Pandastan

By Relendra

The president’s gone mad, but who could blame him? A mysterious race of sentient pandas with curious powers has burst onto the world stage, and they’re turning the whole planet upside down. That’s just fine with Dramedy, though. Anything to spice up her dreary life as a court clerk.

That’s exactly what Dramedy gets when she’s tapped to serve on a secret court in America’s War on Pandas. The pandas are determined to reverse world economic growth in order to save the planet; but President Gripp, convinced he’s receiving commands from a deity known only as “the Market,” is ready to plunge the entire world into nuclear war to foil their plans.

Now it’s up to Dramedy to stop him. She is joined by Jack and Carrie, two young Americans taken captive by pandas while journeying home from their work in Africa. Together, they must appeal to the pandas for peace. That means journeying deep within the Hindu Kush to the secret city of Pandalama, in the remote, mountainous realm of Pandastan.

The Pandastan Trilogy explores our human civilization, bent on self-destruction, alongside am evolved society of mystic pandas who intervene to prevent planetary ecological collapse. But without the willing cooperation of humanity, the powers of the pandas will not be enough to prevail.

The tale follows a small group of ordinary humans who unexpectedly find themselves at the juncture between human and panda worlds. They turn to the pandas for teachings in mind, spirit, and love, seeking to apply this wisdom in service of a healed age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Relendra
• Release date: Aug 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310578205

Relendra

Relendra is a healer, writer, musician, and intuitive philosopher. Her name was channeled as light language while writing the Pandastan Trilogy, referring to the quality of spiritual connection between souls. After the novels were finished, she intained Relendra to be her own authentic name through spiritual revelation. The word relendra embodies her primary purpose and guiding value in this life, and the source of her deepest medicine.Through her healing practice as a psychotherapist, Reiki Master, and sound healer, and through her music, speaking, and writing—Relendra’s work is to shine light on humanity’s untapped potential, to dissolve implicit programming and conditioning, and inspire an alternative intainment of deep connection, love, and spiritual resonance by which to guide our lives.The concept for Pandastan came to her in a dream in 2002, and the trilogy was written from 2008 to 2014. Relendra’s musical performances, albums, and videos are available to view online, as is her podcast/videocast, Psyche and Spirit with Relendra. Her articles on philosophy, society, spirituality and the psyche are published in her journal, Open Heart, Open Mind. She is also a reader of tarot and channeler of light language.Relendra currently lives in Oregon, in the United States. Visit relendra.com to learn more about the Pandastan Trilogy and explore Relendra’s other writings, music, podcasts and healing offerings.

