THIRTY-THREE
GWEN
We are taken to a waiting car, the windows so darkened there’s no hope of anyone spotting us once we’re inside. They shove Laticus in first, and when I hesitate, I’m pushed roughly into the interior of the car, scraping my knee in the process. A man climbs in after me, followed by a woman. The woman, who has a shaved head and eyebrows pierced straight across, sits next to me, while the man takes a seat across from Laticus.
“Where are you taking us?” I ask. “They’ll know we’re missing. You can’t just kidnap us in the middle—”
“Never seen one of me, boy?” The man across from Laticus glares, his face a cocktail of contempt and aggression.
I press my lips together and place a warning hand on Laticus’ knee.
“I haven’t,” Laticus says, honestly. “Your kind isn’t allowed in the Black.”
“Well, you’re not in the Black anymore.”
“He’s just a boy,” I say to the man.
He studies me for a minute before he grunts and looks out the window. In the Red, trans men are somewhat common, but the Black frowns on the change. Usually women who want to make the transition move to a different Region, typically the Blue.
The woman remains silent, her gun resting casually on her knee, staring straight ahead.
After several more inquiries of where they’re taking us, with no answers, I fall quiet. Ten minutes later the car stops outside of an old brick building. We park to the rear of the building next to a yellow service door. As the car idles, the door opens and I see two figures step out.
“Let’s go,” the woman orders.
To my relief, several pairs of hands help me out of the car where I regain my balance, squinting against the sun and waiting for Laticus. When he’s standing beside me, we move to the door, prodded along by the gun. It takes a minute for our eyes to adjust once we’re inside. The smell of food is heavy in the air and my stomach rumbles. I reach for Laticus’ hand and our fingers lace. We are led through a dank hallway, dimly lit; my foot catches on an uneven brick and Laticus catches me before I can fall. I stare at him gratefully even though he can’t see my face.
We’re taken down a flight of stairs to a basement. The woman steps ahead to open the door and ushers us inside. To my surprise, there is a large table spread with food. Laticus lets go of my hand and looks around.
I turn around to face our captors. “What is this?” But they’re already gone, the door shutting behind them with a solid thud.
“Hungry?” I feign a smile.
I’d rather not eat, but I know I must.
“What if it’s poisoned,” Laticus says, studying a piece of fried chicken.
“Why would they poison two future End Men?”
He glances at my stomach and must like what I’ve said because he bites into the chicken.
I pick at the food, my stomach in knots, wondering what exactly they plan on doing with us. For now, we are safe for the exact reason I expressed to Laticus. Even in the womb End Men are valuable.
An hour later Laticus has fallen asleep at the table with his head cradled in his arms. I sit rigid, keeping watch. They’ve left us forks and knives. Weapons. This sets me at ease. If we were truly being held captive, why would they give us something with which to attack them?
I’m fighting off sleep when I hear the lock turn and suddenly the door is flung open. Gripping the sides of my chair, I stare at the figure standing in the doorway in alarm. At first, all I see is the outline of a very wide, very tall woman. She takes up the entire door and has to turn her body sideways to walk through. Her jowls rest on her breasts and I stare in awe of her magnitude.
“Why have we not eaten all the foods?” Her voice booms.
It’s then that I notice the small blue cake she’s holding. My mouth waters.
“Do we not like the chickens and potatoes and salads? Maybe we need cakes?” Each of her S’s whistles, and when she holds up the cake, she grins from ear to ear.
I stare in shock and wonder, and she sets the cake right in front of me. She brushes her hands together and nods to the yawning Laticus, motioning to the cake.
“Yours is coming in a jiffys,” she says. As she says it, someone else comes in and sets a cake in front of Laticus.
“Pippa.” She pats her chest and then looks dismayed that we’re not already eating the cake.
“Are you the Pippa from all the—”
“We are,” she says proudly. She heaves her bulk into a chair, out of breath. “We own all the Pippas in all the Regions. You mights be wondering why you’re here?”
“Yes,” I say, slowly. “We are.”
I sneak a look at Laticus and his mouth is open. He shuts it quickly and we exchange a look.
“First of alls, let’s get one thing established, yes?” Pippa stands up. Grabbing the hem of her dress, she lifts it to her chest, exposing hairy legs. I can’t keep the shock off of my face. All of a sudden her dress is entirely up, exposing every inch of her body from the waist down. My eyes are drawn to the cradle of hair between her mighty thighs. I blink once…twice…I’m not seeing things. She has a penis.
“You’re trans?” I say.
Pippa shakes her head.
“We were born like this, it has sperms and everything.” She looks quite proud to say so.
I shake my head, confused.
“We were born a man, sweethearts. My mother was afraid they’d take us so she made us a girl instead.”
Laticus and I look at each other, but Pippa doesn’t seem to notice.
She’s dropped her skirt by now and holds out her arms. “Surprise!”
“Surprise indeed,” I say.
“We’re older than your Folsom, by the way. Which makes us,” she points between her legs, “the oldest working penises in the Regions.”
I don’t know whether to be more surprised by her revelation or the fact that she just called him my Folsom.
