by Ross Anthony
The sound bombarded me with an overwhelming feeling of guilt as the light of freedom poured in.
I had forgotten the blinding warmth of the sun, as its shine wrapped around me like a hug from my mom.
Fifteen
Tobias drove me home. Aside from him getting me fast food and water and me gorging myself until I was sick, I don’t remember much other than vomiting out of the passenger side door.
I spent the greater part of the car ride navigating the fogginess of the trauma I had endured. It was like I felt everything and nothing all at the same time. The only thing pulling me from the edge of a complete break was knowing that I’d be seeing Nicolas soon.
Home was as I had left it the day Peter and I had were taken by the Cleansers. The only thing that had changed was the 30 day eviction notice on the door. With everything that had been going on prior to my time in the conversion center, I had forgotten to pay rent, which at that point didn’t matter anyway.
Nicolas’ father waited outside the door while I packed a few things and cleaned myself up. He was my immunity from being “Cleansed” again, but I had to hurry. If they found him out, he’d be in danger as well.
I removed the ridiculous white garbs I had been wearing and turned the knobs of the shower to preheat the water. I had only been allowed a few cold showers at the facility. I stepped into the warm spray and wept as it gently washed over me, releasing the aches and pains of the evil I had endured.
The small bathroom was filled with steam as I got out of the shower and dried myself off. I stepped in front of the mirror and wiped the condensation off, revealing my tired, gaunt appearance. I saw a stranger looking back at me. I turned away, as I couldn’t bear the sight of my reflection, and wrapped the beige towel around my waist.
I went to my room to grab some clothes to change into and tossed some more in a bag. I rifled through the small bookshelf and pulled a few books that reminded me of my mom, specifically Homer's Iliad. I checked under my bed and found a folded piece of paper, the one my mom had given me nearly a year ago.
I sat down on the floor and rested my back against the side of my bed. I unfolded it, revealing elegantly cursive words and a photo. It was the only photo I’d ever seen of the both of us.
In the captured moment, she held me, aged six, tight in her arms. My face was squeezed into a smile. I remember I could hardly breathe from all the love in her cuddling. Her soft, angelic face was glowing with joy.
I started to read the note:
“To my sun, my moon, and my stars,” her soft voice echoed in my mind as I read, “I write this to you, because I wished I had something like this to remember my own mother by, and because I don’t have much to leave behind for you. Milo, you are the greatest gift I’ve ever received. You have changed my life for the better in every way imaginable, and I thank God for you every day. The world can be a treacherous place, but don’t ever stop being who you are. You are the light, my universe. I love you, sweet boy. Mom.”
I remembered the day she had given the note to me. I tucked it away and had forgotten to read it. Though at the time she had passed it off to me as a thoughtful letter, it was written like she already knew the cancer would get the best of her.
I folded the note, as well as the picture, and slipped it into one of the pockets of my luggage bag.
I went into the dining room and ran my hand across the table one last time. Then I gave a quick look around, scanning the apartment and saving the images in my mind.
I knew I would not ever be returning.
Lastly, I grabbed my mother’s ashes and tucked the urn between articles of clothing in my bag to protect it from damage.
As I zipped my bag shut, I saw that the record player still had my mother’s vinyl on it. It was the one we had played the night before her surgery.
I couldn’t resist.
I turned the player on and set the needle on a random groove. The needle landed part way through Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide.”
Every time I heard their music, I understood more and more what drew my mother to them. It was masterful.
As the music played, I couldn’t help but feel the relevance of the lyrics as they resonated through the speaker; everything was changing.
I was terrified, as I knew that I would never be the same.
Tobias opened the door. “Mīlo, we don’t have time for that. We gotta go,” he said.
I nodded and slipped the vinyl in the album sleeve before tossing it in my bag.
“I do have one more stop though, if that’s okay?”
“All right, then we have to get going,” he pressed.
I nodded and hurried behind him as he led the way out of the building.
Tobias waited in the car while I went next door to Blondie’s.
The sound of a single metal fork scraping on a plate filled the air. I had never seen the place as deserted as it was.
I curled my bottom lip in and out from under my front teeth. It had been a long time since I’d been inside, and I knew this would be the very last.
“Mīlo, is that you?” gasped the familiar booming male voice. Mikey hurried from behind the counter and squeezed me tight within his grasp.
I let him as I allowed myself to reciprocate the gesture.
“Fran and I have been worried sick ‘bout ya,” he said, loosening the embrace as he evaluated the physical state of my being.
“Yeah. I’m fine, though,” I shrugged. “Nothing to worry about, but…” I looked around the diner and took in the smell of shoelace cut fries and cheeseburger gristle that permanently hung with the ceiling lights. I glanced over at the corner where I used to sit and hang out as a child. My second home, which to my delight remained entirely unchanged. I looked back to Mikey, “I’m heading out and I wanted to come by and-”
Mikey cut me off. “You know, Mīlo,” he said, grasping my shoulder, “even if you don’t believe it, you’ve always been my son,” his tone dripped with conviction as his eyes began to well, “and you’ll always be my son.”
