In Real Life

by Elisabeth Warner

  “Dad, not again…”

  “You’re either in or you’re out. And if you’re out, I’m not going to defend you.”

  “But I have nothing to wear!”

  He points to the duffel bag by the door. “What’s that bag you came in with?”

  “Oh, that.” I roll my eyes. “I was planning on throwing them out. That’s actually what I was doing before I came here.”

  “Well, I guess you still need them, because once you leave this place, rest assured that there will be no coming back.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next few days make me numb. I’m trying to make sense of what happened to Tobi, to Mom, to Lola. Wearing Mom’s clothes, which still smell like her, doesn’t help me think, except to remind me of the memories I want to forget.

  Including the nightmares that started after the first night I slept in my childhood bedroom.

  “Did you read the paper yet, Lin?”

  We received our ration box yesterday. Since it’s just the two of us, and Dad eats like a bird, we’re saving as much as we can until this shutdown is over. But while cleaning through the pantry, I found a canister of coffee grounds. I’ve never been more thankful to have coffee again.

  Sitting on the living room couch, watching the sunrise from the window, I hold the warm cup of black coffee to my lips. “I skimmed it. What’s the latest?”

  “More arrests. The president warns us that we should be careful. We never know who among us is a traitor.”

  I wave my hand in the air dismissively. “Eh, whatever. Did it say what she’s doing with the people they’ve taken?”

  “No, just that they’re being dealt with. I think we already knew that, didn’t we?”

  As I swallow a swig of coffee, a wave of sweet bliss drowns out everything that’s going on, both inside and outside of my mind. Even after the shutdown, coffee’s still my drug of choice.

  I close my eyes and imagine life going back to normal. Is that even possible, given how far we’ve strayed from it?

  “Lin?”

  My father’s soft touch brings me back to reality. “Oh, sorry. What were you saying?”

  “I said that I hope Mom’s okay. I keep wondering what she could’ve done wrong. Was she hiding something from me? I wasn’t on social media much after my diagnosis. Tried to distance myself from it so I didn’t stress myself out during my last few years of life.”

  I shrug. “Mom could’ve been hiding something. She was very guarded with me the last time we went out to eat.” The day of the shutdown.

  “Maybe we didn’t know her as well as we thought.” Dad hums, slumping into his comfortable recliner.

  “Did you know Kingsley Webber? She lived across the street.”

  “Oh, sure. She’s a sweet lady. I’d see her walking her dog every now and then.”

  “The day I showed up here, a patrol officer arrested her.”

  Dad sits up in his chair. “What? Miss Webber?” He shakes his head. “I think you’re right, Lin. We really can’t trust anyone.”

  Clutching my mug, I sit up. “You know, Dad, we really don’t know each other that well. I didn’t know Mom, and she didn’t know me. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. Maybe we need to get to know each other again.”

  He lets out a blend of a chuckle and a grunt. “I don’t know how much of me is left, but sure. Let’s reconnect.”

  I start the conversation by telling him about the Nothing but News podcast. “These guys are really smart. They look at posts on social media that have become viral and comment about them. Lately they’ve been getting a little political, but it’s a good break from social news. I feel like I’ve learned so much from them.”

  “A podcast, huh? Yeah, those were popular when I was a kid. Didn’t realize people still listen to them.”

  As he rocks his chair back and forth, lulling himself to sleep, the thought occurs to me that I may be among the only people listening to the podcast. How do I know that Ace and Brant weren’t involved in terrorist activity?

  “Well, what have you been doing?” I ask defensively, masking my embarrassment.

  “Before this happened, Mom and I used to sit on the patio in the backyard and listen to the birds chirping. I can’t tell you the last time I heard a bird before the shutdown happened.”

  I lift a finger, trying to pinpoint the last time I heard or even saw a bird. “You’re right, Dad. Maybe the Internet scared them away somehow?”

  “Or maybe we were too focused on other things to pay attention to the world around us.”

  A smile forms on my lips. “Technology?”

  “Technology isn’t bad, Lin. It’s neutral. But we’ve used it for the wrong reasons.”

  The smile fades gently as a pang of guilt shoots through me. “We? You haven’t been on social media in a while. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying Lin that sometimes we use technology to hide from our problems. I, I just wish things were different, that’s all. I’m mad about how we’ve used technology to separate ourselves from others.”

  His words sting again. “Dad, why do you have to do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Make me feel like junk for leaving. You don’t know what affected the choices I made. You only sit there and judge me for making them.”

  Dad sits up in his chair and grabs my hand. I instantly pull it out of his grip and sit with my knees against my chest.

  “Lin, I’m not trying to hurt you. I think you’re trying to hurt you. Sorry that I keep bringing up the past, but I’ve never once said that you’re a bad person for making those mistakes.”

  “Yes you did!” I point an accusing finger at him. “You just told me I made a mistake. You told me you were mad at me. You told me that you wished things were different.”

  “Of course I wish things were different. I wish you stuck around so that we could help you through it all.”

  “What, you were going to help me through my divorce? You were going to help me process—”

  I bite my lip. Dad doesn’t know about—

  “The miscarriage. Yeah, I was. We were. At least, I thought we were.”

