The Complex Life (The Complex Trilogy Book 1)

by Heather Hayes

  Mentor Maxine leans closer to me and whispers, "No. I won't. I'm on your side. I just want to know how much you two know."

  My voice cracks. "He told me that all of this is a lie."

  Mentor Maxine gets up from her knees and sits on the side of my bed. I scoot over to make room for her. She looks at me with sympathy. "I figured as much. He has been watched for quite a while. Mentor Briggs was just waiting for him to do something stupid in front of the complex chief to charge him as a dissident. So, it really isn't your fault. They were going to take him away sooner or later."

  "Am I being watched?"

  Mentor Maxine's voice is soft. "Yes."

  "What should I do?"

  "What does your gut tell you to do?"

  "It tells me to break out of here and to bring Avra and my boy gang with me."

  Mentor Maxine looks around the room before saying into my ear, "I think that would be wise."

  Surprised, I wipe the wet tear tracks off my face and sit up. "Really?"

  Maxine inches closer to me, "The complex chief took your question as a sign of overheated femaleism. He wanted to start you on pink trays tomorrow. I convinced him to start you on the medicated trays in a week instead."

  Wow—I thought I'd have a month to figure all this out. Instead, the time is now. "Thank you for looking out for me. Are you going to get in trouble, Maxine? Is it okay if I call you that?"

  "You may when we're in private. I worry that I am being watched as well. My suggestions for resident rights are sending red flags. You shouldn't tell me your plans in case they interrogate me. I'll help you as much as I can without being obvious."

  "What will happen to you?"

  "I may lose my job, but they can't hurt me. I am a hearty working citizen. I have rights."

  "But I don't."

  "...I'm afraid not."

  "What will the world do to me when I break out? Will they bring me back?"

  Maxine tilts her head back and forth as if deciding. "Yes. They probably will bring you back. You'll have to live in hiding. I wish your birthmark was somewhere you could cover. A break out will be big news. Your face will give you away in a second."

  "Do you have any deformities?"

  "No."

  "So, is it true that no one has any deformities out there?"

  Maxine rubs her forehead and sighs. "Almost no one. All children with deformities are brought here. When a child turns two, they must undergo a thorough examination. If there is anything physically or mentally wrong with them they are brought here. A few parents go rogue and hide their children. But they are caught. Every time. Some people have accidents as adults, but not very many. All the dangerous jobs are done here. If one of you loses a hand in a machine, oh well. You were damaged anyway."

  I sit up and look out the window. The world just got bigger. "Where will I go when I break out?"

  "I don't know, I guess you can stay at my apartment until you decide what to do."

  I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Maxine. Do you think—there is any chance my parents will take me back?"

  Maxine nods hesitantly. "If they are alive, I think so. Only cruel, horrible parents are happy to see their children go, no matter what is wrong with them." Maxine stands up. "Make good use of your time in the laundry room tomorrow. I have to go."

  •

  I get up early the next morning and watch all the girls eat their victuals. Anyone who doesn't eat something off a normal tray, I swipe what they leave behind. I sneakily offer to get Avra her tray. Oops! I pull off the top and ‘accidentally' spill most of it onto the floor. Mentor Roberta yells at me and is too angry to think straight when she tells me that I have to give Avra my tray. No problem. That's what I wanted to do anyway. Avra grumbles and grouches at me as I give her my victuals. She claims that the pink trays taste sweeter. I'm not surprised; these people are tricky. Shasta rolls her eyes at me when I sit down trayless. She gives me her peaches. Tessa pats my hand and gives me her eggs. I successfully glean enough food to get by for myself.

  Laundry day is here at last. I hope my mind has enough fuel to take mental notes of everything I see today. Mentor Roberta personally escorts me to the laundry room once I finish eating. As we exit the glass dorm door, I expect a world of wonder to open up to me. Instead, I'm greeted by dim, dingy hallways that stretch out before me in several directions. Mentor Roberta silently scowls at me as she closes the door to the glass dorm and locks it behind me. Click. She puts the key in her side pocket. The only sound my hungry ears hear is Mentor Roberta's loud sniffing and our footsteps echoing off the gray colored floors and walls. Tap, tap, tap.

