What Happens After Dark

Today is the 20th Anniversary of when we finally found peace in our world. It's not something we celebrate. Simply, something we acknowledge. I'm tying my shoes while uncle Red tells me in a low voice: “Ya know, Jill, your daddy was involved in that dispute all those years back.” Red has a toothpick between his massive buck teeth. “Oh, hun, don’t listen to him. We don’t need to be talkin’ much about the past.” Aunt Pat waves off my silly uncle and continues to chop carrots for the stew. “Aunt it’s alright if I head to town tonight, right? I want to say hi to Billy.” Billy has been one of my greatest friends from a young age. His long red hair is what he’s known for at Study.

“Oh, curfew is in 15 minutes. Hurry please!” She calls after me, the sound of chopping quickly following. I'm already running out the door, tugging my jacket on. The little kids voices echo through the essentially empty abyss we call home. The screen door slams loudly behind me as I shove my hand in my pocket to twiddle with that small piece of jewelry.

“Hi, Jill! How’s your Aunt doin’?” Mary, our neighbor, asks, focusing on tending to her tulips. “Oh, she’s doin’ pretty great. As a matter of fact, she was just talking about scheduling a get together and told me to invite you and your son.” My perfectly manicured nails dig into my skin as nerves start invading my thoughts. I’ve never admitted this but I’ve found quite a liking to her son, Gideon. I’d never want to make Mary feel any negative way towards me. After all, the mother’s are to decide who their sons shall marry. “Oh my goodness,” Mary cups a hand to her heart. “Dear, that sounds absolutely amazing! Tell her to come by to give me more information tomorrow, alright, kiddo?”

Ah, damn, she just called me kiddo. I plaster my very large and alluring smile on and nod. “Of course, well I have to head to town before curfew so we’ll talk soon.” I quickly hurry to avoid any further interaction with the women that most intimidates me. “Hey, wait up! Ma, can I go with her? I have something to pick up at the grocery store.” A very familiar, very boy voice yells from inside their household. Mary keeps her eyes on the tulips but—I might be hallucinating—she grimaces. I shake it off and tell myself I’m imagining things. “Of course, honey! Get back before it gets too dark!” Gideon doesn’t have to worry about curfew because he’s of age. I have one measly year left!

The sun is slowly going down and making everything a beautiful shade of yellow so when Gid runs out of the door, his beautiful brown, messy hair lights up as if a crown is atop his head. My stomach flutters but I remember I’m still around people so I have to act appropriate. “Okay, see you soon, Ma.” Then we’re on our way.

As we head down the street, silence falls between us. Every girl in Study has found somewhat of the same conclusion I found. Gideon Robins is both kind and smart and his looks don’t hurt. I’m too nervous to go anywhere near him unless we’re alone or he comes near me first. “So . . .” I start, clearing my throat. I anxiously tug at the piece of jewelry in my pocket. If a guard ever noticed what I am touching, I’d- Yeah, no, I don’t want to go there.

“Did you ever figure out that equation from Mathematics today?” He turns to me with a smile on his face that doesn't quite reaching his eyes. “No, have you?” He asks as we turn into an alleyway. This place has always given me a bit of the creeps. Dirty animals hide in boxes and trash over in this area. Red once told me that there used to be people who lived on the streets. Yeah, right. That’s ridiculous considering we all have perfect housing now.

A line from a textbook in Living Stages, comes back to me, When female is matched with male, by male’s mother, they will receive an official paper. That paper will read out the following: location of home, future childrens’ Study, and HomeMate. If any of the above is reported negatively, we, your fellow leaders, will find a more suitable location for the near future.

It’s such a perfect arrangement that it seems almost Impractical any other way. We walk through the alleyway, staring up at the perfectly white-painted walls. I can see the painting slowly chipping, revealing unreadable words.

“No, not yet. I’m heading to Billy’s right now actually. If you want, you can come and we’ll all figure it out . . . together.” I add the last part shyly. Looking at my toes, I listen for any reply. He doesn’t need to know how much I’d kill for him to talk to me more and more. Have I mentioned his appearance yet? He’s around 5’8—me at 5’4 finds that tall—brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin, and straight teeth—thank goodness for braces, am I right?

Finally, from a lack of words on his part, I look up, confused. He’s staring right above my head, almost scared. My heart plummets, of course he’d find it awkward to decline my offer. I start to say, “It’s cool, no wor-“ But he pushes me into a corner of the street, in the dark. “What time is it, J?” He asks, quick and breathy. His arm is against my shoulder, he’s standing almost protectively. “Um, it’s um, let me check,” My wrist shakily comes to my eye level and the watch reads 8:12. Eight fucking twelve. Forgive me for my language but . . . what? “Oh my goodness, oh no! We just left. How is it already past curfew!” I whisper-shout. He cups a hand over my mouth before turning in the opposite direction, hand staying in place.

