I don't want anybody to stand between the individual and existence. No prayer, no priestyou alone are enough to face the sunrise. Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh
Digikaboom is feeb. I got it for my fourteenth birthdaytwo months agoand already Im sick of it. Brat Army isnt too bad, though. Most games are crud, along with the systems. When my sister gets back from the North Korea War she promised shed buy me a Magsys: 3D-virt, with the Buzzurk upgrade. My friend Jannika has one; its so perv! But right at that moment I was stuck with the DS Green playing Digikaboom, since I was at a doctors appointment.
Zena Lacalle! a redheaded nurse with a sour face called out. My mother, glancing up from her Kindle, motioned me on. I turned off the game, picked up my purse (a Giridhar bag with a pink and black zebra stripe print that matched my Tag Ryder jumper) and followed the nurse into Dr. Cotters office. As soon as I walked in the doctor smiled and greeted me enthusiastically. His excitement was false though. Why do these idiots always think theyre fooling us with this shtick? I saw through it when I was seven, but they keep on with it, as if theyre really interested in me as a person rather than as just another patient. And it wasnt like he knew me. They always cycled us around to different doctorsdidnt want one of them getting too attached or something, lest we be a temptation. Stock government bullshit.
Like a lot of Gen Yers, Doc Cotter had obviously gotten the Toyo treatment at some point. Though probably in his forties, he looked about twenty-two, twenty-three, except in that weird plastic way that Toyos looked young. Nothing about him was real, from his buzzed white-yellow Astroturf hair, to his Sun-sayf pseudotan and surgically shrunken pores, to his slick black Reebok loafers. Maybe six foot two and perfectly toned, he wouldve been handsome if not for the fako stuff (even though Im not supposed to think things like that about adultsnot that it matters much now.)
How is Miss Lacalle today? he asked, a pathetic attempt to make small talk while he consulted my file on his flatpad.
Fine I guess.
Lets see . . . youre here for your three month checkup. Alright, you can go in Room 6-C, down the hall there, last one on the left. Nurse Higgins will be in to do your purity exam shortly, and then I will conduct your three month interview and your health exam, with Nurse Higgins as witness. Any questions or concerns?
No. Questions and concerns: what a joke that was. Ive been down that road before, starting when I was dragged kicking and screaming to my first legally mandated purity exam at age five. Well, you know the drill.
Down the hall I went, sidling through the half open door of 6-C. Jannika, whose father is a doctor, told me they always left the door half open like that. It was supposed to convey just enough of a casual feeling to put you at ease or something, like this wasnt all that important to them. Thats how they acted, like none of this really mattered, it was just standard procedure, you know, nothing to get worked up about. Except it would all be different if you failed the tests. Then theyd definitely take it seriously.
The room was all bright lights, white plastic and ceramic, shiny steel and straight lines, the only soft and colorful thing in it an old painting of some children picking flowers in a field, little girls in dresses down to their ankles and stupid looking bonnets. I hated it, not only because it was such an obvious concession to prettification but because Id seen thousands just like it in every doctors office, restaurant and museum Id ever been in. Supposedly at one time artworks had naked people in them. Theyre still around, somewhere, but you have to have a special kind of license to see them. And be twenty-one, of course. Im thinking about becoming an art historian just so I can see them someday. Sorry, I mean I was thinking about becoming an art historian. I keep forgetting, you know?
Nurse Higgins came in and closed the door, pulling on a pair of tight translucent rubber gloves. She didnt look friendly, but at least she looked real.
Please remove your clothes and take a seat in the examination chair.
Id been watching him for a few days out of my bedroom window. Every day, just about six in the evening, he crept into the small park across the street, straining against himself, as if his joints were rusted and needed oiling or something. I imagined him to be the Tin Man, like from that movie The Wizard of Oz, the one with Lessa Martinez as Dorothy. Only, a ragged snow-white beard trailed down his chin and rested on his chest, and I began to think of him as a distinguished general from one of those ancient orange-colored photos. What were they called? Daggertips or something like that. None of my friends knew anyone with a beard that long.