  Every gray door we pass looks exactly like the last one except for its shiny gold number. The numbers increase as we proceed down the first hall, but when we take a right turn, the numbers start to decrease. Confusing! I'm sure I couldn't find my way back on my own, but I will try to memorize the path back when I leave. I had no idea that this complex was so big, and so maze-like. We make several more turns and go down some stairs before we reach the laundry room.

  A strong soapy scent overwhelms my nostrils as I enter the enormous room. I'm shocked to see at least 100 people in dark brown jumpsuits rushing to and fro in here. I never dreamed that so many people were taking care of my laundry each day. The hum of 30 washers and 30 dryers get louder the farther in we walk. I am going deaf I realize as Mentor Roberta asks me a question that I can't decipher. We walk around a corner to a soaking tub for jumpsuits that are heavily soiled. There is a folding station and a sorting section beyond this area, but it doesn't look like I get to check it out.

  It's quieter here, thank goodness. Mentor Roberta tells the laundry advisor that since I am being punished, I should have the dirtiest, smelliest jobs that she can give me. I am taken to the chute room. My jaw drops in awe as I witness clothes dropping from 50 or more circle chutes in the ceiling into massive tubs. Dirty sorters then sort the dirty clothes into 5 different smaller, wheeled bins: whites, lights, darks, heavily soiled, and trash.

  I ask the head sorter, "Why do you need trash bins down here?"

  "Good question, young lady. Some complex dwellers think it is funny to send trash down the laundry chute."

  "Oh, rude."

  "Plus some clothing gets too soiled or too ripped to be salvageable, so that is sent out with the trash as well."

  I lean over one of the giant tubs to see what's in the bottom of it. It has white bras and underwear of all sizes mixed with jumpsuits and bedding. Plop. Something lands on my head. I shake my head in horror to dislodge whatever it is. It looks like underwear, but bigger and blockier. "What is that?"

  The sorter next to me picks it up off the floor and puts it back in the whites bin. "Boy underwear."

  "Gross." I shake my head again as though the underwear is still there.

  The head sorter chuckles and pushes a heavily soiled bin at me. A waft of nasty odor hits me in the face as I grab it. Ew. Did all this laundry come from the kids who aren't potty-trained yet? I am not touching any of this multicolored stinkiness with my bare hands. The head sorter nods at the wall. I take a pair of gloves out of a box on the wall before I wheel the bin over to the soaking tub. I take a paddle sticking out of the soaking tub and use it to lift the heavily soiled jumpsuits, bedding, and underwear out of the wheeled bin and into the soaking tub. I use the paddle to push the dry clothes down to the bottom of it.

  The head soaking tub attendant approaches me. "Hi. I'm Rebecca. You need to constantly stir the tub. Okay, missy?"

  I rub my raccoon eye distractedly. "Okay."

  I try not to gag or make noises as I examine the heavily soiled items I'm supposed to save from the nastiness. Mentor Roberta smiles at my discomfort at first, but after an hour she loses interest in me and goes back to the glass dorm. It's about time. I need to find out th
e secrets of this place. I cozy up to Rebecca now that I'm not being watched.

  "So, tell me. When do I get the next batch?"

  Rebecca is a wide yet muscular middle-aged woman with dark brown hair wrapped in a bun. She is pleasant but not chatty. "They will be missing their wheeled tub. You may want to take it back now."

  "Okay, see you soon."

  I take the wheeled tub back just in time to be given another full tub of heavily soiled clothes. This one smells even worse. I'm afraid someone might have died in it. I take it to the soaking tub and start the cycle all over again. Once the soaking tub is full, we stir it for a half an hour and then I take the soaking wet clothes out and wheel them to the white washing machines. A hunchbacked older woman stops me before I get any closer to the white machines.

  "Oh, no, you don't. Take those to the black washing machines. The black washing machines are for heavily soiled clothing only." Okay then. I didn't know that.

