Terminal Regression

by Mallory Hill

  Several people broke out of the crowd and stood on the first step. They faced us.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Terminal B,” the woman in the middle said. “Most of you are here today because you believed you were not making a significant contribution in your home communities. It is my pleasure to announce you’ve all been granted reassignment into our community here. We’ve reviewed your applications, and, based on your interests and reasons for purchase, we’ve assigned you a supervisor to help you adjust to your new lives. Supervisors will read the names of their respective passengers. Please line up with your supervisor and await further instruction.”

  I’m not even kidding—that’s exactly what she said. Maybe it was just me; maybe everybody else was fine with this turn of events, but I was pretty angry. This was not what I’d signed on for. I’d wanted darkness and peace–a chance to stop the constant searching and wondering and adjusting. A new life was not the answer. I needed an end.

  So I went ahead and raised my hand up nice and high. That woman gave me a look, but you better believe I shot one back at her.

  “Can I help you?” she sighed.

  “Yeah. This is unacceptable.” Everyone backed away from me. Was no one on my side? We’d just been swindled, duped, deceived. Did that not matter to them?

  The supervisor put her hands on her hips. “Is it now? Well, I’m very sorry, but you signed a waiver. Did you read the application?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So you’re aware there will be no going back and you’re obligated to abide by our regulations of conduct?” She smiled so condescendingly I could have smacked her.

  But she was right. I’d signed that stupid waiver thinking it only applied to train conduct. This was sneaky and couldn’t be legal. But I bit my tongue.

  “I suppose I am,” I said through my teeth, “but there wasn’t supposed to be another community at the terminal.”

  “And who told you that?”

  “It’s common knowledge.”

  She pouted. “Oh, and so naturally that makes it true. Well, let me tell you something. We will not tolerate—”

  “Hold on,” another supervisor intervened. He leafed through papers on his clipboard while leaning heavily on a single crutch. “Are you Laura?” he asked me.

  Reluctantly, I nodded.

  “She’s on the farm list. Give her a break.”

  My newfound nemesis rolled her eyes but conceded. “Laura, meet your supervisor. Direct the rest of your questions to him please.”

  The crutch guy smiled and waved me over. And I realized, for whatever reason, I was being considered disabled.

  Embarrassed out of my mind, I went and stood with my supervisor. The others began reading names.

  “I’m Grant by the way,” he said quietly.

  I nodded, not really ready to make friends.

  “If you’re ready, we can head on up.”

  I looked at him. “Seriously? I’m the only one?”

  “Don’t worry, there are plenty of us. We just didn’t get a real big group today. Shall we?”

  He started to hobble up the steps. I followed out of curiosity, not out of any respect for this system. If this was my new life, I was expecting palaces and gardens and all preconceived notions of paradise.

  We ended up outside in the most average looking city ever. Like the terminal at home, there was a wall above it indicating the city limits. There were a lot of clusters of similar looking buildings, larger ones farther away and little squares nearby. It was completely underwhelming.

  “This is it?” I asked, not bothering to disguise my disappointment. “This is the afterlife?”

  Grant smiled. “Not exactly. But this is your new home. While the communities you’re used to were more geared toward interests and skills, this one is more product based. We do manufacturing, general labor, agriculture, overall management.” He started moving down the street and I followed.

  “So what am I here for?” I asked.

  “You’ll work on the farm. It’s one of the more relaxed jobs. Farm workers come from troubled backgrounds and are searching for peace. A couple hours in an orchard and your worries seem to disappear.”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem likely.”

  “Just keep an open mind. We can’t guarantee you’ll find reason to live, but everyone on the farm understands what you’re going through. We’ve all been there.”

  “We?”

  He looked at me. “Yes, me too. I started out like you. Of course, with my complication it made more sense for me to supervise. But I still get out in the fields from time to time. We have a pretty high success rate. If nothing else, the work serves as a distraction. Unfortunately, not everyone can be saved. I can’t promise you a miracle, but I also don’t think your particular situation was all that concerning. You seem pretty stable.”

  Stable enough for what? I couldn’t imagine the life of a farm hand was too emotionally demanding.

  “This is basically a basket case camp, isn’t it?”

  He stopped. “Don’t say that,” he said firmly. “You have to be respectful. These people have suffered. We’ve spent years cultivating an environment of peace. This is their sanctuary. You should be able to understand that. You were put in this group for a reason.”

  I shrugged. “Well, I don’t tend to fit in very well. Why should that be any different here?”

  He looked at me for a long moment. I knew I was difficult to understand. I also knew assigning me to a happy camp couldn’t automatically solve my identity crisis. Grant was in for a real challenge.

  But he smiled. “Just be good. Can you do that for me?”

  I sighed. “Anything for you.”

  I let him lead me down the road to whatever poor excuse for an afterlife I had in store. I just couldn’t believe this was happening. It was work therapy. They were tricking me into dealing with my problems by ignoring them. This was insanity, pure madness. In fact, the only thing it wasn’t was death. But maybe it was my own fault for believing life could be so predictable.