Despite his age the General didnt stoop, though he leaned on a carved ebony walking stick as he shuffled towards the stone bench. His features looked dark and severe against the soft rosy fire of the sundown sky. Truthfully, I was flush with nervous excitement at the thought of seeing him up close. The older people I knew werent as old as the General, and all of them were Toyos, with their odd shiny, wrinkleless skin. So it was decided: I would introduce myself to the General. Now, the trick was how to get past the family sentinels, both electronic and organic . . .
The parents were easy. They would be dozing off in front of the wallscreen by now, numbed by the same droning droolfod that dragged them into unconsciousness every night. Jerrod was a tougher one, a wild card, but not impossible. Conclusion: the risks were worth it. Between the silver canopy over my bed and the shifting iridesign-painted wall Id velked an override tick. Pulling it down, I clapped it over the spot in my wrist where I knew the subdermal trace was implanted, then snapped off the ticks diverter and shoved it beneath my pillow. The rest of it would stay on my wrist until I got back.
Jacking into the house computer was simple too; Id been doing it since I was nine, fucking with the doors memories so that no one would know when I opened and closed the doors, and that way they couldnt tell when I left the room. After completing this task, I threw on my all-black jumper and headed out the door. Jerrod was in his room, I knew, because the green light over his bedroom door was on. Then again, so was mine. Caution was called for. I found my way to the front door and let myself out.
Freedom!
I knew where all the exterior cameras were and could sidestep most of them easily enough. All but the ones in the park itself. For those I would use a face scrambler. It wouldnt stop the cameras from seeing and recording me, but it would keep them from identifying me, and then alerting my parents and the authorities that I was out past curfew. The thrill was palpablemy heart drubbing my chest, my hands slick and cool, but I tried to maintain a calm and casual stance in the approach. The General took little notice of me at first, absorbed in something I couldnt see. Maybe he thought I was in my early twenties, though if hed looked directly at me he wouldve realized his error right away. Even at fourteen Im small and thinpetite, I guess youd say, which I hate. So, in my physical development Im a little behind. So what? The rest of me is pretty far ahead. Im in the second and fourth percentiles for mental and emotional development for my age group. I just thought you should know, because . . . well, you know.
Its beautiful, isnt it? he asked, seemingly speaking to no one in particular, yet I was the only person around besides the General. Could he be one of those old psychos theyre always warning you about? Suddenly it occurred to me that my mini-adventure wasnt such a good idea.
I guess so, I hazarded. Well . . . Im not really sure what youre talking about.
That snapped him out of his reverie, his head rolling around so that he could better see me. The look of confusion and alarm that distorted his already strange features wouldve been comical if not for my own trepidation. The General was so . . . ugly! That was my immediate thought. Of course, my opinion changed soon enough.
My God! Theyve really come a long way with the Toyotomi treatment these days! You look like a . . . child.
So the General believed I was a Toyo; I wasnt about to set him straight either. Wow, this was so perv! I mean, Id broken out many times in the last couple years, but only to meet up with my friends, maybe smoke a blowser or sup on a beer. But this . . . was a whole new experience. I wished right then that Cin and Jannika couldve been there to see this. Theyd never believe it when I told them!
The General asked, How old are you, young lady?
Twenty two. I coughed. What were you talking about?
What? Oh, the sunset, I meant. I watch it every day, but it never ceases to astonish me. Of course, it cant compare to a sunrise. I wish I could watch those too, but Im afraid I just cant wake up in time to catch them. A shame. I havent seen a sunrise in at least twenty years, but oh, I remember them. I do remember them.
Growing weary of calling him the General in my head, I asked his name.
Paul Sunderland. And you?
Um . . . Sheena. Holloway. Sheena Holloway.
