports Fan, she had settled on Susan With The Cool Purse.

They were waiting to cross at the corner of Fourth and Main, and when the light changed, she followed the dark-haired woman and her retro army purse half a block. The woman stopped suddenly and looked at Susan, then at her purse, then at Susan again. Her brow creased. Susan almost laughed. She thinks I’m going to mug her.

The woman walked faster, and Susan hurried to keep up. She needed that purse. It had a big circular depression on the side and a slender chain strap like  Gucci had made a boom box out of canvas. She could wear it with blue jeans, heels, and a white blouse, and she simply had to have it for Tanya’s birthday party next week.

She and her friends used to talk about the Met Gala and cute guys at the Brandy Library, but most of her friends were married now. Domesticity and parenthood dominated all conversations. A few friends were finally learning sign language, though only so their babies could say, “More milk,” and they could respond lovingly “First poop, then park.” Susan was in danger of becoming Susan The Single One unless she managed to show up with a real conversation starter. Like that purse.

The dark-haired woman went into a coffee shop. When Susan entered a minute later, the woman was seated at a corner booth. The purse was on the table.

Susan walked over and smiled. Starting a conversation as a deaf person was always a little awkward. She pulled out her phone and opened her text-to-voice app.

Her phone said, “Hello. I like your purse.”

The woman narrowed her eyes and pulled out her own phone. She took a picture of the words, and Susan saw comprehension dawn as an app translated. A non-English speaker. Maybe that explained the exotic purse.

Susan typed, and her phone said, “Where are you from?”

The woman’s eyes grew wide, then her brows dove in on each other, and she lunged forward and pinched Susan’s arm. Susan stumbled back and clutched her arm to her chest. Where the woman had pinched her was a small puncture wound.

No, thought Susan as her body grew heavy. Not pinched. Injected.

Susan woke to a stabbing pain behind her eyes. She tried to press her hand to her forehead, but her hands were tied to the chair beneath her. She strained frantically against the ropes until a wave of nausea rose, forcing her to be still.

The dark-haired woman stood before her with her phone and her purse.

Susan sucked in a shaky breath. The air tasted of damp concrete. Forget the purse; she would be Susan The Kidnapped One from now on.

The woman held up the phone. On the screen, the words, “Are you human female?” lit up one at a time. Susan nodded yes.

The woman placed the purse on the ground and pushed a button. Susan’s heart pounded against her ribs. She waited for pain or death, but all she felt was pressure in her eardrum.

The woman waited until a light on the purse turned green, then held up the phone. “Will you obey?”

Susan shook her head. Obey who?

The woman frowned and pushed the button. She typed and the phone asked, “Do you feel discomfort?”

Susan shook her head. She was terrified, but she didn’t think it wise to complain. Perhaps the pressure she felt in her eardrum would have been uncomfortable for a hearing person, but she felt fine.

The woman waited for green and asked again. “Will you obey?”

Susan shook her head again. The woman squashed the purse’s buttons with her finger and Susan found herself wanting to suggest that she turn it off and then on again.

The woman set the purse on Susan’s lap and tried again.

After the fourth attempt, a man descended a set of stairs that Susan hadn’t noticed in the dim light. The woman dropped her phone on the purse and went to talk with him. He, too, adjusted the purse, pushed the button, and watched Susan carefully.

When she answered again that, no, she would not obey, the two began to argue. The woman stomped her foot, and the man’s hands jabbed the air. The phone on Susan’s lap tried to translate, but it did so only partially, showing absolute gibberish with a few scattered words she recognized: cochlear… test subject… failure to achieve compulsory obedience… call off invasion.

Finally, the woman stopped shouting and crossed her arms. The man strode to the wall and—to Susan’s surprise—punched it. The wall shimmered and glowed. Without another glance at her, the couple stepped through the portal, leaving her alone.

Susan looked down at the purse on her lap and laughed until her cheeks hurt. Now this would be a conversation starter.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katie Robles writes about hilarious weight loss in her book Sex, Soup, and Two Fisted Eating. She dreams up stories about cognizant plants and tiny fairies while working in her garden.

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