by Ruth White
“No, no, I …” Mom obviously has no good excuse, so she just says “No” again, then removes her hand from his.
“Very well, then I’ll ask you here,” Gil declares. “I would like to marry you.”
Total silence falls over our group. I feel sorry for Mom, but even sorrier for Gil. He’ll be rejected in front of his kids. But Mom says nothing right away.
“Our children get along well,” he continues, “and I’m sure we can move to larger quarters in a nicer sector. Gramps, of course, is welcome to live with us. It would be pleasant for all of us.”
“No, I can’t do that,” Mom says, then adds kindly, “but I do appreciate your offer.”
It’s obvious that Gil did not expect a refusal. He seems stunned.
“But why not?” he wants to know. “Give me one good reason!”
“I don’t want to marry again,” Mom states simply.
“What’s wrong with you!” he blurts out.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Mom responds. “Am I not free to make that choice?”
“For a short period of time, yes,” Gil admits. “But you’re young and healthy. The Fathers won’t allow you to stay single. You should jump at this chance, as you don’t know what kind of man you’ll be forced to accept later on.”
“No offense to you, Gil,” Mom says calmly, “but do you know how absurd that sounds?”
“Absurd?” Gil says. “I don’t understand you. It seemed we were moving in that direction. I thought we were getting along so well—I mean, not counting last night.”
“We do get along, and I enjoy your company,” Mom says. “We all enjoy being with you and your family. It makes the days bearable. And I value your friendship.”
“But you won’t marry me?” he says sadly.
“That’s right. We want to remain friends with you and your family, but marriage is out of the question. Please accept my decision.”
“Of course,” Gil says softly. “I don’t want to lose your friendship.”
And it seems the matter is settled.
• 23 •
David Speaks
The day after Gil’s embarrassing proposal to Mom, a policeman stops Meggie while we’re out walking.
“Grossly unique,” he says, and points to her shoes.
Uh-oh. He has spotted the purple laces with gold stars.
“Oh,” Meggie says, seeming uncertain what to say or do. “Well, I won’t wear them again.”
The policeman is persistent. He holds out a hand. “Give them to me.”
“You want me to take them out now?” Meggie says.
“Yes.”
Meggie glances at Colin, but he looks away. She turns to me.
“How’s she going to keep her shoes on her feet without laces?” I ask.
“That’s her problem,” the cop replies.
There’s nothing to do but obey. Meggie sits down on the curb, removes the laces from her shoes, and hands them to the cop. He stuffs them into his pocket and walks away without another word.
“He’ll probably keep them for his own kid,” Meggie blurts out.
“Shut up!” Colin says rudely, and glances at the retreating back of the policeman. “If he hears, you’ll really be in trouble.”
Now Meggie is not only mad, but also hurt at Colin’s harsh words. She’s silent all the way home as she shuffles along behind the rest of us, trying to keep her feet inside her shoes. Yeah, I know I wasn’t very supportive with the cop thing, but what could I do without getting myself in trouble?
When we return, Meggie goes to her room, but I go to the Gilmores’. Colin brings out soft drinks, and the three of us settle onto the couches.
“The sun gave me a headache,” Colin says.
“Take it for a headache or a heartache,” Jennifer says, imitating the commercial, and tosses a Lotus pill to her brother. Then she turns to me. “Want one, David?”
For the first time I consider it. What harm could one pill do? The way people are popping them right and left, they’re obviously not that strong. They’re not illegal, and they make you feel good. Mom and Gramps won’t be home for another hour, so …
“Sure, why not?” I find myself saying. “Just one.”
“All right!” Colin says with a big grin as Jennifer unwraps the pill and pops it into my mouth.
It has a sweet taste, and it’s a bit chewy, like caramel, but they tell me I have to swallow it to get the full effect. I swallow.
“Since it’s your first time, you’re really gonna feel it,” Jennifer tells me. “We need to have a couple to feel anything.”
“Yeah, Jennifer,” Colin says. “Throw me another.”
I expect to get slaphappy and loopy—you know, like the guys from Dumb and Dumber—but I don’t. I just get really, really relaxed.
“I was supposed to go to the store today,” I say lazily, “but you know what? I’m sick of doing what I’m supposed to do all the time. Besides, I’m sure we have enough food to last one more day.”
I am fixated on one spot—Jennifer’s left earlobe.
“That’s the most beautiful ear I’ve ever seen,” I tell her.
She and Colin crack up.
But this is really serious. Somebody—maybe Gramps—should do a painting of that ear. It would become as famous as the Mona Lisa.
“Everything’s beautiful when you’re in Lotus land,” Colin says.
“I know what you mean, jelly bean,” I come back.
They crack up again.
“What’s a jelly bean?” asks Jennifer.
“Never mind. Not important. Don’t sweat it. Let’s pake a bizza,” I say. “I mean … bake a pizza.”
“You’re speaking nonsense,” Colin says.
“Oh, I forgot,” I mutter. “This place is so bass-ackwards, you don’t even know what a pizza is.”
They don’t smile at that.
“Maybe you’ll inform us,” Jennifer says coolly.
I’m suddenly very irritated, and I don’t even want to deal with anybody so ignorant that they don’t know what pizza and jelly beans are.
I manage to get to my feet; I wobble around a bit, then say with a sneer, “Behold your typical Fashion City teenagers!”
When I go into our apartment, Meggie is still in her room. I slip into my own room and fall across the bed in a daze. I hear Mom and Gramps come in, but nobody disturbs me. I drift away to the sound of their voices in the kitchen. The next thing I know, Gramps is knocking on my door.
“Dinner, David. Come and eat.”
At the table I’m quiet. I wonder if my pupils are dilated. I try not to meet anybody’s eyes. Meggie starts telling Mom and Gramps about the cop taking her shoelaces, and they become absorbed in her story.
“Not to worry, sweetie,” Mom says to Meggie. “I have an extra pair for you.”
“But Kitty picked out those shoelaces for me,” Meggie says. “They can’t be replaced.”
Gramps speaks up. “Meggie B., I promise to buy you the gaudiest, brightest-colored shoelaces in the universe when we get out of this place.”
It’s disgusting how they treat her. Like she’s the little princess.
“Is something wrong, David?” Mom says to me.
“No. Why do you ask, Mother dear?”
“I don’t know. You don’t seem like yourself.”
“Who else would I be?”
Meggie is eyeing me. Does she know? Yeah, maybe little baby girl knows. But she won’t tell. The moment passes, and I think I’m home free.
Then Mom says, “David, last night before we went to bed, I reminded you to get milk, and now I see there’s none in the refrigerator.”
“Oh, the milk,” I say. “I guess I forgot.”
“Did you go to the store at all?”
I shake my head.
“We don’t have a thing for breakfast,” she says irritably. “We’re also out of fruit. Did you waste the whole day?”
I shrug and avoid her eyes.
�
�David, I don’t ask much of you, but—”
“All right! All right!” I cry, and jump up from the table. “I’ll go! Just get a grip, will ya?”
I can see the shock on Mom’s face, and Meggie’s eyes go wide.
“Apologize to your mother,” Gramps says to me, his face and his tone, for once, stern and serious.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I’ll go now.”
“But they’ll soon be closing,” Mom says, “and—”
I bolt out the door without a backward glance, before she can finish her sentence.
One Lotus for a difference you’ll notice? I notice, all right, but it’s not the kind of difference I expected. There’s a nice breeze outside, and I think my head might clear up. In front of the other buildings, young kids are playing on the sidewalks, trying to catch the last bit of daylight.
I suddenly remember that I left my cap in my room. I have a vial of vinegar in my pocket, but that’s no good when you can’t see your head. I consider going back for it, but the store closes at eight. I have to hurry and hope for the best.
