Women of the Grey- The Complete Trilogy

by Carol James Marshall

  The neighbor sat on her porch with a radio, a bottle of scotch, and thoughts of her first boyfriend when she watched Jacob get home. She watched him swagger out of the truck and make his way into the house. Nothing interesting about it, but she wondered in between sips of scotch if he knew the habits of that girl. Or did he teach her such habits? She stood up, pushed her feet back into her slippers, and went inside to grab her pistol and slip it into her apron pocket.

  Teresa

  Teresa tossed the pregnancy test into a bucket under the bathroom sink—another negative, no bouncing baby girl. Teresa was thinking about how long she’d been in this little chunk of paradise, away from the Mothers, away from The Grey for the sole purpose of producing offspring for The Grey. Her specific orders from Superior Mother: have a baby, come back, turn in the baby, the end.

  Yet, Teresa had nothing. She started stomping the bathroom floor, stomping the tub, stomping herself if she could. How do I ask for release? How do I say “uncle” to the Mothers? ‘Sorry, I am a failure at creating one of our own.’ Shit, what then? Who then? The idea of ‘the what’ and ‘the who’ made Teresa anxious. She knew that, in The Grey, she would not be considered vital, efficient, or worth their time if she could not reproduce. What would be done to her then was enough, just enough, to send pangs of panic to Teresa’s throat. I must try another man. Teresa looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, spotted with water, Teresa wished she could sink herself into that mirror, become one with the dust. Nobody checks in on dust. Nobody asks dust if it has completed its mission.

  Walking away from the mirror, Teresa knew what the Mothers did with dust; they wiped it away while frowning. Same thing they will do to me. There could be an answer for Teresa, and she knew she needed to try. Maybe it wasn’t her, maybe it was him. She had only been with James—sweet, poetry-loving James. The problem could be easily solved if it was James. Teresa must try another man; she just didn’t want to. Despite her continual grouch, James smiled at Teresa. Despite her careless ways with his feelings, he kissed her. Despite her, he stayed. Teresa knew that she didn’t love James.

  Love was inefficient and unnecessary, according to Superior Mother. It was an emotion that clouded what really needed to be done. Teresa couldn’t dare love James, but she could like him. She could like his back, the angle of his neck, the smell of his hair. Snarling at herself, Teresa knew that there were many other men out there that would welcome her to their beds; yet she didn’t want those men. She wanted the one she had and didn’t want to bother with another. Teresa would have to seduce again, and it was a chore. A chore like all other tedious chores for Teresa; she didn’t like the bother of seduction to win over another man. Teresa didn’t want to smile or to indulge strange men in chatter so she could slip them into her sheets. The same sheets where James would shamelessly doze naked and unencumbered by Teresa and her sulky ways. How could she put some other man where James belonged?

  Yet, what else could she do? Could she just live, laugh, and breathe until the Mothers dragged her back to The Grey? There was no magic phone number, no smoke signal that will make the Mothers show up—not until they want to. Teresa sat down on her couch, rubbing her hands passively against her legs and finally resting them on her knees. Superior Mother was a woman that ran things by her rules—rules that were never made crystal clear to Teresa. Every action of their ruler only left Teresa with more questions that she was never allowed to ask.

  Looking at the wall for answers that weren’t there, Teresa stood up. She needed to ask James. Just ask him, but she wouldn’t. How do you ask a man whether he can have children or not? Especially if the man isn’t even aware he’s trying to have one. That’s a question that will bring more questions and a demanding of answers Teresa was not inclined to bother with.

  Teresa couldn’t put together how to ask James about having a child, if he himself was one. James was a teenage boy of mind with the body of an Adonis. James, the boyfriend who walked around Teresa’s apartment naked and singing stupid off-key songs. Teresa stared at the bathroom floor—stupid off key songs that melted some of the ice off her feelings. Just some, Teresa told herself, still wondering what was next for her. What of this situation?