Mr. Sunderland awarded my clumsy reply with a peculiar sidelong look. (I shouldve thought that one out a little more.) Well, Miss Holloway, Im glad to make your acquaintance.
Likewise, I said, stifling the urge to giggle.
Hesitantly I slid in next to Mr. Sunderland and aimed my eyes to the half-hidden orange orb inching steadily below the cityscape, that row of broken gray teeth so far away and also so near. Above our heads tiny insects doodled loops of invisible ink on the red tablet of the sky while unseen critters warbled and piped all around us. It was so creeper! So antivirt, and yet Id never really noticed it before. How could this odd, wrinkled up gnome of a man, this . . . stranger open me up like that so easily? It made me a little wary, but also forced me to take a second look at him. Yeah, he wasnt pretty, but in his way he was beautiful, you know? The hollows and whorls of his skin, the lightly resting snowfall of hair and beard, the dull but sturdy clotheshe had something Id never before encountered in adults, an honesty that soaked him to the bone. And his eyes! If I was to try to describe them Id be here until I was as old as the General myself.
Somewhere along the line he did become the General again. This was because he commanded respect without even trying, and without the slightest hint of aggression or cruelty in his demeanor. He never told me his real occupation either, the one hed had before he retired, I mean. But I would lie in my bed at night and picture him in younger days, standing tall and firm at the front of an army of seraphs. Yes, he was an angel to me, the pinnacle of angels, in fact, the five-star Archangel General, his countless crimps and crinkles the scars of a thousand battles for his beloved Elysium. Hard-fought battles, several won, even more of them lost. Yet the war was almost over, and Heaven had been defeated.
My seraph warrior was ancient, even more ancient than his grizzled form revealed. And he was also younger than all adults Id ever known, because he never forgot what it was to be a kid, to be powerless and restless and awkward all at the same time. The demons that had at last beaten and captured him knew this about him, and so they had been especially cruel when ripping his wings from him, stretching out the agony for as long as they could. All of that he said to me without really speaking.
I reached over and took hold of his hand, which was soft, cool and dry. He closed his fingers around mine with remarkable strength, and thats when I knew what I was going to do. That would come later, but right then we shared another twenty minutes of pleasant conversation as we shared the view of the sun, the source of light and heat and life, drop below the earth. When the gloaming was on us and the streetlights popped on, the General got to his feet and looked me squarely in the eyes, then did something no adult had ever done before: he shook my hand. Cane in hand, he started back to wherever hed come from. I watched him shrink into the distance for a few minutes more before I left the scene myself.
You gotta be kidding me! Cin screeched. You are so perv! I cant believe it!
We were in my bedroom, my friends Cin and Jannika here on a parentally sanctioned visit. Cin had managed to scoop some makeup from a local outlet. She did this a lot. I stood at the full-length mirror on my closet door, looking at myself with a skeptical eye. My friends told me I was pretty but I was always doubtful. See, I told them the same thing, even though Cin was chubby and Jannika had too many freckles and a hooked nose. My face was alright, I guess, but I was too small for my age. My chest had only just begun to grow; it was embarrassing. At least I was slender. The part of me I was most proud of, however, was my hair, which was lush, straight and longwell past my lower backand a gleaming chestnut in color. I had to keep it tucked into my top whenever I snuck out because it could identify me, since most girls my age kept short hair.
My preference for long hair was because of a painting Id seen once, when I was very small. I still remember the name of the artist: Dante Gabriel Rossetti. The work was Proserpine. Id read about her too; she was from Greek mythology. Supposedly shed been carried off by the god of the underworld when she was my age and made his queen. Horror stories about abduction were drummed into us from an early age: how we would be kidnapped, tortured and murdered if we walked the streets alone. But Id always thought it might be sort of creeper to be taken away and made into a queen, even if it was queen of the underworld. That kind of thing happened a lot in ancient times, I think. Maybe just in stories though.
