The coast is clear. I hop up from the couch and stick my nose between the curtains. My visitor is already out of sight.
I shrug. Good riddance. I take another sleeve of cookies and slump back on the couch.
Lola gallops back into the living room, whimpering even more loudly.
“Shh.” I put my finger to my lips.
But Lola yelps, nipping at my foot and running around in circles.
“Enough!” I smack Lola in the stomach. “Get offa me and leave me alone.”
I roll over on the couch, a wave of nausea complementing my newly budding migraine. After a final whimper, Lola, like the rest of the world, leaves me alone.
Finally, some peace and quiet. But the quiet is short lived when my thoughts begin to flood my mind.
How could you be so stupid, Lin? Someone finally checks up on you, and you don’t even check who it is? What’s the matter with you?
I smack the couch and growl. “Ugh! I know,” I say out loud, rubbing my eyes. “I just couldn’t do it. My life is a mess, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
The inner dialogue continues to pound me from the inside out. What if that visitor was Sage, coming to apologize to you for everything? What if Don had some money for you or a way to fix Tobi? You could’ve been done with this by now if you just reached out for help.
“Shut up,” I tell myself, wishing I could start playing music to block out my thoughts. Instead, I start to hum as a sharp pain in my chest joins the misery party of psychosomatic symptoms.
Migraines, nausea, and chest pain. It’s time for some tea.
I pull out my last water bottle from my ration box. A new ration box should be arriving later today. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m long overdue for one. How long have I been eating out of this box?
My chest muscles loosen as the faint smell of chamomile brewing wafts through my nostrils. As much as I’m craving coffee, I don’t know how to make it, or even get it out of the reservoir behind the wall. I received a sample pack of chamomile tea with my essential oils once, and it’s been my drug ever since everything else has been taken from me.
I curl on the couch and reread the last newspaper I received with my ration box. Reading from paper as opposed to my screen makes me tired, but I’m getting used to it.
My eyes are fixed on the latest issue, a question nagging at my stomach. The president has plans to completely eradicate terrorism in the United States. I shrug as I stifle a yawn, shifting my weight on the cushion. Terrorism doesn’t exist in the United States, I learned in history class, thanks to our victory in the Great War. Because we isolated from the other countries, there’s no way a germ from another country could infiltrate our pure nation.
So, what is this guy talking about? Did we learn lies in history class?
Ace’s words ring in my ears as I lay back in my seat. What if they attack from within?
Before I can go down another mental spiral, I throw the newspaper onto the floor and roll over. Is this real life? Am I still alive?
I shake my head, as if my thoughts could disapparate like a cloud of smoke. Looking out the window, I’m thankful to be in my sweet sanctuary. Swarms of patrol officers breaking up fights and shouting indistinguishable commands.
“What did you expect, guys? The Internet has shut down, and life as we know it is gone.”
As I lean back and embrace slumber yet again, I try to distract myself from thinking about everything but terrorism and anything that could hurt me. With another sip of my soothing tea, I forget about all my problems. The world will get back to normal again soon.
At least, I think it will.
Chapter Five
I awake with drool smeared on my couch and a force pulling on my hand. My right eye pops open. Lola is licking out the rest of my tea, which is cold by now, from my mug.
“Go away!” I swipe the dog and gasp in horror. “I was drinking that.”
I haul myself up from the couch and slide toward the kitchen sink. My mug clanks into the sink as a hopeless sigh emits from between my lips. The cramps throughout my entire body suggest that I’ve probably slept for a couple of days, not a couple of hours. I wish I had a clock or some way besides the sunlight outside to tell me what time it is.
Well, I could always try my phone again.
I dig through my purse and pull out my cell phone. Maybe the Internet is back today. Maybe I can reactivate Tobi. Maybe…
Turning on my phone elates me. The logo on the screen greets me like an old friend. I run my fingers over the colorful, brightly lit display, letting out a desperate laugh. “I’ve missed you.” My joy is short lived, because the low signal symbol appears in place of the intro screen. Within seconds, the screen goes dark again.
