Middle Ground (18 page)

I shook my head at the computer schedule considered a life. “I don’t think so,” I stated. I stood up and paced around the room. I brainstormed my own schedule out loud, and the wall screen illuminated my words.

I told the computer program I was done, and a small hourglass filled the screen. I drummed my fingers on my sides and waited.

My host snapped back on, his perfect features looking befuddled, his mouth in a frown. “I’m sorry,” he said. “None of your requests meets the program options. Please try again. Or consider the following revised version with our suggestions.”

I declined the schedule option. I skipped ahead to the second step of the program. Maybe I’d have better luck with this one.

A new host greeted me, this time a girl about my age with long black hair that fell to her waist. She had red glitter highlights and waved her hands while she talked. Her neon-rainbow nail polish made me dizzy.

“Welcome to the LADC Rebrand Yourself section of the program,” she said with a wide smile. “The following steps will allow you to create the life that you want. You were sent here because you were confused about your identity. We can help with that!” She said this easily, like helping me find my true identity, my soul’s purpose in this world, was as simple as measuring my feet to find my shoe size.

She tossed her hair to one side and waved her hand over the screen. The Earth appeared again, floating far away from her outstretched arm.

“This system is meant to help you re-acclimate yourself to the real world,” she said, pointing to the distant blue and green planet. The screen zoomed in on the image slowly, and the Earth drew closer and its continents came into view. The screen continued to zoom until all I could see was the United States, and the image kept narrowing in until it fell on a single house and, finally, on a single girl sitting behind a wall screen.

The host looked at me and clasped her hands behind her back. “First, who are you? What do you enjoy doing? What defines you? How do you want others to perceive you? We’ve made it easy to discover yourself in the following four steps. When you’re ready, say ‘Begin’ to start the process!”

Words popped up on the screen.
Step One: Re-create Yourself!

“Begin,” I said.

“Fill out the following questionnaire,” the girl instructed me. “Your answers will be pooled with other contacts’ to help recommend your future friends.”

Her doe eyes peered into mine like she could really see me. “This is your moment to shine. Who do you want to be? Close your eyes and visualize that person. Are you edgy, clean-cut, professional, alternative? Now build yourself one step at a time. You are the architect of your own destiny. Draw your outline and step inside.”

“That was very moving,” I said.

I began the questionnaire. There were only twenty-nine questions. I stared at the document before I started. That was it? Answering twenty-nine questions could define me? I wondered if the answers to twenty-nine questions could even describe this room, let alone the complexity of a person. Or maybe people weren’t that complex anymore. Maybe technology was making us so full we were empty.

I hurried through the questions and submitted the list.

“Good,” the girl said. “Now go to the About Me step and fill out the ten profile-building questions. You will be able to finish your online identity in just a few minutes. Remember, you can go back and edit your identity at any time. Try it out!”

I opened the About Me file and filled out ten basic profile questions. I played with responses. I said I was Amish. I said I was sexually confused. I said I was four foot eleven, I was a harpist, and I enjoyed dog grooming. I said my favorite food was raw eggs over mushrooms, and what I looked for in a friend was someone who could drive a dirt bike and fight like a ninja. I said I was interested in communism and free love. I hit Submit.

“Perfect!” she congratulated me. “Now we can move on to step two.”

“Fantastic,” I replied.

Words illuminated the screen.
Step Two: Reconnect!

“Instantly make lifelong contacts that meet your interests. Are you ready to begin socializing?” she asked with an adventurous grin.

“Absolutely,” I said to the screen. I blinked and within two seconds my host was back with a report.

She informed me she’d found 4,682 contacts that matched my profile answers. “Would you like to meet them?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. A list filled the room. It spanned every inch of wall space. Letters, words, and names climbed around me. It looked like a sequence code, like a bizarre strand of digital DNA. But there was nothing human about it.

These were my new friends.

“Show,” I said. The list disappeared and in its place popped up thousands of profile pictures. It was a stadium of faces blinking back at me, some smiling, some laughing, and some straight-faced and serious. I could enlarge any photo I wanted by pointing at it. I could read up on people’s profile answers, their background and histories. I surveyed the room. The contacts were mostly young, about my age. They covered every style, ethnicity, and culture. I instantly had a wide range of friends. It was a virtual melting pot of diversity.

“Continue to step three?” she asked.

I was starting to lose my sense of humor. My lips pressed together. I’d been put through months of brainwashing to prepare me for this? They’d dumbed me down so I was clueless enough to think this was living?

“Begin,” I said.

Step Three: Advertise the New You!

“It’s time to market yourself,” my host informed me. “People are like products.You need to put yourself on the shelf if you want others to see you. But first, make yourself stand out. Advertise! Build a slogan of the new you to attract friends, colleagues, contacts, and partners.”

This was the design portion of the registration process. Time to build my image. I used FacePaint, a program that allowed you to digitally enhance your features. I chose a picture from my records taken about a year and a half ago, me sitting in the backyard with Baley. I cropped the photo and enlarged myself. I added blemishes to my skin and fat rolls to my neck and arms. I gave my hair streaks of gray. I squeezed my body down until I was half my height. I moved my eyes closer together and added an inch of length to my nose. I stained a few of my teeth brown and added blotches of dirt stains to my shirt. I turned my smile into a snarl. I tattooed a smashed beer can on my biceps. I played with Baley’s image until it looked like I had my arm around a pig squatting next to me. When I finished I added the picture to my registration and let out a satisfied laugh.

