by B Button
SNEAKS
B. Button
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PUBLISHED BY:
Publishing, LLC
Copyright © 2010 by Penelope Publishing
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Sneaks is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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2184
Sixteen
I had forgotten that it was my birthday. Or maybe I’d purposefully ignored the date. Turning sixteen wasn’t as important as it had been to my grandmother or even my mother. Turning sixteen was all about The Big Decision and nothing about sweet anything, or driving cars, or dating or anything else - just The Big Decision.
I’d received the letter yesterday; someone other than our regular mail guy had knocked on the door with two loud pounds. A man, dressed in black, his thick hair short and bushy, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, handed me the sealed envelope on a small silver platter, like it was something special; a gift instead of a silver-plated curse. He worked for the Marriage Division of The Govment, and his manicured and shiny fingernails told me that he was paid well. But everyone who worked for The Govment was paid well.
I took the letter from the platter, closed the door on the silent man, gave it to my anxious mom and then made myself forget all about it; forget that I was turning sixteen and should open the letter and see which group I’d choose from. They called it a choice, but even curses delivered on silver platters aren't real choices. Never let 'em fool ya, Granny would say. She would have said it that day too if she was still alive.
I opened the hidden door in the kitchen floor and disappeared into the basement, into my secret room, where I could do the one and only thing I liked to do: work on my clocks. Mom let me go. She sighed loudly, but she does that a lot lately.
The olden days of turning sixteen that Granny told me about were gone, but in my secret room I was in charge of the time. The rhythm of ticks and tocks filled my ears and filled my head and helped me forget things like birthdays and other awful things. The Music Division of the Govment chose the music we could listen to and when we could listen to it, but in my room, I controlled the sound, the noise, the tick of the old mechanisms that I had the ability to raise from the dead. The noise was better than thinking.
It’s what I did, it's all I did; I fixed clocks. My secret business was booming. In their attics or basements, citizens all over Chigo found dead clocks, their insides long frozen and immobile. Clocks had gone digital a long time ago, their hours and minutes well controlled by the Time Division of the Govment. There were days that an hour was really an hour, but other days and for reasons no one understood, the Time Division, with a big satellite that controlled the digital timepieces, changed the time. Some said it was because they wanted people to have more sunlight, some said it was because they wanted less. I thought it was just another way to screw with our minds.
Citizens could control the time with an antique clock, if it worked, that was. They could know what the real time was. They could know, and sometimes just knowing was powerful even if you couldn't do anything to change it. When citizens figured this out, they wanted their old clocks to work. And when they wanted them to work, they called me. Or rather, they sent a letter by private post. Citizens were afraid to use phones or computers anymore. The Govment controlled those even more than they controlled the time. But there were private post people, mostly young boys willing to risk getting caught because they, like me, might be able to make a little more money for their families than the Govment allowed them to make.
I knew how to take them apart, fix them and put them together again, back in working order. I was good and I was quick, and the money I made was well-hidden. It was illegal to earn an income from a job that hadn’t been approved by the Jobs Division of the Govment. The Jobs Division would never approve someone my age to have such a job. Instead, I was supposed to be focusing on my schooling and The Decision that arrived via a silver platter on the day before my idiotic sixteenth birthday.
I had to conduct my business in secret. My mom was at first worried about us breaking such a serious law, but she was only given a low-paying job from the Jobs Divison – after my father left us and she refused to marry again. Once she realized how much easier it would be to eat and pay the bills with the extra money, she didn’t try to stop me. Of course, we worked only in cash and had to save more than we spent to avoid suspicion, but we made it work. The black market was growing every day. Cash was used in the black market, but that was about the only place anymore. We predicted that The Govment would soon stop creating all cash and then we’d be in trouble, but for now, we were okay.
I hadn't left my shop since escaping to it after the delivery. I'd worked and slept among the peaceful and brain numbing beats and rhythms that surrounded me. By the next morning, I'd forgotten all about it all.
“Kally, you awake?” Mom said from the opening above my. “Hey, birthday girl.”
“Yeah. I just got up.”
“I’m coming down.”
I watched her legs descend the ladder. She was ready for work in her waitress dress and apron, and I could see a package in one hand and the letter in the other hand.
“’K.” I turned back to the time piece I’d been working on. It was Saturday and I’d hoped to stay hidden in my shop all day; hidden away from the birthday wishes and the question: Which group?
The clock before me belonged to Mr. Bellini, an old man a couple streets over. It was about a foot tall and seven inches wide. I’d hidden it in a wagon underneath some groceries to get it home. I’d gotten one suspicious look from a law officer, but no one questioned me, and besides, law officers always looked suspicious.