  I wheel my tub to the black washing machines. This worker looks much younger and nicer. In fact, I know her. Dahlia, the deaf girl from my dorm, and another random person put the clothes from my bin into the washing machine. They put soap in the machine and start it. For that I am thankful.

  I sign, this is a tough job to Dahlia. She's surprised yet thrilled to see me signing. She signs back, I remember you. I didn't know you could sign! Eat your victuals with me in the break room. I sign back, Okay, I will. I rush off to go get another bin of heavily soiled laundry. I marvel at how mind numbing this work is. I've lost track of how many tubs of clothes I've moved.

  I am starving. It has to be time for 12:00 victuals by now. So, I ask Rebecca. Apparently, the laundry room workers don't get to eat until 1:00. I have another hour. My stomach roars its fury at being underfed at morning victuals, and now having to wait an extra hour for noon victuals.

  When a loud shrieky alarm goes off, just like the one in the glass dorm, I throw my gloves away and rush to the black washing machines. A digital clock with red numbers is blinking 1:00 near the washing machines. That is helpful for Dahlia, I'm sure. Dahlia smiles when she sees me and signs, Follow me. I force myself to take slower steps than my stomach wants me to take, as I follow Dahlia to the break room.

  The much-anticipated break room is surprisingly small for over 100 people. It's gray and bleak. Blah. These poor people. Dahlia and I sit in a back corner because she signs to me that they serve the back first. The tables are smaller, grayer, and more worn out than the tables in the glass dorm. So this is what half the reds I know have to look forward to for the rest of their lives. Several workers in purple jumpsuits bring tall push carts full of victual trays. I can smell hot chicken and gravy—mmm, one of my favorites. I watch the trays being passed out. There are only 12 pink trays for over 100 laundry workers. Huh, I wonder if reds are less boy crazy than the rest of us in general. That reminds me. Avra had to eat her pink tray today. Ahh, I forgot about her. Oh well. There's nothing I can do about it now. Dahlia gets her tray, but I don't get mine. You have got to be kidding me. I wait until everyone has their tray before I get up and tap one of the purple clothed workers on the shoulder.

  "Excuse me, I didn't get a tray. I am only here for today as a punishment, so I think someone forgot to send my tray down here."

  The purple clad worker says, "Mentor Roberta gave strict instructions that missing a meal is part of your punishment. Sorry." She turns around and leaves the room.

  My heart sinks. I realize that this is the first time I've been uncomfortably hungry in my entire life. I wonder how the poor people on the outside do it. Growl. My stomach might start to eat itself. I return dejectedly to the table with Dahlia. She may be deaf, but she sure can read faces. As I plop down in my chair, Dahlia hands me her apple with a smile. I take it gratefully and take a bite. I sign, thank you to her. The woman with graying black hair sitting next to Dahlia works with her in the washing machine area. She watches me gobble down my apple to the tiniest amount of seeds and strings. Dahlia nudges her, she rolls her eyes and hands over her buttered roll with a hand that has only tiny nubs for fingers.

  I smile at her. "Thank you so much. What's your name?"

  The woman eyes me unenthusiastically. "Francine, and don't worry about it."

  I don't want to waste my time while I'm sitting here. "Tell me, Francine, do you ever get to wear different clothes than jumpsuits?"

  "Heh, no."

  "Do you get to eat fancy foods like frosted cookies once you have a job here?"

  "You mean other than Christmas?"

  "Yeah, don't the daily standard meals improve?"

  "No way, kid. Enjoy the glass dorm while you've got it. The food and jumpsuits stay the same once you have a job, but the dorms are stacked three bunks high, and they don't change except to add more people. No more glass wall to peek at the boys through, no more classes. Luckily, your job will probably tire you out so much that you'll spend most of your free time sleeping."

  That doesn't sound like something to look forward to. Now that I think about it, all the clothing that I've seen come through the laundry chutes are jumpsuits, underwear, and socks. Hmm.