Jannika handed me a lipstick (metallic plum) and I began to apply it. Hes amazing. He comes every night and sits on that same bench, the one you can see from my window. Im going to meet again tonight.
Oh my god, he must be horrible to look at! Cin added.
I dont know, I protested, oddly a little hurt, even though Id thought the same thing when Id first seem him. Hes not so bad. I mean, hes not cute or anything, but hes perv in his own way.
No way! You have a crush on the oldster! Cin got some strange delight out of the realization. She saw it as a weakness in me, a quirk that made me different, less than normal. Girls were like that sometimes, even when they were your friends: they found your abnormalities and exploited them, or saved them for those times when they would need to reduce you in the eyes of others. I never understood that. It has to be said that I was always a bit of an outsider anyway, and I liked that fact about me. I saw it as a kind of courage, daring to be different from all the Barbies, who were all so eager to take their place amongst the Toyo-treated fako adults when their time came. Cin was certainly one of those. Jannie was different though; she was more like me.
Aw, stop, she said to Cin. I think its kind of sweet. Just be careful, okay, Zena? Everyone knows all old men are sick-minded around girls. They cant help it. Thats why they keep us all separated, you know. It doesnt mean the guys are evil; its just their nature. Hanging out in the park is okay, but dont let him get you alone somewhere without cams.
Oh, Jannie, Ill be fine. You guys dont know him like I do. Hes not like that. I cant explain how I know it, but hes just . . . different. Hes nice and . . . hes genuine, you know?
Ooh, genuine. There goes Zena using her big words again.
Jannie shook her head and rolled her eyes. Dont be childish, Cin. Just because your vocabulary isnt as big as Zenas doesnt mean you have to pick on her about it.
The other girls face reddened, but at least it shut her up.
Seriously, Zena, its dangerous out there, Jannie continued. Dont you remember what happened to Madison Becker?
Of course I remembered; it had only been the biggest news story to affect our school ever. It had happened a year ago. Maddie Becker had been fifteen at the time, two years my senior, and shed lost her virginity to a nineteen-year-old named Jared Holloway (whose last name Id borrowed when Id identified myself to the General.) Only two weeks before theyd been busted Madison had reported, in the middle of a circle of giddy girlfriends that included myself, kissing Jared in her bedroom closet. Vanna Marshall had warned her not to get too involved with him, that it would not go well, though secretly, beneath her stern advice, lay a complex swirl of emotions which I knew we were all feeling: nervousness, excitement, jealousy, and yes, the peppery, bittersweet sting of lust. None of us but Maddie had ever been allowed to date a boyin fact, none of us had even been alone with a boy since we were toddlers. But Maddies parents were different from ours. They hated the laws against kids dating. They were older parentsMrs. Becker had been thirty-eight when shed had Maddie, Mr. Becker forty-sixand sort of old-fashioned. They collected books about the hippies, who were some kind of cult or something from a long time ago. Apparently these hippies practiced something called free lovethat means they had sex all the time, with anyone they wanted; even the hippie kids did this! Maybe this was before kids having sex was made illegal. Im not really sure; I dont know the laws from that time. Anyway, Maddie told us all about the books her parents collected, even though, by law, her parents werent supposed to talk about that kind of stuff with her.
I guess it was inevitable. But Maddies illegal behavior had been found out at her next exam, the police had been called immediately, and the culprit had been hunted down and arrested. After Maddie was interrogated shed told them everything, right down to her parents books and conversations with her, and everyone involved had been arrested. Maddies lawyer had convinced her to accuse Jared of full-on rape, that it would go easier for her if she did, and in the end she had given over to his wishes and claimed the boy had raped her, even though everyone knew it was a lie. There was no hope for Jared anyway; either way he was going to prison for a long time, and so were her parents. Still, she was never the same after that. The battalion of police officers, lawyers and social workers had broken her, leaving her a kind of orphan, humiliated again and again as the names and faces of her boyfriend and her parents flashed across the television screen during the nightly Offender ID Hour. Finally, left alone with no one who truly cared for her, her family torn apart and forever tainted, she had slipped out of the home of her foster family one night, walked a quarter mile to the old Mickelson Bridge, and jumped to her death in the river below. The suicide had barely made the obits, much less the news; these cases were all too common.