Book preview

PANDASTAN

by

Relendra

~~~~~

The First of Three Volumes in

THE PANDASTAN TRILOGY

~~~~~

PART I: PANDASTAN

PART II: LENWA AND THE PANDAHEAD

PART III: GOOD SENSE PANDA

~~~~~

Pandastan is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book take place in a dimension of the imagination. They do not correspond to people or events from our own physical dimension.

Copyright 2011, 2014, 2023 by Relendra Raelle Kaia

Some rights reserved. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Published by Aphana Arts

Portland, Oregon, USA

Cover art and maps by Relendra

Lyrics from Set My Markets Free copyright 2010 by Relendra Raelle Kaia

Sections included from Lenwa and the Pandahead copyright 2013, 2014, 2023 by Relendra Raelle Kaia

Third Smashwords Edition: March 2023

for Gaia

CONTENTS

zero

1. Spooked

2. Nipped in the Bud

3. Slapshot

4. Pridemoore

5. In the Air

6. Revelations

7. The EJJ

8. The Roof of the World

9. No More Doom

10. The Execution of Ming-Ming

11. The High Panda Council

12. Escape from Fort Justice

13. Pushing the Button

14. The Destiny Device

15. The Market Speaks

16. Yenna

17. Nothing to Lose

Glossary

Maps

About the Author

A Note from Relendra

Lenwa and the Pandahead – Preview

– Rapprochement

– In

– Mental Discipline

– Pilgrimage

PANDASTAN

The pandas are still at large.

Don’t listen to him. Pretend nothing is happening.

Mr. President. The voice was more urgent this time. The pandas are still at large.

It wasn’t working. Better say something.

Leave off with all your yammering, son, ordered the president. I don’t want to hear it. Just let me alone a spell.

I need your full attention now, sir. This is urgent.

President Gripp flicked his eyes to left, peering suspiciously at the man beside him. Something terrible stirred in the back corner of Gripp’s mind. Something best forgotten.

Not now, groaned the president softly. Not now.

Yes now, Mr. President. You must remain focused.

Focused? What do you mean? Gripp didn’t like the smell of it. Focus is overrated, thought the president.

The pandas, sir. The pandas are at large, remember?

The pandas. Now Gripp remembered.

They’re just a bunch of lousy, dirty grass-gobblers, muttered Gripp. We can handle ’em. But he trembled as he spoke. The weight of the pandas bore down upon him.

Sir, you need to be briefed on all the latest developments. Our CIA torture division has completely vanished.

Well, they’re probably busy torturing pandas, aren’t they? countered Gripp. They just haven’t tortured enough of them. I want two more torture divisions sent in on the double!

The president shuddered with disgust just thinking about the dreadful creatures. He pictured teams of pandas leering at him evilly, each of them smothered with greasy, filthy, black-and-white fur. Rage began building within him.

Those pandas want to kill every last one of us! the president bellowed. They want to destroy our way of life! Well, they need to get it through their big old bony skulls—Americans don’t crack as easy as that. We’ll drive ’em right through the roof of the rodeo!

The rodeo, sir?

Yes, the rodeo! Gripp snapped savagely. That and all the rest of the dalgurned diggity-dog duggerells… He trailed off in confusion, suddenly realizing he didn’t know who he was talking to. Gripp studied the man next to him carefully. Who are you son, what’s your name? he asked.

You know me, sir. I’m Dick Razor, your chief of staff.

My chief of staff? Are you sure? President Gripp started feeling woozy again. Then the lights closed in.

The lights… he stammered.

This never used to happen. Now it happened all the time. Razor’s image faded. Hazy lights encroached on the president’s field of vision. Razor said something. The words echoed faintly in the president’s mind. They sounded muffled and strange. Razor… Razor… Was that his name? It didn’t sound right. It sounded like a trap—some kind of plot by those accursed pandas. Those pandas that had ruined everything. Those pandas that just wouldn’t die.

Gripp’s knees buckled, and the floor slammed into his face. He thought he might have bruised his shins on some tables or chairs or something. Someone rolled him over. He could hear voices.

Pandas! he gasped. Someone slapped him in the face. It felt good. Soft, like flower pedals. Slap me again, please, he thought. Someone slapped him again. What a rush…

Gripp felt a needle pierce his arm. That was the stuff. The horror of the pandas unwound itself from Gripp’s troubled mind. That’s right, now, he murmured with a smile. The Doom’s just floatin’ away. Ain’t no panda on my plate.

What did he say?

Something about the doom floating away.

Oh good, That’s a very good sign. It means he’s coming around.

Coming around to what?

Well, that’s a different story. It’s been like this all week—ever since the latest panda crisis broke…

