by Ann M. Noser
Disappointment pierces my chest. She hasn’t planned anything. She really doesn’t care about me, anymore. This day will be like any other. I say nothing because I know that, if I speak, the tears will start falling. If I cry, Mom will walk away, go in her room, and shut the door. Then I’ll be even more alone.
“Why don’t you go to the library?” she offers. “You like it there. You could spend the whole day reading books. It would be fun.”
“Are you coming with me?” I wipe away a stubborn tear.
“Why would I come? It’s a children’s library. There’s nothing there for me.”
I pack a sandwich in my backpack and leave her sitting in the window seat, knowing she’ll still be there when I return. I walk the few blocks to the library alone, say hello to the librarians who know me by name, then run my fingers down the aisles of book titles, searching for something I’ve never read before. After I find a small stack, I choose a quiet corner, set the pile beside me, and get lost in another world. Some place better than mine. I stay in that same spot all morning, eat my lunch, and have started in on a new book when I feel a hard tap on my shoulder.
I glance up.
It takes a moment to focus in on the dark glasses. There are three Suits this time. They form a semi-circle, hemming me in. The librarians whisper in the background, hovering together, staring as the Suits shatter the quiet comfort of the library. One of the Suits steps forward and leans down, so his glasses are all I can see.
“Silvia Wood?” He growls in a heavy, almost inhuman voice. His breath smells like metal and mint.
I don’t want to answer but have to. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Come with us,” he orders.
The other two grab my arms and lift me onto my feet. Books drop to the floor. They drag me across the room, my toes barely touching the ground.
At first, I assume they’re taking me to the elevator, but they step just to the side, insert a metal key, and unlock an almost-hidden door. It’s so smooth; you can barely detect the outline. I’ve never noticed it before. They yank me inside.
It’s another White Room. Like all the others.
White ceiling. White floor. Mirrors on all sides. Blinding light.
A chair in the middle which they shove me into.
“Do you know what day this is?” the head guy demands.
“Yes. It’s my birthday.”
CRACK!
My cheek stings after he smacks me across the face. But I smirk at them instead of crying. My hate is greater than my pain.
“Show some respect,” he growls. “It’s the one-year anniversary of the accident claiming fifty-three lives—all lost because of your father.”
It takes a moment for his words to hit me. “What did you say?”
“Our investigation revealed that your father caused the explosion. He was a rebel, working against the New Order. He was responsible. He caused the death of fifty-three people and the endless suffering of their families. It was only due to his own stupidity that he died during the explosion. He planned it so that he’d be gone while the others suffered at his handiwork, but he didn’t leave in time.”
The room spins. These damning words hurt worse than any slap to my cheek. I turn inward, blocking everything out. Even as they scream in my ears, the Suits fade away.
Instead, I see my birthday cake, left uneaten. Mom dancing with me, singing “Happy Birthday,” interrupted by Dad’s phone call telling us he’d be late. Waiting for hours for his return. The loud knocking at the door. The Suits barging in, yelling questions, going through our belongings. Breaking things. Throwing them around. Mom leaning against the wall, almost comatose. Me running through our disheveled apartment, hollering at the Suits to go away.
Then they pull out my red dress.
Mom flies across the room, rips it out of their hands, and screams in a strange, high-pitched voice. “Leave her alone! You can’t take all of her memories! How could you be so heartless? It’s all she has left!”
And that is the last time she’s shown any interest in me.
Everything has been gray from that point on. The sky is gray. The light in the apartment is gray. And Mom’s face, once so lovely, is drawn and gray.
And this is how it will always be.
It will never get better.
And it’s all my father’s fault, or so they say.
It’s hard to know what’s true or false.
The Suits surround me on every side. My head swims. I can’t stay here in this horrible white room. I need to escape from their scowling faces, their accusations, and their lies.
I struggle to my feet. “I have to use the bathroom.”
They shove me back into the chair, skidding it halfway across the room. “That’s all you have to say? Tell us about your father. Tell us everything you know. We know you’re covering for him. We’ll beat it out of you if we have to.”
“All you’ll get is pee all over your clean floor if you don’t let me use the bathroom,” I warn.
The Suits argue. One gestures at another. “Take her, then. And hurry.”
“Thank you.” I smile, knowing I’m not coming back.
I walk calmly to the bathroom, lock the door, and hunt for an escape. All I find is my face in the mirror. I grab the metal chair in the corner of the room and smash it against my reflection.
My face shatters.
Voices yell in the hallway.
The doorknob rattles but holds.
Shards of glass scatter across the floor.
I grab one and plunge it into my flesh. The pain will rescue me.
They aren’t going to get me. I’ll fly away. Any way I can. Even if it kills me.
Warm blood spurts over my hands.
I slide to the floor.
The room turns so cold.
I start to shake.
It’s not like Mom will even notice I’m gone.
nd then I woke up in the hospital.”
Back in the real world of Franco’s apartment, I take a deep breath and focus on the books on the shelves, a lone sock stuck in a corner, and my clenched hands. Franco remains wordless, his face a mask of guarded inexpression. I avert my eyes, fidget with the bedspread, and a stuffed toy shaped like an elephant falls onto the floor.
