Eve of Man

by Giovanna Fletcher

  So, when it comes to making this decision about Potential Number Three and dismissing the ceremony, I’m dubious as to whether or not it’s all a trick. Whether they’re trying to coax me into agreeing to something for their own benefit or whether it’s genuinely up to me.

  If the decision truly were my own, regardless of all the other thoughts littering my brain, I still wouldn’t be sure of what I wanted. The encounters have lost all their appeal. I don’t know if I’m open to going through another after two truly horrific experiences.

  Perhaps letting science do its thing would make things easier. Perhaps I should allow them to extract and reposition my eggs, once they’ve been fertilized by Potential Number Three’s winning sperm. It simply doesn’t seem as special as the Revival ceremony I’ve been preparing for.

  “It all seems so sudden,” I say, my hands working on the Rubik’s Cube in the hope that it’ll ease the frustration and anxiety I’m currently feeling.

  “Eve.” She sighs, her fingers twiddling the ends of her hair.

  “We’re not talking about meeting a Potential, just about being fast-tracked through and partnered up due to a series of failures. Whether I meet him or not, I could be pregnant within weeks. I don’t know if I’m ready,” I whisper, turning to her with my hand over my heart, my face anxiously screwed up.

  “It’s overwhelming,” she notes calmly, barely moving.

  “Yes.” I’ve continued reading my mom’s words, and it’s become blindingly obvious how prepared she was to have me. Things haven’t happened for me as I always thought they would, so I don’t feel that way. I’m like a little girl still. Not like a mother at all.

  “The outcome and desired results are still the same as before, Eve. That’s not changed,” Holly says, closing her eyes. “They’re just looking at new ways of achieving the prolonged existence of our race without putting the only hope we have of survival in danger.”

  “The prolonged existence of our race? Have you heard yourself? You’re talking about a baby. My baby!” I say, forgetting for a second that this is my Holly.

  Mom seems so jolly and upbeat in her letters. She doesn’t seem bogged down by pressure or as though she’s struggling to cope with the world expecting her to deliver its savior. She sounds like a happy mom excited to meet her daughter. Our outlook is so different, and it pains me that the one woman who could have shared some of my anxieties can’t hear them.

  “You won’t be forced into the same awful position as last time,” Holly says, sitting up while offering an apologetic look. “They don’t want the same mistakes to be made.”

  “I should think not,” I grumble.

  “They want you to be comfortable.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “They do,” she says, and adds softly, “I do.”

  My heart does a little dance. Part of me knows I should be wary. This Holly could still be a part of their plan. But I can’t stop the way she makes me feel. I’ve always loved being around her, but now that I know Bram is saying these words, I can’t help imagining him here with me, supporting me and caring for me.

  “So, do you want to meet him?” she asks, breaking into my thoughts as she takes a deep breath in and reclines once more.

  “I don’t know. Is there any real need for a conversation between him and me?” I frown, the weight of the decision slamming down on me and my emotions. “Does it matter if I like him? And by like him I mean simply find him agreeable—I’m not holding out hope for much more than that, given who they’ve previously paired me with. I mean, who was in charge of vetting them? Did they just pick names out of a hat?”

  Holly throws her head back and laughs. It’s not the cute little giggle I’m accustomed to. It’s bigger. Bolder. It has to be more him.

  I like it.

  “I need some air,” I huff, putting down the Rubik’s Cube and stalking out of the door, arms swinging rigid at my sides. I can’t bear my room any longer. Here I’m trapped in my whirlwind of thoughts. “Come on,” I call behind me. Whether or not she’s here to give me guidance, I don’t want her to leave me just yet. Not when she’s been gone for so long.

  “Coming,” she calls, jumping to attention and trailing my heels as we follow the path to our usual spot.