The room came into focus. Gripp propped himself up on his elbows. He looked around. Then a deep hearty laughter issued from his chest.

Lord help me, they’re not gonna stop us! Heavens to Betsy, no. Not this time. Gripp cackled contentedly. I’ll chase them sons-a-guns straight from Hades down to Houston! He swung his fist through the air and fell over.

Let me help you up, Mr. President, said somebody.

Oh no, I got this one. Oh yeah… Oh heavens, that’s right. Oh sweet Jesus. Them pandas is straight outta luck. The president picked himself up, wavered, and straightened out. He adjusted his tie, glancing from side to side, and leaned down to pick his sunglasses up from the floor.

Someone bounded into the room through the doorway.

Mr. President! Prime Minister Pasha has just addressed the world. She’s declared independence for Pandastan. She says the borders are fixed!

Gripp snapped to attention. Gimme the video feed, he demanded, sliding the stems of his sunglasses behind his ears. The shades settled into place, shrouding his tired eyes. Gripp was feeling better already. The wall monitor flickered on.

…our absolute sovereignty. This is a land of pandas, and for pandas. We have no choice. You have made our choice for us. This is the hour of the panda… Gripp still wasn’t used to hearing pandas speak English. It seemed wrong—unholy somehow.

We pandas are now in control, continued the furry prime minister. Yesterday, December twenty-second, the United Nations passed a resolution to apprehend or exterminate all pandas. That was the final straw. As prime minister of Pandastan, I pledge that we will not harm the humans who choose to live peacefully within our borders. We will kill only when we have to. The panda is here to stay, and we will be making many changes in your lives. Please understand that our actions are entirely necessary. The world must be remade. That is all.

Those bastards, said President Gripp. They’re not getting away with this. Go to DEFCON 1. We’ll wipe those suckers off the face of the earth!

But Mr. President—

You heard me! This is the moment of Holy Vengeance. The lightning justice of God was entrusted to our great nation for this very purpose. And we’re gonna give those black-and-white puppies every ounce of it we can muster.

Gripp strode toward the door. Get my shuttle ready. We’re headed for the bunker. Hand me my hat. I want General Graves and Defense Secretary Hermann and all the rest of the gang rounded up.

Gripp stopped and surveyed the faces in the room. This is the moment, people.

An aide reached over to Gripp, gingerly presenting him with his wide-brimmed black fedora. The president carefully settled the hat into place atop his head. He cut an imposing figure, dressed entirely in black except for the amber-tinted sunglasses obscuring his face. The room gazed at him expectantly.

Gripp hesitated, grasping for the right thing to say. Seeking inspiration, he reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a golden pocket watch. Gripp opened the watch and gazed inside, chuckling softly to himself, and a slow half smile grew on his face. The president raised his head and spoke to the room.

Time to buck up, chumps… Let’s boogie.

SPOOKED

It didn’t used to be this way. The world used to make sense. Back before the pandas came along, men like President Gripp were in firm control of the planet, the way God intended. The pandas had always been there, of course, but in the old days those big black-and-white bears pretty much kept to themselves. They struck people as soft, cute, and cuddly. Definitely not dangerous. Many even feared that one day there would be no pandas left to breathe the air, drink the water, and eat the bamboo of the world. Biologists, politicos, and do-gooders all over the planet expended vast efforts of will and ingenuity to keep those bumbling, doomed creatures alive.

It only took a few months for everything to change. When the first panda reports came out, most people found it kind of funny. The panda stories were like something you might read about in the tabloid press: Bigfoot Gives Birth to Siamese Twins, Aliens Abduct School Principal, or Herd of Pandas Overruns Tajik Village. Patently ridiculous. Who ever heard of a herd of pandas? Later, there were other headlines: Pandas Thwart Police Blockade, Panda Gives Lecture At Mosque, and Pandas Unman Taliban Militants.

People started to whisper about the panda stories in hushed tones. No one wanted to be the kook who had bought into the whole panda conspiracy. Few paid attention until the headlines started to appear in the major news outlets: US Soldiers Killed in Clash With Pandas, Pandas Address WTO, and Stock Markets Crash Amid Fears of Panda Upheaval.

