My name is Jeremy Shim. I moved out here for film school. It wasn’t really where I thought I’d be, but it’s a nice town and I had some good friends. Unfortunately, Bryce and Tyler moved home. They said it didn’t make sense to keep living out here if they couldn’t get an industry job.
That hasn’t stopped me. Right now, there aren’t any film jobs, at least not for me, even though I won a laurel at the school’s art show and the city film festival. I just didn’t have the right connections, but I was going to show up one day with something that blew them all away. Just as soon as I figure out what.
My bio says I’m a professional storyteller, but that’s a lie I tell myself. I’m 84,000 dollars in debt and I work at a gas station, even though I did everything right.
At least Driving Mart isn’t so bad. It’s an independent station with a bunch extra, including a fast-food counter and a section with bongs and camping gear. There were tourists coming to the lakes, going to the woods, locals getting beer and snacks, college kids hanging out for the fries. Not a bad place for a people watcher, even though being a cashier feels invisible. Most people don’t even notice I’m a person, just some thing that scans and grabs cigarettes. I don’t blame them. We all need to get through the day, but it would be nice if something worth remembering happened. I don’t even remember the last kid, except his Blast Energy and two Slim Jims.
I look up from the pile of snacks three kids are buying when the door chimes and I see an absolute babe walk in with a pink fluffy in a baby carrier. She’s got long brown legs, faded daisy dukes, and an ass you could balance a can on. I get back to scanning and finish the kid’s purchase. They paid with $9.28 in loose change, then pulled out a twenty that would have covered the whole transaction. Bastards wanted to empty the coin jar on me.
I look down the chip aisle at the girl and her fluffy. She’s wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons open so you could see her collar bones, but the loose fabric and baby carrier prevents me from seeing her chest. Not that I needed to, with a butt like hers. The fluffy is engaging too, flailing at a pom-pom on a spring, purple eyes huge with excitement. The spring protrudes from the carrier right in the middle of its legs, but the pom-pom is too far away to catch, so it just wobbles wildly as the fluffy squirms to reach it.
“Mumma, mummah, Bewweh got da baww, Bewweh got it, got da baww,” the fluffy chirrups at her beautiful owner as she opens the cooler to grab a pack of Absolutely Hard Seltzer.
“No you didn’t,” the girl teases in gentle tones, “I was watching you, you were close. Berry close. But you didn’t get the ball.”
She closes the cooler and approaches as the fluffy persists, “nu, nu, Bewweh win, got da baww win pwizie tweaties”
She ruffles the mare’s green mane and says, “You only get prize treats if you actually catch the ball and hold on. You’ve done it before, remember? I can’t believe I still have to explain the rules to you.”
It’s nice to hear her speaking normally. So many people are reduced to baby talk around fluffies, even though they clearly understand normal speech just fine. Your buddy Chris had a fluffy named Chumlee in high school, and he taught him to get over the lisp, mostly. Chris had a lisp growing up, so I think he felt some connection with the biotoy.
The girl grabs some snacks and makes it to my counter, Berry absently swings hooves at the ball on a spring until her owner plonks down the seltzer and snacks.
“Hey,” she says, and I meet the girl’s rich, dark eyes, slanted and round at the same time under thick lashes. She’s gorgeous, broad nose and full lips and startling white teeth. I look down and smile a little too late for it to not be bashful. I scan the snacks and say “Hello” too.
“Hewwo Mistah, fwuffy am Bewwy!” She sounds so excited to meet me. I’m just a cashier, but this fluffy sees me as an individual even though humans don’t.
Ah shit. It looks like I addressed the toy, not the girl.
“Hi Berry, I’m Jeremy,” I say, before meeting the girl’s eyes again, “nice to meet you. Berry is very well behaved, most of the fluffies go wild as soon as they see the treats when they walk in”
I freeze. Berry goes very still and I brace for a howling, whining fluffy, but she looks up at her owner and asks “Pwease?”
She shakes her head and addresses me. “I’m Ashley, and Berry is a Berry good girl,” the fluffy giggles and goes back to the spring, “Are you new here? I thought I knew everyone.”
“Normally I just take night shifts, but since school ended…” I trail off. I wanted to be in Toronto by now. It was the golden age of television, getting a show was a bigger deal than a movie, and it brought better long-term employment. I was here though, talking to a babe, and that’s what mattered.
She says, “We’ve been coming down to the Fluffpark every Saturday for a while now. Hopefully I see you next time?”
My palms sweat. I grab a pen and jot my number on the back of the receipt. “Now I’m easy to find.”
She takes it and smiles, then wiggles one of Berry’s legs to wave bye.
I ring up the next customer and think about that smile.
It’s less than ten minutes before I get a text from a new number. It’s a selfie from Ashley at the park, with the fluffy carrier off. She’s wearing a sporty swim top under the shirt, and it’s unbuttoned down to her toned belly. She’s holding Berry in the arm that’s not taking the picture. A stupendous start.
We text for the next hour of my shift, and she asks me if I’d like to meet her at the park when I’m done. It’s only an hour away, and it flies by. I don’t even mind the frat bro who can’t figure out which vapes he wants to buy, I’m so excited. I haven’t been on a date since junior year, when I ran out of time for other people and had to break it off with a good girl. I still miss Rosa a little, but last I heard she was doing well.
I buy some fluffy spaghetti in a peel top cup for Berry, since I felt bad about getting her hopes up about a treat.
After work I change out of the gas station t-shirt in the alley and put on a thrifted Hawaiian shirt. It’s summer and the sun is sweltering, but the Fluffpark is only a ten minute walk away. It’s fenced in tight, and the way in is a rotating tube that only opens one side at a time. Can’t let the fluffies get loose. Everything is painted in bright colors, from the picnic tables to the playground equipment. Ashley’s sitting on a bench not too far from the entrance, engrossed in a book. As I get closer, I see it’s a medical text, a diagram of a brain taking up the left page.
“Hey,” I say, wanting to announce myself before I get too close. She looks up and grins back at me.
“Hey, I wondered when you’d get here. Want a seltzer?”
I take the offered can and sit down on the bench.
“I brought a treat to make up for earlier. I didn’t want Berry harassing you because of something I said.”
I give her the plastic spaghetti cup and she starts laughing.
“What did I do? I thought fluffies loved spaghetti.”
“They do,” she says through laughter, “but this is Sleepy Sketti. It knocks them out for long car rides or fireworks nights. Makes sense you’d have it at a gas station.”
I chuckle. The display had the same image of a fluffy pony sleeping on a pile of spaghetti that the cup has, but I hadn’t thought too much about it.
“Besides, Berry doesn’t whine. That catch the ball game on the fluffy carrier is rigged so she can’t win unless I pull a string that compresses the spring. She’ll agree to do anything based on that bet, since I let her win so often over minor things.”
I’m awed. “That’s incredible. A fluffy that doesn’t whine sounds like a myth.”
She shakes her head, “It’s not even hard, you just need to be careful with the training and treat them as rational actors. Fluffies are like little kids-they break rules if the rules are arbitrary or hard to understand, but if you actually explain them and take the time to teach the biotoy, they’re far better than a dog. I mean, they ask questions!”
“I get that. My buddy Chris practically cured Chumlee’s lisp, even though he never really stopped talking fluffspeak.”
“Is he near here?” Ashley asks, excited.
“No, he died last year. Lived eight happy years though. Chris was really broken up.”
“Shame, I would have loved to meet him. I’m trying to develop a program to teach fluffies. They come out of the womb smarter than almost any other baby, but then they stagnate in the first month. They fucking talk, and yet I can’t teach them how to tell time. It’s frustrating.”
And like that, the date’s on. You skip the small talk, the easy stuff that you find out from MySpace. She’s brilliant, and gorgeous, and she likes movies. It’s going too well, really.
I open my backpack and pull out a padded zipper case.
“Do you smoke?”
She nods enthusiastically. “My dad’s Rastafarian, grows the loudest weed in Celeryville.”
“Celeryville? Where’s that?” I ask.
“Huron county. It’s tiny, I doubt you know it.”
“Should we go in the trees or something?”
“Yeah, let’s,” she says, and we smoke in the shade of a huge oak tree, on these grounds long before the Fluffpark. We laugh and laugh at the picnic table as she tells me about her research and watching Berry play on the seesaw, carefully fenced in so fluffies couldn’t fall off or crawl under the seats.
A heavy metal ringtone plays from her bag, and she pulls out a phone and cusses.
“Hey, I’ve got to go. I’m working on some final edits on a neurochem paper with the rest of the group tonight, but you’ve got my number. Hope to see you again?”
“Definitely.”
She calls for Berry, who bounces towards you as fast as she can, round body heaving and stubby legs churning a brisk walk.
“Hey sweetie, we’ve got to go. Say bye to Jeremy.”
Berry flops onto her butt and wiggles her forelegs. “Wan uppies,” she says.
I pick her up – so light, so soft! And I am not prepared for her hug, wrapping two little legs around my neck.
Ashley gently pries her off, but before she lets go Berry says “wuv Jewemy.”
I don’t even realize it, but I decided while watching her, and now there’s no going back. I’m getting a fluffy on my way home.
