Heart Felt

The muggy gusts of air brought the smell of swampy decay from the closest fermentation station. Mixed with the acrid fumes from the incinerator stack, it melded into an acidic soot, which burned the eyes and tasted of rust. Mother would tie scarves around our faces to cover our noses and mouths on the incinerator days. It helped suppress the coughing attacks from breathing the air. Four blocks to the Block 6 youth center where I would train to become an incinerator or fermentation laborer.

“Not too fast Jacob!” Mother said, as we made our way down the street. At the age of 10, I had to remember that walking too fast could draw attention to us. No one wanted attention from the Authority guards that were ever present on the ground level. “Remember, keep a slow pace to conserve energy and not draw attention” she said under her breath for only my ears. I minded Mother’s words. While no one was within 10 feet of them on the path from the Youth training center to their apartment in Block 6, they were wise words for a son to follow.

Block 6 was made up of 4 separate 100 story underground bunkers. The first story was the ground level entrance where inhabitants entered and exited the bunker and the monthly supply drops were doled out to each family according to their work rank and size. Its utilitarian appearance was consistent with what one would expect to see from a public works building of the 21st century.

Every day that I had ever seen, the earth was covered in a thick layer of clouds. The Academy said they were working on restoring clear skies and they hoped to expand the “clear sky zone” past the tropics. I’d never seen the sun or a clear blue sky in the sky in my 10 years. Once I had seen an old and tattered photograph of the sun, that another trainee in my previous class had snuck into the Youth Center. The Authority saw his photo on their surveillance, and they came to take him out of class for ‘restoration training’. That was three years ago. I still remembered how golden and bright the sun looked and how blue the sky appeared, nothing like the grainy particle laden sky of gray that was ever present in my existence.

That belt was reserved for the Academy and alumni of the Academy. My mother told me that the Academy had been formed shortly after the last polar ice had melted away. She said this is what her mother told her as a little girl, and so I believed such a thing had existed; although I had no idea what ice was, nor what a polar ice cap could possibly be.

The Academy was formed to gather the brightest individuals together to help find a way to restore balance to the planet. They hadn’t restored it yet, but the Authority provided weekly reports over the loudspeakers about how close they were to restoring the balance. I never saw any difference in the sky, even though I looked for it week to week after every report from the Authority. They looked the same every day, every month, every year. All I ever saw that was different were new cracks in the sidewalks, the cement chipping and cracking into rubble.

The Industrial communities, where Mother and I lived, provided power to light the algae farms. The Algae sustained the population’s food requirements. The Authority also provided weekly reports about the algae production and how this sustenance was the perfect food that the Academy had developed to sustain our bodies.

We were a solemn faced, socially depressed people that simply shuffled on day after day, with the weekly reminders that our efforts were helping the Academy restore planetary balance.

Mother and I lived 52 flights down from the ground level entrance; the lift was out of service due to power shortages, so we made our way down the dimly lit south stairway to the floor where our room was located. After finishing washing the dishes with Mother, my favorite part of the day had finally arrived. The time when Mother and I sat in the rocking chair in the corner. This corner happened to be the outside corner of the bunker, and it was the furthest point from our neighbors prying ears.

She pulled me onto her lap and smiled as she unwrapped the scarf from around her neck. Next to her skin was a heart shaped locket. She pressed me close and hugged me, the locket was pressed into my temple. After a few minutes, it seemed as if I were awakening from a slumber. My muted sense of solemness disappeared, and my childlike wonder came to life. I wanted to run and jump and show Mother how fast I was, but she would not let me go. She started telling a story of a long-ago place where people sang and danced, laughed and cried, and felt things openly. I became lost in my thoughts and was awestruck by the thought of such people. They felt openly? Wherever they were? Every day? I barely felt anything daily until Mother and I spent time in her rocking chair in the evenings. My attention was brought back from my thoughts with Mother’s question, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” “What’s a chicken?” I asked. “A type of bird like they told about at the Youth Center” she said. “Oh, ok, why did it cross the road Mother?” “To get to the other side silly!” she exclaimed with a smile so broad and genuine that it lit up her deep blue eyes. I felt warm and fuzzy as a giggle pushed past my lips. That giggle made Mother laugh, which induced me to start laughing like children of my age should. It felt so good and filled me with hope as we both fell into full belly shaking laughter. After a tickling attack which left me breathless and glowing, she kissed my forehead, and wrapped the scarf around her neck. ‘It’s time for bed now my love. In the morning this will seem like a dream; we will return to the solemness and gray of another day. Like all the days before and all the days to come outside of our room.”

I awoke confused, every morning Mother woke me by gently shaking my shoulder, but this morning I awoke on my own. I scurried up from my mat and walked to Mother’s room while rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. She was there, sleeping in her bed. I approached and shook her shoulder. It felt strangely cold and stiff, not like she had ever felt before. The skin on her face was devoid of color, she was lifeless.

I turned to leave the room to report her passing to the authority as I had been trained. On the floor between the nightstand and her bed I caught a glimpse of the heart shaped locket she hid away in the evenings. I stopped, feeling suddenly compelled to pick it up. I grasped it from the floor and pressed it to my temple. Immediately the most intense pressure squeezed my chest making me sob, I could not breathe, my eyes were blurry, and I collapsed to the ground in the agony of desperation and sadness. My only source of joy was gone, and nothing would ever bring her back. After what seemed like an eternity, the memory of Mother telling the chicken joke popped into my head, Uncontrollable laughter welled up within me and burst out of my lips, cojoined with the tears now fed by the joy of my memories. While Mother had always quieted us down during our time on the rocking chair, she was gone, and I could not hold the sorrow and joy inside. Waves of laughter echoed off the walls of her drab room.

There wasn’t even a knock on the door. I heard the door to our room creak and turned toward the noise. There was a man I had never seen standing in the doorway. He slowly looked from me to Mother’s bed. “Good night” said the man as his gaze returned to me while pointing a small device at me. Then it went dark.

“Shift’s over, Jake.” yelled the foreman from the catwalk above. Twenty-year-old Jake walked back to block 6, not tired, not hopeful, just gray as the day.