Skygarden

            “You wanted to see the Sky Garden, didn’t you?”

            “Yes, but—of all days, why today? It’s super dry!” Clarissa walked beside her father hand-in-hand down Fenchurch Street toward London’s towering building that housed the supposed garden. Her clear blue eyes swept left and right. She didn’t blame anyone for not coming out. Her mouth felt like it had been replaced with sandpaper and she’d only been outside for ten minutes.

            “I had this booked in advance. It’ll be cool inside. Plus, a cloudless day like today will provide the best view.” He momentarily let go of her hand to ruffle her long, straight strawberry blonde hair. “You know the word for dry weather?”

            “What is it?”

            “Arid.”

            “Arid,” she repeated to herself. “Do plants grow better when it is arid?”

            “Not so much when it’s persistently arid, no, but some still can. The plants in the Sky Garden are drought-resistant, which helps them survive. Here we are.”

            “Whoa.” She gazed up at the top of the tower that oddly expanded beyond the bottom. “Why is it larger up there?”

            “It’s Gillespies architecture, built wider for the environment on the top three floors. Its shape is why it’s called ‘The Walkie-Talkie’.”

            “Is it safe?” Clarissa questioned.

            “Yep.”

            “Hmmm,” she hummed, unsure whether the answer satisfied her. “I wonder what’d happen if enough people moved to one side of the building.”

            “Not even then would it collapse,” her father assured her. “It’d take a pretty big earthquake to bring it down. That or a pretty spectacular storm.”

            “I want to try going through the revolving door,” she said wistfully when her father opened one of the two glass doors at one end of the array of entrances.

            “Out of order,” he replied sadly, pointing to haphazardly placed yellow caution tape. “Looks like they’re replacing some windows. Come, we have to go through security.”

            Once through, Clarissa followed her father to an express lift. She felt her weight press harder on her feet as the lift sped up and her body got tingly the way it did when she went fast on a playground spinning teacup. She asked, “What’s on all the other floors?”

            “Markets, I think. But we’re not spending money, except on food.”

            Clarissa nodded and the lift slowed. The number above the lift door shined at 35 before opening, and they stepped out.

#

            One hour, her father had said. He had given her permission to wander as long as she stayed on the same floor. Rather than starting at the plants or expansive windows, she was drawn to the spot between them due to a very peculiar person.

            In the open space there was a table where a solitary man sat. He leaned far back in his chair, head almost lolling as he stared up at the glass ceiling. His near-shoulder-length greying black hair swayed behind him. He wore vaguely Japanese-style clothing with a yellow floral pattern that was full-body from neck to ankle, and airy. Clarissa guessed it was a type of kimono.

            “I don’t want to go back yet,” he muttered, seemingly unaware of the girl approaching.

            “Excuse me, sir?”

            Rather than lifting his head, he turned it sideways toward her, a lock of hair falling across his nose. “Yeah?”

            “Why are you wearing a dress?”

            The man’s puffed out chest heaved slightly with a short laugh. “Why not? This place has no dress code.”

            “Do you come here often?” she asked, taking a seat opposite from him which forced him to finally sit forward to look at her.

            “I suppose. It’s not a dress, by the way. It’s a yukata.”

            “Yukata,” Clarissa repeated, memorizing the word.

            Tilting his head, he asked, “Why aren’t you enjoying the gardens or view?”

            “Well…” She didn’t want to tell him they don’t interest her, having had her share of plants and sights. “Why aren’t you?”

            He stood up and sighed. “Guess I should go.”

            “Wait, I didn’t mean to disturb you!”

            “Everything’s a disturbance,” he said breezily, picking up a spray bottle beside his feet that she hadn’t seen.

            “Do you work here?”

            “I work for Skygarden,” he said, pointing a finger to the ceiling. “Up there.”

            Clarissa nodded earnestly, then shook her head bewildered. “We’re on the top floor.”

            “The real Skygarden is beyond the barrier,” he said vaguely, stepping toward the row of tall windows. “The difference is it’s one word.”

            “Wait. What?” Clarissa followed him to where he stopped by one of the taller windows.

            “And it’s invisible,” he added. “Gotta go.” He reached a hand out toward what Clarissa had taken for a window, but his hand went through whatever it was—or, rather, was submerged in it, as it rippled and his hand was gone. He then stepped fully into it and disappeared.

            Clarissa drew in a sharp breath and her hand darted out into the upright glassy pool. A force lifted her feet off the floor, tugging her hand hard, and she was carried through by an unceasing wind into a world of silver glass.