  What? The last sip of coffee burns like acid in my throat. I want to get up and leave, but I need to hear what he has to say. “You knew about it?”

  Dad takes a deep breath and folds his hands over each other. His finger twitches as he rocks back and forth. Is he nervous, or is that a side effect from the lung cancer?

  “When I got my diagnosis, you distanced yourself. We didn’t know how to reach out to you. Then one day, Don came by and explained what happened to you. He wanted us to know because it was our…” He pauses as a tear wells in his eye.

  “Your grandchild,” I softly finish for him.

  “It was our child. You were our child, and we cared for you. We were devastated for you and wanted to help, but Don told us that you wanted to be left alone. We didn’t say anything to you. We hurt for you, but we knew Don would take care of you. That’s why Mom stuck up for him during the affair. She knew he was good.”

  But I wasn’t? Did I deserve to be cheated on? How did they know he was taking care of me?

  He stops speaking, but I expect him to keep going. There’s so much more to say, but the questions hang in the air like the humidity that’s clinging Mom’s shirt to my chest.

  “Well, as you said, maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought.” I stand up and walk to my childhood bedroom. After finding a bottle of soap stored away in the closet, I’m ready to clean my room.

  Cleaning, my drug of choice when the coffee doesn’t work.

  Chapter Eleven

  In bed later, I focus on the stars outside my window. For some reason, I seem to count more now than before the shutdown. Maybe Dad’s right. I guess I paid too much attention to my phone.

  But he wasn’t right about what Don did, and how Mom responded, and who needed the most help. After locking myself in my childhood bedroom all day and cleaning
every inch of space with soap, rainwater, and elbow grease, I can’t shake the dirty feeling in my heart.

  Earlier today, while scrubbing the floors and dusting off the shelves that haven’t been touched for at least fifteen years, I couldn’t shake the three questions that no one, not even my Dad, could answer.

  Am I good?

  Did I deserve to be cheated on?

  Who was watching out for me?

  Now, instead of scrolling through my phone, looking for answers, I’m scrolling through the galaxies, allowing my mind to wander. That’s one thing I can appreciate about the shutdown. While my mind is a scary place, it’s also fascinating. I needed the space to imagine, to sort through the good and bad.

  An adventure takes place in my mind. It’s a battle of forces. Me against the world. Me against myself. Me against everyone who has ever hurt me. In my mind, I always win. I may not be able to control the people around me, or even my social media account, but I can create a new world where I’m safe, loved, and free.

  Except when I finally go to sleep, and my nightmares attack.

  As my eyes struggle to stay open, I clutch my pillow, digging my nails into the soft cotton fabric. Please don’t let it happen tonight. My mind is filled with such pleasant thoughts, thoughts of traveling among the stars, taking a ship and leaving this planet, but I don’t know what my mind will create once my eyes close.

  Before I know it, the sky goes dark. No, please. No nightmares tonight.

  But I don’t have the strength to fight. I lose the battle of my mind.

  “Get away from me!” I scream at the patrol officers grabbing my waist, my arms, my hair. My voice is shaky but present. I’m fighting. I won’t let them take me.

  “Miss, we know what you’ve done. Your social media account is filled with threats to kill your husband, and you encouraged other people to take out their anger in other hurtful means. You are a threat to the government, and to yourself. You are—”

  I can’t tell who’s speaking. Maybe they all are. But their message is clear. I’m a threat to society. I’m a murderer because I wanted to kill my husband. But I never acted on it. Shouldn’t that count for something?

  “Miss, you’re coming with us.”

  “Never!” With arms flailing, I throw punches at everyone within my field of vision. Blood flies out of one’s nose. A man grunts as I knock into his chin. When two men each grab my arm, I start kicking until they start falling after each other.

  I’m winning this time.

  “Lin!”

  One of them calls me by name. He sounds far away, like he’s around the block. Should I go after him? Why does he sound so familiar?

  “Lin, I’m over here. I’ll save you.”

  He’s so close yet so far away. Do I go toward him, or stay where I am?

  As I take a step, the patrol officers multiply. There aren’t just a few patrol officers at my stoop. There are hundreds. No, thousands. Like the stars. Every square inch around my townhouse is filled with bodies aimed at bringing me down. Ready to do whatever they did to Mom. To Miss Webber. To Lola…

  I awake in a cold sweat. Breathe. The stars have been replaced with the bright morning sun, happily dancing in the sky. What a contrast to what I feel on the inside.

  Where am I? Patting the bedsheets around me, I don’t recognize the bed I’m in. This isn’t my townhouse in Brooklyn, but it looks familiar …

  I take in my surroundings, mentally walking myself through the last couple days. I’m back at my parents’ house. I don’t have any food back home. Lola is gone. Mom is gone. Dad is slowly dying of cancer. Tobi is still malfunctioning. The world has shut down.

  I’m screwed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Plopping my head back on the pillow, I hug the covers tightly to my chest. My emotions well up inside of me. Fear. Anger. Desperation.

  But I fought back this time.

