“Looks clean,” she says. “No need for gloves.” But I do need gloves. The earth met my bones years ago, but I nod and am led to the field with my steel bonds, alone in the light of the rising sun. Of course, I am not alone for too long. Soon enough, Classic joins me in the field, five feet away from me. “Morning,” he says to me. I ignore him, brushing my hands through the dirt, a note peeking through the earth. The bandages on my hands make it harder to grasp the notes, harder to move the dirt. A note drops into my basket, and I look up. Classic stares back at me. I frown at him. My hands manage to wrap around the note with my thickly bandaged fingers, thorns grappling with the fibers, and toss one of my valuable notes into his basket. I look down before I can see his eyes. Classic shifts his hand into the basket, drawing out the note. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His bandaged fingers caress the note, I can almost hear what it might sound like if it ever gets used. “Why’d you go and do that?” He asks me, setting the note on the ground between us. “Why do you keep doing it?” I snap back. He pushes the note towards me, trying to get me to take it. I glare. He watches. “I got nothing better-” he states plainly, shrugging and returning to his patch of soil. I start to speak, but his words mean nothing to me. It doesn’t make sense. “Nothing better?” I question, my voice louder than I expected it to be. He smiles and chuckles, pushing the note closer, so close that his golden shackles pull tighter against his wrists. He is an odd man. “Nothing better.” He confirms with a nod, “So take the note, Blue.” I don’t have a name. I’ve never had a real name, but when he calls me “Blue,” it feels like a name. I reach out and take the note back, dropping it in my basket. We work in silence until the sun starts to rise again. Classic works, humming and digging as he does. I wonder before pausing in my work. What makes my name? What makes any of our names? What is his name? I turn my attention back to him, dropping a note in my basket. “What did you say your name was?” I ask after a moment of silence.
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