Fractured Bonds - Part 4

It has been one week since Camie and I talked about the whole brother thing. I asked my parents whether I had a sibling, but they looked very strange at me, my mom even thought I had fever. To be honest, I may have just hit my head that badly, because all the other memories faded away, except for a particular feeling: the weight his hands on my shoulder before they took him away, as if to reassure me that family sticks together and our paths will cross someday again.

We are sitting in a café.

Connor and Camie are arguing about whose fault was that we lost at multiplayer Mario Kart in the arcade. I ordered a strawberry milkshake, which I am stirring with a striped straw, bemused at my friends’ heated argument over a video game. I drink a mouthful of the shake and suddenly the memory seems more vivid. It is so peculiar; every time I eat local food, this happens, and every time I eat food that was produced in the food factory nearby, I almost forget the boy. I have a theory that this is not a coincidence. On the other hand, I once ate only homemade bread for one week and did not remember anything. Still, this is the only string I can follow, but I must interrupt Camie and Connor’s argument for that.

“Guys, do we know anything about that food factory?”

“Nope, not even the name.”, says Camie. Connor, just to annoy her, maintains that their chocolate with rice puffs are unbeatable, ‘a commonly known fact’, then they continue their battle. I sigh and take my empty jug to the counter.

“How was the milkshake, dear?”, asks Mrs. Haberman, the owner of the café.

“It was very delicious as always, thank you.” I am staring at her old face full of crinkles, a map showing numerous happy moments. Mr and Mrs. Haberman are essential to Hopkinsville’s commonwealth, they always bring a smile to your face. I realize I have been standing there for too long when Mrs. Haberman asks me kindly whether I need anything else. I shake my head, than reluctantly nod.

“In fact, yes. I would like to know more about the food factory outside Hopkinsville.”

“They are very secretive, nobody knows a thing about them. But I remember some conspiracies going around the time they opened in… oh, pardon me, I cannot remember the date.”

“What kind of conspiracies?”

“There was our neigbour, what was his name? A little bit sceptic about the new factory. He decided to stick to conventional dishes and outright refused to purchase anything produced there. One day, however, he did not show up anymore. A man in a funny outfit told us that he urgently had to move away, business related. We had no idea he was working as a businessman, though, as he was keen on doing fieldwork. I would have never imagined him sitting behind a desk and signing papers all day!”

“What funny outift?”

“Oh, dearie, you know… similar to those every superstar wears nowadays. Completely black, a leather jacket… it is not decent in my opinion that teenagers copy the style of celebs. The world is losing its color, not to mention uniqueness. I think…”

As Mrs. Haberman rambled more about how real fashion lacks copying other’s style, the shilouette of a stupid plan struck me. I have to visit this factory for answers.

Balázs-Blénessi-Pataki Kincső   XI. R