Suddenly, a pang of hunger sweeps through my abdomen. I ran out of cookies, so now it’s time to cook. “Hm.” I pull one of the cans of vegetables from my ration box and realize that I don’t have any water to make pasta. Typically, we get a new ration box every seven days, on the day that used to be Sunday. When I had fallen asleep, it was Wednesday, and yet I didn’t get a box. “Did I miss a delivery?”
Lola scratches at the door, interrupting my thoughts. “No, Lola. Now’s not the time. I’ll give you some newspapers to go on.” As I reach for the pile of newspapers I’ve collected in my cabinet, Lola whimpers again. “Down, girl! We can’t go outside. There are protests and riots and I can’t lose you.” You’re all I’ve got.
The cabinet holding my newspapers has a speck of dust in it. “Ugh. Cleaning day again. It must be Friday.”
Without my automated technology, I’ve had to clean everything by hand. My trusty microfiber cloth removes all the dust from my living space, and the remaining chamomile tea from my cup gets rid of the residue on my windows. Scrubbing my closet reveals that my shirts are not in color order.
“Hm. How come I didn’t notice that before, Lola?” Instead of waiting for her to answer, I pull out the clothes and throw them on the bed. Each article of clothing reveals a memory, a moment in time, like a picture flashing before my eyes.
I pick up a pink tank top and examine it. “You wore this on your twenty-first birthday. Now that you haven’t been eating, you can finally fit into it.”
A fuchsia dress. “You wore this on your honeymoon. Why do you still have this?”
Tossing the dress to the side, I pick up the next outfit in color order, my pink fuzzy onesie that reminds me of Sage. The material is like a soft blanket. I want to embrace it, to cover my skin with it and forever etch the memory of my old best friend into my mind. The good memories, before our lives fell apart.
But all I can think of is her smug face when she told me she was pregnant with twins. She even knew about my miscarriage.
I throw the onesie on top of the dress. Since I’ve got nothing better to do, maybe I should get rid of some of these clothes. There’s no reason for me to dress up anymore, so I don’t need so many pieces of fabric clogging my clean space.
After sorting through my shirts and dresses, I move onto my pants and skirts. To combat the bitterness rising in my throat at the sight of these outfits I wore on dates with Don and fun nights with Sage, I hum a tune. Along with all these memories, I’ve held onto the sound of the peace playlist Tobi used to play for me.
By the next morning, every speck of dust is out of sight, every outfit I own is hung in perfect color order, and a pile of unwanted clothes take up residence on the floor.
“I have to get rid of these,” I say out loud, eyeing the massive mound with my hands on my hips. “I guess Lola’s finally going to get to go outside.”
At the sound of her name, Lola trots into my bedroom, her tongue flopping to the side.
“Okay, you win. Let’s visit the dumpster and try to grab some food.”
Lola scrapes her nails on my clean hardwood floors and sends a chill up my spine. I make a mental note to buff the spot with my cloth when we return.
To prepare myself for leavi
ng the house for the first time in two months, I grab a light jacket and scoop my old clothes into a duffel bag. Based on the most recent newspaper I read, it’s around the end of March, maybe the beginning of April. The weather should still be relatively cool outside.
Lola waits for me by the front door, her eyes wide with excitement. I wish I could feel the same way about leaving my townhouse, but I’m more excited about the idea of coming back.
My heart pounds within my chest as I turn the doorknob for the first time in two months. Expecting fire, chaos, yelling, destruction, I’m disturbed by how eerily quiet it is on my street. What happened to the riots that took place only a couple of days ago?
“Hm.” Curtains are drawn in every house. The wind carries some leftover newspapers. But patrol officers aren’t rolling around on their mo-pods. My lips curve downward. “Where is everyone?”
The desertedness of the street comforts me as I walk around the block with ease. As we approach the trash receptacle, Lola starts barking and running in the opposite direction. “Come over here!” I shout, chasing after her.