Then, I feel something, something sharp. The wind. The wind speeding up. The wind is speeding up right along with my heart. Then I realize the sharpness getting stronger. Turning to look, I see a chunk of glass weeding its way in my arm. A piece of glass….

From where?

The cold air helps me feel a cold liquid flow gently down towards my wrist. I was cut.

What is going on?

“I need you to stay here. Alright? Do not move. I’ll come back for you.” Gideon’s words are all over the place. He’s panicking, I realize, and it freaks me out even more. “Gideon, I want to go home.” I whisper, tears forming in my eyes. “I’m going to tell you this for your own good, alright?” I nod my head rapidly even though I can’t feel the gesture. “Lately theres been random—odd—stuff happening. Like creepy people coming out at night and stuff. I came down here to keep you protected because, well, I wasn’t sure if the odd stuff has stopped or not. Apparently . . . it hasn’t. They want to fix us. They want us fixed before it happens. I need you to know that they’re wrong. You ne-“ But his words get cut off from a loud, sharp scream,

“EVERYBODY GET INSIDE!”

It’s a man. He looks almost dead. He’s wearing a t-shirt that looks like it once was white but is now almost yellow. His pants are torn at the calves and he’s running down the street. Running away?

“Stay here, I’m getting my Gram. She works in one of these stores.” Then he’s gone. Just like that. My back burns as I slide down into the furthest, darkest corner in this alley.

I want to go home I want to go home IwanttogohomeIwanttogohomeIwanttogohome

My arm aches from the pain of the glass still inside, digging farther and farther. I try to examine the gash but the sun is already down. The lights are already turning off in everybody’s homes. Then I remember a fun fact Red told me last Spring.

“Hun, I just found somethin’ pretty darn funky out today at the dentist.” He’d said. “What was it?” I’d chuckled, still embroidering something onto my jeans. “Guards all head out for duty around 8:30. Ain’t that stupid? I think that’s stupid. Curfew starts at 8, they need to learn the concept of time.”

At the time, I just brushed it off as my silly uncles antics but he’s right. The guards are dumb. Something bad can happen and nobody would know because guards aren’t around for those thirty minutes. I pull out the necklace from my pocket and place it into my palm. Then, I pray.

Yes, pray. Momma once told me that there’s this special thing called: Religion. She told me this before she sent me off to live with my daddy’s brother. She taught me how to pray. But that I should never do it if there is somebody watching. She said it’s a form of hope in this evil world. Most of those words have been forbidden and put into the impractical section in textbooks but I believe/believed every last word she told me that day.

“Lord, I pray to you to ask for help. I’m not sure what is goin’ on but let me go home.” I whisper this over and over again until my heart calms down. There are so many footsteps and so many yelps all around me. But nobody sees me. Nobody even bothers looking in my direction. Then two men stand so close, I can smell their musky scents. “This ain’t gon’ get their ‘tention. Told you we need some lot bigger.” Man number one exclaims. “We don’t need no one’s attention. We do this to distract. Arnie, you know this.” Man number two explains.

I’m so lost. Confused.

How did it go from me casually walking through an alleyway to me hiding in a dark corner listening to screams?

“Just a few more minutes. Then we’ll find that goddamn necklace.”

My heart just dropped. I look around to pick it up but I can’t find it. No pulse left to find.

Why do they need a necklace?

"No Homeless" My thoughts scream.

"All Equals" Another thought

"THE OTHER SIDE" Another

"Equals" and on

"Equals" and on


"Equals" and on

"We are all equals"

"Other side"

Then it clicks.

Red’s words from earlier crash into my brain like a loud and horrific wave

“Ya know, Jill, your daddy was involved in that dispute all those years back”

Then Momma’s words fill my thoughts

“Daddy believed in god. D’you know that?”

Daddy gave me this necklace. Daddy believed in God. Daddy wasn’t just involved in the dispute to peace. But the reason. This is a necklace that's shaped as a heart. Fumbling with the heart, I pry the rusty thing open. Sure enough, there’s a paper.

It’s rolled quite small and its edges look almost burned.

As if salvaged at the last moment.

Unrolling the paper, I quickly glance up to make sure nobody has seen me.

I’m no longer alive,

Nor dead

Perhaps . . .

Alone?

Is all it reads.

These words look so foreign. Nothing comes to mind about where it came from. But I have a clue. This must be the key to something bigger than any of us. Bigger than me.

I feel it’s not the words themselves that are so important but the actual paper itself.

Are they trying to find my dad?

Is he the answer to everybody’s questions?

Everything goes eerily quiet. it's 8:30. I assume it’s safe to head home. My mind can no longer process any more information. The walls have been scratched of their paint. Words like answers, God, and hope, stand out, proudly, now.

The next morning.

The walls are painted that perfect shade of white again.