            “Ah!” Her gasp evolved to a scream as the wind picked up and sent tingles through her body as she was lifted quickly and she started to spin.

            “Aren’t you a curious one?”

            Clarissa splayed her limbs wide, attempting to stop the spinning. She couldn’t quite stop, but she managed to slow down. She looked up at the man who floated above her, his grey-streaked hair starkly shining against the faded blue backdrop. “Help me!” she called to him. Finally, she looked down and realized she wasn’t falling. The top of the Walkie-Talkie glinted harshly back, along with the multitude of reflective surfaces of buildings now miniscule for how far below they were. All of it was so clear. Pristine, even. And terrifying. She screamed again.

            “Relax,” the man said calmly, dropping like a stone several feet to float at her level. “The wind will subside.” Sure enough, it did, and Clarissa even stopped spinning.

            Staring wide-eyed at the buildings below, she marveled. Despite the distance she could clearly see every windowpane, every pedestrian, and every crack in the roadways. It was like she had put on silver-tinted glasses and literally everything was in focus if she looked for it. Why aren’t I falling?

            “Beyond the barrier, this is how it is,” the man replied as if reading her thoughts, shaking his hand holding the spray bottle back and forth lightly.

            “I fell out a window,” Clarissa said. “I flew out a window.”

            “You followed me here.” Raising his hand, he began spraying vapor into the air. Instead of simply evaporating, the water droplets condensed and hung in the air like transparent curtains. He continued to spray, coating the once barren sky with wispy clouds. “Probably shouldn’t have,” he added, drifting suddenly twenty feet horizontally.

            Clarissa looked once more at the man, taking in his features with the newfound clarity her eyes allowed. When she first saw him, he didn’t look that old despite his greying hair, and now she realized why. It wasn’t that it was greying, it was just that streaks of his black hair were grey. More than that, each strand shone vibrantly. “How old are you?”

            “Twenty-five,” he called, once more jolting suddenly to another spot in the sky to furiously spray his peculiar bottle and form grey wisps. Then, he flew next to her and muttered, “You can return anytime you like.” He pointed down to the Walkie-Talkie.

            “How?”

            He sighed, though his mouth quirked up. “You know, that should’ve been your first question.” He continued to spray his bottle, and the wisps coalesced into opaque puffs. “You can follow me once I’m done with this,” his voice said.

            “What is this?”

            “My job,” came his voice through the thickening layers of white.

            Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she gasped. His hand clawed through the layer and grabbed hers.

            “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

            Clarissa stared long at the man’s dark eyes flecked with green and brown. “I just realized you’re making cirrus clouds,” she said breathily, feeling her face redden and heart race. “With a spray bottle.”

            The man’s momentary seriousness was replaced with another short laugh like a bark. He let her hand go and continued spraying the air. “Curious and knowledgeable. Perhaps not exactly smart, but—”

            “My dad says I’m smart!” Clarissa said defiantly.

            “I’m sure he does,” the man replied. The words he used sounded sarcastic, though his tone wasn’t, which confused her long enough for him to retake her hand. “Let’s get you back.”

            “I don’t have to be back for an hour,” Clarissa said pleadingly. “Can’t I watch you?”

            He tilted his head back and forth. “Whatever. It takes a lot to come this high anyway.” Gripping her hand more tightly, they both shot forward, their backs buffeted by a sudden gust. The clouds that had formed shrank away as they progressed, and they were free and soaring fast over London.

            “Where are we going?”

            “My boss. He’s a hard-a—he’s usually mad.”

            Gazing over the landscape, she noticed they were travelling the River Thames easterly toward the boundary of London.

            “I’ll get you back,” he promised before she could ask, then added, “Eventually.”

            Breathless, she said, “This is like a roller coaster ride!”

            “I suppose you’re right.”

            Somehow they careened ever faster and landscapes changed every time she blinked, which was often, as her eyes dried immediately due to the wind. Then, there was no land and they had shot clear past the White Cliffs of Dover out over the North Sea toward a monumental plume of clouds. “Cumulonimbus,” Clarissa said to herself. Glancing at their intertwined hands and then his hand holding the bottle, she asked, “What exactly is your job?”

            “Your dad says you’re smart.”

            She frowned with mild irritation. “You make clouds.”

            “Bingo.”

            “Is that all?”

            “Yup.”

            “Why, though?”

