Newark-by-the-sea – where we walk free

This is a bit of an experiment, although part of a lifelong obsession with memory and stuff.



Newark-by-the-sea – where we walk free



‘That’s all I need from you, Ms Spooner. You’re free to go,’ I say. ‘Follow the white line to the reintegration window.’


‘Oh thank you,’ she says and clatters away in white sandals and a white sun-dress that licks the back of very brown knees.


They get very blinky afterwards. Blink-blink. As though you’ve just put in eye drops. You can’t help but think of them as kittens. I’ve seen this girl before too – processed for the same crime twice. According to the stats, rape – once so unusual – is on the rise. Exotic, you might say. There were experiments in the early days of course, before the act was finally passed.  Samples who were shown their files after blanking. Some were fine. Some were very definitely not.



*


My name is Audrey. Outside processing, the city is black and yellow. It’s that heat that feels like you’re indoors and the heating is whacked right up. It wets my neck and mats the fine hairs. I imagine it beading on the high-rises.


*



A rainbow of light strobes above me on the screens. The signs are also, helpfully, shaped like rainbows.


WELCOME TO NEWARK-BY-THE-SEA –


WHERE WE WALK FREE!


BALMY 32 DEGREES


CHANCE OF TIDAL SURGE …


The letters blank and a white light glows. White means safe.



*



‘I work for the government!’ I shout to the woman with hair the colour of candy-floss. Not that I should be telling anyone that. Who wants to know if you’re one of those partly responsible for blanking? Though some are supposed to like it. Like some people like these places. Like I do. Even if that’s not what I’m doing here. This is the other part of my job, my real job. Sects and sub-sects. There’s no end to them.


‘What?!’


The music sounds like a computer game. Hyper. Too-cute. The woman smells of summer and sugar.


‘The government! You?’


She has lined her eyes with red and it makes the brown look fertile. She reminds me of a pretty fox cub. I wonder if she’s ever kissed a woman. My thoughts bank immediately. Shudder to a stop. She giggles. ‘I can’t remember – I was processed today!’ She frowns, shrugs. It’s what we all do. They have inhibitors for the anxiety the blanks create.


‘It’ll settle!’ I say and look at that mouth. Pink and silver.


But you didn’t go home with someone who’d been processed that day.


I see him strobe through the frenzied dancing, through raised arms and tossed hair. His body a column, a strong dark shape. Auditor. I roll my eyes.


‘I’ll be back,’ I say.


‘Audrey Hayes?’ He intersects me before I’m barely away.


‘That’s what they say.’


‘Don’t be cute.’


‘But you have to ask yourself, officer, can I help that?’


‘Just come with me please. We’ve all got a home to get to.’



*



The diner is an escape from the heat. The chill on my body lets me rest my head back.


‘So you’re not Tony,’ I say.


‘I can see why they placed you, Ms Hayes. Peter, good to meet with you. Etcetera.’ He waves a hand, then pulls something disgusting from the corners of his mouth. Shifts in the bucket booth, communicates something to the waitress with two fingers. Somewhat miraculously, she brings a pot of coffee and two sea-cakes. Maybe he was a regular.


‘No thanks.’


He scoops the dishes to him. ‘They’re both mine. I don’t get an expenses budget for you. Plus, been on-shift since sunrise.’


I watch him eat too quickly, the crumbs at his lips. He was wide-framed with girlish eyelashes and a sulky mouth. Could be attractive if he wasn’t here to report on me. And didn’t eat like no one was watching.


I pour myself a cup. The coffee is bitter.


‘Like to tell me how things are going, Audrey?’


‘Figure you will if I don’t.’


He doesn’t stop eating. Replaces plate one with plate two before he’s finished chewing. My stomach tightens, repulsed. He starts on the second cake. Dry things with currants, anchovies and sea salt. Balls a napkin, wipes his mouth, starts on the coffee. I watch his tongue, clogged with cake, rim his teeth. He rolls an impatient hand.


‘Come on. Some of us want to get home. I have a lonely wife.’


‘Right. Well,’ I show him my teeth, perfect smile. Ding! ‘I’m working on it. There ya go. Interview done.’


He’s sucking down the coffee. I take another sip. If anything, it’s more bitter.


‘Your report’s overdue.’


‘I know.’


‘Anyone’d think you’re obfuscating.’


Obfuscating. ‘I need your full report. Who, what, where.’ He stands, points a finger which, this close to my face, smells of salt and fish. I don’t budge back from it. ’10am.’


‘It’s already three. And you know what, it doesn’t help being trailed to the place I’m scoping. First Tony, now you. You think they’re blind. I need distance.’


Peter had been about to leave. He turns, sighing. For the first time, he looks me in the eye. I see how the lines under his eyes (blue) are pulling into bags. Echoed by a downturned mouth. His good looks are giving out to age. ‘We’re losing the fight on this thing.’


I lower my gaze from the accusations this contains. The swarm of emotion – anger.


‘Home safe, Audrey. Take a transport.’


‘You kidding me!’ I shout after him. ‘This is Newark-by-the-sea. We walk free!’


But he’d gone, the diner door patting shut, leaving me with the cheque. A dark blur as he passes the frosted glass.


When I walk back to the apartments, I hear a woman cry from the alleyways. Once, twice, three times. The few passers-by keep walking and I cannot afford to blow my cover. The cry is raw and deathly, like a screaming fox. I keep walking.




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Published on June 29, 2017 07:06
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