By that point it was undeniable. The pandas had arrived, and the prevailing worldviews of all humankind cried out for drastic revision. Most people didn’t come to terms with that right away. They coped with it subconsciously, perhaps by falling into private obsessions or embracing fanaticism. More often they found themselves wrestling with unsettling feelings teeming just beneath the surface. Something had to give.

The existence of the pandas was universally acknowledged by mid-December. This was just a few weeks before President Gripp would brazenly order the US military to assume DEFCON 1 status, plunging the world into nuclear crisis. In those days, there was a small bar in downtown Friendsville called the Here’s Beer Tavern. Friendsville was the capital city of Temporaneous, a medium-sized state in the center of America, and the Here’s Beer was nothing special, just a place to grab a drink after work. Its dim lighting strategically dulled the depressing effect of the concrete walls and dingy red-and-brown color scheme.

It was December thirteenth, and Dramedy Carver sat alone at the bar, nursing a cheap beer as she always did. Dramedy was one of the Here’s Beer’s most loyal patrons. She went there because it was close to her workplace, and because she found the bar’s shabby milieu comforting. Dramedy often felt pretty shabby herself, especially on winter evenings like this one.

She peered through the bar’s only window into the murky gloom outside. Dusk had already arrived by the time work let out, leaving her with only a few short nighttime hours of her own before bedtime. Dramedy couldn’t do much with those hours except numb her disenchantment with alcohol. Morning would arrive before she knew it, forcing her to wake up and drag herself back to her dreary job again.

A tall man caught Dramedy’s eye as he walked past the window and entered the bar through the adjacent doorway. She glanced at his face and his closely cropped blond hair, pegging his age at around thirty-five. The man wore a sharp black topcoat over an equally sharp grey suit with matching gloves and scarf. His dapper attire made Dramedy self-consciously aware of her own disheveled appearance. Scattered strands of Dramedy’s limp brown hair lay tangled together atop the shoulders of her cheap blue pantsuit. She scooped up the errant hairs and pulled them back into the loose bun they had escaped from. The man spotted her as she bound up the whole mess with a hairband, and he walked right up to the bar where she was sitting without hesitation.

Can I buy you a drink? asked the man.

That was forward. The man’s confidence irritated Dramedy. He probably thought he was so far out of her league he could approach her any way he wanted. Still, a free drink was a free drink. Dramedy had to pinch pennies on her meager clerk’s salary. She decided to accept the offer, but maintain her dignity by projecting an attitude of contemptuous arrogance.

Dramedy took her time responding, tilting her head slightly toward the man with withering disdain. Boy, you don’t waste any time do you? she said. Yeah, I’ll have another beer.

Your usual? asked the bartender.

No! Give me something good. This sucker on my right is buying. She motioned in the stranger’s direction.

The man smiled comfortably and began removing his coat. A good beer for the good lady, he told the bartender, and a gin and tonic for me. He turned back to Dramedy. My name’s Eli Winters.

I suppose you’re going to ask me my name now, said Dramedy.

I was thinking of it.

All right. I’m Dramedy Carver.

That’s an unusual first name.

You don’t say.

Any special significance to it?

I don’t know. I guess my parents were burned-out hippies with a sense of humor.

She looked Eli up and down as she took a drink. What about your name? she asked. It sounds pretty biblical. Were your parents religious freaks, or just old-fashioned?

Dramedy stifled a laugh, wondering if she’d offended him. She told herself she didn’t care—he was just another face drifting by, maybe hoping to get lucky. But Eli had a strange, unsettling air about him. Unsettling but interesting. She couldn’t tell whether she liked him or disliked him intensely.

Eli looked back at her and smiled. Oddly enough, my folks actually were pretty religious. He glanced up at the TV on the wall. It was broadcasting a news story about the pandas and the global financial turmoil they had kindled. I don’t know what they would have said about these pandas if they were still around. Probably would say it was the latest sign of End Times. They were always talking about that. But nothing this bizarre had ever happened before.

Yeah, it almost makes you wonder, said Dramedy. The scientists are all running around in a panic. They can’t explain where the pandas came from or how their powers work. Armies can’t even touch them, and they seem to speak in every language at the same time.

She shook her head, warding off the vague uneasiness creeping inside her. The last few weeks had been strange for everyone. Even cynical people like Dramedy were shaken up by the unexpected and surreal nature of the panda developments.