The mechanism that told the time was in the top part of the clock and a gold pendulum hung lifelessly from the hook. The top face of the clock was hand-decorated in a small tile mosaic. The bottom was a clear glass door, the glass still intact. The Art Division of the Govment created the art we were allowed to look at, and I’d never seen anything as detailed and beautiful as the countryside scene. Maybe it was because I’d never seen any sort of countryside, though. I’d never been out of Chigo and didn’t see it ever happening. In the tiles, I saw cows, horses, pigs and chickens. It was old-fashioned and dreamy, and I was going to bring it back to glorious, ticking life before the day was over.
Mom stopped behind me. “Oh, that’s lovely, honey. What a beautiful one.”
I nodded.
Mom sighe
d and then put her hand on my shoulder. “Kally?”
“What?”
“Turn around, baby.”
I didn’t want to, but I finally turned on the stool.
Mom sighed, smiled and said, “Happy birthday, baby girl.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “Thanks,” I said without moving my lips.
“I got you something.” She handed me the package.
“What is it?”
“The normal procedure is to open the package to find out what’s inside,” she said.
I ripped the brown paper from the package.
“It’s a shoebox,” I said. “An old one.”
“I know. I did some black market shopping.”
I pulled up the lid and peered inside.
“Shoes. Real shoes, like Granny had,” I said, not wanting to be excited but now unable to hide my enthusiasm. They were sneakers; white with pink stripes. They were in mint condition.
“Yeah. Of course, you can’t wear them outside, but down here in the shop I thought they might be fun.”
I flipped off my Govment approved flats and stuck my feet in the sneakers. They were cushiony and comfortable around my feet. I tied them, too tight at first, but then a little looser.
“I love them,” I said without realizing I’d said something.
“I’m so glad. I thought you might.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
We looked at each other a moment. We both knew what was next. The letter. I had to open the letter, was required to do so on my sixteenth birthday. If a Govment official talked to me today, I’d need to know the answer. That was part of the reason that I’d decided to stay in the shop all day, but that wasn’t good enough. A Govment official might pound on the door and I had to be prepared.
Mom looked at me with a tight mouth. We looked so much alike that I knew she was mimicking my look. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, though, while mine hung over my shoulders.
She handed me the letter. “Let’s get it over with, Kally.”
“You know, it doesn’t matter what it says. There’s no good choice.”
Mom sighed. “But you need to know.”
“I’m not marrying anyone. Ever.”
“You don't have to do anything for a couple years. Once we know which group you have to choose from, we’ll deal with it from there. We'll know if you want to defy or not. If so, we'll figure it out, but for now open it.”
I took the letter and ran my chewed grimy finger under the wax seal. The flap popped up and I reached in for the folded paper. I looked at Mom, she nodded, and I opened the letter. It said:
Kally Bright: It is our pleasure to inform you that you may choose your husband when you turn eighteen from the pool of previously married. Thank you, and Happy birthday. Sincerely, the Marriage Division of the Govment.
I read the words aloud.
For a long moment the only sound was the music of the clocks all around. They suddenly sounded disappointed. The letter would have either said I’d be able to choose a husband from someone never married or someone previously married, perhaps a divorcee or a widower. The women got to choose – but as my Granny would say: It’s the Govment’s, those SOB's, way of making you think you have a choice, but bad choices are as awful as no choice at all, maybe even worse.
In two years I’d marry someone who’d already been married.
Or, I could be like my mom and refuse to marry. She’d done as much after my father left. But the Govment punishes people who don’t do what they want, so Mom was given a job that paid barely enough for us to get by; waitressing. Mom was a brilliant scientist, but her brilliance wasn’t used again after she refused the Govment’s marriage plan.
I’d be okay with being given a low-paying job, just as long as cash and the black market existed, but if those ever went away, I would need something better paying or be married to someone who was approved for a good job. I hated it all.
“You have two years, Kally. A lot can happen in two years.”
I handed her the letter and turned back to my worktable. I wanted to yell and I wanted to cry. Sometimes yelling and crying made me feel better, but not always.
“I always wonder how good it was that Granny showed you how to fix these things,” Mom said from behind me. “Your skills have helped us pay the bills, but they’ve also made you more independent than the Govment wants young girls to be. It’s not good to go against the Govment, Kally, you know that. I’m just worried. And I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” I said as I turned again. “Why?”