Another sunset, just as wonderful as the first, and the General smiled and sighed to see it. It was if, when the sun went down, its light was transferred to his face. Not literally, you know, but it was a kind of light . . . the light of thousand million happy momentsbirthdays, roller coasters, funny jokes, tickled ribs, ice cream . . . all rolled into a few seconds. Shining from his eyes, from his pores, from some deep place inside that came to the surface when the sun dipped out of sight for the day, only to sink into the dark depths again in less than a minute. He had so much invested in that short but crucial event. It kept him going through the twenty-four hours that came after. Without the sunset he wouldve been lost.
A plump tear broke from his eye and slipped over his cheek, caught in the folds of his aged skin, which was a trap for his sadness. I leaned over and kissed the wet cheek, tasting its salty tang. His bony arm circled around my shoulders and I pressed myself into him, hoping maybe I could coax the little hidden star within him back out again. I tried, but something there was broken, maybe permanently. Such an aching soul, he deserved more happiness than that, and I wanted to give it to him. That was at least part of my motivation for what would follow, but to be perfectly honest, part of it was just selfish need. If that makes me a whore, so be it. Your stupid labels dont mean shit to me anymore. Labels . . . like whore. Or predator. Or victim. You can try to tell me what you think happened, but I know the truth. I was there; you werent. You can sell any story about him you want to the ignorant masses. Lord knows theyre eager to believe it anyway. But you cant take back the reality. The truth is, I was the one who wanted it first. I was the one who convinced him. He held out at first, but I eventually convinced him, by something he wanted badly.
So we met like that, on the park bench, for several more nights. Finally, though nervous, I extracted my courage and asked him what I wanted to ask: Can I go to your place?
The General was quiet for a painfully long time before he leaned over and whispered in my ear, Sheena, if I am to invite you back to my home, you must first be honest with me. Now tell me, what is your real name?
I told him.
And your age?
I told him this too.
Ah. Well then, meet me here tomorrow an hour earlier than usual. I dont want to keep you out too late, my dear.
I grinned from ear to ear, suppressing my excitement. I will! I said, perhaps a little too loudly, then kissed him on his forehead and skittered back to my house.
The next day I slipped out for our rendezvous, an hour earlier as agreed. It was the perfect day to do it too as both my parents were at my brothers basketball game for the night. I greeted the General with my customary hug, and then followed him back to his apartment, which, as it turned out, was only three blocks away. We would miss the sunset this time, but I had other plans. It was Friday, no school tomorrow, and my parents would be too tired to check on me when they finally got back home. I had decided that, whatever happened, I would not be going back home tonight.
The Generals place was amazing, decorated with all sorts of gadgets and toys from an older time: robots that changed into classic cars and planes, figurines from a movie called Star Wars, and all these creeper spaceship models. And books! Actual paper-and-ink books! It was like nothing Id ever seen in an adults home before.
Would you like a Coke or something? Just help yourself to anything in the fridge, he told me.
Sure, thanks. I grabbed a plastican of Coke from the refrigerator and flicked the seal on the side, opening the can. Then I spent the next twenty minutes or so looking around at all his perv stuff. It was clear from his pleasure that the General hadnt had company in years. Finding my usual spot to his left open, I scrunched in beside him on the sofa and relaxed. Where did you get all this stuff?
This? Oh, Ive been collecting these things for years. I guess I should get rid of them. Its just that they remind me of my youth, you know.
No, you should keep it. Its fucking creeper.
The General winced. You know, Zena, you are a smart, talented, sweet, lovely young lady. Could you please not use profanity or words like creeper or perv? I know to you kids theyre just words for good but they have a long and sordid history. If you only knew.
