by Ruth White
As David pulls me along, I look back once more to see Kitty, and she is staring after me curiously. I watch until her familiar face is blurred by the gray slant of the rain.
“What was that all about?” Jennifer asks as we slog along toward home.
But I pretend not to hear her.
Naturally, when I tell Mom about seeing Kitty, she’s sympathetic but firm. She orders me to stay away from the black area.
“I don’t think you understand that we have no rights here, Meggie,” she explains. “No matter how much we object to their ways, we have to follow the rules.”
I know Mom is right, but I have to see Kitty. I’ll be careful. I will not get caught.
The next day, after our walk, I slip out of the apartment and return to the black district. For a long time I stand some distance away from Kitty’s building and watch. I give up and start toward home, but then suddenly there she is, running on the sidewalk, wearing her favorite purple shirt. She has a bag slung across her shoulder. Her face is wet with sweat, and her breath comes in ragged gasps.
“Kitty!” I cry.
“I need a place to hide!” she pants, her eyes darting frantically. “Please help me!”
Without a thought of danger, I pull Kitty down a narrow alley. A doorway stands open in the wall. I push her through it, and we find ourselves in a murky storage room. It’s semidark and smells of rotting vegetables. Quietly I close the door behind us, and we hug the cool plaster wall.
“They’re after me,” Kitty whispers, and wipes her face on the purple shirt.
“Who?”
“The police. One more offense and I’ll be sent away.”
“What have you done?” I ask.
“You name it! I’ve been to rehab so many times, it’s a wonder I don’t have a serious case of gross vacillation. But you know what? They can’t warp my mind! Never! It’s the only thing I have that’s really mine.”
Then she laughs that familiar laugh, and it does my heart good to hear it.
“They call me incurable!” she adds.
“You always were!” I agree.
Her smile is replaced by a look of bewilderment. “ ‘Always’? What does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing.” For a moment there I forgot this was not my own good friend Kitty but a duplicate of her on a parallel Earth. “I just meant that I can tell by that shirt that you’re one of a kind.”
“Don’tcha just love it?” Kitty says.
“Yes, I love it.”
“I made it myself! I was walking past the garbage outside the factory and saw the cloth. Can you imagine throwing away something as cool as this?”
“How do you get away with wearing it?”
“I can run like the wind.”
We both tense as footsteps pass outside the door, then fade away.
“What’s your name?” Kitty whispers.
“Meggie Blue. I’m new here.”
“New?” she says. “Meggie Blue? How do you do? Meggie Blue’s new.”
We both laugh, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say “And do you do voodoo?” but I resist.
“I haven’t met a new person in a long time,” she goes on. “How did you know my name yesterday?”
I hedge. “Oh, I just guessed. You look like a Kitty.”
She laughs. “If you say so. Now guess what I’m going to be when I grow up.”
It’s a strange comment coming from a Fashion City girl.
“I don’t know,” I say. “A clothing store clerk, maybe?”
She laughs again. “At least you didn’t say a factory worker! I’m going to be a fashion designer. Do you think that’s crazy?”
“No.”
“But only the Fathers actually design the clothes. Whoever heard of a factory worker’s daughter doing such a thing?”
“All good things start with a dream,” I say.
“That’s so true!” Kitty says excitedly. “But they try to make us believe that the daydreamer is discontented.”
I can almost hear The Family Hour repeating, “Conformity is contentment. The daydreamer is discontented.” But I won’t let these words sway me, because I don’t believe them. Gramps has told me that’s how brainwashing happens. They put their words into your head, and those words automatically spring to mind when the right button is pushed. But Gramps has also told me that some people have such a strong sense of self, they can’t be brainwashed. Now it seems to me that Kitty is such a person.
“The factories are divided into public parts and secret parts,” Kitty says. “And when my mom was with me, she was so good, they let her work in the secret part.”
“Your mom isn’t with you anymore?”
“No, she and my dad were sent away for book hoarding,” Kitty says sadly. “They had so many books that even Mom’s talent couldn’t save them when they were caught. Now I live with my grandpa.”
Book lovers in two separate worlds. The other Kitty’s parents were librarians.
“Anyhow, Mom’s factory job was hand-stitching dresses for the families of the Fathers. She told me that nobody could imagine how beautiful and colorful the dresses were. But I can imagine them. I see them in my head, and I try to draw them. And I bought these magazines today. I saved rations and tokens forever to pay for them!”
She opens her bag and shows me four copies of a glossy high-fashion magazine.
“Wow!” I say. “Will you get into trouble for having these?”
“You better believe it!” she says. “That’s why the police were after me. They arrested the dealer, but they couldn’t catch me!”
We hear voices in another room, and move cautiously toward the door we entered by.
“I think we’re in the storage room of a grocery store,” Kitty whispers again. “We better get out before we’re busted.”
I ease the door open and peep into the street.
“No police,” I say to Kitty. “But you know what? They can spot that shirt a mile off. How about turning it inside out? The other side is probably not as brilliant, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” Kitty says. “Good thinking!”
She sets her bag down, slips the shirt off quickly, turns it inside out, and slips it back on. Then we venture onto the street again.
