After Everything
I stepped outside for a minute. Breathing in fresh air helped with the anxiety a little. It was early in the morning, and the sun was barely out. What an ungodly hour to be up. Perhaps that’s why I opted to be an early bird – so I could watch the quiet streets slowly waking up.
It’s a weird era to live in. When the last pandemic hit a few generations ago, everything changed. Of course, this is not in any of the history books. We only hear whispers of the days we cannot even begin to imagine. My grandmother used to tell me how her mother lived quite a different life. She played around with her friends, traveled and loved. In the break of the dawn, when the first rays of sun became alive around us, she’d squeezed me close and whisper tales of people holding each other in moments of happiness and agony. “Can you imagine it, my dear?” I told her I could, to please her. But in all honesty, I couldn’t. Maybe this is another reason why I love early hours, the memory of her and her stories.
When she died, my life changed forever. But to explain how and why, I need to go back a bit. A few years after my grandmother was born, yet another pandemic swept the planet. Experts and leaders from around the world came together to find a solution. With each plague it became more evident that the problem was the closeness of humans. To combat this a new world-wide law was introduced: No touching allowed. They theorized that if touching was limited to nuclear families, they could stop all viruses from spreading. And so, begun an era of brutality. People were beaten up and thrown in jails for kissing in the parks, for shaking hands when meeting, even for the simplest of acts of comforting one another. Nuclear families were re-defined as those bound by law (marriage) or blood living under the same roof. My grandmother told me that in the beginning families crammed together in tiny flats but soon, as people got used to the new law, nuclear families once again decreased in size. She had met her husband in high school. They dated like any high schoolers did except always keeping space between them. “We saw couples dancing together in movies. I thought it so romantic and it was the first thing we did when we got married. Played an old movie and danced to it in our living room.” Then my mother was born. She was a wild spirit, never to be confined.
This new world deprived of closeness meant people got married young. For many, education was now merely a steppingstone to find a spouse. Especially those identifying as women now disregarded career goals and became stay-at-home moms in growing numbers. Once again, the leaders of the world were alarmed as the economy was already on the verge of collapse. More laws were written, banning women from staying at home for more than three years after giving birth. But the women were clever; if you had a child every three years, no need to get back to work. Again, more laws were put in place forcing sterilization after three children. My mother, she hated all of this. She hated not being in charge of her own destiny. So, she never married. She came back from college single and quickly the town turned against her. She was seen as a freak, who wouldn’t want to marry and experience intimacy? My grandmother told me that once my mother realized what a mistake she’d made, she moved to a big enough city to stay anonymous. One sunny May morning I was left at my grandmothers’ doorstep, my birth certificate tucked carefully under my blankets. I haven’t heard from her since.
I notice movement a few houses down the street. How long had I stood here that the world was waking up? Except, it doesn’t seem that it’s that late yet. Somebody is climbing down from the second story window. I quickly move inside, so I cannot be blamed later for not reporting the incident. I pour myself another cup of coffee and sit down on the couch. This is life now. Youngsters climbing in and out windows in the middle of the night just to sleep in each other’s arms. If caught, they could spend the rest of their lives in prison but then again, when has that threat actually ever stopped anyone?
I’m getting old, just like my mother. It’s scary to think that I’ll go through what she endured. I’ve had offers. First one came when I was twelve when a neighbor came to talk to my grandmother about her fifteen-year-old child. I’m glad my grandmother declined. I was always terrified of them. I could see in their eyes something lurking. My fear was well justified. A few years ago they killed their spouse brutally and were sent to prison for the rest of their life. I can see the same darkness looming over the surviving children, taken care of by their grandmother. I am ever more hesitant of dating and marrying. I despise the idea of being forced to marry just to experience affection. And I have heard the horror stories, many like my neighbor’s child. The risk is high to be abused or even killed by your spouse, the law not preventing any of this. None of the higher ups care.
Yet, after my grandmother passed, I have been craving for a touch more than the gloved hand of the doctor. “Will I ever know the caress of another again?” was a reoccurring thought as I let down yet another wishing to marry me.
***
My boss is once again hovering over my workstation. I know what they want, but I keep dodging the inevitable. It pains me to know I’ll have to leave this workplace soon. I’ve been in and out of places ever since coming back from university. I’m seen as the odd one out, yet anyone who has an unmarried sibling, cousin or friend wants to make my acquaintance. Once the cat is out the bag, it’s impossible to force it back in. So, I move on. That’s the easy option. But I’m running out of workplaces in this town. “Well, good morning to you! Once again the first one here!” I smile at my boss but provide no answer. It’s not needed.
***
I’m collecting my belongings from my workstation. I curse my luck - only a few months more and I would’ve had saved enough money to move away, to a place with opportunities, just like my mom had. Now to start the process all over. My colleagues avoid my eyes as I walk past them, but I can feel them on my back; hushed whispering behind me confirming that this is the right choice for me. I probably could have stayed a few weeks longer, but this is for the better. Safer. I fight back the tears. I promised myself a long time ago to be strong, to not show them any weakness. I lift my chin up and walk out to the crisp autumn air.
***
My friend from university called me the other day. They are in a similar situation to mine, and our weekly talks have become the single thing keeping me sane. But now everything seems to have shifted. I am at a loss. They had a proposition for me, to keep us both safe. I don’t know what to do. They told me they’d be willing to move here and start their life over. We’d both be making a sacrifice and conforming to what society wants. Can I marry them? They’d keep me safe and never hurt me. At least that’s what they promised over the phone. What if I’m the one to do the damage. What if there’s a monster living inside me? The eyes of my neighbor’s children flash in front of mine. But I am tempted. I could keep a job and we could travel. I could feel the warmth of an embrace once again.
***
I open my eyes slowly. Everything hurts, and I can taste iron. What a mistake I’ve made. My ears are ringing, and every breath is a chore. But I’m still alive. I roll over to my belly to crawl towards my phone. I remember placing it on my coffee table a little while back. How long was I out? Must be more than a few minutes as the house is empty. Looking around I can tell everything has been staged to look like a robbery. Every movement I make intensifies the pain, but I must keep going. I drag myself up, the couch providing helpful leverage. The ringing intensifies, can I even make a phone call? I sit there for what feels like an eternity, feeling my body to find out what seems to be broken and what intact. I know who did this but that won’t help me now. Slowly I regain my hearing and pick up the phone. The first call is for paramedics to come and help me. The person on the other end seems cold and disinterested as they hear my circumstances. Alas they agree to send help. I smile a bitter smile as I dial the other number. I’m worried they won’t answer as I hear one peep after another. Finally, their voice is clear as day on the other end. Through my tears I tell them yes, I want to marry them.
Photo by Sini Pesonen.