When I catch up to her, it takes me a few minutes to catch my breath. “Whatcha got there, girl?”
The crumbs on her lips indicate she’s eating somebody’s ration of doughnuts.
“Lola! Bad girl!” Dread consumes me as acid wells up my throat. Whoever owns these doughnuts will be after us in a matter of minutes. “Come on, let’s go home.”
With the clothes still in my hands, I corral Lola back toward my townhouse. Except I’m not sure where it is anymore.
“Lola, I think we’re lost.”
Chapter Six
I race along the sidewalk, in desperate need of my sanctuary. I hop over a ration box with leftover bottles of water and a box of cookies. Another one down the road has five cans of vegetables. Why didn’t anyone eat their ration boxes this week?
Wait a minute. I crouch down and pick up the newspaper from the ration box in front of me. March 24th. The last newspaper I received was from the week before.
“What’s going on, Lola?” How come I didn’t get a ration box, but everyone else did?
I scan the newspaper, looking for answers. The words blur together as I try to read them under the glare of the bright, warm sun:
“The president is using whatever means necessary to deal with the terrorism in the United States. Effective immediately, all citizens will be questioned upon receiving their ration boxes for the week. Anyone who fails to—”
The whir of a mo-pod interrupts my reading. “Lola, come,” I whisper, turning the nearest corner away from the sound. As my heart races, I take a deep breath, wiping my brow with the newspaper. Lola, oblivious to the anxiety welling in my chest, digs her face in another box of doughnuts.
“Ugh!” I look up at the building in front of me. Why does it seem so familiar?
The faded sign reads Taco Tuesdays. It’s one of the last places I visited before the shutdown. “Oh, I could go for a chicken fajita right about now,” I muse, rubbing my stomach. But thinking about food is not the same thing as eating it.
Lola manages to find some crumbs in front of the restaurant to lick. I’m tempted to join her until I see someone throwing out their ration box across the street. Five bottles of water and three boxes of cookies is plenty to last me until next week.
“Stay here, Lola. I’ll be right back.” Leaving the duffel bag of clothes behind, I stretch out my hand as if doing so will make Lola listen to me. She’s more interested in the crumbs than anything I have to say.
Before the man puts his box into the trash receptacle, I want to yell at him, to beg him to save some for me. But before I can muster the courage to talk to this stranger, he’s back inside his house, and my lunch is in the garbage.
“No…” Since he just put it in the trash receptacle, maybe the germs haven’t had a chance to touch the food yet. After looking both ways, I run across the street and hide behind the bin. Mounds of trash tower over the massive receptacle, threatening to dump onto my head. I hold my nose and inch my way toward where the man had dumped my lunch.
My mouth waters as I see the ration box, overturned, with a box of cookies wedged between two black garbage bags. Okay, I can live without that one, I guess.
As I take a moment to breathe, the smell overwhelms me. Groaning, I grab what I can with my two hands and run back toward Lola. It’s a good thing I didn’t throw out my duffel bag yet, or I wouldn’t have a place to store my spoils.
“Okay, Lola, it’s time to go home.” My dog obeys me after I rub her furry back.
I have the faintest memory of following Tobi’s directions to Taco Tuesdays, so all I need to do is think about the directions in reverse. Come on, Lin. You need to get home. I close my eyes and try to remember Tobi’s words.
He’d told me to turn right at the end of the road, so I should turn left. “Come on, Lola. This way.”
With my loyal labradoodle by my side, I walk down the street with fresh eyes. How long has that store been there? I ask myself. I didn’t know there was a townhouse in the middle of this commercial area.
“Find the park,” I tell myself out loud. “I live near the park.”
A grizzly voice down the road startles me. “Miss Kingsley Webber?”
I grab Lola and crouch out of sight, searching for the source of the voice. My eyes settle on a patrol officer across the street, staring down an older woman on her stoop. Her blonde hair falls gently over her face, and her powder blue dress suggests that she still has a sense of sanity in her.