I don’t really want to go into the pandas right now, said Eli. Sorry for bringing it up. What do you do?

I’m a clerk for Judge Gary Breadletter, said Dramedy. It’s a strange job. Usually these things are pretty standard, but it’s different with Breadletter.

How so?

Well, he’s kind of a nutcase, but he’s very well connected. He might have made the Supreme Court itself if it weren’t for his blatant antidemocratic political tendencies. He was actually a federal district judge until he got impeached. But here in Temporaneous, a good fascist pedigree is the kind of thing that’ll land you a cushy job on the county circuit court.

Is that how you got the job? asked Eli.

Me? No… I don’t have any convictions.

Ah! A paragon of impartiality.

Dramedy eyed Eli suspiciously. What I mean is, I don’t fool myself with illusions.

I bet you’d be surprised.

Dramedy rolled her eyes at him and turned away to take another drink. Eli intrigued her, but Dramedy still wasn’t sure if she liked him. She almost felt sure she didn’t.

Tell me, Eli said, how did you end up working for this judge?

Oh, no particular reason. I’m just another law graduate, pumped out of the sausage mill, desperate for work. No one else wanted to work for him.

Why, because of his politics?

No, people who care about sort of thing don’t stick around in Temporaneous, whether they can find a job or not. It’s like I said, he’s a nutcase. That, and he’s an alcoholic.

Really? Eli seemed surprised.

Oh, raging. Although that’s not so unusual around here either.

This sounds like quite the place, said Eli, sipping his drink. I’m not from here, as you can apparently tell. Just traveling on business. I mostly know Temporaneous as being the home state of President Gripp, but it does have an older reputation. Wasn’t it the only northern state to secede during the Civil War?

That’s right, Dramedy said. It was a huge embarrassment. There was no slavery here at the time, but the state’s leaders felt the war offered a good opportunity to introduce it. So in 1862, the state seceded and declared itself the Kingdom of Temporaneous.

Kingdom?

Yeah. There were some who argued for a republic, but they were in the minority. Two-thirds of the state legislature voted to relinquish all freedoms, disband the democracy, and appoint a king.

How did they choose the king? asked Eli.

They just chose the richest person in the state, said Dramedy.

Really?

Really. King Wilfred Rimlittle the First. The Union didn’t bother with it until after the war, so it lasted a few years.

Dramedy was starting to get embarrassed. She felt like a freak show, just mild entertainment for a passer-through from Normalland. Her life like was a cautionary tale for the outside world: Don’t stay in Temporaneous, kids. You’ll end up wasting your days clerking for an alcoholic judge and wasting your nights at a dive bar, trading stories about the history of your backwater state for free beers.

Dramedy gulped down her beer, letting her thoughts drift away. Maybe she’d missed her boat; if trading humiliation for favors was your game, you could make better money at the state-line strip club. No, that wasn’t fair. Stripping required artistic flair and tremendous athletic skill. A good dancer with an exhibitionist streak could find a great deal of satisfaction with that work. Strippers had nothing to be ashamed of. Only Dramedy did. Playing lackey to a demented judge was thoroughly degrading. Besides, Dramedy couldn’t dance well and wasn’t in shape either.

She looked down at her belly. Dramedy had fattened it up with too many beers. She glanced at the beer in her hand. It needed a refill. Or did it? Dramedy started to ask for another one when she realized Eli had been talking to her while she was staring off into space.

Sorry, said Dramedy, what did you say?

I asked how the Union dealt with Temporaneous after the war, said Eli. He was studying her closely. He almost looked concerned.

How sweet, Dramedy thought. He probably thinks I’m a head case. Well, maybe I am.

Dramedy forgot about the extra beer and answered his question. So, King Rimlittle was given a post in the federal government monitoring corruption in the railroad business. Ha ha ha. In return, he agreed to reinstate the old government.

Just like that? asked Eli.

Sure, why not? It was a good deal for everyone. Except, of course, for the black Temporaneans who were enslaved during the war. Their property was seized by the crown, and they never got it back. That was part of the deal too.

History is filled with crimes… said Eli. His eyes flashed back to the television screen, still displaying news coverage of the panda crisis. You know, someday this news about the pandas will be history. Even bigger history than the Civil War. Our conversation is distracting you from keeping abreast of the latest developments.