“Well, strange new white girl,” she says as we walk toward her building. “You better be on your way, hadn’t you?”
“Why?”
“Because if they see you with me, you’ll be in double trouble.”
“How so?” I ask.
“You know, the white face, black face thing!”
“Oh, I see.”
“And then there’s the fact that I’m a hunted criminal.”
I laugh. “You’re no criminal!”
We part ways, and when I turn to wave at Kitty, she has turned also to wave at me.
I can’t resist calling to her, “Hey, Kitty! Do you know a guy named Corey Marshall?”
Her mouth falls open and she stops walking. “Girl! How’d you know ’bout him?”
I laugh. “See you around, Kitty!”
• 21 •
When I arrive home, Mom and Gramps are both pacing the floor.
“Where have you been?” Mom says sharply. “I was sick with worry!”
“I’m not a baby!” I say. “I know my way around.”
“But this place, Meggie, this place …” She can’t finish that thought. “I don’t think you understand what they can do to you.”
“Meggie, child,” Gramps says kindly, “did you go see Kitty?”
I nod.
“Please promise me, Meggie, that you won’t do it again.”
“I promise,” I mumble, but Mom and Gramps give each other a helpless look. We all know it’s a promise I can’t keep.
“Well, there’s another matter to discuss,” Mom says wearily as she rubs her temples. “When I arrived home from work today, Tom handed me a note from the education center.”
“And what did it say?” As if I don’t k
now.
“You haven’t been doing all of your schoolwork.”
“Just one day.” I try not to sound whiny, but I don’t think I’m successful. “Only one time I didn’t finish, and that was yesterday.”
“Once is too many times,” Mom goes on. “They’re giving you a warning.”
“What does that mean?”
“If it happens again, they’re going to send over a tutor, and according to Tom, you do not want a tutor.”
She puts so much emphasis on the word not that I totally believe her.
“Apparently the tutors are mean and they’re tough,” Mom goes on, “and they’ll stay with you for hours if they have to. You don’t want to deal with that, Meggie.”
“It won’t happen again,” I say quickly.
At dinner David asks Mom if we can buy a radio. “They play music all day,” he says. “Maybe not our kind of music, but it’s better than nothing.”
“I beg to differ,” Gramps says. “No music at all is better.”
“What does that mean?”
“One of the men at work is a kind of rebel, if you can believe it,” Gramps says. “In fact, I think he’s bound to be arrested soon, and I’m almost afraid to be seen talking to him—you know, the guilt by association thing. Anyhow, he told me that the radio music is packed full of subliminal messages.”
“What’s a subliminal message?” I ask.
“It’s a message that’s taped along with the music, but at a different speed. When the tape is played, the conscious mind hears only the music, while the subconscious picks up the underlying message.”
“No kidding!” David says, and I’m surprised that Gramps has actually told my brother something he doesn’t already know.
“No kidding,” Gramps said. “It’s just another way to brainwash the unfortunate people of Fashion City.”
“So that’s why the Fathers want everybody to have a radio,” I say.
“Probably so,” Mom says, “and I guess we should buy one just to look good. We don’t have to play it.”
When The Family Hour comes on, Mom and Gramps plug toilet paper into their ears to drown out the noise—not that it does much good—and set the Carriage computer up at the kitchen table.
“When do I get to learn how to drive the family car?” David calls above the racket.
“As soon as Gramps and I are confident enough in our own knowledge,” Mom calls back. “We want to make sure you learn properly.”
I hope nobody looks at me, because I feel guilt written all over my face.
“That’s cool,” David says. “Driver’s ed at thirteen.”
On The Family Hour, Sherry Cross is saying, “We have two arrests to report tonight. Forty-four-year-old Jorge Mendez of Sector F was arrested for black-market dealing in an alley near the black sectors. And eleven-year-old Kathryn Singer of Sector J was turned in by her grandfather for buying merchandise from the same dealer. It’s the fifth arrest for this young person, and regretfully her luck has run out. She will be sent away for an indefinite period.”
Kitty’s tear-streaked face flashes on the screen, and Mom cries, “Oh, no! Kitty!”
“That scoundrel Henry Singer!” Gramps says angrily. “He turned in his own granddaughter?”
We don’t sing with the Gilmores that night. Mom begs off with a headache. Then she and Gramps study the Carriage tutorial far into the night, while I lie awake with Kitty’s face shimmering before me like a scene from a sad movie playing over and over.
• 22 •
Of course we can’t tell the Gilmores about Kitty. When we’re on the balcony with them the next evening, I try not to think of her, and it’s difficult, but I’m cheered by the singing, for this is the evening we teach our friends to sing “Over the Rainbow.” All three of them simply fall in love with this song, probably because it implies that a heavenly place exists beyond Fashion City.
“I know it will stay in my head for days and days,” Jennifer says dreamily.
I think of The Wizard of Oz, in which Judy Garland sang the song. Kitty and I watched it together one stormy Saturday. Wouldn’t the Fashion City Kitty and the Gilmores absolutely love it? But my new friends will never know Dorothy and the marvelous cowardly lion, or the tin man and the scarecrow.