  Damn it! I am so fucking weak and lame. The Mothers would grin at Teresa while giving her that “eat shit idiot” look they hand out like Halloween candy. Blow out, breath, blow out again, get up, and get answers, is all Teresa could think. That is what needs to be done. But, all she wanted was to thrash the bathroom mirror, then break the window. After that, she may as well break the living room window; what could be better than that? ‘Break things’ was Teresa’s real answer. Break things, Teresa cleared her throat as if she was about to give one of the Mothers a speech explaining why she broke everything. She knew that was helpless, such behaviors were frowned upon. Why break our resources? Why waste time cleaning up what did not need to be done? Then boom, Teresa would go where the naughty girls go—wherever that may be.

  Holding the bucket full of negative pregnancy tests, Teresa rattled it back and forth over and over, watching the little pieces of disappointing plastic bounce around. She wanted to punish them, punish those stupid sticks for bringing her so much anxiety.

  The Thinking Man

  James watched his parents with mild interest. They were almost a sociology experiment to him—trying to figure out how they worked, which gears made what go, etc., and so on. Being an only child to these two humans was never mundane. There were always twists and turns to everyday life. James’ father was a good man, a loud man, and a busy man that worked long hours with his hands day-after-day. He yelled constantly, everything was a matter of yelling. “Is the coffee ready? Why isn’t the coffee ready? Did you take the trash out yet? Why do I have to tell you to take the trash out?” On and on it went. It was like living with thunder.

  James’ mother seemed immune to the yelling; she answered his father in a peaceful tone, not bothering to get unnerved. James had never seen her break a sweat over his father’s tantrums. She would answer, hum, kiss him or James on the forehead, and go about her day as if the dog barking loudly next door was nothing but a whisper.

  It was different for James; he couldn’t deal with the yelling. It crawled under his shirt and burrowed into his chest. A worm of terror with every yelp that came from his father—who had never hurt James, never had anything but love for his son, but the yelling… the yelling was like living with a screaming mountain. Years of yelling had driven James to introvert and spend his time in quiet contemplation. This made James a peaceful man, a good man, but not a successful man. In his early twenties with no career, still living with his parents, his mom still did his laundry, and he still borrowed his father’s car.

  Yet, James managed to find himself a woman. A tall, thin, dangly, pissy woman who he adored and wanted to be a better man for. The problem was, he didn’t really know what that meant. How to be a better man? Was a question that always hung around James’ thoughts. Was a better man a loyal man, who stayed by her side no matter how grouchy her demeanor? Or was a better man a provider who gave her a home to call her own, where she called the shots and the outside world melted away into the void? What was the better man? Did the better man mean something different to every woman? Some women need comfort and laughs, while others need strength and security. Is there such a woman who wants a lover, a man who is so in touch with the female body that he can make it his own home to linger in as he pleases?

  James didn’t know; he had no answers. This muddled his mind and got in the way of everyday need-to-do’s and should-have-done’s. Who James was, was a sweet looser with a gifted sense of wit and an eye for finding quiet corners in a loud world.

  The mountain was snoring.

  Heaving up and down

  A large range of land

  Is dreaming

  James was busy watching his father doze, finding humor in the man being loud even in slumber. His mother watched TV—endless shows that meant nothing, said
nothing, and were only mildly entertaining. How he wished she would, for once, pick up a book, a cross word puzzle, knitting, anything other than mind-numbing television. Then, he caught his mother looking at him with eyes full of love. That was the problem with her; he and his father could do no wrong. They both were, in her eyes, worthy of parades and keys to the city.

  “I need to move forward with my life…” James told his mother—because it was true and because he needed to say it out loud—for her to hear and for his ears to recognize.

  “Move in with that girlfriend of yours…that’s step one…if the relationship fails we are here; the house is here. We are always here, never be afraid to leave. You can always come back.”

  With that, his father snorted and woke up bellowing for dinner.