I’m passing Building 4 at a trot when I happen upon a kid about ten years old sitting by himself on the curb. He’s mumbling something, and I pause beside him to eavesdrop.
“Conformity is contentment,” he’s saying. “The daydreamer is discontented.”
He repeats both sentences over and over. Gross reiteration again. It must be even more common than gross vacillation.
I move on, thinking of Meggie and Alison Fink that day in the clothing store. Alison did seem happier after Meggie talked to her. Yeah, sometimes Meggie just accidentally does the smart thing.
At the market, I have to rush to find the things we need. The overhead lights begin to blink, indicating closing time, and I hurry to the register to pay for my groceries.
On the way home I’m surprised to find the boy still sitting there on the curb by himself reiterating the same phrases.
I listen to him for a moment, then sit down beside him, placing the groceries at my feet. Maybe I’ll give it a try.
“Got a nice little song for you,” I tell the boy. “I’m going to say it like a poem. It’s about wolves, see? Bet you didn’t know they used to roam the planet, happy and free as the wind. Here’s what they would say if we could hear them today: ‘I remember moonless nights across the frozen land.…’ ”
The boy says nothing. His face is expressionless, and he keeps saying his mottoes in a weary monotone.
“Conformity is contentment. The daydreamer is discontented.”
“ ‘I remember cold blue nights of ice and wind,’ ” I say to the kid. “Can’t you just see those wolves in the moonlight? That’s a nice picture you can daydream on. What’s your name?”
“Conformity is contentment. The daydreamer is discontented.”
“Their contentment came from living in harmony with the land,” I say, continuing my wolf story.
He looks at me, and I’m encouraged, so I go on.
“ ‘Once the wolves were here. Wild hearts without fear.’ ”
“Conformity is contentment. The daydreamer is discontented.”
“ ‘Wild hearts without fear!’ ” I say again. “Can you say that?”
“Conformity is contentment. The daydreamer is discontented.”
Man, if I had to live with that constant reiteration day in and day out, it would drive me nuts. It’s really infuriating.
“I bet your mom doesn’t like to hear that all the time, does she?” I ask him. “You should surprise her by saying something different tonight.”
“Conformity is con—”
“Come on, kid, it’s not that hard,” I say. I’m about to lose it. “Say ‘Wild—’ ”
And that’s when I see a single teardrop sliding down his cheek. Bummer.
“Hey, dude, don’t cry,” I say. “It’s okay.”
“Jeremy!” a voice calls, and the kid’s head turns to face the building. In the approaching darkness, I can make out the shape of a woman standing on a balcony on the second floor. “Come in now, Jeremy,” she calls.
The boy leaps to his feet and bolts toward the door of Building 4. With hands on hips the woman stands there watching me. I notice then that all the kids have gone in. It must be close to eight-thirty. I stand up, grab my sack of groceries, and hurry toward Building 9. I am passing Building 6 when I hear someone yelling the word that chills me to the bone.
“Lockdown!”
• 24 •
I take off at a gallop.
Building 7. What happens when you don’t make curfew? I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. I run faster.
Building 8. I can hear all the television sets in the city coming on at the same time: “Welcome to The Family Hour.”
Building 9. Surely Tom will see me coming and let me in. I grab the front-door handle. Locked. I pound on the door. Tom doesn’t appear. He must have locked himself in already. Panic.
If a night watchman comes along, will he—can he—let me in? Will I be arrested and taken to the police station? Will they do a mug shot of me for The Family Hour?
“Thirteen-year-old David Blue of Sector B,” I can imagine Sherry Cross reporting, “was arrested for missing curfew last night. He will be taken before a firing squad at dawn and executed.”
Now it’s dark, and from inside the building I can hear The Family Hour blasting out its message to the robots of Fashion City. Mom must be out of her mind with worry. What to do? I count six floors up, then two balconies over. Or three? Which one is ours? I’m not sure.