Ashley straps Berry into the carrier and she immediately starts batting at the spring again, no cares in the world. Ashley turns to walk away, then pivots and takes two fast steps to peck me on the cheek. I blush beet red and can feel my ears getting hot.
“Cute,” she says, then leaves for real.
Yahoo Maps shows the nearest FluffMart is only about a twenty-minute walk away, so I get going. I put in a podcast and the sidewalk disappears beneath my feet, my head filled with a discussion about digital color correction.
I see it as soon as I turn the corner, a pastel yellow façade with big pink letters on the awning reading FluffMart. My heart starts to race when I get close enough to make out individual fluffies in the window. One of them will be my new friend, and good lord I need one. Bryce and Tyler still text every day, but it just isn’t the same.
I breathe deep and straighten up a little before I open the door. This is it.
Inside, the store is lit with warm white light and filled with the cheeps of babies and the little voices of older fluffies. There’s a pen against the windows on either side of the door. I step out of the way and watch them for a moment. In a beam of light there’s a little fluffpile with green, blue, and orange fluffies sleeping happily. Four more push a ball between them, and three are sitting against the inside glass, watching something. I follow the gaze of a little pink guy with yellow mane who sits on his back legs, head against the glass, jaw open slightly. He’s staring at a cardboard cutout of a unicorn holding a TV in its hooves that plays a program with the same unicorn starring in it. I watch him for about a minute before an employee walks over and asks, “What can I help you with today?”
I look up at him for the first time, an older teen in a sky blue vest and a nametag that reads “Kyle.”
“Hey Kyle,” I say, meeting his droopy, bloodshot eyes. This is a good sign. People who are stoned at work aren’t going to upsell you on every little thing. “Taking it easy?” I ask, miming a hit off a joint. I want him to know that I know.
His lopsided smile disappears, and he tries to look more awake before saying, “Uhh no, very busy, sir.”
I look around the store. There are three other employees who all look bored, and one older woman comparing kibble.
“Well, is it good weed at least? Mine’s top shelf.”
“Yeah, great for focus and it takes the edge off, so I don’t get annoyed. These things are so funny but sometimes a few dozen fluffy voices is just too much.”
“Here’s the thing, Kyle. I won’t tell the manager you’re high at work if you don’t try to sell me commission.”
He smiles again, “No worries, man, we only make commission on a few special cases. One of them is a FluffClub membership that- “
“None of that,” I cut him off. “I’ve spent enough time around fluffies to know I want one, but I’m at a loss for what I need and what’s extra. Are you going to help me with that?”
“Yeah, I can help with that. I’m guessing you don’t have a safe room yet, if this is your first fluffy?”
I nod, and he guides me to the side of the store with kibble and toys, then back to where the play furniture is.
“You need to fluffy proof one room of your house. That means these foam tiles for the floor, makes them quieter, its easy to clean, and its soft on their little hoofsies.”
“What else does it need?”
“Keeping it super basic dude, you need a bed, a litterbox, a feeding station, and a nightlight, but that’s a bare room, basically. They’re going to bother you for more entertainment, so just take a look at the catalogue and see what kinds of things they’d like.”
The catalogue shows all kinds of scaled down kids’ toys. A castle playset with three stories, giant hamster tubes, spiral ramps with netting on all sides so the fluffy couldn’t fall off. Some of them look wonderful, like an elegant running wheel that hung on the wall, and some looked awful, just cardboard that wouldn’t survive a fluffy’s play for long.
“These prices are insane, Kyle.”
“Sorry boss-man, I can’t set the price.”
“I work at a gas station, is there anything cheaper?”
“We’ve got stabilized foam board for DIY type owners, if you want to build. Other than that, buy used?”
He helps you pick out the floor tiles, outlet covers, a new owner kit that had litterbox and feeding station, kibble, a water bottle, a night light, litter.
“Before you get some toys, let’s decide what fluffy you want. Raising them from babies is rewarding, and they’re only that cute once, but an older fluffy is ready to play as soon as you get home.”
I think about the foal near the entrance, already addicted to bad TV. “If I’m training it to be well-behaved, it’s better to start young, right?”
“Yeah, that’s about right. I’ll show you the cheepies.”
He takes me to a wall of glass tanks, filled with babies of every color and price point. They ranged from over a hundred for a sparkly purple one, down to about ten dollars for dull colors. It seemed that bright coats cost more. I try to take in the ambience, find one out of the mix, when I see him. In the top right, far from where kids would be looking there’s a little tan one with silver mane pressed against the window, one green eye open, staring at me.
“How about that one?”
“Good choice dude, he’s a bigfluff breed but got rejected by his mummah. Why he’s on discount.”
