FINAL NOTICE 
By ram0n
      
      The last thing Morris wanted to see after a hard day’s work at the convention center was the cat floating across the room.
      He’d never liked the mangy thing anyway, and would have been perfectly happy to watch the little bastard keep going, higher and higher into the upper atmosphere, until its blood boiled and it detonated in a shower of calico fur.
      No such luck.
      The little furball kept going, past his shoulder, and into the hall outside their apartment, where somebody else was responsible for paying the bills. It hit the floor with a yelp, and scurried off to hide someplace a little more stable.
      I’ll be damned, Morris thought. They do land on their feet.
      With a sigh, Morris crossed the threshold of their meagerly appointed two-bedroom Vegas flat, bracing himself against the doorjamb. Almost immediately, his feet departed the floor, setting a course for the ceiling. He felt the fluid rushing to his head, and he felt the overwhelming urge to take a piss.
      His wife Amani floated upside down in a corner, arms crossed, long dreads floating like the arms of an octopus around her head. At first glance she looked as if she were smiling, until he remembered her orientation relative to him.
      “Did you forget something?” she asked, her voice ripe with sarcasm.
      “Don’t look at me,” he snapped. “You were the one who called yourself paying the bills last month.”
      Something caught the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to see the Svoorna ottoman she’d purchased at Ikea the previous week tumbling through the air toward him.
      “Shit!” He ducked, keeping his balance on the doorjamb, and the burnt-orange furniture sailed over his head and out the door, falling with a horrific crash the second it crossed the threshold.
      “Close that door!” Amani shouted. “You wanna let all my furniture out of here? And anyway, weren’t you supposed to tie that down?”
      “Sorry,” he mumbled, slowly closing the door. “I must have been too busy working one of my two shifts at the convention center so you can pay for that expensive stuff to notice.”
      “You ain’t too busy to go out for beer with your boys afterward. How much you think that costs?” She waved a slip of paper in her hand. Even across the room he could read the blood red letters screaming at him from the top of the page—FINAL NOTICE.
      “Which one is that?” he sighed.
      Amani looked as if she were on the verge of a high-yield detonation.
      “Well, let’s see,” she shot back, flicking a switch on the wall. “The lights are on.” With a push, she glided into the kitchen area, flicking a knob on the stove. A blue flame came up from the burner, coalescing into a translucent globe. “Gas seems okay.” She flung open the refrigerator door.
      “No, don’t—”
      Fast food containers, Tupperware, two-liter plastic soda bottles, all came floating out of the white box, quickly creating a cloud of comestibles in the small kitchen. Leftover ramen noodles latched on to a pork chop that escaped its container, spiraling around in an intricate dance. The combination whipped around a glob of red Kool-Aid, slingshoting around it in a gravity assist maneuver that sent it toward the deepest reaches of the living room.
      “I think,” Amani said, thoughtfully placing an intricately painted fingernail alongside her temple, “it must be the gravity bill!”
      “Awww, damn!” Morris shouted. He reached out to catch the noodle-ensnared pork chop, but the motion caused him to cartwheel toward the center of the room, the centrifugal force further aggravating the pressure in his bladder.
      “How many times have I said it: Be abso-god-damned sure you pay the gravity company, Morris! Don’t forget, Morris! And you can’t even do that!”
      “Calm down, Amani,” Morris said, grabbing the ceiling to slow his spin. “Act like we never had the gravity shut off before. I’m going to the head, and when I come back, I expect my dinner to be scraped off the wall.”
      He gave a gentle shove off the ceiling, aiming in the general direction of the short hallway that led to the bathroom and bedroom. With a deft flip, he dove feet first into the open bathroom door, fuming all the way.
      “How the hell they gonna charge for gravity, anyway?” he said, just loud enough for Amani to hear. He switched on the light.
      Corporations always messing something up. Nature gives you something, sure as sunrise they’ll find a way to get some money for it. Water comes from nature, gas comes from nature, gravity comes from nature. Simple. Should all be free. Wasn’t that what they were saying at that conference he’d been cleaning up after all week? Freedom of information? Buncha hackers or crackers or whatever, lots of ‘em goofy as hell, but they had the right idea.
      Easy for them to talk, though, he chuckled to himself. The convention center *had* gravity.
      There’d be no using the toilet, of course. He’d learned from the last time they’d shut off the gravity. All the appliances and furniture—except that stupid, expensive-ass ottoman she had to have—were either tied or bolted to the floor. The toilet had a plastic seal all the way around the seat, which kept the lid from flying up and a huge glob of water from soaking the entire house.
      But, that forced them to find alternate methods of using the bathroom.
      Shit, he thought, reaching into the dispenser attached to the wall. I don’t work hard all day to come home and piss into a bag.
      He caught himself in the mirror as he did his business. They called it, right on. His face was rounder than usual thanks to the lack of gravity, giving his head the overall appearance of a Milk Dud. He kept his afro short, so he could fit it under the cap that came with his uniform. No beard, but he always kept a moustache because his daddy said a black man always needs one. Otherwise your upper lip looks like a little girl’s—
      “How long does it take to use the bathroom?” Amani hollered.
      “Coming!” He zipped up and carefully tied off the bag, placing it into the covered trash receptacle. No faucet to wash his hands, instead he selected a handful of that goopy antiseptic fluid that came in a pump dispenser.
      When he floated back into the living room Amani was dutifully retrieving the contents of the fridge from mid-air.
      “You need help?” he asked. Dreads whirled around her rounded face. Actually, the fluid rushing to her face filled out her features, made her lips look more luscious. Didn’t hurt the rest of her, either. Amani had always been filled out in just the right places.
      “No, I got it.” Her voice was brusque, but some of the edge was off.
      “Listen.” He drifted over to her, careful not to build up too much momentum. He bounced against the opposite wall and wound up next to her, looking into her deep brown eyes. “Maybe I came on a little too hard when I got home. I just work hard so we can have what we got, you know?”
      Amani blinked, her features softening slightly. “I hear you. But I just get so—frustrated. I mean, I work hard too, Morris. And I get sick of filing other people’s crusty nails all day just so we can keep a roof. Then to come home and have to float across the room—” She seemed almost on the verge of tears.
      He reached out for her and crushed her into his arms. The motion set them both gently spinning toward the center of the room, orbited by the contents of the refrigerator she hadn’t been able to grab and stuff into her plastic bag.
      “It’ll be okay,” he said. “Soon as I get off second shift tomorrow, I’ll head on down to that gravity office. Straighten this all out. I promise, you’ll be walking on the floor by the time you come home from work tomorrow.”
      “Promise?”
      “Promise.” He planted a kiss on her lips.
      Amani beamed. “Morris,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “You kiss me like that, it takes my breath away.”
      Morris took a deep breath, found it difficult. Did she have the same effect on him, or was it getting a little stuffy?
      Amani furrowed her eyebrows, trying to draw in her own breath as well. It was getting a little close—
      “Morris!” she shouted with a sudden realization. “Please, please tell me you paid the air!”