  Lisa

  Superior Mother looked at Lisa with those eyes—eyes that condemned Lisa’s every breath and never lost their gaze. Lisa was starting to question whether she had really seen the true face of The Grey. Superior Mother’s large eyes pulled back behind her ears, her mouth wide open and wrapped around her head, filled with tiny teeth. Where was her nose? Did Lisa see a nose? It was only a second in time when Lisa saw the true face of Superior Mother, but it wasn’t enough for Lisa. She needed more.

  “Is that me?” Lisa asked Superior Mother. “Am I the same kind of creature as you? We are all the same and none different, right?” Superior Mother would usually have a Woman of The Grey quickly taken care of for such questions, but today she did nothing but stare a Lisa. “How do I look ‘normal’? How do I control not looking normal? I need to know!” Lisa was yelling; she knew this could be it. She was screaming her questions. She was challenging and asking questions, which was already a crime, but now she was yelling. “What is our normal?”

  Lisa stopped screaming. What is normal? Her marks back on Feline Street weren’t normal. Maggie, Craig, Iggy, and little Rafael weren’t normal. Lisa was fooled to think that that’s what people were like—it wasn’t. Lisa was foolish to believe that The Grey was anything but difficult.

  “Lisa, I can, my love, read your thoughts…stop with the defiance. Stop challenging everything you know.” Superior Mother stood up then, and somehow grew taller, looking down at Lisa. While Superior Mother stood there, a halo of frost surrounded the hand that wore her ring. Lisa had never noticed that about the Superior Mothers before.

  “What makes you, the biggest brat I’ve ever known, believe that you deserve answers? Answers, Lisa love, are earned. You have earned nothing.” With that Superior Mother sat back down and smoothed her hair. “Self-entitled a bit, aren’t we?” The last words Superior mother hissed at Lisa hit as hard as the words in The White. ‘Entitled’ slapped Lisa and ‘we’ pinched her arm. It was at that moment Lisa lost a bit of herself, she felt herself slip out of her fingers and clunk on the floor like loose change. “Ahhhh, much better,” Superior Mother almost smiled. “Play nice, dumpling, and nice things will come.” Sitting down next to Lisa, Superior Mother was the purity of cold; it was a cold that wept out of her, jumped over to Lisa, and was attempting to claw its way into her.

  “I’ve been pondering what to do with you…should I send you out with your peers? No, they hate you. Should I send you back into The White or The Black? No, you seem to endure it. The only choice is to send you out again into the world you failed so miserably in. Hopefully this time… this time you shall overcome your empathic ways towards the humans…”

  Superior Mother crossed her legs and patted Lisa’s hand, which stung and started itching, but Superior Mother knew the itch would happen. She was counting on it to distract Lisa so she didn’t process what was just said too quickly.

  “You want knowledge…you want answers? The only way to get that is to finish a mission, and then another, and then another.” Superior Mother stood up now and motioned to other Mothers to come into the room. Lisa sat frowning, watching Superior Mother’s ring hand—never once jumping up, never once trying again to challenge. Lisa sat slumped, eyes peered; Lisa was looking for something that she didn’t know how to find.

  “You’re going back out to breed.” Superior Mother felt exasperated, almost wanting a reaction from Lisa—a big moment where Lisa realized what was about to happen. When it didn’t come, Superior Mother called in the Mothers with one quick hand gesture to take Lisa away. If Superior Mother had tried to really hear what Lisa was thinking, she’d know that Lisa didn’t protest, she didn’t roar; she only uttered in her head “to breed.” That was all that stuck out to Lisa; she was going to be sent out again “to breed.” Not to love, not to learn, but like a beast, she was going out “to breed.” As if the lives of their daughters were nothing but dirt under their shoes. The daughters of The Grey, a nasty chore that must be handled.

  Superior mother closed her eyes and was thankful that her daughter was quiet for once. It was the end of the day, sleeping child kind of quiet that she imagined a human mother had. Superior Mother was exhausted, only she knew that Lisa was her own child—born to her. That was a secret that could get her tucked in. Now, Superior Mother fought the urge to feel giddy. The possibility of a grandchild was unexpectedly joyful and almost silly. In the midst of attempting to feel giddy, Superior Mother looked at Lisa and the joy was smashed down in between her toes. Her hope that Lisa could accomplish the simple task of being a breeder, while ignoring the empath in her head, was not worth putting money on.