He seemed to have a sense of urgency, like he’d been waiting for this moment, perhaps worried it would never come. He pulled me into another hug, one that felt like what I had come to say: goodbye.
He knew I was leaving, and he knew that I had to.
“You take care of yourself, okay?” he said.
“I will. Thank you… for everything, Mikey. You and Fran were always so good to me and my mom. You took care of us.”
“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. I loved your mom. I have some regrets, of course, but we can’t change the past, and I wouldn’t want to.”
I felt all my resentment and grief dissipate.
Suddenly, nothing about why or how we came to be mattered. Everything just was, for one reason or another.
All the while I could feel Tobias’ growing impatience from the car.
“I’d better get going.”
“Don’t forget about us, will ya?”
“Never,” I promised.
He gave one last big smile before he walked over to the table of one.
I hopped into the car, and we were on our way.
As Tobias drove, I noticed the Cleansers positioned on nearly every street corner, patrolling. The people walking in the streets lacked color in their skin as well as their choice of clothes.
In the couple of weeks I’d been held, conservative had become the new fashion trend: full length pants and dresses, closed toed shoes, shirts with collars that swooped no deeper than the neck, and a strictly monochromatic palette.
Tobias said that anyone seen not looking the part was pulled off the street by one of the Cleansers and thrown into the back of a van.
Meanwhile, my outfit didn’t match this new order, but nonetheless I felt protected and I knew I wouldn’t have much longer here, anyway.
The city looked anything but “Cleansed.” During my time away, it looked like what had started as a tropical storm had spun into a Category 5 hurricane.
The inequality symbol was graffitied all over buildings, on posters stapled on telephone poles, on picket signs that lined the streets.
I was no longer welcome in this filthy place I once called home.
Sidewalks were lined with fragments of glass windows and looted leftovers from all different kinds of businesses. There were random articles of clothing, packaged food products, home decor, and so on.
Tobias drove, seemingly unfazed by all of it.
As for myself, while I was reconciling with this loss, I realized my toes tapped away in my shoes with excitement for what was to come. Knowing that I would be seeing Nicolas soon, I was doing everything in my power to control my giddiness, as well as to forget about this trauma.
Suddenly, flashing from behind us reflected red and blue lights from a sleek black motorbike.
It was a Cleanser.
Tobias pulled over the vehicle and rolled down his window.
My heart raced as I watched the red-visored, black clothed figure approach from the rear view mirror.
“License and registration,” demanded the digitally tuned voice.
Tobias calmly and confidently complied, pulling out the information requested from the glovebox.
The suited man looked over the documents and handed them back.
“Slow down, Mr. Evans. This isn’t a raceway,” he said as he tilted his head in at me. I held my breath, trying to stay calm. I couldn’t see through the visor, but I felt his eyes staring. My heart raced, rushing pints of blood to my pounding head. I didn’t want to go back to the center, “and make sure he changes his clothes.”
“Will do,” Tobias replied. “Anything else?”
“Don’t get too cocky, Tobias,” said the red visor.
He leaned past Tobias again to look at me before he turned away and got back in his vehicle to leave us.
I let out a sigh of relief as I watched the lawful figure speed off on his motorbike.
I turned to stare at Tobias for a moment, waiting for him to say or do something to explain what just happened.
Finally, I just asked, “Why’d they let us go?”
“I donated to their program. And to Stetson and his cabinet,” he admitted, ashamed.
I turned to look back out the passenger side window while Tobias drove more cautiously to our destination. I didn’t have anything nice to respond with, and because he was protecting me, I thought it best to remain quiet.
After a long, silent drive, we arrived at our destination.
Nicolas was waiting for us at the private airport just outside of the city.
I jumped out of the car, grateful to see him. His wounds had mostly healed, though he was left with a scar just above his right eye at the beginning of his eyebrow. His moonlit eyes smiled at me with hushed excitement.
We were like magnets trying to get to one another, but we both had to hold ourselves back, at least until we were up in the air. Not wrapping myself around him was a great challenge, as he was all I had thought about. While all the people around seemed to be there for Tobias, no one could be trusted.
We said goodbye, and I thanked Tobias profusely for saving me, though perhaps more for saving his own son. Tobias handed an envelope to Nicolas, the contents of which was probably money.
We walked shoulder to shoulder with one another as we moved across the tarmac to the jet.
As we climbed the steps to the aircraft, Nicolas discreetly wrapped his pinky around mine, leading the way.
That would be enough, at least until we jetted off to our destination.
“Guess where we’re going?” he smirked, buckling himself into the recliner of the plush jet.
“I have a feeling, but I really don’t care, so long as you’re with me.”
There was a pained love in his eyes as we gazed at one another. I understood he was leaving a lot behind, but looking at me, I knew for now, everything was going to be okay.