“If I hadn’t refused to get married, you might not be considering it either. I’m sorry, but I just . . . couldn’t. That doesn’t mean the man you marry won’t be better than your father turned out to be. Give it time and consideration. Okay, baby?”
I felt my eyes well with heavy tears. “No, Mom, don’t be sorry. I can’t imagine what our lives would be like if you’d married again. It's better this way, no matter what else.”
“We’d have more money.” Mom laughed.
She was trying to keep me from crying. I blinked hard.
“Maybe not. We have a lot of money, we just can’t spend it like normal people can,” I said. “Like you said, two years is a long time. Maybe we’ll figure something out.” I didn't want to talk about it anymore.
“That’s my girl.” She ran her finger over my cheek. “I’ve got to get to work. Try not to spend all day down here, okay?”
I sniffed and nodded, but I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t leaving my shop today, if I could help it.
When the hatch door was securely shut, I turned my full attention to the clock. I would lose my thoughts in it. I knew how to focus on the gears, the springs, the beautiful inner workings that made sense when it seemed so nothing else did. If I could step into a clock, close the casing and live among the inner workings, I would. If only I could live there with the cows and horses and green, real grass.
I opened the bottom glass door and reached for the gold pendulum. It hung like a loose tooth. I put my finger and thumb around its delicate but thick stem and lifted it up. It came off the hook easily. As I pulled the pendulum out, something clunked on the bottom of the case.
I cursed quietly. I thought was being careful. Had I broken something? I gently laid the pendulum on the work table and leaned forward to peer into the bottom. The maneuver made my other hand sweep some of my tools onto my lap: a few small screwdrivers and some pliers.
“Crap,” I said. “Get a grip.” But I forgot about the tools when I saw what had fallen off the pendulum hook.
I reached in and took hold of a chain. I pulled it out carefully and held it up. It was a necklace. A silver chain held a round silver object. The object was about an inch in diameter, and as I looked at it more closely I realized I was looking at a small globe. Even with the small workings inside clocks, I rarely used my magnifying glass but I reached for it now and studied the globe. It was old – I knew this because it was slightly tarnished and it had the continents located where they'd been before the Season of Quakes.
"What is this?" I said and I twirled the heavy globe in my fingers.
The Clothing Division of the Govment had outlawed all jewelry a long time ago. Perhaps Mr. Bellini had hidden the necklace in his clock so the Govment wouldn’t take it from him. I would give it back when I gave him his repaired clock, but I really wanted to try it on. My fingernails were so short that it took four tries to open the clasp and get it around my neck.
The globe felt cool and big against the bottom of my throat, and the entire thing felt foreign and almost uncomfortable. My mom had hidden some of her old jewelry and I’d tried it on a time or two, but nothing had felt as bothersome as the necklace.
I touched the globe one more time and then reached behind my neck to release the clasp.
But something stopped me; something invisible that seemed to pull my hands the opposite direction of where I wanted them
to go. My fingers couldn’t reach the clasp and my head got fuzzy. I wanted to cry out; maybe Mom hadn’t left yet. But my throat was tight and I became disoriented. It seemed as though one second I was in my shop, the next second I was some place I didn’t recognize, and then I was no place at all.
*****
Somewhere Else
A growl pulled me from the nowhere. It was ferocious, foreign. There were dogs in our neighborhood but this one sounded meaner than the ones I knew. Once I realized I could, I opened my eyes. And then shut them again.
"Aaah," I groaned. It was so bright. The growl rumbled again, so I sat up, shaded my eyes with my hand and opened them again.
Where was I?
My eyes were watering, but I could tell I was outside, in a place I'd never been before. There wasn’t a building in sight. I was sitting on thick green grass. The sky above me was a color blue that I knew I’d never seen and the few clouds were pure white, not gray from pollution or another oncoming storm. I was sitting in an open area but there was a forest behind me.
“I must have died,” I said aloud, thinking that maybe heaven really did exist and it looked like the picture on the clock.
The Govment didn’t allow us to talk about places like heaven and hell, but Granny made sure I knew that heaven was a place you wanted to go and hell wasn't. This didn't feel like hell.
The growl came again, this time more vicious than before.
On second thought, maybe I had gone to hell?
Either way, I thought I should try to get away from the growl.
Though my legs still felt wobbly, I stood. My tools fell off my lap. The quiet clank of the metal against metal made me think that I hadn’t died because the tools couldn’t have died with me, neither could the sneakers. I was still wearing them. I reached for the tools and put them in my pocket.
One more time, louder than even before, the growl came again.