  Lisa sat at a desk, paper and pen in hand. It felt like school again. Endless days of sitting and listening to Mother after Mother speak of reading, writing, math, and most importantly, the way of the women of The Grey. Here she was again, a student of Superior Mother’s cycle of bullshit. The Mothers gave vague instructions about breeding. It was a no-nonsense clinical version of men and what to do with them. The Mother speaking of it seemed uncomfortable and subtly interested in getting it done quickly. The Mother seemed to want to smile and wave it off, acting as if all this was perfectly okay—a ‘no worries young women of The Grey; you can handle this’ type of attitude. Breeding was an ‘A. B. C’ kind of thing for getting a human male to mate with them. Follow the instructions and every bolt will be in place, every nail hammered as it should be, everything labeled and dust free. Sex was the after story for this Mother. She wanted them to know that it all came down to finding a man who was worthy of fathering a woman of The Grey. Not just some common Joe off the streets.

  “Men are everywhere on the outside, crawling around like tiny little bugs. Don’t pluck the first one you meet eyes with.” The mother wrinkled her nose acting as if someone had just squirted lemon juice on her tongue.

  What did that mean? is all Lisa wanted to know. Was it a man of solid character, who can aid in delivering the baby, that they wanted? What kind of character is that? Then, after the non-specific, nowhere near informative information about human males from the Mother, came the rules.

  Rules were everywhere in The Grey. They hung inside the closets and raided the gardens. Endless amounts of rules to make life more tidy, less troublesome; yet they helped nothing. The rules the Mothers spun made Lisa want to punch something. Even as a child, listening to the endless rules, with hazy reasoning, made Lisa want to punch the girl next to her, and the table, and the Mother. Lisa always wanted to punch every single Mother she set eyes on, but just a hint of where the naughty girls went kept Lisa in check all by herself. Lisa couldn’t bring herself to disrupt as a child; everything in her fought to do so, but the cowardly fear of going where the never-seen-again-naughty-girls went held Lisa back, made her sit up straight, eat her food, and do as she was told.

  Lisa watched the Mother teaching the class, standing at the front of the room. Her eyes showed her age—there was a lot of tired in her eyes; Lisa felt she could get lost in that tired. In a place where we are all the same and none different, there were little clues of status and age as to which Mother is which. Lisa touched her name tag. This Mother started speaking of the rules in a robotic voice, as if she’d le
ft all her personal feelings about them in her pocket.

  Rule 1:

  Deliver the child at home, never in a hospital; there can be no record of the birth.

  Rule 2:

  Anytime after the birth The Women of the Grey will come for you. You must return and turn in your daughter.

  With that, the Mother cleared her throat and looked directly at Lisa. “The baby girl is after all ours, not yours darling. Don’t get attached to the baby or the man… neither are for you. It is a mission. It is a duty to your kind.” The Mother with the tired eyes smiled at Lisa as she almost hissed. “To your kind” had a punchy growl to it.

  After it all, Lisa was handed a tray of food and given a bleak room to rest in. Every word said to Lisa in The Grey had contempt in it; the women’s voices were crystalline to her now. Before the Mothers’ tongues tossed out wicked words that had a sugar coating; now it was different. They hate me, Lisa told herself. I don’t know why.

  “I don’t know why,” Lisa told the apples on her tray and the pears she ate while wishing she was eating cake instead. Maybe that’s why, Lisa smiled at herself. I sit here in this room defiant of our ways, disrespectful of orders, and wanting human cake, which is forbidden. Smirking at the bleak little room, yeah that’s probably why. Her next thought suddenly erased her smirk; she was proud, in a way, of standing on her own. Lisa had pride in not bathing herself in the beliefs of The Grey. There was pride in not hanging on every word Superior Mother uttered. That defiant little tap-tap on Lisa, could be pride.