She put her pen down and thoughtfully chewed the silky inside of her left cheek. She stared hard at the photo on her iPod of those beautiful, strong young African women who had just invented this amazing generator that made electricity out of human urine. She shook her head. It was amazing the things that people did in the face of adversity. She continued shaking her head, trying to comprehend the humanity of humanity.
"Be careful shaking your head," said her son Maddox, who was sitting on the other side of the enormous bed, watching "Homeland" on his iPad. "A shard of your beauty just hit me in the face." She barely heard him. She let her eye cast around the room for a moment. All her children were here, Maddox, Zahara, Shiloh, Pax, each with his or her iPad. Maddox was next to her on the bed, Zahara was stretched out along the foot. Pax was on one corner of a pink velvet couch, Shiloh on the other. All four were staring at their iPads. In the bedroom foyer, Knox and Vivienne were making a cat out of wooden blocks.
***
Angelina traced a pointer finger, its perfect oval nail painted with the Essie new-for-fall dark grey hue called "Stylenomics" lovingly over her own iPad screen. She cleared her throat. "These girls," she said, out loud to no one in particular. "Look at these girls. What amazing, strong young women. They have been through so much, but they still made this amazing generator that creates electricity out of urine." (...)
The door to the man's master bath opened, and there stood Brad Pitt. In one hand was an iPad, in the other, a vaporizer.
“Oh Brad," Angie said, leaping up, running over to him, pulling at the sash of her red Galliano sweater with one hand, clutching her iPad with the other. "You have to look at these amazing inspiring young women. Look at them."
"Oh yeah. I read about that. Pretty cool."
Her face grew stern. "Brad, I need to understand that when you gaze at these girls, you see that their faces glow with fortitude, a stalwart commitment to dignity, and the resolve to create a better life for people everywhere.”
He looked at the photo for a second. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah. I…" Then he paused. He touched the pads of his fingers to his graying beard. “Wait, it says here that four girls created a generator that makes electricity outta pee. Well, there are only three girls in this here picture. Where’s the fourth one?”
"Oh my God," she said. "Brad. Where is she?"
"I don’t know, I was only joking. Hey, it’s okay."
"Brad, I don’t think this is okay. I think it’s not okay, okay?”
"Ange. I think she’s just… not in the picture. I think she just went to, I don’t know, get a soda or something."
She seemed reassured for a minute. She lay one finger on the rosy cushion of her lips, then let it trail down over her round, firm chin, down the length of her neck, and then to the hollow at the base of her throat, where it made worried circles. "Maybe that girl is okay, but if this is a true competitor to petroleum, those girls are in danger. We have to get to them."
The room was silent for a moment except for the sound of clicking.
"Brad," Angelina said. "We're going to Africa."
Fuck, he thought. "Okay," he said.
by Sarah Miller, The Awl | Read more:
