Shymers

by Jen Naumann

  I stare back. For whatever reason, he has a general dislike for me. I can feel the anger bursting from him. But I don’t understand. What did I do to upset him? Is it because I don’t know my DOD? Is it because my mother was locked away?

  Even though he wears his hair long and tousled over his ears unlike the short cut of the Future boys, he seems to have all of the other perfected features of one. Yet if he were a Future, he wouldn’t be out here with us—Bree has made those boundaries quite clear.

  Our shoulders nearly make contact as Harrison brushes past me. I turn long enough to watch him stride away. A hot blush creeps into my cheeks. I must have done something to upset him. With my heart hammering, I look back at Bree.

  How do I tell her that Harrison is wrong? How do I tell my new friends that I am not like them—that I am like the strange blondes who were pointing and laughing at me? Just like them, I won’t know my DOD until after I turn eighteen. It was the last thing the soldiers told me before they left me at the orphanage.

  I am what this strange and unrelenting Society calls aFuture.

  Harrison

  4 – I’ve Been a Coward All My Life

  My whole life I have known exactly how many days I have left on this earth. Everyone does. It’s normal to know how many sunsets you will witness, how many nights you will sleep, and how many meals you will consume—if you really want to take the time to add them all up.

  I always knew my entire family would die on the exact same day.

  Growing up knowing I would be the only one in the family to survive and not be a part of whatever accident or tragedy that would eventually claim their lives really messed me up. The most frightening thing about this DOD business is to knowwhenit will happen without having any ideahow. The guilt of my predicted survival stuck with me, hanging on my shoulders and growing into something my mother called adeep depression. I was sent to a doctor who gave me a bottle of pills, and just like that, I was cured.

  But I wasn’t. Not really. I knew if my behavior brought any more attention to my family, I could be putting us all in danger. So I had to pretend I was okay with their universal demise.

  In the beginning of the mandatory DOD system, people would run away or lock themselves up somewhere to see if their death could be avoided. The government caught on to this way of thinking before long, and began to monitor habits and unusual behaviors. If a person showed any signs of rebellion, they would be placed in suspension. Around the same time, communicators were invented as another way for the government to track people and make sure they weren’t doing anything illegal.

  This is why I knew I had to somehow be at peace with my family’s short-lived future. There was no other choice.

  Most of the friends I made growing up were Shymers who had been abandoned by their parents. One time I helped a friend who was ill return to his orphanage. Within minutes, I knew it was somewhere I never wanted to go again—not even for one night. There was an overall sadness that hung in the air, and the building was falling apart, feeling unsafe. The boys and girls were separated into large rooms to sleep on lumpy mattresses that smelled unclean. Yet I kept the horror of the visit to myself, knowing one day I would be forced to live in one after my parents were gone.

  My parents were considered fairly wealthy by Society’s standards, even though they lived in the Shymer territory. They were frowned on for keeping their three Shymer children rather than sending them to live in an orphanage as expected.

  My mother was a very quiet woman who hardly ever smiled. She was slender to the point that she appeared frail, and she always looked tired. Her long, straw-colored hair stuck out in loose strands alongside her face. Although she never actually came out and told me she didn’t agree with the ways of Society, I could sense there was something more behind her sullenness. At times I would catch her looking at me with what I took for a glimmer of hope, but her eyes would shift away when she discovered me watching.

  Not long before my family died, I came upon my mother and the woman from next door in our kitchen. From the way their voices were hushed, I knew the conversation was forbidden and hid behind the pantry door to listen in.

  The large neighbor woman, who I always disliked because of her sour attitude toward me and my siblings, asked my mother why they continued having children after the first two were born Shymers. I was anxious to hear my mother’s honest answer without any of us standing in the room. It was something I had always wondered myself.

  “Why wouldn’t you at least take them all to the orphanage?” the woman had asked, her deep voice sounding more like that of a man’s. “You could have been living among the wealthy all this time in the Future territory.”

  “I love my children,” was my mother’s simple response. “I don’t care what they are.”

  After that day I felt closer to my mother on a whole new level. Although she would only tell me that she loved me on rare occasions, I remembered her heart-felt response to the neighbor woman’s question. I was filled with pride knowing my mother wanted to raise us, despite what was expected of her by the rest of Society.

  My father, on the other hand, was unafraid to raise his booming voice to express his dislike for the government and the DOD system. His anger was passed down from his father. Grandpa Red—a nickname given because of his shocking red hair as a child—died of old age when I was eleven. I remember his deep, rolling laugh and the way he had me sit on his knee when he told his stories of the old world. He was a hulking man, like my father, but their physical similarities ended there. While my father had dark hair and a broad face, Grandpa Red’s hair had turned completely white and his face was long and frail looking. But Grandpa Red and my father had the exact same dislike for the ways of Society.

  Hidden behind the furnace in our basement was a handwritten book that his grandfather had started. Filled with secrets and knowledge of the old days, the book told stories of my great-grandfather’s life and the downfall of the government. The two of us would spend hours in the basement, poring over the large book and reliving stories of my great-grandparents during a time when life was much simpler.

  In the old world, people were able to find the answer to anything with just the touch of a button on their electronic devices with something called theinternet. When there was talk of the rebellion starting, the government decided people were given far too much knowledge and declared the Internet to be illegal. It was their way of holding the power to control exactly what information people had available to them.

  My grandfather suspected many of the people who died in the riots were actually killed instead of suspended so they wouldn’t pass information on to the next generations. Even though it was illegal to speak of such things in Society, my grandfather managed to pass on as much as he could to my parents with the book and through the stories he told.

  From the book and my father’s stories, what I know about the fall of the old world is this: there was a time when rich people were in control of our country. They continued to grow even wealthier to the point that it became absurd. Meanwhile, the poor barely got enough money from the government to scrape by during the job shortage, while the middle class struggled to provide for their families and never got ahead. The government spent more money than it had, eventually driving the country to bankruptcy.

  All of this changed with the election of President Skogsberg, a man determined to change everything. He knew of an underground society in which people had the ability to predict the future. The president forced them to work for the government and declared money to be invalid. The DOD system was born to give everyone a “fair” chance at success. Suddenly, everyone was equal.

  In reality, it was a way for the government to use what little resources they had on people who would actually survive to benefit Society.

  It wasn’t long before a new division of class formed. Those with a future were considered more valuable to Society, and those of us “short timers” (or “Shymers” as we came to be known) became l
ess desirable and less important in Society. This new system made many people angry, and a rebellion was formed. The man who started the revolution was assassinated in his own home, and many of his followers after that were either killed or were suspended for the remainder of their lives.

  All the men in my family were secret believers of what the Rebels were trying to accomplish in bringing down the government, but none of them fought for the cause. They were too fearful for their lives and what the government would do to their families.

  “Openly going against the ways of Society is foolish,” my father warned more times than I could count. “It’s too dangerous to be involved in that lifestyle.”

  The close relationship I had with my father was an exception. My little brother Simon and I hardly ever spoke in the ten years he was alive. Yet the two of us looked so similar that some of the other Shymers called him “Baby Harry.” Simon hated that nickname, and hated me for it. He was a shadow to my mother, always doing as he was told and keeping his distance from the rest of our family.

  In the beginning, I tried to avoid my little sister, Claire. Not only would she be here for just a short time, but the arrival of their DOD would be all the more difficult if we were to become close. Still, I became quite fond of her. She was kind and pretty, with wide blue eyes and silky blond hair. Regardless of our gloomy household, she was always smiling or giggling about something.

  More than anything, Claire loved to sing. Her voice was high and she chirped like a songbird. Our father taught her songs he remembered from when he was a boy, warning her that she was not to sing them when at school or when out in public. Old world music was banned based on the government’s belief that the words were causing Rebels to act out.

  I never understood how Claire could be so happy all the time, knowing she would die just after seven short years on this earth. No matter how hard I tried to be like her, the happiness always felt forced and I would return to the sour attitude that encompassed the rest of our family.

  When I first attended school and met those who would live to be adults like my parents, I finally understood why my father and grandfather’s hatred for the government had been so severe. Not only were the Futures considered more important by our teachers and given more favorable treatment, but their parents would throw them big celebrations every year on their birthdays. Rather than celebrating the day we were born, Shymers keep track of how many years closer we are to our death. It is not a celebration by any means, but a way of remembering just how much longer we have left.

  The closer my parents and siblings came to their shared DOD, the angrier I became with the system and the ways of Society. The anger festered and grew until it consumed me whole. That’s when I decided I was going to find a way to stop the government.

  When I was fourteen, I met a Shymer named Edgar who planned to join the Rebels. He was spirited unlike anyone I had ever met. Tall and gangly, he wore his dark hair parted down the middle and pushed behind his ears. Everything that came out of Edgar’s mouth was a joke. I didn’t think he took anything in life seriously. Because of this, I didn’t believe him at first when he said he was leaving for the Free Lands.

  When I realized he was serious, I decided I would go along. My brother, sister and parents would be dead before long, anyway, and I wouldn’t have anywhere else to go.

  I was so close to going through with our plan that I tried giving each of my family members a subtle goodbye. I found a thick red ribbon at school made with a heavy fabric and gave it to Claire, kissing her on the head when she squealed happily at her new treasure. I left Simon the belt buckle that had been passed down to me from our Grandpa Red, telling him a better nickname for him would have been “Little Red,” since he reminded my father so much of our grandfather in spirit. My brother only looked back at me questioningly.

  While sitting in the basement with my father the night before, I wordlessly leaned forward to embrace him. A moment passed before he was able to get past the shock and his arms wrapped around me in return. I had never hugged anyone before that day.