            “Water cycle,” he replied shortly. “I’d give you a longer answer, though it’s all very academic and boring. The boss tells me where to go to work, and I go.”

            “I don’t think it’s boring,” Clarissa pouted. “Who’s your boss? Come to think of it, who are you?”

            “I’m Haleford. My boss is Bobolo.”

            Clarissa laughed. “Are those real names?”

            Rather than looking offended, he tilted his head, the wind whipping around his face, and he smiled at her. “Bobolo’s a hard-a—he’s strict, so don’t say or do anything when we meet with him.”

            Clarissa nodded despite finding it unrealistic to not do anything. “Is he the reason you dislike your job?”

            Frowning, his hazel eyes met hers. “Who said I disliked my job?”

            “It didn’t need to be said.”

            A hint of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Is your father the reason you want to be smart?”

            Affronted, she replied, “No! Who doesn’t want to be smart?”

            Haleford shrugged. “People too dumb or people too smart.”

            She shook her head. “Why?”

            “Well, I suppose overly dumb people wouldn’t have enough of it to consider it to be a good thing, while overly smart people would have too much of it to consider it to be a good thing.”

            “What’s the difference?”

            “Heck if I know, I’m not smart enough. Brace yourself!”

            They plummeted straight into the cumulonimbus and she shut her eyes, water splattering her face and dampening her clothes. She gripped Haleford’s hand tighter when their fingers became slippery from the moisture. She didn’t need to, as they had stopped moving, though the sound of roiling thunder gave her a foreboding feeling as if she’d been dunked into a tumultuous sea. Slowly, she opened her eyes and saw a crystallized city of white and grey that encompassed every level of the cloud: the largest buildings were immense towers that climbed from the floor to the ceiling; the smallest were at least two stories high; all of it was impossibly suspended in midair and connected by opal-colored plazas, walkways, and bridges that were also impossibly suspended. Clusters and specks of people populated just about every area, including the air. Everywhere else from the outer layer of clouds to the inner layers were wafting and whirling mists, torrential droplets, and flashes of lightning. Where the clouds and the architecture began Clarissa could not tell; it all melded together intricately as if it was foliage superimposed on foliage. The cloud’s expanding size as it rose reminded her of the almost blossoming shape of the Walkie-Talkie.

            Haleford lightly tugged her hand, causing them both to drift toward a bridge branching off from one of the largest towers to a smaller tower.

            “This is incredible,” Clarissa said in awe as they approached the end of the bridge by the smaller of the two towers. “Unbelievable, for an entire city to be in a cloud. But why aren’t there any parapets? Can’t someone fall?”

            “That’s what railings are called?” Haleford mused.

            Clarissa looked at him, surprised. “You didn’t know?”

            Haleford shook his head. “Knowing the names of things is different from knowing things, just as there’s a difference between being knowledgeable and being smart.”

            The smug smile that had begun to form on her face deteriorated with annoyance. “What’s your deal with being smart?”

            “All my life I’ve been with know-it-alls, my boss being one of them. They mistake being right about everything as being smart, when it is a very foolish thing to think you’re always right.”

            “I don’t think I’m always right!” Clarissa objected. “And I don’t think I know everything! I just want to try to know everything I can!”

            “That may be equally foolish,” Haleford said.

            Clarissa huffed. The sound was muffled by the thrums of thunder and rain. “So, you still think I’m a disturbance?”

            He looked at her while they glided quietly through the controlled chaos of the cloud’s inner storm. The corners of his mouth quirked up again. “Now I think you’re much more than that.”

            Before she could reply, much less think of what to say, they touched down onto the bridge. The surface was firm, unlike what she had imagined it to feel like, it being cloudlike and all.

            Haleford brought a finger to his mouth. “Prepare for Bobolo.”

            Upon hearing the name of his boss again, Clarissa forgot all about her annoyance. Haleford let go of her hand and went first into the tower, Clarissa following shortly after.

            “HALEFOOOOOORD!” a roaring voice echoed throughout the tower. Others, standing on individual platforms jutting out and ascending in a spiral along the tower’s interior much like an oversized staircase, didn’t react and continued to read thick books that sat on a lectern in front of each of them. A shadow descended in the middle of the tower through the air. It landed at the base where Haleford and Clarissa stopped.

