“I’m putting myself up for adoption,” said Max.

 

His parents fell back in their garden chairs in shock.

His mother, Maggie, rose to her feet. “How dare you throw your life away like this!” She yelled.

 

“Max,” said his father, Pip, while recrossing his legs, “Calm down. You just became a senior designer. And that makes, what, nineteen years at Emensiha Corp?”

 

“Twenty. The anniversary was a week ago.”

 

“Oh,” said Pip.

 

“I’ll never see you again!” said Maggie.

 

“Mom, it's not a prison. I can come back anytime I want,” said Max.

 

“But no one ever does!”

 

“Yeah, because it's awesome up there.”

 

Maggie glanced through the sun at the shifting space elevator, then stomped. Pip grabbed the empty chair beside him and scooted it out a few inches.

 

“Max, what is it? Just remember, turning fifty is just a third of the way through life now. They used to call it a midlife crisis, but it's just part of our biology. This freak-out you’re having is normal after a long career.”

 

“Dad,” said Max as he sat, “I’m tired of working like this. Even though I’ve been there twenty years, every day feels more stressful. I keep thinking the next day will be my last. They’re constantly looking for reasons to replace me.”

 

“Existence is cutthroat.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be anymore.”

 

“Max, those aliens up there see you as nothing more than a pet. It’s not reality. This existence, and the job you have, is what gives you purpose. Not being entertainment for some aliens.”

 

“Dad, I haven’t been able to paint for the last ten years because I've been so busy at work. That doesn’t feel like much of an existence.”

 

“Well, if you don’t have work, you won’t be able to paint. And if you leave Emensiha, they’ll blackball you. You’ll never work again.”

 

“That sounds nice, actually.”

 

Pip rose from his chair and moved toward the path Max’s mother had stomped through.

 

“Your mother and I always believed that you were special. From your first finger painting we hung on the fridge, we knew that you had a special place in this world. When you’re up there you need to remember that. For us.”

 

Pip meandered along the path towards Maggie and left Max in the garden.

 

* * *

 

Max’s brain lit up with an ecstasy he’d only known as a child. The glowing paint in his hand changed to vibrant kaleidoscopes of greens he’d never seen. He smeared it on the canvas of his next project.

 

“Yo, Max, how many damn colors do you have left?” asked Bailey.

 

His boisterous friend lounged into his couch as he counted the canisters. There were more than yesterday, just like the day before. Bailey took a giant bite of a burrito and melted into satisfaction.

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get through them all,” said Max.

 

“That’s good, right?” ask Bailey with his mouth full.

 

Through the windows of his custom loft, shimmers of his owners came in and out. They had their guests with them. With every bite Bailey took, every brush stroke Max made, and with every word they spoke to each other, the waves of excitement in the air reverberated against the projection.

 

“There are, roughly, ten million colors that we as humans can see. I didn’t get to study or use all of them outside of a color theory class. Most of the time, I just made pretty logos for products.”

 

“Now you get hundreds of millions of colors,” said Bailey.

 

“That’s not the point. I felt like I could make something unique. Something new or special. But now, I’ll never master anything. Here, look at what these aliens keep giving me.”

 

Max lifted a remote near his easel and pressed a button. A panel from the wall dissipated to show a statue. The ceramic sculpture was never the same because it was both static and moving simultaneously. Intertwined with the impossible movement were elements of the colors he had on his hand.

 

Their owners went into a frenzy as both Bailey and Max looked at the four-dimensional item. Giggles of nervousness made it through both of their dumbstruck awe.

 

“What the hell is that and why is it so beautiful?” asked Bailey.

 

“I don’t know, but I know that I could never make something like that,” said Max.

 

Max frowned, and then the shimmering of their owners changed and drew closer. His door opened, and a floating tray chugged in. It was loaded with new paint brushes and half a dozen burritos.

 

Bailey leapt to his feet before Max could turn it away.

 

“So what if you can’t?” asked Bailey. He took a burrito, chomped into the carne asada, and almost fell over in glee.

 

“But… I’ll never be special,” said Max.

 

“Dude, you need to let go of that,” said Bailey between chews.

 

Max turned to Bailey in disbelief. Bailey continued.

 

“Man, look at these aliens, or whatever they are. They’re light years ahead of us. The fact that they can see the electromagnetic activity in our brain as it happens is mindblowing. I mean that literally. Your mind would actually explode if you even attempted anything they could do. We’re simple beings to them. Nothing more than cute and harmless. Like puppies, but with an extra piece of brain bolted to the front.”

 

“But don’t you want to achieve something? Be known?”

 

“Nah,” said Bailey, settling back on the couch. “So long as you're happy and you don’t have to fight to exist, then being special doesn’t matter.”

 

Max looked at the shifting four-dimensional paint in his hand, then back to the fresh easel. He repainted the first finger painting he had made for his parents. He thought about how it had hung on the fridge for years. But most of all:

 

He thought of how much his parents made him feel special.