  Chapter 5

  <<<

  The farm was quite a walk away from the terminal, outside the city altogether it seemed. But our first stop was my lodging. We went through the front door of a plain-looking apartment complex of sorts. Grant went behind the unattended desk and presented me with a large wooden crate.

  “Your necessities. Clothes, blankets, toiletries, the works.”

  I rummaged through what appeared to be all I had in the world. “Lots of flannels.”

  “Just the basics. T-shirts, jeans, boots. They’re functional.”

  They certainly weren’t an extension of my soul like my artist clothes. I was almost glad I was still dressed for mural night.

  Grant handed me a small plastic card. “This is your ID. It serves as your key, time card, and credit card.”

  “Credit card?”

  “The amount of work you do will translate into credits. If you find it necessary to obtain additional items, your credits will be traded in for them.”

  “Like…payment? That’s crazy.” Back home, sharing was a joy. If you were fortunate enough to have someone interested in your work, it was your pleasure to serve them. And goods were provided at the market because they were necessary. How could work and an item have an equal value?

  “You’ll get used to it,” Grant said. “Most of your credits will go toward food. Eventually, you’ll have to replace the stuff in the crate; only the first time is free. Now, let’s get to your room.”

  This wasn’t happening. I had to pay for a life I didn’t want? I followed him through the complex just totally in shock.

  My room was a tragedy. I had a bed, a small closet, nothing more. The bathroom was a toilet, a sink, and a shower. And the absolute best part was that no one had bothered to disguis
e the fact that the whole thing was just a concrete cave. That’s right, gray, lumpy concrete, cold and unwelcoming, stretched from floor to ceiling and everywhere in between.

  I actually laughed when I saw it. How was this environment going to prevent me from offing myself? If anything, it inspired it.

  Grant frowned at my total disrespect for the “sanctuary,” but I couldn’t help it. I dropped the crate on my naked mattress.

  “This is classy,” I said. “This is elegance itself.”

  “Simplicity inspires tranquility,” he urged.

  “Oh, is that what you call it? Man, this is just ugly. I’m sorry, I mean, I wasn’t expecting paradise, but give a girl an afterlife and she’ll imagine certain standards. You guys really know how to disappoint.”

  He hated me. I was pretty much sure of it at that point. Well, fine. I wasn’t here to make friends. I wasn’t here to do much of anything actually, so what did it matter what he thought? As far as I was concerned, I was dead and this was some kind of hideous purgatory.

  “Well, we also have a budget. You’re welcome to make improvements if you see fit.”

  I nodded. “I will most definitely work on that. But I’m sure you still have some sort of agenda for me?”

  He raised his clipboard. “A full day actually. First, we’ll go out to the farm and let you see how things operate. You’ll shadow one of our other girls for a few weeks until you’re ready to go on your own.”

  I took a final glance around my new home. “Then lead the way.”

  There were trucks in a nearby lot that were used to get to the farm. Grant drove, which seemed strange given his apparent injury.

  “I use the other foot,” he said out of the blue.

  “What?”

  “My left foot works fine. It was a bit of an adjustment, but I’ve had plenty of time to figure it out.”

  Maybe I’d been staring?

  “Oh. So what’s wrong with the other one?”

  He shrugged. “It just doesn’t work. Never has… Back in Terminal A, I had a wheelchair. Even though I only had one bad leg, they both seemed pretty useless.”

  I wondered what had inspired this sudden heart to heart, but I did feel for him. It couldn’t have been easy being so limited.

  “Is that why you left?” I asked.

  “Believe me, I had bigger problems. I mean, it was tough, but not worth dying over. I left because I didn’t belong. I was pretty sick for a long time, and nobody really understood that. I wasn’t trying to escape though. I wanted there to be something more, an opportunity I hadn’t had before. I figured with more opportunity, I was certain to be all right and find happiness.” He smiled at me. “And I have.”

  It must have been nice having that kind of hope. For some reason, I just knew no amount of relocation would fill my void.

  “I was looking for a way out,” I muttered. “Specifically, an end.”

  He shook his head. “No you weren’t.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “If you really wanted to die, you would have hung yourself or overdosed or jumped off something. People who take the train know there’s a chance of survival. You were after the chance.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, I missed the part where you became an expert on my life. I took the train because I didn’t want to suffer. I didn’t want to hurt myself. I just wanted to disappear.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “Oh my God, Grant! You don’t know me! Don’t pretend you know me!”

  I shouldn’t have shouted, but who did he think he was anyway? I crossed my arms and looked out the window.

  We passed a big, industrial-looking building.

  “What’s that?” I asked to change the subject.

  “The plant. You shouldn’t ever need to go there. It’s just generating electricity, stuff like that.”

  “That’s a job here?”

  “Yeah. Look, I’m sorry if—”

  “It’s okay. Just be respectful.” I was partially mocking him, but if he didn’t watch himself, we’d have a real problem.