  My bedroom, the dining room, the classroom, the Drop—that’s all I ever see, other than a cold examination room and the occasional trip to my spot outside. It’s my routine and it’s all I know. It’s all they’ve allowed me to see. Over the years I’ve felt trepidation over what will take place in these few weeks and this first year, but now that it’s arrived, my anxiety runs in a way I’ve never expected. I don’t want my greater understanding of the world to come after I fall pregnant. I don’t want to feel I’ve got only half of the picture when providing the world with my offspring. I don’t want knowledge and understanding to come too late.

  “There’s no rush to decide,” Holly says as she lowers herself with no regard for the Drop below us. Today she’s wearing the most girly outfit I’ve ever seen her in—baby-pink jeans, a cerise skintight top with tassels, and silver-glitter jelly wedges. Someone is trying to erase the fact that she’s a he, but all I can think of is that Bram is underneath, wearing his Lycra bodysuit, dictating her every move.

  “What do you think I should do?” I ask, the pleading whine in my voice making me shudder. I want her opinion.

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “But you always do,” I say, shocked, as I turn to her.

  “No, I don’t.” She frowns.

  “Seriously? You can be quite persuasive,” I squeal. “I’m sure you’ve talked me into numerous things over the years.”

  “Eve!”

  “Are you going to deny it?” I challenge.

  She’s looking a little hurt and uncomfortable. “I never make you do anything you don’t want to, Eve…Do I?”

  “No. I guess not,” I say, not wanting to offend her and wishing I could nudge her shoulder affectionately to check in with her that she’s okay. “But you always have an opinion to share.”

  “This is different. It has to be your decision,” she says, her face not losing its frown. “Your choice. It’s your body. I…can’t imagine what it would be like to do either.”

  “What—science or intercourse?” I blush. Not because it’s the choice I’m faced with, but because I’m speaking about the Revival with my Holly.

  Once more the sight of his face and sweaty muscular body stirs in my memory. I don’t think I’d find the decision so difficult if I were talking about him. Although maybe the fact that I’m so disappointed it’s not him should help me reach my verdict. I know I have a duty to the world, but I can’t be forced into having feelings for someone. If I meet Potential Number Three and there’s nothing, I’ll be crushed. If I really dislike him, I’ll be devastated.

  In my silence Holly reaches behind her. When she brings her hand back to her lap she’s holding a Rubik’s Cube—identical to the one I just left in my room.

  “Where’d you get that from?” I ask, glancing behind me and wondering how long it’ll be before Vivian comes marching along to reprimand me and drag me back to my room, or whether they’ll decide simply to switch Bram off.

  “It’s fine. I’ve cleared it. It’s mine.”

  “Oh!” I understand: there’s no way she’d be holding mine. Hers is like her: here but not.

  Holly laughs—just as loudly and freely as before.

  I love that laugh.

  “I figured it would help to clear your mind. This place in the clouds, your silly little gadget…it’ll help.”

  Despite myself I feel the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile and my own frown easing away.

  “You can’t touch it, though,” she warns, her voice stern while her eyes twinkle. She’s pleased with herself for thinking this one up.

>   “Oh?” I reply, my breath catching in my throat.

  “You just have to tell me what to do,” she explains, licking her lips and looking at the cube with an intense glare, as though she’s entirely focused on the task ahead. “You know I’ve always been terrible at these.”

  “Now you might actually complete one,” I tease.

  “I’ve done it before, remember?” she says, the pitch of her voice raising an octave in protest.

  “Only because you painstakingly removed all the stickers and cheated.” I laugh, feeling my body tilt toward hers.

  “I got what I wanted, though, didn’t I? Sometimes a little cheating is good for the soul.”

  “It made you feel good?” I ask, finding this response surprising.

  “It did until you sussed it out and made me confess to being a cheat. You even told the Mothers on me,” she adds, pretending to be wounded.

  “You’d roughed up the edges of the stickers. I could see exactly what you’d done, so of course I knew.” I recall the look on her innocent face when I called her out on it all those years ago, then watched Mother Tabia give her a stern talking-to. “Imagine how good you’d feel if you did it properly.”

