Virago

Virago

I read it on a billboard first. I remember twisting my neck as the subway sped by to catch the message again. My thoughts were frozen in this moment of bewilderment. Had it really said what I thought it did?

"Men are No Longer Needed to Procreate."

The subway car bumping along in a methodical, army-like rhythm. The words of the billboard slowly processing in my head as the train disappeared into a tunnel and the lights flickered on and off, as the stale smell of the underground blew through the car. I looked down the aisle and met the eyes of other men.

Like time paused as we took a moment to settle our collective confusion.

What did this mean? Was it even true?

A quick google search, and there it was in the most prominent newspapers and scientific papers. Women could make babies without us.

Dinner that night, my daughter, Amy, alight in excitement. The news had spread through high school quickly, and she was giddy with the prospect of a shift in the accepted power the boys had over the girls in her school. The same boys who had cultured an environment of fear, embarrassment, and power control. She oozed in the hope that all the dumb, sexist, old-school crap of secondary education would cease to exist.

I kept my mouth shut. It was true it needed to end. I was uncertain that this would end it, though.

"Mom," she paused, beaming at my wife as she stabbed the beets in her salad one by one, shoving them in her mouth and munching, eyes bright with potential opportunity. "Do you think we'll start a global movement? A protest. Against misogynism?"

My wife balked, and then snorted, and then laughed, before leaning back in her chair and staring at our child. Our only child.

Amy was frustrated. Angry. Funny.Wise.

Would that happen?

I woke the following day to find Amy huddled over her social media, wildly cheering the protests popping up worldwide.

And then it happened. Years of victimization and inequality fueled a few brilliant minds to create a silent worldwide war. They nicknamed themselves Virago and challenged the world with such grace and intellect. We watched from the sidelines in awe. What could conquer mankind? Most men didn't realize they were being confronted at all. It took the world months to understand what was going on. And by then, it was far too late.

It was so simple. Flattery. Old fashioned flirtation. Brilliant really.

Carefully chosen words, with slow blinks and teasing gestures. Strategic clothing and perfectly placed and rehearsed giggles and sighs. Never did they cross the line to any physical contact. It was just the suggestion of such that afforded them power.

They had been watching men for years and knew precisely how to deceive. So quickly, they dominated. They gained trust and connections with the most influential men in the world, and then slowly and methodically, with blackmail and the power of social media, overwhelmed them. First, world leaders gave them access to the military, and then they tackled gun and weapon manufacturers, corporations, government systems, and then the police.

Checked them off one by one.

It's humiliating to think of how quickly they dominated. They used men's weaknesses and the very things that they despised about us, against us.

Of course, the Virago didn't hate us all. They looked for emotional intelligence. They looked for validation. For words of sympathy. For agreement. For empathetic restitution. For promises of learning or of betterment. There were plenty of men on their side now too.

Their ideal world was one without sexism, not one without sexes.

Nevertheless, men retreated by the thousands, out of the suburbs and cities, outraged that their privileges were no longer valid. Many of us didn't have the opportunity to declare our side in the matter. We were terrified and unsure of what to do.

One night, with my wife and a glass of wine, watching fireflies in the yard, we decided it safest if I should go. I would join the masses of men, but not fight when the Virago arrived. We brainstormed ways to prove myself to them. How might I let them know what my morals were?

Amy appeared at the back door and apologized for listening in. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but bravery and pride still shining through. "Keep this," she said, handing me the heart-shaped locket I gave her for grade eight grad. Her fingers carefully locking it. "Let them open it. The words inside will save you."

So proud of the brilliance of a fifteen-year-old. I remember smiling at her, wanting to say something, but unsure of the right words.

Then she said it. The words I used to say to her before competitions or tests. Before anything where she would turn and show apprehension. "Fear is only for those who have a reason for it." Her words hung in the air, tears squeezing through the corners of my eyes. "You have no reason to be afraid."

***

The men had built a fortress just outside a massive cave system hundreds of miles into the desert. Brute force and blockades were their strategies. I tried to gather up like-minded people to suggest a truce, to recommend sitting down and talking with the Virago, but they were enraged and offended that this could even happen to them. Convinced that no one, especially women, would ever dominate them. Women were to be hated and despised. Full stop.