“So, do people know?” Laticus, who’s been silent until now, is leaning forward in his chair.
“Not many,” Pippa says more solemnly this time. “But there are more of us. We hide in plain sight.”
He shakes his head. “But why? The End Men, they need you—”
“Boy, and that’s what you are, make no mistakes, the End Men are the Society’s prisoners. We don’t need no End Men. Some of us want to live our lives in peaces. Besides, we’re attracted to mens and mens are in short supply. No offenses,” she says, looking at me.
“None taken.”
Pippa pulls her skirt over her knees and pats her hair down.
“So…why are we here exactly?” I ask.
She looks at me in surprise, one of her painted eyebrows lifting in time with her lips. “You called your friend Kaspers for helps, didn’t you?”
I look at her doubtfully. “You know Kasper?”
“Know him…oh we know him. Shits was already stirring, Gwen. Before you started mouthing offs like the emotional train wrecks you are.”
I frown at her, but she doesn’t notice.
“You gave feets to what was already started. But you’re in deep shits and now we have to hides you until we can get you out.”
“Out where?” I ask.
“Of the Regions.”
“Laticus too?”
“And Folsom.” She nods.
My heart leaps. “Do you know where—”
“Not yet.”
My face drops and she reaches over to pat my knee. “You get some rests. We have to get back to it.”
With that, she leaves the room in the same way she arrived. With grandeur.
“Where do you think we are?” Laticus asks.
“I don’t know. Lower end somewhere?” We stare at the cakes, unsure of what to do.
Laticus doesn’t respond. We wait long enough to get antsy. He looks at the ceiling.
“I’m so sick of being bored all the time.” He stands up and paces around the tight room.
The
woman with the gun comes in a few minutes later. She looks less hostile now that I know she’s not one of the governor’s people.
“I’ll take you to your room,” she says.
Our room is an eight by ten storage closet with bunk beds underneath Pippa’s restaurant. To get there, we go down a dark elevator shaft and then we’re hit with bright fluorescent lighting. If I think about it too much, I’ll go crazy. Once inside the room though, it’s similar to the SIMS. In fact, for a moment I wonder if I’m in one. The woman notices me taking it all in.
“Have you done a SIM before? I can show you how to sign in if you’d like…”
I must go all dreamy-eyed by the way the woman does a double take and grins.
“Have at it,” she says and leaves.
All I can think about is Folsom’s SIM. I don’t care about my own, I just want to watch his five or six dozen times. When Laticus goes to take a shower across the hall, I lie down on the bottom bunk and sign in with Folsom’s password: Foley97. One day I hope to ask about his connection with the number ninety-seven.
When I see the purple silk it’s like a conditioned response…I’m immediately in the moment with the simulation, remembering the way he made me feel the last time I watched too. I stare at us and wish he could feel how desperate I am for him. My heart quickens at the sight of him, the rush almost like he’s really here, when the bed we’re on fades away. Suddenly, it’s just Folsom and he’s looking right at me. At least it seems that way.
“Hey. You’re here. Or maybe you’re not and I’m talking to myself. I just needed to get some things off my chest.”
I look around the room, confused for a moment.
“I was hoping that whatever happened, you’d come back in here.” He smirks and rubs an eyebrow. “I hoped you would be back,” he adds. “I had to add this in case I never get a chance to tell you…I never wanted this life, Gwen. I’m sure you know that by now. I’ve done what was expected of me. I’ve served the people and my country. I’ve managed okay because I’ve been on autopilot, barely even noticing my surroundings. And then I walked into your house that day and you noticed me. Not the fact that I was a man, or had a dick, or that I could give you a baby. You saw me…and my boots.” He smiles distantly like he’s remembering, and I smile too, covering my mouth with my hand. “Autopilot was comfortable and you’ve made me uncomfortable. I’d been living without feeling anything and now I feel everything. Even if nothing externally changes in my life, the way you make me feel…I’m changed. Because I got the chance to know you. I can’t ever forget you. And I’ll always wish things could be different for us.” His voice breaks, but he quickly regains it. “I’m in love with you. It’s the only piece of me the Society doesn’t own.” The view changes abruptly; it’s the two of us standing on top of a large mountain, overlooking a valley of jagged rocks and trees and a river at the bottom. It’s beautiful and I stare at it for a long time before looking at the two of us: him so tall and imposing and me barely eye level with his shoulder, yet we look like we fit. The picture stays there for so long that I imagine Folsom did the same thing, watched longingly for a life that will never be.
I fall asleep crying but happier than I’ve been since he’s been gone. He told me he loved me...
THIRTY-FOUR
GWEN
It’s been weeks. Weeks of waiting, weeks of the stuffy basement room underneath Pippa’s.
“I don’t know how you did it for so long, being locked up at Genome Y,” I say to Laticus.
“I wasn’t really given a choice.” He’s on his bed above me, reading a book Pippa brought for him. He hasn’t looked up since she dropped it off. “I would have just worked if they let me. It’s better than being a prisoner.”
“Do you still feel that way?” I ask him.
I hear him set his book down, the paper fluttering. I can picture him frowning up at the ceiling like I’ve seen him do before.
