by S Y Humphrey
All around them, lining the walls with pictures of Jesus Christ, his hair long, brown and white in plain glowing robes, in many different positions.
“Come on now, grandma. We talked about this. Don’t do that,” Mariam said. Mary looked around at all the others and waved her hand back. “Maybe all of y’all should head on home. This wasn’t a good idea.” Then she looked back at Seren. “We got plenty of good food in here that we prepared. And if you don’t like it, will make you anything you want. Anything,” Marian said, growing emotional and started to cry, the tears falling down her face. She looked determined not to have Seren bolt out of the front door.
Seren fought with everything she had to remain standing right where she was, and not to offend them by running away. Away from the stuffiness of this tight room in these hopeful faces and their ragged appearance. But this wasn’t her life. This wasn’t where she belonged. She refused to accept it. She watched the room empty out, as people left from a different part of the house, leaving Mariam, Pike, NG, this lady they called grandma, Lark and Rage.
“You can go back there and get washed up,” Marian said.
Seren faced a tiny, short, hallway, dark and congested with humble furnishings. A dresser stood crammed in the hallway corner, its drawers hanging open, decorated with cheap vases and fake flowers. Plopped next to it were stacks of baskets and suitcases filled with clothes, old shoes that appeared to be from the forties and fifties stacked on top of one another, and plastic bags stuffed to the brim. She had never seen a hallway look so dreadful, appearing as if a trap door would open up and swallow her before she could escape. To go in there would be to accept a sad and miserly reality that she did not belong to. And didn’t want. She refused. Flatly refused to enter that world.
“Well that’s all right. You don’t have to,” Marian said. She called out to the older woman. “Grandma, you want to bring her a wet washcloth with soap so she can wipe herself down?”
Seren had not realized she was shaking her head no until she forced herself to stop. Placing one foot behind the other, she backed out and onto the cinderblocks.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sor—”
Seren turned and stepped off the cinder blocks, getting back inside the car. Burying her head in the seats, tucking her face into her hands so no one can see it. She waited until she heard no movement around her. Then, she sobbed.
NG tapped on the window several hours later, before opening the door to get in.
“We need to switch cars now.”
She got out and into another car, this one old as well, and not equipped with modern technology requiring a VScan. She watched Mariam hand him a plate for on the porch, along with a bag of clothes, and a small box. Mariam looked out toward the car, trying to meet Seren’s gaze. Automatically, Seren turned away.
“Don’t ever do that to me again. Or you may as well kill me. And I don’t care if you never see your scientist,” Seren said once NG was in the car.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, holding out the items. “We’ll just stop at a restaurant then, so you can use the facilities and wash up a little.”
Seren hesitated to even take the bag. Pike winced in pain, turning to glare at her from the front seat.
“Seriously? What do you think is in there? A bomb? Those were your own people! You didn’t even have to treat them like that!” Pike chastised her.
NG gently chided, “Man, calm down. It must’ve been a lot. None of us can even begin to relate, so just give her her space.”
She took the bag, and looked inside. A change of clothes, complete with a big pair of sun shades to cover her face. Holding the plain white box in her hand, something slid around inside it. Without opening it, she placed the box in the bag. They rode a few miles up the country highway, using the map NG’s police officer had given them.
The “restaurant” NG spoke of was actually a falling old smokehouse, not quite the size of Seren’s dorm room back at school. The tiny gray structure smelled of cooked pork and beef, and sold every form of pork one could imagine — pork rinds, pig ears, pig feet, pig guts, pig testicles, pig fat, pigs in a blanket pancakes, and fried pork sandwiches. Of every flavor.
“No cash. No VScan. Valuable trades only,” the sign outside read.
Sliding on the shades, she exited the car and went inside, passing the couple of picnic benches they had managed to squeeze next to each other, just a few feet from the small lunch serving counter. People turned to stare at her.
“Bathroom please?” She asked the woman on the other side of the counter.
Once she squeezed into the filthy little room with no paper towels, she began soaping down her arms, underarms and neck the best way she could. Her eyes grazed a mirror, finally, for the first time in three days.
Part of her face with the doctor I had begun to turn. Her puffy roots no longer look the same as the stringy blonde and. It seemed the stifling humidity had intensified the change in her hair. Dad would be able to put it back, and just a couple more days. If she could only hang on a little while longer. Forty-eight more hours, and it all would go back to normal.
Right then, there was a knock on the door. Seren remained silent. The knock persisted.
“Baby? Sweetheart? Are you all right in there?” An elderly voice carrying a long, southern drawl asked from outside.
“I’m fine. Just a little under the weather. Thank you for asking though,” Seren replied, making her voice upbeat and adding a laugh.
“Are you sure those men out there aren’t doing something to you? They’re not hurting you, are they?” the elderly voice insisted.
