{"id":19061,"date":"2023-10-18T06:28:38","date_gmt":"2023-10-18T10:28:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/?p=19061"},"modified":"2023-10-18T06:28:38","modified_gmt":"2023-10-18T10:28:38","slug":"deeply-personal-vending-machine","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/fiction\/deeply-personal-vending-machine\/","title":{"rendered":"Deeply Personal Vending Machine"},"content":{"rendered":"

The rumor has it there\u2019s a vending machine on the corner of Kennedy and Main that lends an ear. Leona tells me it\u2019s for real.\u00a0Its buttons are the color of rust<\/em>, she says,\u00a0once possibly a brighter red<\/em>. A tear sizzles down her cheeks as she squirms closer in bed.\u00a0I once fed it a coin after my mother\u2019s death and it gave me a quarter of her heart back<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m too high to tell what\u2019s what. Edibles have been working their narcotic magic into my brain, conjuring things that I know aren\u2019t there.<\/p>\n

What did it look like?<\/em>\u00a0I say, eyes barely open.<\/p>\n

The quarter of her heart?<\/em> she asks.<\/p>\n

The vending machine<\/em>, I explain.<\/p>\n

She watches me for a while with something close to disappointment in her eyes.\u00a0Come on up<\/em>, she then says, snaking out of the bed in an instant.\u00a0I\u2019ll show you what it looks like<\/em>.<\/p>\n

By the time we\u2019re outside, the clouds seem to have assumed a ghostlike quality, lingering about as if stuck in limbo. Along the way, I evaluate all the things I can say to the vending machine. I can choose to unburden about Marion, about how she figured a forty-something Ph.D. student would be a better romantic investment than I am. I can tell how I spiraled into a diet of crackers and crack shortly after she left me. I can go on about my days that have since looked like a good chunk of nothing.<\/p>\n

We\u2019re here<\/em>, Leona says as we ?arrive\u00a0at the intersection.<\/p>\n

At first glance, the vending machine on the corner looks like any other of its kind. Maybe a little roughed-up around the edges but it could very well be due to the awry angle of sunlight. Behind the glass coverage, all the rows seem empty, just like the roads we\u2019re surrounded by.<\/p>\n

What now?<\/em> I ask.<\/p>\n

Her eyes on me, Leona kicks at the side of the vending machine. The digital panel to the right coughs and glitches for a while before projecting on the screen:\u00a0Please enter the name<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Leona and I exchange a glance in our little moment, the meaning of which escapes me. I try to figure out what\u00a0the<\/em>\u00a0in this context really means, whether it refers to me or someone else. Using the keypad below, I punch in Marion\u2019s name and wait. One by one I enter her height, weight, birthday, and all the measurables of her being.<\/p>\n

And then, some of the immeasurables: how many Bud Lights I think she can gulp down in one sitting; whether she believed the sea was mostly green or blue in all those months we were together. How heartbroken she must be feeling today, from 1 to 5.<\/p>\n

After I submit everything it asks of me, the vending machine starts whirring. I turn to look at Leona, but all she tells me is,\u00a0Wait<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Waiting is all I\u2019ve been doing since Marion packed her luggage and left. These days, her Facebook profile is riddled with high-score notifications for some online games and calls for petitions ranging from wildlife refuges to abortion laws. She looks considerably happier and calmer in some of her more recent pictures, which, when the time is right, or insufferably wrong, drives me deeper into my narcotic fog.<\/p>\n

After what could be twenty seconds or two minutes, the pick-up box of the vending machine clatters with a delivery. I stoop to open the lid and have a peek. Inside is a funnily shaped pack covered in white plastic, no larger than the size of a Snickers bar. I tear the wrapping open from one corner and pause. Behind the tear is a finger, Marion\u2019s finger, which I recognize thanks to the engagement ring I gave her on our third anniversary, cleanly cut off from the lowermost knuckle.<\/p>\n

I think I\u2019m gonna go now<\/em>, I say, feeling somewhat dizzy. I start down the road without waiting for a reply. Even without looking back, I can feel Leona\u2019s gaze on me.<\/p>\n

Despite the initial shock, I make a habit of passing by the vending machine on my way back home every day. Every day, the machine gives me a different part of Marion as if they\u2019re the pieces of some obscure puzzle. One day, it\u2019s her spleen; the other, her heart. The machine looks indifferent to my moods but treats me all the time with care. It asks me how I\u2019m doing from 1 to 5, whether there has been any improvement in my romantic situation.<\/p>\n

As days tick by, I convert one of the rooms in my house to a museum of sorts that\u2019s solely dedicated to Marion: the tuft of her hair I cut one night while she was asleep; the L-sized Nirvana shirt she left behind on the grounds that it reminded her of her brother. I rebuild her every day with care, from top to bottom, minus the head and some minute parts the vending machine has yet to give me. I name the room Heart-Shaped Box<\/em>, after her favorite song.<\/p>\n

One day, as I pass by the intersection on my way back from Leona\u2019s place, all I see on the corner is a vending machine-sized nothing. Something close to fear builds behind my chest, and I start gasping. I desperately look about and stare into the eyes of the passersby with the hope of finding an answer but all I get in return are some shoves and curses. I scream. I kick the air.<\/p>\n

I can hardly keep my hands steady when I grab my phone to give Leona a call. She picks up just on the second ring but doesn\u2019t say anything. We listen to each other breathe.<\/p>\n

It happened to you too, isn\u2019t it<\/em>, she then says, her voice sounding like the obituary of something long lost.<\/p>\n

From 1 to 5, I think of everything I can tell Leona. Of what I should have said to Marion long ago. Of what might have happened to the vending machine after my last visit. Of everything it has made me feel. Of the last time I felt truly happy.<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t worry, it happens every few months<\/em>, Leona tells me before I can start talking.\u00a0But it always comes back. They always come back.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The rumor has it there\u2019s a vending machine on the corner of Kennedy and Main that lends an ear. Leona tells me it\u2019s for real.\u00a0Its buttons are the color of rust, she says,\u00a0once possibly a brighter red. A tear sizzles down her cheeks as she squirms closer in bed.\u00a0I once fed it a coin after my mother\u2019s death and it gave me a quarter of her heart back.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":19063,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-19061","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-sarp-sozdinler"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19061","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19061"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19061\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19062,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19061\/revisions\/19062"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19063"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19061"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19061"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19061"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}