That’s strange.
I turn to ask, “You sleep with stuffed animals?”
His face relaxes. “No. That’s not mine. Sometimes, the girls stay over if Linda works the night shift. I don’t think you’ve met them yet, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. But why don’t they stay home with Liam? I mean… not that it’s any of my business or anything.”
He shrugs. “Sometimes he’s busy. And they like it here.” He waves to his room. “I let them stay in here together, and I take the couch.”
I stare at him. He really did save Liam’s family. He does a lot for them.
“So, you believe me about the toy, right?” Franco smiles.
“Yes.” I smile back. Thank goodness I haven’t forgotten how, even after reliving my eleventh birthday. “Of course.”
He chuckles. “Well, for a moment there, you didn’t look so sure.”
All of a sudden, I realize how close we are sitting together, and this renders me silent.
Franco clears his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened next? I mean, once you got to the hospital.”
I frown. “They put me in ‘intensive treatment for depression,’ or so they said. But, since then, I’ve read several Psychology texts, thanks to Gus, and I don’t think those doctors were the real thing. I think they were still the Suits, dressed up like psychiatrists instead.”
Franco’s eyes narrow. “Why do you think that?”
“Because they asked all the wrong questions like: ‘Why can’t you accept that your father did this?’ and ‘Could you have done anything to prevent this from happening?’ or ‘Why won’t you answer our questions? We’re trying to help you.’”
I stand and pace the room. “I mean,
why would they ask stupid crap like that? Once in a while, they’d ask ‘and how does this make you feel’ questions, but, even then, it was always about my dad. Never about me and my mom—which was the real problem.”
Franco rubs the five-o-clock shadow on his face. “How did your mom react when you tried to kill yourself?”
“Well, she finally woke up which was good. But then she went into hyper-drive, always worried about everything. At the hospital, she thought they were feeding me too much broth. Once I got home, she would go into a total panic before each appointment that we were going to be late or something else as equally stupid.”
Franco watches me pace without interruption.
“And she got so mad when I told her I hated the sessions. She called me ungrateful and uncooperative. But I’m sure that’s what the psychiatrists told her to say. It’s not like she attended any of the sessions.”
“Do you think that would’ve helped if she was there?”
I put my hands on my hips. “I think it would’ve helped if we were at a real psychiatrist’s office. We had a lot of issues, but, I guess, maybe it didn’t matter because they weren’t the only reasons I did it.” I fiddle with my wrists. “I did it because they kept coming after me, saying stuff about my dad.” I pause, trying to calm my racing heart. “And the second time—”
Franco’s eyes widen. “Wait a minute—there was a second time?”
“Well, sort of. My mom says so, anyway, but I don’t think it should count.” I drop back down on the bed, keeping a small space between us that I wish he’d close.
“Tell me,” he says gently.
“They came after me again, a year later, those sick bastards. They always played the card that my birthday was on the same day that Dad died. When I arrived at my so-called appointment with the fake psychiatrist that day, the Suits were there in the room along with her.”
“Go on,” Franco murmurs.
“With the Suits standing behind her, the psychiatrist told me that my sessions had been a failure because I never accepted ‘the truth’ about my father. So, I was going to have to be hospitalized and begin further treatment, shock therapy and such.”
“What did your mom say about all this?”
“She wasn’t in the room. She didn’t know.” I cross my arms. “But I wasn’t going to let them take me.”
His eyes widen. “What did you do?”
I take a deep breath. “I raced out of the room, knocked over an umbrella stand in the lobby, and then broke off a piece of this really ugly metal artwork hanging on the wall. It had sharp edges, and I used it to smash open a window. Then I climbed onto the desk nearest the window and threatened to jump.”
Franco pales. “How high up were you?”
“Eight stories, but I didn’t jump.”
He shudders. “Well, thank goodness they stopped you in time.”
I scoff. “No, I stopped myself. That’s the funny thing. They could’ve easily overpowered me. I was only twelve, and no one was on my side. I think they wanted me to kill myself. They were sick of me. I wouldn’t help them, and they were tired of trying to break me.”
“But didn’t threatening to jump just put yourself right back in the hospital?”
I shake my head. “No. Of course, Mom was totally freaking out, but I swore to her that if she let me quit therapy, I’d never hurt myself again, but if she let them hospitalize me, I’d find a way to finish the job.”
Franco takes a deep breath. “And did she believe you?”
“Yes, all of a sudden, she did. She told them, ‘My daughter’s never lied to me. Not even once. I believe her, and we’re going home.’ And we walked out of there together and never went back.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand why they let you go like that.”
“I told you; they were done with me. But what I can’t understand is this: did you ever hear on the news reports that my father was to blame?”
Franco averts his eyes. “No.”
“If their investigation really led them to believe my father did it, that news would’ve been all over the place. Don’t politicians love a scapegoat? At least, that’s what Dad used to say. But the only person the psychiatrists and the Suits told was me. Not my mother, just me.”