“It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” Gil says softly to Mom as he moves closer to her.
It’s comical the way Mom jumps and starts talking in a loud, nervous voice.
“Officer Brent told us something peculiar on that first day,” she says. “He said there’s no poverty, no disease, and no violent crime in Fashion City. How can that be?”
“The Fathers would never allow us to live in poverty,” Gil says. “And the curfew has much to do with the lack of violence.”
“What about disease?” Mom goes on hurriedly. “Surely the Fathers have not found a way to completely wipe it all out?”
“No, but we have regular checkups, and we get vaccinations, and medication for whatever ails us. We’re also advised about exercise and diet. The Fathers take care of the people.”
“But we haven’t seen a single handicapped person. Are there none?” Mom goes on. “And what of serious diseases such as cancer, heart disease, stroke, Parkinson’s—you know, really debilitating illnesses?”
“People who are too dysfunctional to contribute to our society are sent away to the hospital of the Fathers, where they are cured.”
“Completely cured?”
“Yes.”
“Then do they come back to their families?”
“Oh, no, they never come back.”
Gramps guffaws loudly. “Imagine that!” he says. “They never come back!”
“Why not?” Mom asks. “If they’re cured, why can’t they live normally?”
Gil obviously doesn’t know how to answer Mom’s question, and he seems irritated with Gramps, so he solves both problems by popping a Lotus.
“Praise the Fathers!” he says.
“For they are good,” Colin and Jennifer add automatically.
“And why must they be sent away to the hospital of the Fathers?” Mom persists. “Are there no hospitals here in Fashion City?”
“No, that would not be practical,” Gil says. “Hospitals are very expensive to run.”
“You mean too expensive for unimportant people like us?” Gramps asks.
“Quite right,” Gil says, totally missing the ridiculousness of Gramps’s words. “Consider how much it would cost to have hospitals and doctors in all the cities.”
Though we have picked up bits and pieces of information about other cities, this is the first time the Gilmores have mentioned them. Gramps jumps onto that topic.
“What other cities are there?”
“I’ve heard there is a Food City, Auto City, Technology City, Furniture City, and … I don’t know all of them. And oh, yeah, there’s Warfare City. It’s the most important one.”
“Indeed!” Gramps exclaims.
“Did all the cities have rebels involved in the insurrection?” Mom asks.
“Yes. All of them,” Gil says. “It was a well-coordinated revolt.”
“Are the other cities anything like Fashion City?” Gramps asks.
I wonder if Mom and Gramps are asking too many questions. Surely these facts are common knowledge in the Western Province, where we supposedly came from.
But Gil answers. “Exactly like it.”
“That’s too bad,” Gramps mutters.
That’s when Gil bristles. “Why don’t you ever talk about the Western Province?”
“Yeah,” Colin joins in. “You’ve said next to nothing about your life there.”
“You question so many things in our society,” Gil says, “it makes me wonder if you were better off there.”
“Why did you come here?” Jennifer adds.
“Fair questions, but I’m sorry we can’t answer them right now,” Mom says.
“Why not?” Gil persists.
“In time,” G
ramps finally says without sarcasm, “perhaps we will be able to tell you of our lives there. But not now.”
“So it was not better than here?” Gil keeps pushing.
Nobody answers him.
“Never mind,” Gil says abruptly. “For whatever reason, it appears you’re not entirely candid with us.”
“I could say the same about you, Gil, in regard to your wife,” Mom says. “I find it strange that you never mention her, or tell us what happened to her.”
It’s Gil’s turn to clam up.
“The children said she was sent away,” Gramps says. “What did she do?”
“It’s okay,” Mom says softly. “I think we all have a right to our secrets.”
Only a few minutes later, the Gilmores call it a night and leave us.
The next evening, David, peeved that he didn’t get to spend more time with Jennifer the night before, is determined not to let the same arguments come up again. In no time he has us in stitches with his impersonation of the crabby announcer on The Family Hour, whose name, we have learned, is Andrew Andrews.
“If it’s yellow, let it mellow!” David says grumpily in his Andrew Andrews voice. “But if it’s brown, flush it down!”
When we have stopped laughing, the Gilmores teach “Wild Hearts” to us. Then Gil sings “Bridge over Troubled Water” in his rich tenor voice. I have the feeling he’s singing it to impress Mom, and I’m guessing she really likes it.
I don’t know how to feel about Mom and Gil. It’s like two parts of me are struggling with each other. First there’s the part of me that doesn’t want to share Mom with anybody else, and then there’s the part that remembers her crying for Dad on the porch in North Carolina when she thought I was asleep. If Mom learned to love Gil back, could he heal her sadness? And would she forget Dad? I don’t want her to forget Dad.
“The moon is almost full,” Gil says to her when he has finished singing and has laid his guitar aside, “but there are so many clouds we don’t get all of its lovely light.”
By that pale moonlight we can see him take one of Mom’s hands in his. “I have a serious question to ask you in private,” he says to her in a low voice. “Perhaps you will go inside with me for a moment?”