  “Are you forgetting it’s just a toy?” she asks, her eyebrow raised.

  “You’ll get a real sense of achievement.”

  “Let’s test your theory,” she says, holding the colorful object in front of us.

  “Fine.” I smile, my eyes absorbing the pattern of colors while my brain works out the best way to start. “Put your right hand on the top section and rotate it just once to the left…”

  Holly misunderstands my instruction and turns the top two-thirds of the cube rather than just the upper layer.

  “No!” I shriek, stifling a laugh at how my insides churned with anxiety at her mistake—perhaps she’s right and I do need to remember that it’s just a toy. “Go back to where we started.”

  She does as I ask.

  “Right,” I say, looping my arm through hers so that my right hand hovers above hers. I curl my fingers as though the cube is in my own hands and repeat the instruction, showing her what to do. “Now turn the cube around so that the yellow of this side is at the bottom and…” I demonstrate.

  She understands and turns. “That’s three yellows in a row!” she yelps, delighted with herself.

  “You really did cheat if you think that’s an achievement.” I giggle, sweeping my hair away from my face and over the opposite shoulder from where Holly is sitting.

  Her eyes snatch a glimpse of my newly exposed neck and I notice her lips give the smallest pout in response before she focuses back on the cube.

  My body tingles at this new level of intimacy and craves more.

  I tentatively feed my arm through hers again so that we can continue as before, but this time I don’t say a word. I just instruct with my hands.

  She mirrors them perfectly, taking note of exactly how my hands rotate, turn, and manipulate before doing the same with her own.

  A silence might’ve fallen between us, but something entirely new is being communicated.

  I feel her.

  I know that’s absurd, but I do. With our arms interlinked and our bodies sitting closer than usual, we’re sharing a new energy.

  I’m aware of her every breath working its way in and out of her body, each and every muscle as she mimics my movements, and that she is just as aware of the change as I am. It’s not in my imagination. It’s real. I know she feels it too. It’s titillating, tantalizing, and it stirs an inexplicable hunger inside me.

  I want her.

  I don’t need words to define the thoughts being shared, not when my insides are flipping with excitement at the tingling sensation of her body next to mine.

  “We’ve done it,” she says quietly, holding the completed puzzle in her hands, neither of us engaged in the game any longer.

  We remain in silence.

  My thoughts are focused on the heat passing down the right side of my body. It’s real. The feelings that are being stirred are here and alive, and I won’t have anyone tell me different.

  Time passes. It could be seconds, or it could be hours—I’ve no idea.

  “I should go.” She taps the top of the cube, then gets to her feet. She starts to say something else but stops herself. Instead she turns on the heels of her jelly wedges and heads indoors.

  “I’ve made a decision,” I call, looking at the clouds beyond my feet. “I’ll go for science.”

  I don’t need to turn to know that she’s gone.

  20

  EVE

  I stay sitting on the Drop for some time, trying to calm down and make sure my cheeks aren’t still pink from our encounter.

  Encounter…

  An unusual giddiness has risen within me—a warm, fuzzy excitement. I’ve needed time to digest it, to enjoy it, but also to quash it until I can dwell on its inevitable disappointing outcome. Which I’m hoping to delay for as long as possible. I have to choose science because I couldn’t handle meeting Potential Number Three and not feeling that. Whatever that was.

  While sitting here I focus on the perfection in front of me. It’s a sight I try never to take for granted. Living here, seeing the earth in all its beauty, spurs me on. The greens of the land I occasionally glimpse in the distance, the blues of the sky. It’s all so inviting. It fills me with love for Mother Nature, even though she’s revealed her flaws—or perhaps she’s exercising her strength to warn us of the magnitude of her power. She’s in charge, that’s for sure. Try as we may, we cannot bend her laws. Not if she doesn’t want us to. Is it wrong that I’m starting to take solace from that?