Franco remains silent, staring far across the room.
“When I got home, I told Mom that they said Dad caused the accident. I hadn’t before because I was scared—scared she’d say the stories were true. She was horrified. She said Dad would never do such a thing. He’d never hurt people like that.”
I hold back angry tears. “But instead of being mad at the government, she’s spent the last five years trying to make them like me again, or, at least, that’s what it feels like. She’s convinced that they sent me down to Mortuary Services as punishment. And she’d do anything to fix that. I’m sure that’s why she’s playing the violin again.”
Franco continues to avoid my gaze. I wonder what he thinks of me now. And why do I always want to tell him everything?
Well… almost everything.
I’ll never tell anyone that Dad went to “meetings.”
I won’t tell Franco.
And I won’t tell Mom.
Because she’s wrong. I have lied to her.
I’ve lied to everybody.
And I’ll never, ever tell the Suits the truth about my father.
iam pokes his head into the room. “What’s going on in here? Meeting of the minds?”
“Yeah.” Franco throws a pillow at him. “That’s why you’re not invited.”
Liam catches the pillow and chucks it back in his cousin’s face. “Hey, man, how do you get that window open in your bathroom?”
Franco raises his eyebrows. “Is that where you’ve been all this time? Never mind. I’ll get it, although I’m slightly afraid of going in there after you.”
His cousin laughs and plops down next to me on the bed.
Now it’s really getting crowded in here.
Liam elbows me. “You ready to go? I can walk you home.”
Franco scoffs. “Better watch out, Silvia. He might get another cramp, and you’ll end up carrying him home.”
Liam stands with a scowl. “I’d like to see you try running as far as we did. You’d never make it.”
“I’d never be foolish enough to try.” Franco also moves off the bed which bounces up. “But I don’t hear Silvia complaining.”
“That’s cause she’s amazing.” Liam gestures that I should leave the room first.
I exit like a self-conscious engine leading a little train down the short hallway and into the main living area.
“Are you coming over for dinner?” Liam asks Franco.
“No, I’ll stay home tonight. I’ve got some stuff to do.”
“Suit yourself, but you don’t have anything here worth eating,” Liam says as we head out of the apartment.
Franco stands in the open doorway as we walk down the corridor. Every time I glance back, he’s still there, watching me, an unreadable expression on his face. I might have ruined something between us by telling him my secrets tonight. What if he acts strange the next time he’s around me?
As Liam and I near the elevator, I turn back for one last glimpse of Franco to find he’s shut the door. My chest aches as I imagine him avoiding all eye contact and making sure he’s never alone with me again.
“I can’t believe you’re totally fine after that workout.” Liam studies me as we begin to descend. “I’m completely exhausted right now, I’m going to be totally sore tomorrow, and you look like you could run another six miles if you wanted to.”
“Actually, it’s been a long day,” I admit.
“You know, Franco thinks we’re crazy for doing this.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” No kidding.
Liam shakes his head. “He doesn’t understand why this is so important to me. But you get it, right?”
I shrug. “I’d just like to make my mom proud of me, for once. I’d
like to see her happy again.”
“I’m doing this for my mom, too. I mean, maybe we can get a better apartment if I do well. I’ll never accomplish that with my dead-end job in Human Relations. Winning this race is the only way I can distinguish myself to the New Order. You know, really stand out and make them notice me.”
“Yeah…” I think back to my parents’ old, beautiful apartment filled with sunlight. “I’d absolutely love getting a better place to live, but I don’t think running this race is going to change anything for me. Maybe it’s just a whim, after all.”
He frowns.
I release a pent up sigh. “Let’s be honest here. I know I can’t make my mom happy. Only she can do that.”
Mom pops her head into my room early the next morning. “Genetic Testing and Counseling called. You’ve got an appointment before work today.”
“What for?” I scowl. What a crappy start to the day. “Do they need to run more tests?”
“No. They said you passed. But they want you to go to Family Planning right away for your birth control implant.”
Unconsciously, my hand travels up to touch my upper left arm. “What’s the rush?”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you should tell me.”
My cheeks burn. “I don’t know, Mom. I haven’t even had sex yet.”
“Well, you have been spending a lot of time with those Harman boys.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What are you saying?”
She sighs. “Nothing, Sylvia. Don’t get so upset every time I open my mouth. I was just teasing. Now hurry up. We don’t have much time.”
Quickly, I pull on my green scrubs and my shoes then rush into our tiny kitchen. Mom snatches two protein bars from the cupboard by the fridge, hands me one, and we head out for my Citizen Family Planning appointment.
On the walk over, I can’t shake the feeling that the skin on my left upper arm buzzes in protest. Even my flesh knows I don’t want another implant. My hands itch to tear out the identification microchip that lives just under the skin of my right arm. But, like a good girl, I march through the front doors, along with my mother, and approach the front desk.
“Silvia Wood, here for my post-genetic screening appointment,” I announce, my legs jittering. I don’t want this. I want them to leave me alone.