            “HALEFOOOOOOORD!” the stout man roared again, bringing his meaty head up inches from Haleford’s. “YOU’RE LATE!” He turned to look at Clarissa, his jaw working furiously in a silent rage. “AND YOU BROUGHT A GIIIIIIIIIIRL!? THIS ISN’T TAKE YOUR DAUGHTER TO WORK DAY HALEFOOOOOOORD!”

            Haleford kept his face composed as droplets of spittle left Bobolo’s mouth.

            “ANOTHER FAILURE AND YOU’RE GOING TO LOSE YOUR JOB, HALEFOOOOOOOOOORD!”

            “London skies clear with minimal cirrus clouds on schedule, sir,” he replied lazily.

            “YOU WERE DUE BACK TWENTY MINUTES AGOOOOOOOOO!” Bobolo prodded Haleford’s chest with an index finger. Then, the boss screamed incomprehensibly for a good five seconds without taking his eyes off Haleford.

            “Is there anything else, sir?” Haleford asked once the man was done.

            “THE WEATHER SCHEDULE’S CHANGED, HALEFOOOOOOOOOORD! LONDON’S DUE FOR A STOOOOOOOOOOORM!”

            “When?”

            “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!”

            Haleford frowned, though nodded. “I’ll get to it, sir.”

            “YOU’LL REALLY LOSE YOUR JOB IF YOU DON’T, HALEFOOOOOOOOORD!” Bobolo’s shoulders heaved with heavy breaths, then he took off back up the tower in a flurry of wind.

            Haleford turned, wiping a sleeve of his yukata along his face as he exited the tower. He paused at the edge of the bridge, looking down. “I could really lose my job this time,” he muttered.

            “That’s what he said, wasn’t it?” Clarissa finally spoke.

            “He says that all the time.”

            Clarissa blinked. “Oh. Then what’s the problem this time?”

            “A storm would require me to create a cloud like this,” he said, waving his hand at the cumulonimbus surrounding them.

            “Oh,” Clarissa repeated, understanding. “How’re you supposed to cause a storm with a spray bottle?”

            “It’d take half a week at most if I started now.”

            “There’s nothing else you can use?”

            He shook his head.

            “Wow. Why are you the one who has to do it? Aren’t you being abused?”

            “I’m an intern,” he replied with a shrug. “Abuse is part of the job.”

            Clarissa looked out over the expanse of buildings surrounded by the volatile weather. “I see what you mean. He really is a hard-ass.”

            Haleford turned to her, mouth agape. “The girl, she does know everything,” he said absently.

            “No, I don’t. Just a bit ago I didn’t know anything about a city in the clouds. Why is it called Skygarden, anyway?”

            “It’s not just this city called that. There’s plenty more like it across the sky if you go looking, which…” he trailed off while looking at her. “Well, you found this by sheer curiosity. Anyway, the sky is like a garden since we cultivate with nifty inventions like these,” he said, flourishing his spray bottle.

            “It could’ve been called Skyfarm,” Clarissa suggested.

            Haleford shook his head. “Doesn’t really have the same ring to it.” He muttered to himself, “Maybe it’d be better if I quit.”

            Clarissa gasped, alarmed. “You can’t quit!”

            “You’re right,” Haleford mused. “Quitting requires I submit paperwork. I could not bother and just let Bobolo fire me.”

            “That’s not what I mean! Wouldn’t you miss flying?”

            “I do it all the time.” An updraft blows roughly along the bridge that lifts both their hair, and large pellets of rain cascade up around them. “It’s like humans with walking,” he continued when the wind changed course again. He raised his arm in an arc above his head and the rain scattered, falling everywhere around but not on them.

            “I can’t believe you’d ever get tired of this, or flying.”

            Shrugging, Haleford folded his arms. “You seemed to get tired of London’s Sky Garden pretty quick.”

            Clarissa shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I just went to the most interesting thing first.”

            Haleford raised his eyebrows. “Did you just refer to me as a thing?”

            “You were interesting!” Clarissa said impatiently. “And I was right!”

            “By sheer curiosity,” he repeated.

            Clarissa ignored him, continuing to say, “All of this, including your job, is interesting! Especially your job! You move the wind and make freaking clouds!”

            “Don’t say ‘freaking’,” Haleford said with a cough. “It’s not very becoming of you.”

            “You can’t just quit!” Clarissa insisted. “Is there anything I can do?”

            Haleford, his face unreadable to Clarissa, looked up at slight apertures in the outer cloud layer refracting sunlight inside. “I could get you your own bottle, though I’d say it’s impossible to make a storm in time since I’m already late.”