Seren thought. Here was her opportunity. The escape into the arms of safety. For surely, this woman sounded good, wholesome with no motives and no agenda. She could walk out of here right now, and this entire shenanigan with the keepers would be over. She’d be back in the comfort of her daddy’s home, back in the arms of Lyndon, back to ignoring her mother. Just as she opened her mouth, all of the times NG has proven himself came back to her, flooding her recollection right then. He had done everything he said he would, and had never let any harm come to her. Even at the cost of his own people. Though she had run away, he had even delivered her to the safety of… her biological family. Even now, he had trusted her— perhaps depended on her— to enter a restaurant on her own, without anyone following her.
The knob shook. “Young lady?”
“Yes. I’m just fine. I appreciate your concern very much,” Seren said, slipping the shades back on, and opening the door. She knew if she was gone too long, NG would rightly begin to wonder.
“Why’d you come back?” NG asked as she got back into the car.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, looking out the window at the endless stretch of flat, plain countryside.
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want to know?” Pike shot out weakly from the front seat.
“What do you care?” Seren shot back.
Before he pulled off, NG looked at her in the rearview mirror again. “Pike is hurting pretty badly. Worse than we thought. He’s losing blood and we’ve got to get him to a medical facility. We also need to get Lark and Rage some penicillin and antibiotics, so they can head back to Virginia. The next forty-eight hours will get rougher. Are you sure you don’t want to get out now? I understand if you do.”
“Let’s just go. Before I change my mind.”
NG had been a man of his word, and whether she liked his word or not, she had come to trust it.
Riding through the country side, black people were all they saw. To keep from recalling how she had walked out on those good strangers earlier, Seren studied the tiny houses. She wondered how anyone could manage to walk inside of them, let alone live. Sparse land, containing old, broken cars from twenty and thirty years before sat on cinder blocks with no tires, rusting and rotting away. Every so often, Seren saw the occasional white child with no shoes and no shirt, running barefoot in the dry dirt yards with the dogs. But for the most pa
rt, both barefoot children frolicking with no thought of just how poor they were, were black.
Tiny porches were cramped with tons of potted plants, rocking chair, canes, crutches, even pianos, refrigerators, ovens, washers and dryers, sofas, and old items no longer wanted. Seren saw no technology or glimpses of modern society anywhere. No SkyPads, VScan cars, floating homes, or rounded buildings anywhere. Porches filled with unwanted items. And unwanted people.
Yet they were happy oblivious, as elderly women rocked and slipped from cups, watching the children in their house gowns. Some with hair in their curlers, wearing big, outdated eyeglasses. Others whose faces were long, appearing to have given up.
Of everything Seren saw as they drove by, the most common possession of all was the radio.
She noticed that they must have depended on it as heavily as she depended on her Holovision.
“What is the name of this place?” Seren finally asked in disgust. When she got back to the Rockies, she would have her father do something about it.
“Low Country, where the slaves shipped from Africa were unloaded on those docks, then brought for auction sale to this here street.”
14
Low Country
Unable to move, staring at a sea of faces, Seren felt more imprisoned than she had since her capture.
“It’s all right. Nobody’s is going to hurt you. Okay?” The girl Mariam said, withdrawing her hand and stepping away. She pulled Jason back with her.
Oh, praise the Lord. I knew it. I knew it all along. She looks just like him. I knew she wasn’t dead. I knew my grandchild was not dead. I know my own blood when I see it.” One of the older women began walking around in a circle, her arms lifted to the sky, her eyes raised to the ceiling. “Praise the Lord!”
All around them, lining the walls with pictures of Jesus Christ, his hair long, brown and white in plain glowing robes, in many different positions.
“Come on now, Grandma. We talked about this. Don’t do that,” Mariam said. Mariam looked around at all the others and waved her hand back. “Maybe all of y’all should head on home. This wasn’t a good idea.” Then she looked back at Seren. “We got plenty of good food in here that we prepared. And if you don’t like it, will make you anything you want. Anything,” Mariam said, growing emotional and starting to cry, the tears falling down her face. She looked determined not to have Seren bolt out of the front door.
Seren began shaking her head, backing away. “No.”
Away from the stuffiness of this tight room in these hopeful faces and their ragged appearance. This wasn’t her life. This wasn’t where she belonged. She refused to accept it. She watched the room empty out, as people left through a different part of the house, leaving Mariam, Pike, NG, this lady they called Grandma.
“You can go back there and get washed up,” Mariam said.
Seren faced a tiny, short, hallway, dark and congested with humble furnishings. A dresser stood crammed in the hallway corner, its drawers hanging open, decorated with cheap vases and fake flowers. Plopped next to it were stacks of baskets and suitcases filled with clothes, old shoes that appeared to be from the forties and fifties stacked on top of one another, and plastic bags stuffed to the brim. She had never seen a hallway look so dreadful, appearing as if a trap door would open up and swallow her before she could escape. To go in there would be to accept a sad and miserly reality that she did not belong to. And didn’t want. She refused. Flatly refused to enter that world.
“Well that’s all right. You don’t have to,” Mariam said. She called out to the older woman. “Grandma, you want to bring her a wet washcloth with soap so she can wipe herself down?”
Seren had not realized she was shaking her head no until she forced herself to stop. Placing one foot behind the other, she backed out and onto the cinderblocks.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sor—”
Seren turned and stepped off the cinder blocks, getting back inside the car. Burying her head in the seats, tucking her face into her hands so no one could see it. She waited until she heard no movement around her. Then, she sobbed.
