Yela and Hunch

“Yela?” A woman in black business slacks and teal silk top looked at me.

“Yes?”

“You can follow me.” So I did. We left the testing room of plain walls and hard chairs. As she introduced herself as a nameless director, she led me through wandering hallways. We had been walking through this maze for ten minutes, when we arrived at two wooden doors and she said, “Welcome to the Gut Camp!” I followed her past the gates four times my height and was greeted with a garden of trees, flowers, rocks, birds, butterflies, and ponds. Somehow when the doors shut behind me, all other noises disappeared. I only heard the fluttering of wings and the trickle of water. “Yela,” she started. “Your gut tested so well during the entrance exams. We think you would thrive as a part of this program.” At 18, every citizen of Wastan completed in-depth personality tests to determine how they would best benefit society. I could’ve been placed with the Heart or Brains or Brawn schools, but I was assigned to the Gut tribe. We were picked for our instincts, not our digestive health.

She guided me through a tour of the place, while painting daydreams of me leading national and global initiatives. As others passed us, I noticed creatures following them. They acted like dogs but didn’t look like them. One creature didn’t look like any other. Some were big, and some were small. Some slid, and some flew. Some drew me in, and some inspired me to look away.

“Yela.” We stepped onto a platform of a gazebo-esque structure. It looked wooden, but it felt like clouds under my feet. “I’d like you to meet your companion. This is Hunch.” She stepped to the side and revealed my creature: a purple bowling ball with eyes, a mouth, paws, and feet.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Yela,” they spoke.

I gasped. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” they said. “Meeting your companion for the first time can be shocking.” They bowed with the little neck they had.

“Yela,” the director chimed in. “Hunch represents your purest intuition. They will support you through your training and career as a leading mind and decision maker. In 15 minutes, you two must pass the gut test.”

“What’s the gut test?” I asked.

“You and Hunch will be interviewed and measured for compatibility and cooperation. It’s like a routine doctor’s visit, nothing to worry about. Plus, the connection should come naturally for the two of you.”

I looked at Hunch, and they smiled at me.

“I will leave you two and return in 15 minutes for your exam.” As the director nodded and glided away, a bird-like creature landed on her shoulder. I wished my companion could fly.

I kicked the air, as if a rock was at my feet. I walked along the gazebo’s edge and looked over at Hunch. They were still. “So how exactly do we prepare for this test?”

“We must trust ourselves.”

“Have you done one of these before?”

“No, I was created to pair with you and no one else.”

“Really? How old are you?”

“Age does not concern me.”

I scoffed and dragged my fingers across the bars of the railing. “Assuming that you have not been around long, do you even know what you’re doing?”

“One does not know. One simply does.”

“Unbelievable,” I scoffed. “Hunch, you’ve got to give me more than inspirational quotes.”

“Greed makes one foolish.”

“Ridiculous,” I laughed and threw up my hands. “Can I get a new companion?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“My name is Hunch.”

I looked at them and their stone-cold, serious face. No quivering smile. All business. “This must be a mistake.” I strode around the garden, arms swinging. I scanned for the director. I exhaled like a peeved dragon and strode some more. I heard a noise behind me, like a helicopter rotor spinning. I looked over my shoulder to see Hunch pattering a few yards back, like the toy group contestants of a dog show. I rolled my eyes. How was that thing designed to help me pass this test?

Just then, I spotted the director. Despite the tranquil surroundings, I ran across the garden. The helicopter behind me picked up speed. Once I got to her, I said, “Director,” and paused to catch my breath. Then, I heard a shaky slide whistle below, and at my feet sat a panting Hunch. I shook my head. “Director, there’s been a mistake.”

“What kind of mistake?”

“Hunch can’t be my companion.”

“But Hunch is your companion.”

“No, Hunch can’t be. We don’t get along.”

“That’s common for a student’s first meeting with their companion.”

“But,” I replied, as I dug around my brain for a rebuttal.

Then, a high-pitched gong rang next to my ear. I looked up to see the director’s assistant holding a four-inch gong and mallet.

“It is time for your gut test,” the director said.

“Now?” I questioned, as Hunch began to hum. “But we need more time.” They followed the director and assistant, leaving me behind. “We can’t go now.” They walked toward this wooden beast of a structure, like the queen gazebo, decorated with vines and flowers. “We won’t pass.” Despite my reluctance, I was pulled forward by the director’s drive. No eyes looked back at me. Not one of them glanced over their shoulder.