Okay, I wont use them. Gen . . . uh, Mr. Sunderland?
Please, call me Paul. Yes, dear?
Paul? How would you like to see the sunrise tomorrow? I can wake you.
The General looked befuddled for once. Im not following.
If I stay here tonight, Ill
Now, Zena, you know I cant allow that. It would be against the law.
I slid down on the couch, laying my head in Pauls lap and looking up at his wonderful beard. But youre already breaking the law just having me here. I wont go shrink on you, I promise.
He laughed. Oh, dear, you have me there. Zena, I must be honestI get the feeling youre after something from me. Whatever could it be?
Now it was my turn to be quiet for awhile. How to put this gingerly . . . Paul, youre my friend, right? He nodded and mumbled in the affirmative. Whatever I tell you, will you promise not to report me?
You have my word, he responded.
Slowly I rose, my hands shaking a bit, and whispered to him what I wanted, then snuggled into his chest.
The look that crossed his features then was . . . complex. For the longest time I couldnt read him, a trait I found both confounding and charming at once. It was something new to me. Eventually he did speak, wearing that gentle smile that was all too rare.
Zena, I cant begin to understand why youd choose me. Im under no delusions about my decrepit state. But, for what its worth, Im incredibly honored. His voice broke on the final word. And I dont have much to lose at this point. So . . . why not?
I wiped his tears with the deep blue sleeve of my Ovid Cash moody top, leaned in and kissed his nose. He swelled like cinnamon and cedar, with a hint of autumn. Taking his parchment-soft hand, I pulled him up and led him in the direction of his bedroom . . .
That evening, after wed finished (no, Im not telling you the details of what happened, you nosy, perverted jackwads) I set Pauls alarm clock for 5 AM. Then we slept, our nude forms intertwined, my smooth pale flesh against his darkly mottled, sagging, roughly-hewn skin. And I dreamed of my angel, young and beautiful and fiery, with strong, glossy gray wings stretched out, their span at least twice the length of his body, circling in the vermillion sky above me. Demons with skin like slimy, fetid wax are holding me down, ripping off my clothes. When my clothes were gone, they took hold of my body, and I knew with dream knowledge what they were planning next: to shred the flesh from my bones. In an instant Paul swooped down, neatly slicing the demons in two with a gleaming sword hed produced from nowhere and scooping me into his arms all at the same time. Then, we flew . . . into the sun.
You know the rest. We woke the next morning at the alarms bleat, the sky still dark but bluing with the approaching day. After dressing and grabbing a breakfast pack to share, we strolled to our usual spot. The sunrise, when it came, was beautiful. Was it worth the view? Sure, it was.
Naturally when you bastards found out what had happened, you went to the Generals apartment with several men, armed to teeth, as if he was actually a threat to you. And when you found him he had already flown to heaven, my seraph, leaving his used and broken body behind. Robbed of your chance at justice, you arrested me instead, and my parents, who were guilty of nothing more than not being one hundred percent diligent jailers. And here I am, and you can charge me with whatever you like, and put me through your silly reprogramming and therapy. It doesnt matter, because you know what? You will never, ever convince me that what happened was evil or wrong. You call him a monster, but the real monsters are right here in this room, scowling at me. You broke up my family, ruined all our lives, forever limited my career options. And for what? To hold onto your precious illusion so you can sleep at night with what you do.
You say he raped me, took advantage of me, but he was just a harmless old man. No, the real rapists are you guys, who take kids starting when theyre fivefive!and poke and prod and invade their privacy and their bodies to catch a handful of people, most of whom mean no harm at all, Im sure. I know youd love to keep me here forever, but one day I will get out, and I will tell the truth. I may not get to see nude artworks, but Ill strip these people in another way. Ill reveal whats really underneath their plastic smiles. Ill be a poet, and use my words as weapons against you. Ill write about angels on park benches, and Ill teach people how to wake up and see the sunrise.