Welcome to Dystopia

by Gordon Van Gelder

  People, mostly young and carrying baggage, get across the avenue by scrambling over the hoods of cars and trucks, ignoring the yells and threats of the drivers.

  The bravery that comes with old age is to go on living after everything you’ve seen. I pause, listen, and hear distant maracas, casabas, and hand percussion: music loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of horns.

  The sound seems to float down the avenue. Squinting uptown, I can just make out the so-called “Heroes’ Bridge” that sits atop the avenue a half-mile away. His Grand Pestilence had this built as a temporary measure forty years ago. It covers the cavern created by the Christmas Explosion that was intended to blow our inhuman ruler to pieces. Hundreds died but he saw his own survival as a miraculous victory over his enemies. Millions hated the man for a million reasons.

  I catch a glimpse of bright orange and blond (His colors) spilling off the bridge and onto the sidewalks. Those shapes are a mob and I touch my cap to make sure I remembered to wear it.

  The mob is what had blocked traffic. Because drivers blow the cavalry charge and cars start to roll uptown.

  On the other side of the Avenue people haul sacks, push supermarket carts and rolling suitcases. Many are moving marble heads and body parts. A crowd pulls a huge rolling dolly on which stands a headless rider on a life-size horse that’s missing a leg.

  At the corners where Sixth and Greenwich Avenues touch are damaged statues of Simón Bolívar and other Latin heroes. These once decorated the supposed Avenue of the Americas.

  I watch flocks of people make a pyramid of marble men who stare with empty eyes. They bring back my memories of our city’s crushed rebellions. I can’t be sure the memories are mine. Sometime ago, medics implanted ones that were supposed to turn me onto the Great Excrement’s cause. Now, I weigh cautiously anything I remember and most things that I think.

  As I consider this, a familiar voice calls my name and I turn to find Brack hurrying toward me. He breaks the spell of memory, pulls me into the present.

  We’ve been close for a couple of decades. His memories got scrambled in ways I can’t imagine. It happened when the Great Infection declared that a “Certain Small Fringe” did not love him as much as the Deluded Thug somehow managed to believe the “Vast Majority New Yorkers” did.

  When we first met, I was an over-the-hill chorus boy and Brack was a young rebel in need of a place to stay. Now he remembers knowing me back then but can’t remember the details. Once his politics were dangerous. Now he’s a kind of minor hero.

  He smiles his lopsided smile and hugs me. “Great that you’re here. Last night you weren’t sure you’d perform.”

  I don’t remember that.

  Brack steps out of the way and I see a sidewalk full of marchers. Some are dressed entirely in orange and unlikely blond. And all have ludicrous wigs. I adjust my cap.

  There are thousands of marchers, tens of thousands. The mad party engulfs Brack and me. By enthusiasm and force of numbers we cross the street. Drivers actually cheer us on. And a jerry-rigged crane lifts the heroic statue with its most unlikely penis that used to stand outside his tower and places it atop the rest of the rubble of his life.

  Next to the Grand Scum’s statue they hang a life-size oil painting of the promiscuous Russian agent known as “The Secret Wife.” Decades ago we mourned the fact that she didn’t kill him.

  The shambles in which we live comes down to a Twisted Fool who loved only himself, was Lancelot to his own Guinevere.

  As President, the Beast saw California secede from the Union and Illinois join Canada. His madness was outclassed by Del Brio, ex–football player, senator from half a dozen states, movie star handsome, crazy, and also disgusting. But infinitely better organized than our Lunatic.

  The Monster’s impeachment was his finale on the national stage. This city where most of the population hated him was his only retreat. But then, despite our bankruptcy, the “Avenue of American Greatness” was created with statues of the Great Infection who whined and cried and slaughtered because not everybody loved him.

  The crowd is all very happy to see demonstrators help me up onto the pyramid. Brack finds a way for me to sit on the Fiend’s lap.

  All around us are tubs and grills with flames leaping from them.

  Looking down on thousands of faces, I remember why I agreed to do this. Standing, I say aloud words I’d only whispered to myself:

  “Many of us of a certain age, unlike the young people in this audience, had a small hand in the Cancer’s rise. Some embraced him and paid the penalty when he fell. Many of us were afraid to oppose him, closed our eyes and ears to the rising Plague and just prayed that it would go away. On behalf of all of us I beg your forgiveness.

  “Many of you remember when rogue drones tore his tower in two. We mourn the innocent dead as we do in any disaster. But no one with a mind or a heart mourned the passing of the tower’s owner. Thinking of him is painful but we must never forget.”

  I pause and then I say the only obscenity not spoken in New York—the monster’s real name.

  I’m not sure how this will be received. Even Brack is stunned. I remove my cap and stand for a moment in an orange wig. When I toss it into the flames, a god-awful stench arises. After a pause, they all yell the name and toss their hats into the fires.

  I shout, “Unbearable and Nauseating!”

  “Just Like Him!”

  THE ELITES

  Stephanie Feldman

  —sam got into elite charter! I’ve never been so excited to stay up all night filling out forms, haha

  —Yes! What a relief.