That seemed like an odd thing to say. You weren’t distracting me, said Dramedy. I wasn’t paying attention anyway.

You should have been, said Eli. You should be learning as much about those pandas as you possibly can.

What are you talking about?

You’re going to need all the information you can get. Very soon.

Eli’s ominous predictions were putting Dramedy on edge. What, you mean me personally? she asked. Why?

Eli said nothing in reply. He simply stared at Dramedy and smiled at her unnervingly.

Dramedy eyed the door in response. It was time to leave. Eli seemed increasingly strange to her as time went by, and she wanted to cut things short before he got any wild ideas. Besides, tomorrow would be another long, gruesome day, and Dramedy wanted some time at home to unwind before going to bed.

I ought to head off, Eli said abruptly. Thanks for the history lesson. He stood up and put on his coat.

That was easy, thought Dramedy. And here I thought I was going to have to shoot him down. Suddenly a wave of loneliness rushed through her. She wondered why Eli hadn’t made a pass at her. He probably thought she was damaged goods. Not even worth a one-night stand.

Now she was getting depressed. She hated Eli for not wanting her, but she liked him for his discretion. And she hated herself for being single, lonely, unwanted—

Oh, Dramedy, shut up!

Sorry? Eli asked. He raised his eyebrows and held back a full smile.

Whoops. She was thinking out loud now. Just great.

Nothing, she said. Just thinking of something I have to do tomorrow… Have a nice night. Dramedy tried to maintain her composure, but her face felt warm. Eli smiled at her keenly, wracking her nerves further still.

Good night, he said. Tomorrow’s another long, gruesome day. He flashed a savvy grin; his eyes almost seemed to be mocking her. Then he nodded his head briefly, turned, and left.

Dramedy was stupefied. Hadn’t she just been thinking those very words—or did she say them out loud too? Who was this guy, anyway? She had a sinking feeling of uncertainty. Eli had really gotten under her skin. Frazzled, she ordered a shot of whiskey. Dramedy suddenly felt sure her life was spinning out of control.

I’ve got to get out of here, she said, downing the shot. And yes, I meant to say that out loud, she added, aiming a sidelong glance at the bartender.

Well, go home then, the bartender laughed, but we all talk to ourselves sometimes.

"No, I mean I’ve got to get out of here, she said. Here! This whole place—my whole life—it’s eating me up. I’ve had it."

The bartender remained silent, but Dramedy didn’t care about him or what he thought. She abruptly rose from her seat and stormed off to the exit, briefly glancing back at the interior of the bar. She felt sick to be a part of it. Dramedy wheeled back around and burst angrily into the outside night.

* * *

Half an hour later, Dramedy disembarked from the bus that carried her home to her neighborhood every weekday evening. She took a detour on the walk back from the bus stop. Walking at night sometimes helped her decompress. Friendsville was not an attractive city, but at night the parking lots, power lines, and drab billboards took on a shadowy air that complemented a reflective mood. She needed to reflect right now. Dramedy felt more than just unsettled; she felt frantic and desperate, and intensely disturbed. These feelings seemed to have stricken her suddenly at the bar, but they had actually been building up for quite some time.

Dramedy trudged down the sidewalk, wishing there was some snow on the ground—something for the ugly town to hide beneath. She had lived in Friendsville all her life, and she didn’t want to see it anymore. Dramedy wouldn’t have stayed here in the first place if it hadn’t been for Caleb.

She felt a rising wave of bitter resentment as memories of her high-school boyfriend revisited her mind. Dramedy had really loved him. And when Caleb decided to stay in town after graduation, she had stayed with him. Dramedy spent four thankless years at Temporaneous University, fondly referred to as Tempor-oo by the cheerfully brain-dead, plowing through uninspiring coursework while Caleb dragged his feet. All that time, she should have been planning to flee.

Instead, Dramedy had applied to Rimlittle College of Law, the only law school located in Friendsville. It seemed like a wise and responsible decision at the time. She could stay in Friendsville with Caleb while he finished his degree, and meanwhile, she would put her own worthless degree to good use by tacking a law doctorate on top of it. But during Dramedy’s first year at Rimlittle, Caleb suddenly announced he was leaving the state without her. Dramedy had known their relationship wasn’t perfect, but Caleb’s departure came as a total shock to her. It shattered her sense of trust, leaving her devastated and directionless.