I check a side entrance, which is also locked, then walk around to a rear door—also locked. I slump beside an air-conditioning unit under a first-floor window and stay there, trying to clear my muddled brain. After a while I hear voices coming from the front of the building. Two men are talking. Maybe night watchmen? Should I approach them or stay hidden?
The men seem to be coming around the corner of the building. I press myself against the wall and watch the place where they will soon appear, but they stop just before the corner. At this point I can hear their conversation.
“So, tell me, Carl,” the first man says, “what’s the job you’re training me for?”
“They didn’t tell you?”
“No, they just told me to report tonight. Said they needed somebody right away.”
“We’re bounty hunters,” Carl explains. “We catch curfew breakers.”
“What if it’s just some poor creep who’s on his way to the night shift and runs out of time?” says the first guy.
“Tough luck. You know the law, Kevin. They have to be locked in by eight-thirty whether they’re at home or on the job.”
“Do you catch a lot?” asks Kevin.
“On my best night I caught three. A few times I caught two. About once a week I catch one. But most nights? None. That’s how it goes.”
“And what do you do with them?”
“Haul ’em down to the police station. That’s where you get paid.”
“And what do the police do?”
“They do a harsh interrogation,” Carl replies, “trying to find out if they’re gross agitators or just unlucky enough to miss curfew.”
“How are they punished?” asks Kevin.
“Depends on what the police find out in the interrogation. Could be just a warning, could be rehab, or could be—you know, the ultimate.”
The ultimate? These words hang in the air. I can hear my own heart beating. Would they give the ultimate to a thirteen-year-old boy?
If Kevin and Carl walk about ten steps around that corner, they’ll see me huddled against the building. The AC unit clicks on and makes a loud humming noise so that I can no longer hear what they are saying.
My eyes search the darkness. Maybe I’ll hide behind another AC unit—one that’s farther away from these bounty hunters. Then I realize I’m clutching the bag of groceries tightly against my chest. I need to ditch it. I carefully set the bag down on the ground, glance
toward the corner of the building to make sure the men aren’t in sight, and then make a dash for a distant AC unit. I find a silent one, curl up behind it, and pull my knees under my chin. I know I’m just barely hidden, but it’s pretty dark out here.
Soon I hear the voices again, and I can tell they’re coming my way.
“Look at this. Somebody left groceries on the ground,” Kevin says. “Milk, fruit, and … I’ll bet there’s a mad mom somewhere in there tonight.”
Mom. The word stabs my heart. Mom. Gramps. Meggie. They’re probably up there pacing the floor during The Family Hour. Is Meggie crying? Probably. I tighten my grip around my legs and pull my knees closer to my chin. How long can I stay in this position? Already I’m beginning to cramp. But the bounty hunters are still there. In fact, now they’re only a few feet from me, and it seems they’re in no hurry to leave.
As I realize I can’t sustain this position much longer, fear begins to move through me like a slow hot wave of lava. Now I’m sure the Lotus has worn off. I think again of Meggie. She must have felt like this when the madman threatened her. And when she woke up all those nights screaming. So much fear for a little girl.
At that moment, Kevin says, “Hey, man, look at that!”
“Look at what?” Carl comes back.
“That blue light over there,” Kevin says. “It’s fluorescent.”
Blue fluorescent light? No, no, not now!
“You mean that glow behind the AC unit over there?” Carl says. “Yeah, man, I see it. Let’s check it out.”
• 25 •
Back to Meggie
“Something must have happened to him,” Mom tells Tom when he comes for lockdown and David has not returned from the store. “He wouldn’t miss curfew. He has nowhere to go.” She stands there in the doorway, refusing to move out of Tom’s way. “Just give him a few more minutes,” she pleads.
“You know what?” Tom says. “When somebody gets sick or hurt, the police take ’em to the clinic. So I’ll call there for you if you like.”