  —oh I just remembered it’s night for you. i woke you up, i’m sorry!

  —I was up anyway. This is the best news. I didn’t even cringe when you typed “haha.”

  —hahaHA

  —Elite Charter. You should feel good. You got Sam in.

  —you should feel good too!

  —You did it, though. Sam is lucky. We’re all lucky, really. Compared to others. That’s what we have to remember.

  —oh here you go again. you are the most sentimental man i ever met.

  —I thought that’s what you liked about me.

  —it’s what i LOVE about you. are you getting any sleep? maybe you should see a dr??

  —Ambien is OTC here. Maybe I’ll give it a try. I just pulled up the Elite website. I love the pictures. Navy blue uniforms and microscopes and rows of smiling little faces.

  —only 15 smiling faces per class. lots of personal attention. that’s all he needs, i’m sure of it. i wish you wouldn’t take prescriptions without a dr.

  —I won’t. I miss you both.

  —did you hear from the immigration lawyer?

  —Four months. It’ll go by so fast.

  —How was Sam’s first day?

  —ok. good.

  —Which one? OK or good?

  —new places are tough for him. his teacher says a few tears are normal—No tantrum?

  —i don’t think so…?? didn’t want to push and make the teacher suspicious. sam came home with an official elite charter backpack, filled with crayons and pencils and glue sticks, all with the eagle logo. So cute.

  —They supply everything? That’s great

  —haha, well, we’ll get an invoice. It’s more expensive but at least I don’t have to go out and buy everything.

  —They make you buy their stuff and charge a mark-up fee? How can that be? It’s a public school

  —maybe I’m wrong, maybe it’s the same as the store. don’t worry about it.

  —…

  —i’m sorry i brought it up. really, don’t worry.

  —I’ve been thinking. Keep the money this week. My mother is helping me with the lawyer fees.

  —stop worrying!! go to sleep. everything is fine, I promise.

  —…

  —promise promise promise. go to sleep. love you.

  —sam had a rough day.

  —But the first week went so well.<
br />
  —i guess not. teacher says he’s been having trouble all along

  —Staying in his seat?

  —yes. staying in line too. he threw crayons on the floor.

  —Not the Elite Charter premium crayons, I hope.

  —…

  —I’m sorry, I’m just worried. I wish I was there.

  —have you heard from the lawyer?

  —Claims are backed up 8 months now

  —what??? why didn’t you tell me??

  —It changes all the time. Maybe it won’t be that long.

  —haha, right. you don’t believe that, not for a second.

  —What else did the teacher say?

  —you never should have taken that trip.

  —My mother needed me.

  —we need you!!

  —there was no way to predict they wouldn’t let me come back home. I don’t want to have this argument again. You worry about Sam and I’ll worry about this.

  —you say “this” like your being gone only affects you

  —Can we drop it?

  —…

  —Are you there?

  —i’m sorry i got mad earlier.

  —Me too. Why are you up? What time is it there?

  —i just downloaded that app you told me about. switch?

  **Now who’s the paranoid one?

  **here I am worrying about our son and you’re taking the moment to act smug about encryption? everyone uses it, don’t be so proud of yourself

  **…

  **are you still there?

  **Yes, of course. I wouldn’t just walk away.

  **smug smug smug

  **We switched apps so the government couldn’t see you berating me in the middle of the night?

  **i need you to buy something and mail it to us

  **What is it?

  **the same medicine the doctor told us about last year, but long-acting, so I can give it to sam before school and they won’t know. you can get it over the counter, we can’t

  **How expensive is it in the US?

  **it’s not that. elite charter wants to know all medications the students are taking, and if sam’s classified as special needs they can kick him out.

  **That’s illegal.

  **i am NOT sending him back to the general-admit school. 45 kids in a class and they just ripped out all the water fountains because of lead.

  **You should call a lawyer.

  **the school can do whatever they want.

  **That doesn’t sound right at all.

  **that’s how it is. don’t you think i did my research??

  **How would you even know the dosage?

  **sam’s weight. it’s online.

  **You’re afraid of lead but you’re going to dispense prescription drugs to Sam according to what you read on the Internet.

  **…

  **Are you still there?

  **let’s just talk about it tomorrow

  **It’s already tomorrow for me here

  **goodnight

  **Sorry about last night. Did you get some sleep?

  **yes

  **I was reading up on Elite Charter. They use these textbooks called “America First,” and do you know what they say in there? Look at this site: www.americafirstiswrong.is

  **it’s the only textbook for the new statewide tests.

  **Just look.

  **i’m looking now. kind of hysterical.

  **Open the textbook yourself and check.

  **this is honestly the least of my problems right now

  **Sam’s not doing well, and now this textbook thing, and even the smiling faces! It’s a stock photo. I saw it on a bunch of websites. Elite Charter isn’t the right place for him

  **maybe no place is the right place for him anymore

  **What does that mean?

  **nothing

  **Are you ok?

  **i’m so tired

  **Me too.

  **haha, right. YOU are tired. I’m doing everything on my own here.

  **You know that’s not my fault.

  **…

  **You do know that?

  **You know I would do anything to be back there with you two.

  **Why aren’t you responding?

  **Please

  **Maybe you’re right. The whole country’s not the right place for Sam. They’ve already decided it’s not the right place for me, and he’s my son. You should both come here.