Step Four: Get Connected!

A giant Submit button flashed on the screen. Now that I was rebranded, it was time to get back into the digital world. Time to hang up the advertisement.

“Submit,” I said. I was plugged back in. Instantly, I was bombarded with invites, advertisements, chat requests, parties, study groups, volunteer opportunities, internships, and workout classes. This simulated version even told me I had a date request. How thoughtful.

I blinked at the screen and couldn’t believe it. It would take me a week to respond to all this feedback. And, I figured, that was the point. It could take a lifetime to weed through all of the people and contacts I was making, the videos to watch, the music to listen to, the movies to catch up on, the online shopping to try. I could dedicate all my time to this life. No one could hurt me in this existence. I was another girl in the bubble.

It was a utopia. So why did it feel so hollow?

The door buzzed open and my heart knocked against my chest. Only an hour had passed, and I hadn’t hit the Complete button. I tried deleting the screen, but it wouldn’t clear any of my comments. Dr. Stevenson’s heels clicked loudly through the door. Then the shoes stopped. I turned and saw her staring at the screen. Her eyes scanned my schedule glumly. She glared at my interview questions and tightened her lips at my design photo. There wasn’t a trace of humor in her face.

She looked at me for an explanation.

“I thought this was just a practice run,” I told her, and started to chew my nails.

“Do you find our methods funny?”

I didn’t answer her. Instead, I looked back at the wall screen, where my answer was obvious. Her eyes flashed with anger, and my confidence was kicked down. I realized what a huge mistake I’d made. The past hour had been more of a test than a registration process.

“It was just a joke,” I said. “Is it a crime to have a sense of humor?”

“Why do you go out of your way to mock the system?”

I shot her a look. “Why do you go out of your way to brainwash anyone that disagrees with the system? People aren’t programmable. Someone will always fight back,” I said.

“There’s no point, Madeline. You’re shooting at a bulletproof target. What’s right and what’s best wins in the end.”

I nodded because this was the one point we agreed on.

She looked at the screen and back to me. “I’m scheduling you for two treatment sessions a week for four more weeks. We’ll also suspend your online programs. You obviously aren’t ready for society yet.”

My body tensed from my neck all the way to my toes. “I’ve been here for months. I thought I was done with the treatment.”

“You like to think you give the orders around here. Obviously, we haven’t gotten through to you. Yet. But don’t worry, Madeline. We have a hundred percent success rate at the LADC. No one gets out of here without being cured. I’ll simply have to make you my personal case study.”

I woke up and could feel my thoughts traveling through my head. They moved like water down a riverbed. They lingered in some spots and sped quickly past others. They played in circles at my temples. They flooded over the banks of my brain.

My eyes fluttered and started to open. Something was different. I felt like I was lying inside a cloud, warm and soft and weightless. There were no nightmares. No cold sweats. But still, there was friction. An energy field surrounded me, pulling me in and holding me tight. A touch as warm as sunlight traced my eyebrows. And then there was a voice.

“It’s me,” he said. Then I realized the movement I felt was his fingers lightly tracing across my forehead. They were his fingers orchestrating my jagged mind into a calm canyon. We sat at the opening of the subway tunnel. He had his back against the wall, and I was using his body like a deep armchair.

“How long have we been here?” I asked.

“You fell asleep and it started raining so I moved us in here,” he said. I nodded lazily. Justin knew I was going through more treatments and it was starting to drain me. He tucked me tighter in his arms. I could feel his chest rising and sinking. He whispered in my ear. “I probably should have brought you back to the basement, but I wasn’t ready to give you up.”

His voice was so solid, I could lean on it. I wanted to turn him on at night and listen to him while I fell asleep. I wanted to sit him next to my bed so I had his face to wake up to every morning. I imagined someday I’d have that. We’d be together. Life could be different. Sometimes the only way to get through the present is to focus on the future.

It was pouring rain outside. Rain dripped off the mouth of the tunnel and dove into the ground. Drops caught the reflection of streetlights in the background and pulled light down like golden ribbons. Water pooled in a tiny lake in front of us. Rain punched the lake into a thousand tiny potholes. Everything tapped and splashed like drummers on parade. Justin held my hand and I limply held his back. I stared at the symphony outside. It was liquid fireworks.

I took a long, contented breath. “It’s beautiful,” I said.

He buried his lips in my hair and I didn’t flinch from the contact. My thoughts felt like clouds, slowly gathering up only to drift away. I had to train my thoughts and force them to connect. He squeezed my hand and it brought me back. I told Justin I used to think water had magical powers.

“My grandma used to take me on walks when I was little,” I said. My voice felt far away but I followed after it, determined to keep up with it. “We hiked along the Willamette River. I used to spend hours looking at rocks. I was amazed how beautiful they looked underwater; all their colors were magnified and polished. I spent whole afternoons collecting them. But as soon as they dried, they lost their luster. They just looked drab and dusty and pale. After that, I always thought water was magical, that it could make anything beautiful. I believed water could bring out the best in people. It’s hard for me not to be happy around it. Anything that can make a dull rock look like a jewel has to be pretty powerful.”