N.G. tapped on the window several hours later, before opening the door to get in.
“We need to switch cars now.”
She got out and into another car, this one old as well, and not equipped with modern technology requiring a VScan. She watched Mariam hand him a plate for on the porch, along with a bag of clothes, and a small box. Mariam looked out toward the car, trying to meet Seren’s gaze. Instinctively, Seren turned away.
“Don’t ever do that to me again. Or you may as well kill me. And I don’t care if you never see your scientist,” Seren said once N.G. was in the car.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, holding out the items. “We’ll just stop at a restaurant then, so you can use the facilities and wash up a little.”
Seren stared at the bag. Pike winced in pain, turning to glare at her from the front seat.
“Seriously? What do you think is in there? A bomb? Those were your own people. You didn’t even have to treat them like that,” Pike chastised her.
“To hell with both of you. I’m not falling for any of your charades or lies or setups. You’re even worse than you say my father is,” Seren spat.
N.G. gently chided to Pike, “Man, calm down. It must’ve been a lot. None of us can even begin to relate, so just give her her space.”
She refused the bag, so Pike took it. He looked inside, holding up a fresh change of clothes, complete with a big pair of sun shades to cover her face.
He handed her a plain white box, shoving it into her hand, something slid around inside it. Without opening it, she placed the box in the bag.
They rode a few miles up the country highway, using the map NG’s police officer had given them.
The “restaurant” NG spoke of was actually a falling old smokehouse, not quite the size of Seren’s dorm room back at school. The tiny gray structure smelled of cooked pork and beef, and sold every form of pork one could imagine — pork rinds, pig ears, pig feet, pig guts, pig testicles, pig fat, pigs in a blanket pancakes, and fried pork sandwiches. Of every flavor.
“No cash. No VScan. Valuable trades only,” the sign outside read.
Sliding on the shades, she exited the car and went inside, passing the couple of picnic benches they had managed to squeeze next to each other, just a few feet from the small lunch serving counter. People turned to stare at her.
“Bathroom please?” She asked the woman on the other side of the counter.
Once she squeezed into the filthy little room with no paper towels, she began soaping down her arms, underarms and neck the best way she could. Her eyes grazed a mirror, finally, for the first time in three days.
A tiny brown spot had emerged on her cheekbone. Her curly blonde hair had tightened. It seemed the stifling humidity had intensified the change in her hair. In just three days, she would get a G shot, she reassured herself. Dad would put it all back…
… her head fell. Would her life really return to normal in forty-eight more hours?
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Seren remained silent. The knock persisted.
“Baby? Sweetheart? Are you all right in there?” An elderly voice carrying a long, southern drawl asked from outside.
“I’m fine. Just a little under the weather. Thank you for asking,” Seren replied, making her voice upbeat.
“Are you sure those men out there aren’t doing something to you? They’re not hurting you, are they?” the elderly voice insisted.
Seren thought. Here was her opportunity. The escape into the arms of safety. For surely, this woman sounded good, wholesome with no motives and no agenda. She could walk out of here right now, and this entire shenanigan with Antistemi would be over. She’d be back in the comfort of her Dad’s home, back in the arms of Lyndon, back to arguing with her mother. Just as she opened her mouth to answer, all of the times N.G. had proven himself came back to her. He had done everything he said he would, an
d had never let any harm come to her. Even at the cost of his own people.
The knob shook. “Young lady?”
“Yes. I’m just fine. I appreciate your concern very much,” Seren said, slipping the shades back on, and opening the door.
“Why’d you come back? Nobody’s got you shackled now,” N.G. pointed out as she got back into the car.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, her eyes brushing across the unopened white box.
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want to know?” Pike asked, weakly from the front seat.
“What do you care?” Seren shot back.
Before he pulled off, N.G. looked at her in the rearview mirror again. “Pike is hurting pretty badly. Worse than we thought. He’s losing blood and we’ve got to get him to a medical facility. The next forty-eight hours will get rougher. Are you sure you don’t want to get out now? I understand if you do.”
“Let’s just go. Before I change my mind.”
N.G. had been a man of his word, and whether she liked his word or not, she had come to trust it.
Riding through the country side, black people were all they saw. To keep from recalling how she had walked out on those good strangers earlier, Seren studied the tiny houses. She wondered how anyone could manage to walk inside of them, let alone live. Sparse land, containing old, broken cars from twenty and thirty years before sat on cinder blocks with no tires, rusting and rotting away. Every so often, Seren saw the occasional child with no shoes and no shirt, running barefoot in the dry dirt yards with the dogs, with no thought of just how poor they were.
Tiny porches were cramped with tons of potted plants, rocking chair, canes, crutches, even pianos, refrigerators, ovens, washers and dryers, sofas, and old items no longer wanted. Seren saw no technology or glimpses of modern society anywhere. No SkyPads, VScan cars, floating homes, or rounded buildings anywhere. Porches filled with unwanted items. And unwanted people.