  **hey. i’m sorry I haven’t texted.

  **It’s ok. I wish we didn’t have to start all our exchanges with “sorry.” Did you think about what I wrote you? About you both coming here?

  **no…did you really mean it? you sent it late at night

  **Daytime for me.

  **oh right. i wasn’t sure you meant it. i’ve been really busy. they switched me to the night shift.

  **What? But they promised you.

  **i asked them to. i have sam during the day.

  **You took him out of Elite Charter?

  **they asked him to leave.

  **When?

  **last week.

  **Why didn’t you tell me?

  **nothing you can do anyway

  **…

  **…

  **I can look at schools online for you.

  **it all just got more complicated. they ask for parents’ place of birth now.

  **At the neighborhood school too?

  **i’m NOT sending him back there

  **He has to go somewhere.

  **i signed up for homeschool. there are basically no requirements, haha.

  **“haha”

  **go to hell

  **I’m sorry.

  **Immigration lawyer says 15 months now.

  **Please send a picture of Sam.

  **here’s sam at the park today

  **So big. How did that happen? He looks so much like my mother

  **i hope not

  **??

  **he already has your last name. your mother’s skin doesn’t help

  **OK, fine, I’ll be the one to text first. I haven’t heard from you in four days.

  **I AM WORKING ALL THE TIME

  **I’ve been so worried.

  **you worry I’m not a good mother

  **I worry when you talk about my name and what my family looks like. You haven’t even apologized.

  **You can stop talking to me. You can stop my son from talking to me. I have no control. Believe me, I know. I look in the mirror every day. I wait in the lawyer’s office. I wait for my benefits. Did I tell you I applied? I have to work. And the whole time I think, I have no control, I have no control. But you don’t have control either. Sam looks like me, not like you, and you can be quiet and nice all you want, and tell him to be quiet and nice, but that won’t change.

  **sentimental sentimental sentimental. tragic tragic tragic, living in your head. would you really trade places with me? would you be in charge of everything? every little fucked up thing? would you like to fuck up every little thing, and know that you’ll keep fucking up? i can’t fix Sam or this place. i can’t fix you and me, either. this is how it is now. stop blaming me for it.

  **There’s a picture of Sam’s class on the Christ Gospel Charter School site. You didn’t tell me you found a new one.

  **are you googling schools for fun now?

  **Yeah, it’s lots of fun.

  **…

  **…

  **you’re not going to say anything about the required prayer service?

  **No. I guess you can’t fight everything.

  **that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. anyway, so far so good. or so far not terrible.

  **haha

  **hahaHA

  **Ok, now I’m really laughing. I’ve been thinking. Maybe you and Sam can come visit this summer.

  **I can’t take off work. I used up all my vacation time.

  **Maybe just Sam then.

  **maybe

  **He has a US passport. I’ll meet him at the airport.

/>   **and send him back again?

  **Of course. You think I would take him away from you?

  **no

  **I bet the school here is better anyway.

  **if it’s so great over there, why did you immigrate in the first place?

  **I don’t know anymore.

  **We can talk about this summer later.

  **Ok, we won’t talk about this summer.

  **Don’t do this, though. Don’t stop replying.

  **Hello?

  —Hello?

  —Send a pic of Sam.

  —Please.

  JANUARY 2018

  Barry N. Malzberg

  Dear Gordon:

  Thanks for the assignment. Even now, perhaps more than ever, I appreciate your thinking of me for this anthology. Maybe I do have a chance after all.

  Although it is a grim assignment. How could it not be? “Imagine the worst that could happen. Extrapolate a future in which this worst has happened. Write what you fear most in that happenstance.” That would have been challenging at any time but never more so than now.

  Consider: science fiction has always lived on the dystopian blood that surged through its varicose veins and it has never been difficult for most of us to emerge with ever more exotic and terrible futures to trade like baseball cards…but my own interest in disaster has begun to fade as Phil Larkin’s “that one large thing which has always been waiting for you” looms ever larger. “You can’t beat chronology” as the horseplayer said, looking over the chart of a maiden race for three-year-olds and (way) up, won by the three-year-old’s nose. It would have been nicer to have reflected on the better circumstance that Trump promised us. But that was not to be; from nearly the start it was clear that the situation was impossible, his prospects for election ridiculous.

  So rather now it is what the present Administration is doing, will be doing which in our scrambling prowl for the worst we must confront. The reflexive, almost parodic conversion of “liberalism” into practical fascism has of course continued riotously. it is impossible to conceive of free and open debate on the campuses or off, in the public media or the tunnels of the Internet. It is ever clearer, as free speech or sexual constraint deteriorate into ugly exercises that the worst is already around us. “Feminism” seems to have defaulted into spiritual battery; “safe spaces” as mandated on or off the campuses have become versions of Orwell’s (and O’Brien’s Room 101) in which the most feared, the most awful to conceive are given to confront us.