  The shriek noise goes off again. I guess it's time to get back to work. I thank Dahlia and Francine for the victuals before I head back to the heavily soiled tub. I watch all the workers around me mindlessly doing their jobs. I can't help but wonder, do they get any satisfaction from their existence? Would I, if I stayed? I stir the heavily soiled jumpsuits around the tub with my paddle, occasionally smiling at one of the unsmiling faces that passes me. I wish I could break these people out. I see Dahlia signing at me across the room, Less than three hours left. You can do this. I sign back. Yes, I can do this.

  I notice after a while that the garbage tub is getting full. I ask the dirty sorter, "Can I take that out for you?"

  She says, "You can, but you'll have to get some help with it once you get to the other side of the laundry room."

  "Okay. No problem." I grab the garbage tub and immediately realize that this is way less stinky than the heavily soiled laundry. I should have volunteered for this job at the beginning of the day. There is one jumpsuit covered in blood, but it is wrapped in a transparent plastic sack, so I can't smell it. It takes me about three minutes to get across the laundry facility.

  I ask a girl with bushy blonde hair and a missing eye in the folding room, "What should I do with the garbage now?" She rolls her eye at me as she comes out of the folding room.

  "You must be new here." She pulls a plastic helmet with a plastic dress connected to it off a hook on the wall and onto her body. She puts on a pair of elbow-length gloves that she pulls from a box on the wall. She mumbles and points from her protective suit that I need to put on the other suit that is hanging on the wall. I slip it on. Ugh. This is almost as bad as those horrible guard suits. This helmet is sucking the air out of me. I'm definitely claustrophobic. The bushy blonde walks over to a trap door on the wall. It looks like the trap door for the laundry chute in the glass dorm, except bigger, and it has a locking mechanism. It's big enough that I could probably climb inside... The girl twists the mechanism to open the chute door with a grunt. It creaks and groans as she opens it up. She takes a deep breath then starts throwing garbage bags into the hole. I realize as I stick the plastic bag with the bloody jumpsuit out the chute that I see a glimpse of daylight! There is only a flimsy black plastic flap separating me from the outside of the complex.

  As I stick the next bag of garbage through the hole, I reach my arm through the flap and wave it around. I can't wait to tell Avra that my arm has been outside! I am almost too excited to ask, "Where does all the garbage go?"

  I can barely hear the blonde through her muffled suit. "There is a garbage truck parked on the outside of this wall. The garbage falls into the truck, and when it is full, the garbage truck takes it to a landfill."

  "But
we're in the basement. How can there be a truck below us?"

  "I asked the supervisor the same thing when I first started working here. This isn't a deep basement, and they've dug out and paved a ramp for the truck to back in and out of. It's a convenience thing."

  "Interesting, they get someone to risk the toxins to drive the garbage off."

  "I'm sure they wear guard suits that are better than these things. I don't think they care if I suck in a few extra toxins." We finish throwing out the garbage, close the chute, and hang our suits on their hooks.

  I look at the unhappy blonde who's trying to catch her breath next to me. "You aren't treated like you're worth anything in your dorm or your work, are you?"

  "Not really."

  My heart goes out to her; she has no idea that she's being used and lied to. "I'm not either. I'm actually being punished for doing something that wasn't a big deal." I look around the gray laundry room. This place is the pits. I'm glad I don't have to come back tomorrow. "Say, when does your shift end?"

  "When the evening victuals are ready, about 6:00."

  "Yuck, that's an hour later than I usually eat. Does anyone come back here after that?"

  "No. The laundry builds up all night, but we don't start on it until 8:00 the next morning."

  My blood starts pumping faster. "So, no one is in the laundry room from 6:00 pm till 8:00 am, is that right?"

  "Yep. Don't be all judgy about that. Nine hours of laundry a day is enough. I don't want my shift to be any longer than it already is, so don't go blabbing to a mentor or a facilitator about it." The blonde girl pokes me in the chest rather forcefully to emphasize her point.

  I rub the spot. "Oh, I won't. What's your name by the way?"

  She eyes me warily. "Cybil. Why? Do you want to make up a song about Cybil the Cyclops?"

  "No! I would never. Look at me, I have an ugly eye too." Cybil looks at my raccoon eye and nods. "I'll see you around Cybil." She grunts at me and walks back to the folding room.