Unsure what else to do, Dramedy followed her inertia and stumbled through with law school, but she loathed every minute of it. By the time it was over, she was still trying to figure out how she had gotten there and why she hadn’t left. She seemed to have washed ashore in the legal profession like a branch of driftwood, desolate and forgotten. Dramedy thought her future would be secure after she graduated and passed the bar, but nothing ever came of the few interviews she was able to get. She considered herself lucky to have found her hated position as a judicial clerk. Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Caleb fell in love with Jordan.

Jordan. The name was detestable. It used to seem like such a harmless name. It had even sounded pleasant once. Now that name was forever wedded to the smiling, hideous pictures Dramedy saw online of Caleb’s new girlfriend—branded with the despicable heart that popped up on Caleb’s social profile when they got engaged.

Dramedy was still angry about it, and the fact that she hadn’t moved on yet made her even angrier. She was pathetic. That thought danced through Dramedy’s head, taunting her repeatedly. She shoved the thought down inside her gut, knowing it would fester there and give birth to newer, increasingly vicious thoughts. The most cunning of these thoughts would later prevail in a process of natural selection, worming its way into every last nerve and insecurity it could find in her weary psyche.

In Dramedy’s imagination, Caleb had replaced her with the epitome of everything she despised, as well as everything she secretly longed to be. All content was balled up and synthesized into a single, diabolical woman named Jordan. That hateful, grotesque name. Dramedy shook the name and the woman out of her mind. She tried to focus on what had happened to her back at the bar. Maybe Eli’s smugness had reminded her of the way Caleb abandoned her. But this wasn’t really about Caleb, or even about Jordan. Her feelings sprang from a more pervasive source.

It was the pressure of society at large that weighed her down. A whole country weighing, rating, judging, discarding, and labeling. It hung in the air like psychic smog. Thick enough to choke on. Thick enough to kill you. To kill the part of you that mattered, anyway. Dramedy despised it but felt trapped by it—snuffed out by the press of expectations. For years she had been pinning her hopes on empty vessels like Caleb and law school, vainly hoping for deliverance. Instead, those vessels had set her adrift in a sea of apathy.

Tonight that apathy had been jarred loose somehow. Dramedy still wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was something about Eli, or something he said about the pandas. The pandas were actually freaking Dramedy out much more than she cared to admit. Change was in the air. And that change was disrupting the numb, hypnotic trance she had been locked into. It brought Dramedy face-to-face with the ugly realities she was hiding from.

Dramedy looked up and saw that her apartment complex had appeared before her. Even the building she lived in was ugly. It was boxy and artless, painted drably in orange and beige. She scanned the horizon and took in the concrete and asphalt—the parking lots and telephone poles. Monstrously ugly. Dramedy shivered, fumbling for her keys with numb fingers. December was a cold time for a walk, and it hadn’t even helped her mood. She sighed and unlocked the front door.

Hello, Dramedy said as she stepped inside.

Hi Dramedy, you’re home late! called Candy behind a din of blaring rock music. Candy was Dramedy’s roommate.

Candy danced into the living room, all elbows and knees, twirling and jerking herself forward with joyous abandon. Dramedy had to smile when Candy emerged from the hallway, her wavy amber hair bobbing up and down with her movements.

Candy’s eyes were bright, and she was grinning with childlike delight. She caught Dramedy’s eyes and winked broadly. Then she closed her eyes most of the way and let the side of her jaw drop slack. Dramedy recognized this as Candy’s rock star–guitar solo face. Candy reached the middle of the living room and curled her upper lip while leaning her head back. Her fingers wiggled spastically in a spirited air guitar riff. She stopped dancing and raised one hand high in the air.

Feelin’s believin’! she crooned with enthusiasm. Da-ba-da when you doo-ba the ja!

Candy! snapped Dramedy. You know I hate this arena-rock shit.

Candy just smiled, shaking her head as she continued singing. Could be I’m dreamin’! Ba-di ya-na bi-da ya di-ya!

Dramedy sighed again and walked over to the stereo to turn the music down. Coming home to her apartment usually cheered her up. The living room was filled with friendly furniture of warm inviting tones, anchored by a rich-blue couch in the center. It was her own small corner of the universe. But Dramedy’s gloom made it hard to find solace in those familiar sights. She felt the need to complain instead.