I look at the bin. Only $2.50 for any of them, but I think one’s enough for now. “Why did he get rejected?”
“They call them poopy babbehs because they’re brown. Mares know those babies are less valuable, so they try to get rid of them.”
He scoops the little foal into a cardboard box stuffed with rainbow dyed straw, then closes the top and hands the box to me. I can feel the tiny life inside it and feel a thrill that I’m the first to ever want him. Not even his mother. The thread of fate connects us.
Kyle sighs and says, “I’m not trying to gouge you, but you need a chirpy enclosure to keep him in for the first few weeks.”
We find a mid-range model with a RoboMummah that heats milk, plays sounds, and throws off body heat for the baby. Otherwise it’s just a box with one plexiglass side for viewing and a depression in the corner for litter.
We get to the registers and he rings me up for nearly $200. I’m feeling only excitement when I get my card out, and Kyle holds up a hand.
“I’m gonna save you some money, dude. Sign up for FluffClub and you get a free care manual, plus 20 dollars of points for your next visit.”
“Is it free?”
“20 annually, but next time you come in you’ll have almost 40 dollars store credit, and we register your fluffy.”
“Fine, I know I’m going to be back.”
He pulls the little guy out of the box and picks a different scanner off the counter, then gently lifts each eyelid and snaps a photo.
“What’s that?”
“Retina scanner. Eyes are like fingerprints. If anyone finds this guy, anywhere in the country, you’ll get a call when they scan his eyes. We just need a name for the registry.”
I hadn’t thought of one yet. In my head, he was just “my fluffy” or “little guy.” I didn’t like the dumb names most fluffies had, like Rainbow and Sparkles or Butterfly. Something movie related. Short stack? No, but that’s close.
“Indiana.” I can practically see him raiding ruins in my mind.
“Alright dude, want help to the car?”
Shit. “I’m walking.”
He nods and pulls out a huge crinkly bag with strap handles. On the side is the same unicorn as the cutout, and bubble letters spelling “Uni the Unicorn.”
“Who’s this mascot?”
“Uni. She’s on FluffTV. They’re all a little obsessed with her. Creepy, if you ask me.”
Incredible. They had an idol. I’m seeing the temple scene right now.
I leave the store, crouching slightly so I can take long, smooth steps like a camera operator. I don’t want Indy getting jostled around or traumatized on his first day with me. I take the time to cross the street when I see dogs, and it’s more than an hour before I got back to my dingy apartment. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, really, but it had loneliness soaked into the walls.
I take the bags into Bryce’s empty room and set up the floor tiles. I cover most of it, but I know I’ll be going back for more soon.
The chirpy enclosure is much easier. I pour in litter, cloth confetti bedding, and put milk in the RoboMummah before plugging it in. A compressed voice comes from the speaker in its head, saying “Paiwin Mode,” in a ridiculous approximation of a fluffy’s voice. When I pair my phone, the robot says “Wuv yu” and hums slightly. I spritz its belly with some pheromones so the baby will find it with eyes closed.
I open Indy’s box and gently scoop him up. He’s tiny, smaller than a tennis ball. My heart pounds while I consider how precious this fragile life is. I place him on the robot’s fluff and watch as he finds the silicone teat and begins to nurse. I pull the baby monitor up on the robot’s app while I go to the kitchen and make pasta. I’m under the impression they reject all noodles except spaghetti, but I just want him to smell it. My dad baked cookies before an open house because it made the place seem like a home, and that’s what I want for Indy. A safe home.
The app has a lot of different purchases. One dollar to see how much milk he’s drinking. One dollar to see when. Voice packs, phrases, MummahSongs. So many ways to bleed a customer. I take my pasta back to Bryce’s – no, Indy’s room, and sit on the foam floor to watch him while I eat.
The robot plays a little jingle that gets Indy’s attention and he starts chirping while the robot says, “Wuvv You Bwand pink sketty sauce is da ownwy sketty dat show mummah o daddah wuv fwuffy. Onwy at FwuffMawt.”
I resist the urge to throw the robot against the wall and buy the ad free week while Indie settles back down. He’s only supposed to need this for twenty days, anyway.
I sit and eat and watch for a while, unsure what else to do. He’s asleep, I think, so I leave the room.
I set my phone up next to the bed with the baby monitor on. I can see a bit of his leg in the corner of the screen and hear his tiny snores. I watch for another minute before I sit up and push all the junk off my bedside table and go get the chirpy enclosure.
I set it down, so the clear side faces the bed, and then I pluck him off the robot. He starts chirping in alarm, but I settle him onto my chest and pull a blanket up over his back while I sooth him. When he squeezes at my shirt, I swear he says “wuv yu.”