Then, I tripped and fell into a flower bed. As I spat out petals, I brushed dirt off my jeans. I looked up to see Hunch shaking like a dog that was caught in a rainstorm. “Hunch?”

“Yes?”

“Did I trip over you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” With my hands dangling, I let my arms rest on my knees.

“It was merely an accident. Rising again will be a testament to your persistence.” They held out their hand-paw hybrid.

I scoffed. “How can you help me up? My microwave’s taller than you.”

“I believe I can. I feel I can, so I will.” They stretched their arm out to me. I sighed, grabbed their hand, and was pulled up. It was smooth, unlike a yank. Hunch managed so much strength that I almost fell into the next flower bed, but I remembered my balance and strength this time. I turned around and looked at Hunch smiling.

“Woah, how did you --”

“I already told you,” they said and shuffled to meet the director. I shook off more dirt and nerves, while running and catching up. Making sure I could see Hunch ahead of me, I walked onto the platform. The director sat in an empty chair between two other officials. They all had an air of earned importance. They looked others in the eyes, despite the difference in position. It was as if there was no hierarchy. Hunch stood before the panel and nodded to the spot next to them. I hurried to my place. We bowed to the panel. They bowed in return.

“Hunch,” the director started. “Do you trust Yela?”

“Yes,” they answered with the little chin they had held high.

“Yela, do you trust Hunch?”

I used my peripheral vision to check in on them. Chin still as high as ever. I answered, “Yes.”

“Yela,” she said. “Do you trust yourself?”

Unaware that I’d be tested on myself, I was thrown a surprise party without any streamers or cake. I gawked like a fish out of water. Everyone looked at me, but Hunch stayed forward. That nub of a chin did not falter. Noticing a new warmth and moisture in my armpits, I stuttered, “I think so.” Equipped with invisible magnifying glasses, everyone leaned in, but no one said a word. There was nothing like silence that made me want to fill the space. “I’m pretty sure I do. I mean I do. I do trust myself. Most days. Almost always. You know, humans. We mess up. Like last week! Last week, I spilled coffee on my mom’s couch. That was stupid. She was mad. Oof, she was mad.”

“Yela,” the director grounded me.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Do you trust yourself?”

There was nothing like someone repeating their question that made me doubt myself.

“Director,” Hunch said. “May I have a moment with Yela?” She nodded.

Hunch turned to me, and I knelt down. “Yela?”

“Hunch?”

“Do you believe you can trust yourself?”

I looked at the waiting panel and turned back to my companion. “I think so. I just hate having the focus on me.”

“That’s right. You should focus on yourself.”

I shook my head. “Hunch, that’s not what I --”

“Thank you, Director.” They ended our conversation and turned forward, leaving me to pick up my jaw and rise again all on my own.

“Yela,” she started. “Do you trust yourself?”

 When I was a young girl, I believed I could fly. I would sprint, flap my arms, and jump from anything I could. I once made it to the roof of our house, but my mom spotted me before I could make any big moves. I believed I could, and for a second -- leaping from a tree -- I was airborne.

“Yela?”

“Yes!” I shouted, inspired by the internal monologue that no one else heard. “I apologize for the outburst, ma’am.”

“It’s alright. I like the enthusiasm.” She smiled. “I will ask again. Yela, do you trust yourself?”

“Yes,” I answered with a chin high like Hunch’s. Our army of two was ready to take on the world. Just then, I felt something wrap around my leg. I looked down and saw Hunch hugging my calf. “Are you alright?”

“I am proud of you.” I smiled and felt like flying again.

“Yela and Hunch,” the director said. “You have passed your trust test. You are free to go, but please stay close.”

Hutch tightened their grip on my leg. “Thank you, Director,” I bowed. “But what am I supposed to do now?”

“Whatever you’d like, until you are called for your next exam. It won’t be long.” She and the other panelists bowed and left for other business. I looked down again. “Hunch?”

“Yela?”

“Are you going to let go?”

“I do not want to let go of this feeling. Not yet.” They snuggled and squeezed.

I smiled and looked up to the sky filtering through the roof’s beams. One day, Hunch and I would learn how to fly.