  While I finished packing the last of my things that night, my mother knocked on the door of my room. She entered looking exhausted as always from a day of working at a clothing factory in the Future territory. Her hair hung around her narrow face in messy bursts, and her eyes were weary. I tried many times to get a job so she wouldn’t have to work so hard, but no one wanted to hire a young boy—especially not a Shymer.

  From the knowing expression on her face that night, there was no use in hiding the bag—she was on to me. “That pack belonged to your Grandpa Red,” she said.

  “I know.” I plopped down on my bed and she sat beside me. When I turned to her, I noticed for the first time just how bright her blue, almond-shaped eyes were up close, and how the lines at their edges were becoming deeply creased. Ever since that day, I am reminded when I look in a mirror of how she looked as she sat on my bed. My eyes are almost identical in shape and color to hers.

  “Joining the Rebels is not the answer,” she said gently. Her lips turned up in the smallest of smiles and she reached out and rest her hand on mine. Since physical affection is rare among Shymers, her unusual gesture came as a surprise.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” I muttered. My head hung in shame. I could no longer look at her for fear that I would cry. “I try to be strong like you, and I try to be happy like Claire, but all I can think about is how unfair the government is. Grandpa Red was right. This way of life is wrong. We shouldn’t have to live like this. I should have done something sooner to change things for us—to make life happier for our entire family.”

  “Listen to me,” my mother said, tilting my chin to her. “You may think I’m strong, but I’m not. I’m acoward, Harrison. I’ve been a coward all my life. I am the one who should have done something. I should have run away with you and your siblings—raised you in the Free Lands and kept you hidden from Society.”

  “It wasn’t safe,” I insisted, shaking my head.

  She set her hands in her lap and played with her plain gray skirt. Although parents of Shymers sometimes dress in bright colors and patterns like the Futures, my mother had always dressed the same as my little sister—plain enough to go unnoticed. My mother was actually quite stunning, but never saw herself as so. When I was younger I used to tell her how beautiful she was. She would just laugh and say I was a silly boy.

  “Your father wanted to run away, Harrison. He knew people who lived in the Free Lands and he had even heard of safe ways to cross over the border. Though I wanted that kind of carefree life for my children, I was too afraid of being caught. I was afraid of messing up somehow and having all of you placed in suspension for the rest of your lives. Worse yet, I was afraid all of you would be placed in an orphanage.”

  I gaped at her. My quiet mother never once spoke out against Society, or spoke of her hopes and fears. “Please,” she pleaded. “Don’t do this, Harrison. Don’t go. It’s too dangerous.”

  I balled my fists up and squeezed my eyes tight to stop the tears from coming. “I don’t want to leave you so close to your DOD, but you have no idea how frustrating it is to sit around and count down the days until my entire family is taken away from me. It’s killing me! Maybe if I joined the Rebels…”

  “They won’t be able to do anything soon enough, Harrison. Our time left is very limited, and I want my son to be with me up to the end.” She slipped her fingers through mine and gave me a glowing smile. But there was no hiding the sadness that had settled in her eyes. “I’m asking you to stay—for me.”

  So I agreed to stay. My friend Edgar still left the next morning as we had planned. Days afterward I heard that he didn’t make it to the border before he was caught and placed in suspension. There were even rumors circulating at school that he would be put to death. A new guilt formed with this news—guilt for not going with my friend and for letting him go alone when I probably could have helped.

  Days before my family’s DO
D, my parents pulled Simon and Claire from school to work on the things they wanted to do before they died. I refused to make a playlist for myself, only because Society expected it from us. I was not going to do something the very system I hated told us we should do.

  The morning I knew they would die, I begged my mother to let me stay home from school. My parents refused, knowing I would be suspended for doing so. Our goodbyes that morning at the shuttle were laced with tears. I shook so badly I could hardly stand when my father and mother each hugged me. Before the shuttle tore me away from them, my father handed me the pack with Grandpa Red’s book inside.

  “Keep this hidden somewhere safe,” he said. “There is a lot of history in this book that can’t be forgotten. It’s important you don’t forget who you are, Harrison.”

  I was unable to speak through my tears and nodded, clutching the pack to my chest. My mother reached up to throw her arms around my neck, bringing me close. “Don’t run, Harrison. I know you are angry at Society and you have your Grandpa Red’s ideas floating around up there in your head, but I don’t want you to die for a cause that will never amount to anything. Try to live the rest of your life happy, my sweet boy. Be brave.”

  The last time I ever saw my little sister, she was grinning from ear to ear and waving wildly at me. I waved back although my heart was breaking into a million pieces.

  That day was excruciatingly long. It was difficult not to break down during lessons with the reality that I would never see my family again. Once school was finished, I ran the entire way from the shuttle to our home, my heart hammering wildly in my chest and tears blurring my path. When I reached the spot where our house should have been, there was nothing more than a pile of metal and ashes. My entire life was gone. All that remained of my family was the pack I held with my grandfather’s book.