Miss Webber fluffs her hair and stands outside, holding a microfiber cloth. “Yes, sir, that’s me.”
Lola’s soft fur comforts me as I watch the scene unfold. The patrol officer tilts his head to the side and hums lightly. “What’s he doing?” I ask under my breath, half expecting Lola to answer.
The patrol officer’s head returns to the straight position. “Sixty-five years of age, grew up in New Jersey, three kids, divorced, married name Victor?”
“Yes, sir,” the woman says again.
How did he know that?
He takes a step back and extends his hand toward his mo-pod. “Miss Webber, I’m going to need you to come with me. Your terrorist activity will not be tolerated by our district authorities or our president.”
My mouth hangs open, mirroring Miss Webber’s gasp. “What? Me? No, I would never…!”
I believe her. Terrorists don’t look as innocent as she does, even the ones who are putting on a front.
“Miss Webber, your social media activity is questionable, and you appear to have a political agenda against that of the Liberty party. I need to bring you to the office for questioning.”
“Social media activity? Political agenda? I haven’t posted anything in—”
“Save it, woman. Come with me.” Miss Webber’s soft, sweet demeanor crumbles as the patrol officer slips handcuffs around her wrists. Between tears, she mutters words I can’t hear from this side of the street. The patrol officer grabs her by the waist and puts her in the cart next to his mo-pod. Pressing a device on his wrist, the wheels cave in on themselves and form a pod large enough to carry them both. I let out an audible gasp as it lifts from the ground and towers above my head, flying into the distance.
I shrink into the concrete sidewalk, my breath catching in my throat. “What was that, Lola?” The energetic look on my dog’s face makes me wonder if I imagined the scene that just took place. But the microfiber cloth on the ground tells me that a patrol officer just captured a woman for some questionable social media activity.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what to believe, Lola. That woman looked so innocent. What did she post on her social media that was so bad?” My mind is spinning. How many other people in Brooklyn have encouraged terrorist activity on their social media feed? And how did I miss it before this whole thing happened?
A door opens behind me, interrupting my thoughts. “Lin, is that you?”
Chapter Seven<
br />
My mother has tears in her eyes as she clutches her jacket, staring down at me. “I thought the patrol officers had gotten to you…” She bends her head into her hand and takes a sniffly breath. “What are you doing here?”
I have so many words I’ve wanted to say to her over these last two months. Words of hatred, bitterness, and anger. I wanted to give her all the pain that she’s given me, all the wounds I’ve had to cover so I can keep up appearances with her. But the only words I can think about now escape my lips: “I’m hungry.”
“Why are you carrying that bag? Haven’t you been receiving a ration box? Never mind. Come inside.” As she waves me in, I throw my duffel bag over my shoulder and make my way up the steps.
“Oh, Lin. You have a dog following you.”
Lola’s beady black eyes stare up at Mom, and her tongue flops out of her mouth as she sits, ready for some food.
“Yeah, this is Lola. I found her after the shutdown.”
“Well then…” Mom clicks her tongue disapprovingly, her nose stiff at the sight of a dog in her presence. I forgot Mom didn’t like dogs, and I’m sure she’s not happy that I found Lola in the middle of the street. “It can go in the backyard while I make you a plate of pasta and vegetables. A little sunlight won’t hurt it, right?”
I guide Lola back down the steps and in through the back gate. After a couple loud, obnoxious barks, she stops whimpering. All this time, I could’ve let her into the yard to get her to be quiet.
As I meet her at the door, Mom extends her arms to embrace me. I move to the side, as usual. Peering in through the open door questions plague my mind, pulsing through my skull like the beating of my heart in my chest.
“Honey, our daughter is home.”
Suddenly all the questions fade away when I see him. My father is sitting in his recliner, hands folded over his barely-there stomach. The skin that once housed his cheeks now sags slightly below his chin. His mouth hangs open and emits a slow breath every few seconds.
“Lin? Is that you?”
In Real Life Page 3