  He parked the truck. I’d never seen a true commercial farm before. People had gardens back home, sometimes fairly large gardens, but nothing like this. It was springtime, but already there seemed to be a lot happening.

  “This right here is a corn field,” Grant said. “But that’s not our objective today. We have manipulated growing systems. You’ll notice the lights? When they turn on, it’s practically summer. Optimal heat and light conditions. It makes things a lot easier for us. Much higher productivity rates. But for now, let’s find your mentor. She’s supposed to be in the greenhouse today.”

  Now this greenhouse was basically a green-mansion. It was the full size of a city block if not bigger. All the workers were wearing their flannels and jeans and seemed just as cheerful as you please.

  “Mimi,” Grant called. “Anyone seen Mimi?”

  “Just a second!”

  A little ways away, I watched her pull off her gloves. She looked like the rest of them–simple clothes, hair pulled back, little traces of potting soil here and there.

  “What’s up, boss?” she asked with a smile.

  “Got you a present. This is Laura. I need you to show her the ropes. Let her follow you around for a while. Can you do that?”

  Apparently, I was an extraordinary present. She clasped her hands together and grinned so big it looked painful.

  “I love her! Thank you!”

  Grant went soft at her enthusiasm. “Anything for you, kid. But be careful with her.”

  She looked at me. “Oh, did you just come today? You poor thing. Well, don’t you worry. We’re going to make everything better.”

  No one had spoken to me like that since I was a kid, and even then I’d hated it. But this girl had such obvious innocence. Whatever hardship had led her to the terminal had long since been washed from her mind.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said quietly.

  She nodded excitedly. “So nice. Well, let’s get to it.”

  I glanced at Grant wondering if he really meant to leave me in the care of these people.

  “I’ll check in from time to time,” he assured me. “Mimi knows what to do. She’s great with the new girls.”

  There he went again lumping me into a category as if I were some generic, uniformly shaped puzzle piece instead of the jigsaw mess I was.

  Mimi led me back to her station. “Okay, right now I’m just repotting these little guys.” She held up a sprout with dirt packed around the roots. “You’re welcome to watch or just dive right in if you’re up to it.”

  “I think I’ll watch. Just so I don’t mess up.”

  She nodded. “All right.” She placed the sprout in a bigger pot and began packing more dirt around it. “So let’s hear about you.”

  About me. Well, if I’d known anything about myself I wouldn’t have been there in the first place. And really, what more did she need to know about me? I’d assumed I’d be dead by this point and welcomed that assumption whole-heartedly. Didn’t that about say it all?

  I sighed. “My mom was an artist. I’d been doing that for a while.”

  “Isn’t that nice? I was going to be a chemist before I got here.”

  That was surprising. I’d thought people on the farm were the ones who didn’t fit in with the world back home, the weird ones who couldn’t find a calling.

  “Really? For sure?”

  She nodded. “I loved it. I was even my instructor’s lab assistant. It’s so charming at Terminal A, isn’t it? Everyone’s so happy to be there.”

  Knowing it was invasive, I hesitated but asked anyway. “Why did you leave?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not nice to talk about such things, not at work anyway. But since you’re new… My husband died. He died the natural way
, the real way. We were in that dizzy, perfect newlywed phase, and he had an accident… So I thought I could follow him, just take a little train ride and we’d live happily ever after.” She finished packing the dirt and looked up at me, smiling all the while. “But what a silly thing to think.”

  I stared at her. “You wanted to die?”

  “Yes, well I loved him very much. Which is a foolish thing to do. Life is about the individual after all. If we can’t be happy by ourselves how can we ever be truly happy with another?”

  She just went on working. I watched her for the longest time, gingerly handling sprout after sprout.

  “I don’t think that’s silly,” I mumbled at last. “I think it’s beautiful.”

  “Well, you would, wouldn’t you? Fresh off the train, death must seem to you a glorious mystery. But I assure you, we’ll fix that in no time.”

  The farm wasn’t for the outcasts. It was for the desperate. It was for those so broken they had to be reborn altogether. I’d longed to be a part of something all my life. But I refused to believe I was one of them. I could kill Laura easily. I wouldn’t dream of replacing her.

  Chapter 6

  <<<

  I watched Mimi go through her work rotation. It didn’t seem very hard, and I’m sure it wasn’t meant to be. Much of the bigger work was done mechanically, so the workers mainly weeded and watered, planted and harvested, maybe, when the season was right.

  By the end of the day, I had started to come to terms with my situation. Not accepted it, but I understood what to expect in this new life.

  There was a patch of grass by the truck lot, and Mimi and her friends gathered there after work. They sat on the ground in a circular formation.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as Mimi and I sat down.

  “We’re going to have a little discussion. We’ll go around and share how we’re feeling. Anything you want to say, feel free.”

  No. Oh, God, no! I was not part of a support group! The last thing I wanted was people trying to convince me they could relate to my problems. Why wouldn’t these people just let me die?