            A thought came to Clarissa then. “Do you have to make your own storm?”

            “What do you mean?” he asked.

            “That wind thing you seem to be doing to fly, how much of that can you do?”

            “Enough to cause a tornado,” Haleford said.

            “Holy cow,” Clarissa said in awe.

            “Just a part of the job,” Haleford said with mild embarrassment, waving his empty hand through the air. “Why do you wanna know?”

            “Well…” Clarissa gestured at the surrounding cloud. “There’s a storm here. Can’t you just push it over to London?”

            Haleford froze. A second later he grinned and tapped a finger to his temple. “I’ll be going against some administrative guidelines. But I’d rather lose my job for doing it than not. Let’s go.”

#

            Tom paced the periphery of the top floor for the third time, scanning everywhere as he went. I told her to stay on this floor. He checked his watch. It was nearing noon and their allotted time was coming to an end. He stopped pacing at the windows overlooking the Thames and let his head fall back in exasperation. It was precisely then that he noticed it was no longer sunny. He had been spending the last few minutes so focused on trying to find Clarissa that he hadn’t been paying attention to what was happening outside. A line of clouds stretched from overhead, growing ever thicker as they drifted on a swift wind from the east. Its progression seemed to flow opposite the Thames that wound back and forth below toward the horizon. A massive weather front was approaching just as fast and would soon reach Tower Bridge and then the Walkie-Talkie. It was as if the clouds surrounding it were sails guiding it swiftly along. This would’ve been the perfect opportunity to expand her knowledge. Where was she?

            He was about to find one of the staff, when lightning arced out over the city from the weather front to the clouds just above the Sky Garden. He instinctively ducked, as to him it had appeared as if the lightning was aiming at the building, then felt foolish. More lightning clawed between the clouds like a rake. A wave of rain hurtled against the windows in a sudden cacophony as if flung by the barrage of flashes. The storm was getting heavier. It was time, he thought, to find Clarissa and go.

            He turned away from the window and felt a light breeze tickle his neck as he started toward a vending stall. A flash illuminated the top floor and cast everything in a harsh shadow. The thunder was instantaneous, the building quivering in response. In that same moment one of the windows behind him rippled and Clarissa stepped through, followed by Haleford, and another strange sound that sounded an awful lot like someone roaring the words “YOU’LL BE FIIIIIIIIIIIRED!” Their laughter was what made him turn, and he quickly retraced his steps to meet her.

            “Where have you been?” he questioned. “You’re soaked. Were you on a balcony?”

            Haleford stepped forward, sweeping his long, dripping yukata to the side where it clung, and he offered a damp hand. “You must be her father. Clarissa took it upon herself to get a personal tour of Skygarden.” He grinned when Clarissa made objections. “She’s very curious.”

            “Inquisitive minds,” her father replied, giving the strangely clothed man’s hand a dubious shake. “Kind of you to let her follow you around.”

            “I’m sorry!” Clarissa finally relented. “But Haleford, you won’t be fired, right?”

            “I can attest to no wrongdoing,” her father spoke. “That is, if you say that’s the case.”

            “It is!” Clarissa said, affronted. “I followed him!”

            “Right,” Haleford said. “Next time, don’t follow strange men—or strange anyone, for that matter—anywhere. Even if you’re curious. You’ll avoid a lot of trouble.”

            “Words to live by,” her father concurred.  “Come on, we should be going.”

            “Wait!” Clarissa looked at Haleford, realizing something. “We can come again, right Dad?”

            “Well, we didn’t actually get to see the other floors,” he said. “So of course.”

            “And you’ll be here?” she asked Haleford.

            “Maybe,” Haleford replied slowly. “If not here, well…” He pointed his index finger up and spun it in a circle. “Around.”

            “Um!” she stammered, hope sending tingles down her limbs. “Can I ask you one more thing?” Haleford nodded. Giving her father a quick shooing motion, she cupped her hands together and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in Haleford’s ear. “What exactly did you mean before when you said everything’s a disturbance?”

            Haleford hesitated before leaning further down to her level to whisper in her own ear. “I was wrong. I’ve only just learned from you that everything is more… a possibility.”

            A smile lit up Clarissa’s face while he stood back up. “You know your job isn’t too terrible, right?”

            Haleford’s eyes widened for a moment, then a smile crept onto his face. “You’re right.”

            She waved and, taking her father’s hand, followed him away while he began to describe the formation of clouds.