Lonesome Paradise

There is a shiny thing floating in the community pool. Sydney spies it from the balcony of her third-floor luxury apartment building.

The place is spacious with natural lighting for plants. She has a cat, Fluffy, who meows “Pay attention to meeee” and rubs against her leg. That’s the extent of their conversations, and Sydney tells herself it’s enough.

Downstairs she plucks the shiny thing from the heated pool. It’s a heart-shaped locket. Inside is a picture of a young woman. Sydney blushes—the woman is beautiful; her face resembles the bust of Nefertiti.

Sydney does a slow twirl, looking upon the other buildings to see if anyone resembling this face is around or seems to be missing this locket, this face. The complex is quiet save for the birds chirping about the tree canopies and her cat meowing at her from above.

It is a temperate day, like most. The sun is haloed by thin clouds and the horizon is offset by snow-capped mountains.

Figuring she’d keep an eye out for folks who may be looking for their lost locket, she pockets it and returns to her balcony.

The day wears on and hardly a soul swims below. None seem to have lost anything. No one has want of anything, and life is perfect.

At some point, the locket makes it way to Sydney’s neck, and she convinces herself she’ll take it off, later.

Who is this person with a striking face? More importantly, who is the lucky one who loves the person with this face?

It is the future, and the future has reverted to the past because nostalgia is better than sadness. Analog is better than digital. Sunshine is better than rain. White lies better than dark truths.

Syndey has lived in apartment 444 her entire adult life, frankly longer than she’d like to admit. She was assigned this abode in this remote hamlet because her heart beat a little too fast in the lie detector test when she was shown a picture of her childhood best friend, a girl, and asked to describe how she felt.

But she tells herself she’s happy; she has plants and a cat after all.

There is no such thing as gay or lesbian or bisexual in the future. There are only the family-readies and the loners. Sydney is a loner. Her former best friend, Charlotte, is now a mother with a husband and a dog and a yard and privileges. She can take trips across the country with other couples or her extended family or her friends, all wives and mothers themselves.

Sydney is confined to her apartment complex and the sleepy hamlet for Tuesday errands. But it’s okay because there’s a heated pool and a gym and community center where she lives. And the town baker is a nice, portly man who gives her a sweet pastry on the house every once in a while.

On Fridays, she’s allowed community time from four to six in the evening, though she doesn’t always attend. The people in her community are frankly a little too cheerful for her taste. A good amount of contentedness is what she has with her plants and Fluffy, the kind that isn’t over-the-top but settled in its own familiarity. Besides, the ones who are too outwardly gleeful usually have something to prove. They’re the truly sad sacks who end up doing something terrible to themselves, or worse—they’re whisked away in the night by the authorities, never to be seen or heard from again. No way will that happen to Sydney. She keeps a steady level. It’s better that way.

She places her hand upon the locket and squeezes. It’s comforting to wear, and she hopes no one will miss or return for it.

The sun sets and the darkness comes quickly. It’s her favorite time because the stars and moon shimmer, and she keeps track of the shooting stars in a log. Tonight she counts fourteen before eventually trailing off to bed with Fluffy snuggling next to her, purring.

At dawn, Syndey rises and makes coffee with a percolator before settling once again on the balcony with the state newspaper. She flips to the funnies and prepares to tackle the crossword puzzle but sees someone sitting glumly with their feet in the pool. It appears the person, a woman, is looking for something without trying to make it seem obvious. It’s evident to Sydney because she people watches all day and is wearing the thing the person is likely looking for.

Sydney considers ignoring the woman (finders, keepers), but eventually relents. Rather than shouting from the balcony, she descends the three stories and hovers over the woman.

“Hello, are you looking for something?” Sydney says with a cordial air to her breathy voice, the kind that isn’t used as often as it should.

The woman recoils; her face betrays something between sadness and skepticism. She tries to smile but Sydney has already detected her folly.

“Don’t worry,” Sydney tries to assure the woman. “I’m a friend. Why don’t you come upstairs for some coffee?”

“Are you sure? Isn’t that a little dangerous?” The woman replies.

“Only if we’re doing something wrong. Which we’re not.” Sydney winks. She convinces herself it’s the truth.

The woman follows Sydney to her apartment and Sydney fixes her a coffee. They exchange pleasantries, and Sydney notes that she hasn’t seen the woman around before.

“I just moved here a week ago,” the woman said.

There’re bags under the woman’s eyes, and Sydney wonders if she’s been crying. She doesn’t ask of course. Instead she asks the woman’s name. It’s Belinda, and Sydney wants to say that’s a pretty name for a pretty lady but doesn’t.

Sydney goes to the kitchen and pulls the locket from the drawer. She had taken it off her neck and put it there before approaching Belinda. She wants Belinda to think the locket is of no consequence to her.

Belinda inhales deeply and her eyes water. “Yes. That’s mine. I thought I lost it forever.” She takes it from Sydney and looks upon the visage inside before fashioning it to her neck and tucking it under her shirt.

Sydney’s curiosity gets the better of her manners and she asks: “Who is that woman? The one in the locket.”

Belinda blushes. “It’s no one… I can talk about anyway.”

“Oh, okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose.”

“No, it’s fine. I—please don’t tell anyone.”

“I promise you, I won’t.” Sydney is proud to keep a secret. It’s been so long since someone else needed her trust.

“Thank you.” Belinda relaxes onto the couch and smiles for the first time since they met. Sydney is taken aback; it seems genuine.

They chat through late morning and into the early afternoon. Time dissolves as they enjoy each other’s company. Fluffy has even made a seat of Belinda’s lap.

When Belinda finally leaves, she asks Sydney if she’s going to the community center on Friday. Sydney says yes. Wouldn’t miss it.

In Belinda’s absence, Sydney isn’t sure how to feel. She has a new friend, and it’s disrupting the façade of her contentment. Despite this, she waits with bated breath for Friday.

The day and time finally arrive, and Sydney wears light makeup but not too much to make it noticeable she’s waiting for anyone. One by one, loners with their wide grins arrive. It’s getting to be five o’clock, and no sign of Belinda. Sydney overhears that sometime during the week the authorities took a community member in the night. The person regaling this story is smiling, and Sydney feels sick.

She leaves the gathering early, beelining it to her apartment. Her stomach percolates. The poor, reckless girl, she laments. But why had no one knocked on her door?

Before disappearing into her own world one and for all, she hears a familiar voice from behind.

“Leaving so soon?”

Sydney’s heart pulses against her chest and she tries to contain herself before turning around. Belinda.

“No, I was just going to grab something. But I guess I don’t need it.”

“Sorry I’m late. I was debating whether I should go at all. Some of those people give me the creepies,” says Belinda.

Sydney smiles but this one happens without her control. In fact, she can’t stop smiling. She motions toward the community center. “Shall we?”

“I’d like that very much.”

“Me too.”