I devised a new plan that removed myself from them. At night I would go into the caves, trying new routes to find a place to hide. I made maps by candlelight, trying different caverns, squeezing through the smallest spaces to find a place to hide. Sometimes I struggled to dead ends. Other times, surprised by underground lakes. A few times lost and I thought I would die. I would explore the caves at night, sleep for four to five hours at dawn, and then I'd go to help with the fortress again, just to not bring attention to myself. I'd lie low, offering help to the masses, all while devising a plan to isolate from them. Back into the caverns to explore, but always using my little candle and map to find my way out.

I climbed out of my sleeping bag at midnight and sat on the hilltop staring out beyond the wall, marveling at the vast magnificence of the Milky Way.

I saw them. First, a few lights. And then thousands behind. They were here, and we were completely outnumbered. I needed to move. My hand quickly to my pocket, a small candle, my map, matches, and my lifeline; the locket. My fingers tracing around it and the pride I felt when I imagined reuniting with my daughter and celebrating her wit.

First, it was the whooshing of the lit match, and then the fluttering of shadows on the wall as the flame settled and calmed on the candle. The cavern was small, space enough for 10 people, I guessed. I stood, my breath creating puffs of fog ahead of me, my skin, prickling into goosebumps as I slowed down and settled in. I looked to the corner where I had been many times and saw the things I had left behind. Some water. Some food. A blanket. An inflatable pillow.

The silences were brutal. The Virago had breached the wall, and it was only a matter of time before they had all of us. Silences told me nothing of what was happening out there. Where were they? Silences only let my imagination bleed to what might happen next. What might happen to me? Deep in the cave system, I heard them for days. I listened to the pleas of men ricocheting off the walls of the long narrow caverns. Voices still so far away that I knew I time to rehearse what I would say and do, but far enough away that I knew the hours it took them to find me would bury my thoughts deeper in panic.? Sometimes it was whispers, the voices bouncing off the walls becoming a long murmur of sounds. I could never make out the words they spoke. Hoping to save my candle, I spent most of my time in complete darkness, spinning in a vertigo of dizziness and fear. I pulled out the locket and turned it in my hand.

Memories of my family and a choking fear of never seeing them again. Yet, the same thoughts pushed me to remain vigilant. I curled myself as small as I could and hoped darkness and silence would save me.

"Hey, Sunshine," I sat up, hitting my head against the rock of the wall, eyes open and squinting from the bright lights around me. Four Virago in front of me, equipped with high-powered lights all shining upon me. "Welcome to the spotlight."

Laughter.

I squirmed, pushing my feet underneath me, trying to move but with nowhere to go. My eyes skipping from one to another. They all had guns, but no one had them in their hands. No one looked threatening. It was not at all what I expected.

"I'm not here to fight," my voice but a vibrating whisper.

"Yeah, see, that's what they've all said," a voice from the back, behind them.

There were far more here than I could see. Maybe the fighters stayed a bit behind. Maybe the Virago I feared were not in sight.

Yet.

I leaned over to see if I could catch a glimpse of what there. My throat tightened, my heart pounding through my ears. "But I'm not one of them."

A laugh from another, "Says the man who helped build a wall, then hid in the depths of the cave system."

"Prove it," the First One whispered.

I reached to my pocket, and instantly guns were pointing my way. I froze, breath panicked. "In my pocket. I have a locket."

"He's a poet!" A voice from the back. Bursts of laughter again.

I tried to show patience too. To remain calm, although my heartbeat thundered in my ears. "In my pocket. From my daughter," I explained, motioning her to take it from me.

She stepped forward, gun in hand, and leaned down, eyes fixed on mine. Gun at my temple she pulled the locket and had it in her hand.

I watched the light flicker in her pupils. I closed my eyes, counting hoping that this would not be an end.

Then memories. Raspberry lip balm, flip flops, and footballs. Messy buns and debates about the news. Silly dances. Sushi. Election discussions. Sugar donuts and politics. Campfires. Skateboarding. I thought back to the night I left. "Fear is only for those who have a reason for it."

And then the voice of the First One, reading the encryption from the locket, out loud.

"To Amy. Show those boys. Be a force to be reckoned with. ~ love Dad."

by: Nina Waddington