  A bell tells me it’s time for the afternoon’s session to start. Gardening. Holly doesn’t join me for this: sometimes reality and illusion just aren’t compatible. A lesson that’s all about respecting the earth, nurturing life, and seeing it thrive at the touch of your fingertips could be ironic with Holly in attendance. I don’t mind her absence, as it’s a class I get lost in anyway. I always find any manual task highly therapeutic. I need that today, right now. And the last thing I need is one of the other Hollys.

  Mother Kimberley is waiting for me when I arrive at my garden plot across the Dome. Elsewhere the Mothers grow all the fruit and vegetables we eat at each meal, but this patch is just for me. It’s filled with flowers: roses, daffodils, lavender, clematis, delphiniums, and poppies—to name just a few. I pick up my shears and snip off dead blooms and yellowing leaves.

  “Are you well?” asks Mother Kimberley, her rounded frame pulling out two brown folding chairs from my shed and taking a seat. She looks as she normally does in her navy gardening pants, cream cotton blouse, and trainers, with her short red hair curling around her ears, but there’s a weariness behind her glistening blue eyes, which usually sparkle with happiness. And there’s tightness in her lips, which are usually smiling. She looks shattered. I’ve forgotten the toll recent events must be taking on the Mothers too. It’ll be a long time before things feel normal again. If they ever do.

  I let out an exaggerated sigh.

  She nods in response, sympathy on her rosy face as she purses her lips in a straight line. “I heard.”

  “I don’t want to even look at another Potential, so how could I let one touch me?” I ask, removing the rosebuds that have failed to bloom and shriveled on the bush, thereby directing more energy into those that show more promise. I’m learning to grow life.

  “You don’t know how you’ll feel about this one until you’re in his company,” Mother Kimberley advises, her tone all-knowing. I usually enjoy it when the Mothers share some knowledge from their experiences before the current structure was formed, although I’m not sure they always understand what it’s like to be me.

  “I don’t think I’m going to be in his company,” I say
bluntly.

  “Oh.”

  I watch her face drop as she understands what I’ve said and feel a pang of guilt.

  “That’s a shame.”

  “You think so?” I ask, picking up an empty bucket and disposing of the bits I’ve been hacking off.

  “Any children you deliver will be partly made of him,” Mother Kimberley says firmly, her neck straightening a little as she tries to remain diplomatic. I doubt she’ll tell me I’m wrong—it’s not in her nature—but I’m expecting her to share her thoughts on the subject.

  “Does that matter?” I ask.

  “Does it matter to you that half of you came from your father? That you only exist because of him?” she asks slowly, her head tilting to one side. “Do you ever find yourself wondering if you’re like him in any way?”

  I’m rarely asked such a direct question about him. He features in my thoughts, but they focus mostly on my mother.

  I don’t reply because not only is there truth in what she’s said, but also she knows the answers to each of her loaded questions.

  “Wouldn’t your child feel the same?”

  “Maybe,” I mumble.

  My life has been so geared toward meeting the Potentials and finding my perfect match that I’ve hardly thought beyond the act of procreation at the Revival. Until very recently I hadn’t really thought about life with a child. A baby. My baby. Surely the most significant part in all this is bringing life into the world. It was for my mother. She had plans for me, for us. She’d thought through our lives together.

  I wonder what kind of mother I’ll be and whether I’ll even be allowed to raise my children, if I’m lucky enough to have any. They may be taken from me, raised by another group of Mothers, and given their own Holly to grow up with. The thought of them going through that fills me with dread.

  What would happen if I bore a boy? Would we just keep going until another girl was born? That’s why they’re starting me so young, surely—to get the most out of me while they can.

  “I’m old enough to remember a time before you.” Mother Kimberley sniffs. She leans forward in her chair, rubbing her hands together while she rests her elbows on her knees. “The tests. The hormone treatments. The poking and prodding. All of it to no avail. They were sure the fault lay somewhere with us women and needed to find out what it was. Eventually we were considered worthless. That was, until your mother and father.”