  Loud coughing from the living room answers my question. My body shaking, I hop out of bed and thrust open the door. “Dad?” My quick motion sends a sharp pain into my head. “Ow! These headaches…”

  More coughing. I remember the last conversation I had with him, and I run toward his couch, worried that it would actually be the last conversation I’d ever have with him.

  “Dad, are you okay?” His hand is in a fist over his mouth, and his eyes are closed. His chest is puffing in and out as he sits upright and takes in the short breath he can in his condition.

  He’s alive. Barely.

  “Mornin’, Lin,” he croaks.

  I stand in front of him and take in his appearance. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore when they told him he had cancer. I’m sure he’s changed his shirt in the last four years, but it’s strange timing. Everything is strange timing.

  “Dad, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything. I want to make this right. What can I do?”

  “Lin, you are my daughter, and I love you. That is never going to change.”

  My hands clench into fists next to me as I struggle not to cry. But it’s hard. He’s the first person to tell me he loves me in over five years.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I mumble, averting my moistened eyes toward the kitchen. “Want me to make breakfast?”

  “Sure. I got the table ready.”

  I walk into the kitchen and my mouth hangs open. “Dad, what happened to the piles of dishes?”

  “Well, while you were cleaning your bedroom, I decided to clean the table. Of course, it took me the whole day to clean what you could clean in five minutes.” He chuckles as he hobbles over to his seat.

  Why is your condition such a joke to you? I want to ask. But instead, I thank him and heat up the battery-powered hot plate.

  The air is thick between us with questions and confusion, yet we don’t speak. I can only guess, based on what’s going on inside my head, that we’re trying to process everything, from our relationship to our physical conditions to what the patrol officers are doing. It takes up a lot of mental energy trying to fit the broken pieces together, especially since we’re missing so much.

  The water boils and I pour the box of pasta into it. “I’m not gonna eat that much, Lin. You don’t have to make the whole box.”

  Too late. “Honestly, Dad, I think I can eat this all by myself.” The hunger pain rolling through my stomach is proof of my claim.

  I grab a bowl from the shelf and put the pasta inside. “Okay, Dad. You first.”

  “I’m thankful my daughter is sitting across the table from me.”

  Of course. “I’m thankful…” I look around, desperate to eat, hoping to find something to add to the list. I’ve lost this habit since the Internet shutdown. There’s no longer a reason to be thankful. Everything in my life is being taken from me. All except for Dad.

  “I’m thankful that I’m here with my dad,” I finally say.

  “I’m thankful for this food.”

  “I’m thankful for...this house.”

  “There ya go! I’m thankful for this table.”

  “Oh! All along I coulda said that? In that case, I’m thankful for this fork to eat my pasta.”

  “I’m thankful for the beautiful weather outside.”

  “I’m thankful for the floors.”

  “I’m thankful for my clothes.”

  “I’m thankful I’m not dead.” I slap my hand over my mouth. That’s always my go-to answer when I can’t think of anything else. But sitting in front of Dad, I want to eat the words right back up, along with my pasta.

  Dad replies with a smile, picking up his pasta with a fork. “Me too. Let’s eat.”

  But my appetite has vanished. I can’t even stomach the idea of eating. My world is crashing in on me. Dad’s dying. Mom’s gone. Tobi’s totally out of the picture. Even Lola doesn’t stand a fighting chance in this world.

  Dad’s words bring me back to reality. “So, you were telling me the other day about a podcast. Nothing but News. Sounds interesting. What did you learn?”

  “Oh, all ki
nds of stuff. Dad, they even predicted the shutdown.” I poke my fork into a piece of pasta and shove it in my mouth. I wish they were here now, directing me on what to do.

  “They predicted it, huh? How do you think they knew?” Another piece of pasta slides into his mouth.

  “They know everything, Dad. They’re a team.”

  “I see.” Dad doesn’t sound convinced.

  “What? Why do you sound so suspicious?” By the time I look down at my plate, I realize I’ve eaten the whole bowl of pasta.

  “I just wonder if they had anything to do with the shutdown, if they were part of the rebel party that caused it.”

  “Rebel party? You think a rebel party caused it, that it wasn’t an accident?”

  Dad leans back in his chair, pushing his half-eaten plate of pasta toward me. “Of course. The Internet has been around for centuries. Why would it break down now all of a sudden? There had to have been a reason behind it.”

  “So you think these two guys with a podcast just shut down the Internet in the whole United States?”

  “Anything’s possible, I guess.”

  I shake my head. “I just wanted someone to believe in.”

  Dad puts his hand on mine. I don’t move away. “I get it, Lin. Seriously, I do. But we have to be careful who we—”

  “I know, Dad! I get it.” I push his hand away and stand up. “We don’t know who we can trust.”

  “Lin, what’s going on? What’s gotten into you?”

  “Dad, literally, it can’t get any worse at this point.”

  He hangs his head low. “I know. I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s all I have on my mind. But you know what else is on my mind?”

  I wipe the tears from my eyes. “What?”

  “We still have a reason to be thankful.”

  A knock on the front door interrupts our conversation. This time, I know they’re coming for me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The chair scrapes against the floor as Dad rises to his feet. “Let me handle this.”