We were going to be okay.
The engines hummed as the jet sped up off the ground, leaving behind the ashes of a befallen past.
Sixteen
Greece welcomed us with open arms. We were refugees from a country that once touted freedom, and one that had previously taken in people seeking refuge.
Since youth, I’d longed to be in Greece. I had hoped, despite my disdain for whom I’d imagined my father to be, that I’d run into him. Or perhaps I’d dreamed that being in such a place would make me feel more complete.
Of course, I didn’t expect Mikey to have been my father. Nonetheless, I felt more at peace than ever before, but it was a journey to find such tranquility.
About a year later, after our escape, the Land of the Free had fallen, as the world’s greatest powers joined together to cast out the darkness. According to the history books, approximately 20 percent of the American population had been Cleansed before the collapse, three percent of whom were white-skinned people who were executed for countless reasons, the main one being opposition of New America.
Tragically, Tobias was one of the many fallen. It didn’t take long after we crossed over the ocean that the Cleansers were sent after him.
They beat him to death and hung him from the flagpole at the California State Capitol. Stetson demanded the entirety of his execution be broadcast on live television as “a warning to those who may provide aid to impure filth.”
Nicolas’ mother Patricia declared herself ignorant to her son’s truths and that she was completely unaware of anyone’s escape. She claimed to have been under the impression that he was at a conversion center receiving the help he needed. They let her off, but she took her own life shortly after the interviews. At least that’s what we heard.
Word had somehow crossed the sea about Moose. Turns out he had been on the HomoSphere under an alias. He was taken into one of the conversion centers and was liberated from the facility shortly after other nations stepped in.
Part of healing is forgiveness, and I had great hope that he’d find happiness of some kind.
News eventually leaked that Julio Hernandez had, in fact, been set up by Stetson. It was all a part of the grand scheme for him to rise to power. As for the American people who were originally too afraid to speak, there were many more of them than originally thought and they were outraged. They set out to have their own revolution via execution. However, Stetson also took his own life as the rest of the world closed in on him.
As for me and Nicolas, we lived in one of his late parents’ small vacation homes just on the outskirts of Athens.
Thankfully, prior to leaving America, his father had the ownership of the home turned over to Nicolas. Everything else, including all of his family’s company assets, was seized by Stetson’s government and Nicolas never saw a cent.
The first several months of living together were challenging for both of us.
Moving in with someone in itself is always a huge step, but what made it different for us was that we both were in our own states of post trauma.
We spent many days in silence, trying to process and understand the individual horrors we had experienced. The speed with which everything had occurred was blinding, causing intense emotional whiplash.
I endured many sleepless nights, afraid to close my eyes because every time I did, I was transported back to my cold, dark cell. I’d then wake up in the middle of night drenched in cold sweat and trembling with fear in Nicolas’ arms.
Every so often, I’d feel volts of electricity seemingly coursing through me like the aftershocks of an earthquake.
In addition, I was angry with myself for not heeding the warnings that, in retrospect, I was bludgeoned with at every turn. I was self consumed and in disbelief of the Cleanse. So many amazing people like Peter lost their lives because I was too afraid to stand up and fight. When history taught us that all it takes is one person, one voice like Martin Luther King Jr. to change the narrative and lead change before his assassination, and I did nothing to follow his example.
Love is a power
ful force, and much like Hate, it only takes one person to speak it into existence.
As time progressed, so did the process of mourning and forgiving our pasts.
We were recovering.
I walked down the hall and passed a dual glass frame hanging on the wall. Resting behind the small panes of glass was the note and photo my mother had left. Sitting below that, on a petite wooden end table, was my mother’s ashes. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of her and wish to see her warm smile again. With that, I was always sure to glance at our photo with every passing.
As I walked into the dining room, wind blew gently in through the floor-length window, encouraging the turquoise drapery to dance wistfully in its place. Outside, I could see the strawberry sunrise peeking in, dripping its colors into the interior.
Nicolas sat at our dining room table with a cup of black coffee, wearing nothing more than a pair of pink shorts, the same shorts he had worn the day he pulled me from almost getting hit by the car. In hindsight, it was perhaps the greatest day of my life.
I also noticed that he no longer wore his cross, though I needed not ask why, and he had let his facial hair grow out into thick, polished stubble, only adding to his handsomeness.
He looked up at me as he twiddled his thumb on the mug. “Morning, my Mĭlo,” he started. My name rolled off his tongue in the usual way, making my heart smile as he got up from his chair. “Come,” he said, leading me out to the patio.
I loved his use of possession. I, of all people, belonged to him, and he to me. I knew that I had his heart in the palm of my hands, a privilege and power I was certain to not abuse.
“What is it?” I inquired.
“Look,” he said, nodding at the sunrise. “It’s been so long,” he stated figuratively, letting out a shallow sigh.
I watched him briefly as he stared pensively at nature’s painting. It had been some time since I’d seen him at such ease.