“Yes.”
I bury my face in my hands, glad that he can’t see me. If this is what having a teenager is like, I’m not ready.
“You’re entitled to your own feelings about things, Laticus. But before you develop a solid opinion on anything, make sure you examine all sides.”
I hear him retrieve his book and turn a page. But I know he’s thinking.
A few days later, Pippa comes down to bring us cake and to visit. She tells us about the riots in the Green Region, the marches in Blue and Purple.
“And here?” I ask her. “What’s happening in Red?”
Pippa looks down, and I see shame on her face.
“Tell me what’s happening?” I leave my half-eaten slice of cake on the bed and lean toward her. Laticus is listening. I hear the bed springs creak above me as he turns to face our gregarious host.
“They’re arresting anyone who disturbs the peaces,” she says. “The governor has issued Region-wide curfews and put restrictions on public gatherings. She’s trying to quench the thirsts.”
“Well, we can't let that happen,” I say. “Not when everyone has worked this hard. She’s trying to take eyes off the Red so the President can’t blame us for igniting a revolution.”
“Rights you are, but the people are scared.”
“So let’s make them un-scared.”
“Maybe if that was a words.” Pippa raises her eyebrows.
I want to call her out on that one so bad, Queens of Making the Words, but I resist.
“I want to do something,” I tell her. “Let me do something!”
Pippa nods slowly. Her hands are clasped between her knees; she fills my entire room.
“It’s a risk. But if you’re willings—”
“I’m willing,” I say quickly. “Get the people together. I’ll stir them up.”
Doctor Hunley comes to pick me up from Pippa’s two days later.
We drive to the edge of downtown in a run-down neighborhood and there are people lined up outside the building, waiting. For what, I’m not sure. She turns off the car and tells me to wait while she gets my door. I step outside and the cheers are deafening. Women cry and touch my hands and shoulders and hair; they hand me small candies and chocolates, and knitted booties for the baby.
I’m so overwhelmed that I start to cry and am handed pretty hankies with lace trim. They remind me of the ones Phoebe used to make my mother and I get homesick for her. We walk past everyone and before I step up the stairs, the door opens and there she stands. Phoebe. I gasp and hug her before being led into the old building. She walks alongside me, tending to my hair and telling me how pretty I look.
“You know I don’t look pretty. You just love me,” I whisper, leaning my head against hers.
“I have never been prouder of you, sweet girl,” she says. “I’m getting the word out. We all are.” She motions to the women around her.
“This is where the heart of your message is being received,” Doctor Hunley says, leaning into my ear. “These people who don’t have the resources to buy their way to a family…they’re able to see the reality of the situation and aren’t blinded by greed. The data you brought up in your latest post…would you tell us more about that? These women feel like they have finally been understood.”
I move to the podium and when the noise gradually dies down, I begin to speak. All of my failures and shortcomings seem to have led me to this very place, today, so I can be the one that finally says what needs to be said.
“Before the age of women, there was the age of men.”
You could hear a pin drop in the room, it is so quiet.
“In that age, we were ravished, sold into marriages, denied an education, raped and blamed, and refused equal treatment. I’m beyond grateful to be with you today in this age of women. But I am also grieved. The age of men is over and so is our oppression. And what has oppressed us is near extinction. Unfortunately, we will follow shortly behind them.” I swallow hard, my emotions reaching their peak. The faces staring up at me are conflicted. They are listening to me,
rapt attention on their faces. I flex my hands where they can’t see, hoping I don’t look as wrung out as I feel.
“The problem lies not with men, or women, but with humanity. Perhaps we lost it, but there’s a good chance we never found it. And what has been done to us for thousands of years must not be done to them now…the men. In the age of women, we must rise for the sake of our humanity. Let us decline rather than once again turn humans into slaves. We must not repeat history; we must rewrite it. To do so, we must unite. Unite in our defense of justice for all women and for all men.”
I step back to signify that my speech is over, my eyes glued to the floor.
There are thirty seconds where I panic. I’ve said too much or perhaps too little. I’ve not made sense. I consider the fact that I have no allies, and I’ll be escorted right to jail. And then I look up as I hear the sound of one pair of hands, slapping vigorously together. An older woman with dark skin and a severely curved back. Her hair is the color of snow and she looks too fragile to clap that hard, but there’s a look of anger and determination on her face. I smile at her faintly, grateful for her support. And then five more stand up…ten. They’re all clapping, a small thunder in the room. I let out a haggard breath as the rest of the women stand up together. How many? Six hundred? Seven? I glance at the doctor whose lips are pursed as she too gazes at the sea of faces. She looks over and catches my eyes, smiling faintly as if she’s both happy and terribly moved.
“Well done,” she mouths.
Doctor Hunley tells them I need to rest and that our visit today has been against the support of the governor.
“I’ll continue posting the messages Gwen gives me and we will meet again…someplace larger next time. Invite everyone you know,” Doctor Hunley says. “And for those of you who are in a place where you can…I have this reminder for you.” She holds up a laminated page with eye-catching font and reads aloud: “Stop providing what the elite are accustomed to demanding. It starts with us.”