You should learn the words to that wretched song if you’re going to sing it, Dramedy said. Besides, I’m not in the mood right now. I’m… feeling spooked.

Spooked? asked Candy. What do you mean, spooked?

I mean I’m spooked. I don’t know—I’ve got one of those feelings you can’t shake off.

Candy frowned. Come out with it, Dramedy. What is it? She sat down on the couch and smacked the cushion next to her a few times. Park it, honey, and tell Mama Candy all about it.

Dramedy rolled her eyes and sat down. Sometimes Candy’s mannerisms struck Dramedy as forced and inauthentic. She wished Candy would display more poise, more subtlety. Then she felt a pang of guilt shoot through her. Dramedy furrowed her brow, berating herself mentally for her thoughts. Always so judgmental, so quick to find fault.

So? Candy cocked her head and raised her eyebrows.

Candy, what am I doing with my life? Dramedy blurted out. I mean just look at us. We’re wasting away here in Friendsville. We’re dying on the vine. And we have these degrees—we went into massive debt for them. For what? We don’t have any use for them.

Well, of course we do.

Come on, Candy. I majored in Gothic cultural expressions of the late medieval period. You know I’ll never use that.

The late medieval period… When was that?

It doesn’t matter when it was, snapped Dramedy. That’s the whole point! Nobody will ever care.

Well, maybe you’re right, Dramedy, conceded Candy. But my degree is useful!

Really? said Dramedy, not bothering to mask her incredulity. The sociology of situational comedy?

You bet, said Candy, folding her arms. Life is just one big situational comedy. I use that degree every day! Candy coiled up with tension as she spoke. She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, placing her hands on her knees.

I’m sorry, Candy said. I was taking that personally. She paused to evaluate her friend. I know you’re just spooked—whatever that means.

Don’t let me off the hook, said Dramedy. Just because I’m feeling bad doesn’t mean our degrees are actually useful.

Okay, okay, said Candy. She smiled at Dramedy encouragingly. But you’ve got a law degree now. That’s totally useful!

Dramedy wasn’t biting. Useful how? I can’t even get a job as a lawyer with it—not even if I wanted one. These people can smell me out from a mile away. They know I don’t belong in their world, no matter how hard I try to fool them. And I know it too. I don’t want to spend my life hauling other peoples’ garbage around in court. I blew it, Candy. She looked down, feeling the weight sink in. I ruined my life.

Candy folded her arms again and chewed on her lip. Dramedy recognized this pose. It meant Candy wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. The silence in the room felt heavier and heavier as the moment dragged on. Candy shifted nervously but said nothing.

The tension broke when the doorbell rang.

Oh, that must be my date, said Candy. She glanced at Dramedy as she got up to answer the door. Try not to drive him away, will you?

I’m not making any promises.

Candy opened the door.

Hey, babe, said the man on the other side. He saw Dramedy on the couch. You must be Dramedy. I’m Jordan.

Another Jordan, thought Dramedy. They come in all genders.

Oh great, she said aloud. This is all I need.

Jordan looked confused. I’m sorry…? For something?

It’s just your name, said Dramedy. I find it sickening.

Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha, Candy broke in nervously. Dramedy’s just being cute. You’re cute, Dramedy. Candy glared at her briefly.

Dramedy sighed. Of course I am. Good to meet you, Jordan. She almost choked on the final word.

Jordan swiftly recovered his nonchalance. You’re looking sharp, doll, he said, turning back to Candy. He smoothly produced a bottle he had been holding behind his back. I brought wine.

Oh, thank you! Candy exclaimed brightly. She took the bottle and headed for the kitchen. I forgot to tell you, Dramedy, she called, rummaging for glasses in the cupboard. I invited Jordan over tonight to watch a movie. What movie did you bring, Jordan?

"Backbiting, said Jordan. He closed the door and took a seat next to Dramedy on the couch. It’s the new romantic comedy starring Lizzie McTeller and John Billings. I remember you saying you like his stuff."

Candy reentered the living room carrying three glasses and a corkscrew. That sounds great, what’s the premise?

Wait, don’t tell me, broke in Dramedy. "The protagonist is a young American settling into the early stages of a highly promising and lucrative career. Despite this person’s relative affluence, beauty, and success, we as viewers are meant to identify with him or her as the prototype of the average American. But our