Average Citizen

I am in a black box, steel and well lit. The chair is cold on my bare skin. There is a man across from me, suit and tie, grim expression. He looks exasperated, like he didn’t think this was necessary. Which it probably wasn’t. Who am I? To them, a means to an end. A distractor.

The questions haven’t started yet, but I know they’re coming. My heart isn’t racing, my eyes are bored, and arms are crossed. The suit across from me isn’t an ugly troll from another realm threatening me with some fantasy disaster. He’s actually sort of handsome, which annoys me. A man in his mid fifties, square jaw, clear skin, and blonde hair disappearing into white, blending into the edges of his scalp.

We just sit silently and look at each other. I knew enough to know not to break the silence. They didn’t need to know I knew why I was here. Ignorance was the only weapon we shared.

They are going to ask you about school. The kids. Your history. But they have all the data, they’ve already drawn conclusions from it. They’ll expect you to be panicked—guilty.

I shove Meg from my mind along with her hushed warning.

The only reason she had made it out was because her tried and true defense mechanism has always been apathy. A gift easily mimicked over the years, a borrowed mask.

“Shall we begin?”

His voice is higher than I expect, less gravel. But his eyes are a soulless blue that tells me the game has begun. I raise my brows, and tilt my lips in an encouraging way. How I signal a student to keep going— you’re doing great!

“Well Ms. Derry, as you may know, we are gathering the remnants of those who felt discouraged over the last year. Just checking in with them, and seeing how much help they need to return to the path,” he continues.

The path is their term for typical drone. To be wistful for death, wish for it so hard that you forget to live. There are a few ways around it that are sanctioned. But the corporate leaders have all but snuffed those out lately. Whether they declare them to be threats to our society, or outright reclassify them with hollow tech.

“I feel I am still on a good path, mister…what was your name?”

“Detective Rice, and I am happy to hear that. It is just according to this latest analysis we see you are still promoting those disenfranchised. It is considered a red flag for our newest system,” he frowns.

Its not an angry slash, or even frustrated. Its pity.

Don’t worry, there’s still time to rewire you to fit the latest circuit of what it means to be a productive member of society. Still time to mold you into a good person.

“Lets begin with your career history. It says here you taught elementary school for…lets see, just over a decade. Then you chose to resign much earlier than recommended,” his possessed eyes look at me then, willing to be let in, “why is that?”

I smile softly staring right back willing my defiance to brood below the surface. I scour my voice box for that matter of fact tone that used to piss off my ex boyfriend.

“Well with everything happening there never is a convenient time to resign is there? They promise retirement, social security, and medicine but in the next breath call it socialist. Sure maybe my grandparents reap the rewards of these policies now, but they won’t last for me. It’s been running out since I was in fifth grade. I just decided it was time to be happy,” I end with a shrug, no big deal, not at all angry about it. Just is what it is.

His smile broadened as if I walked into the trap that wasn’t obvious. As if I just confessed to the bombing on the capital with one little word, socialist.

“Politicians do have their own language, it can be difficult for the average citizen to keep up with it. You started your own company, is that correct?”

“Those plummeting literacy rates had me looking for a new way to make an impact,” I chuckle, “have you seen some of the texts they make these kids read? So boring, and some of the questions just don’t match! I decided to write my own curriculum, just for fun, but people liked it.”

“You do very well it seems according to your financial data, some interesting buyers are listed here,” he says flipping through the records of my life.

I stay silent because that wasn’t a question. I just wait patiently for him to display the names of the recent traitors.

“Terry Barrow,” bingo, “he was a big buyer of yours. Supported you since the start.”

Again I just sit there, mesmerized by the neat graph of my life some AI spit out. There wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a debate. Terry and I had a lot in common. We spent a lot of time together.

Detective Rice looked at me, searched my expression for guilt or worry. Whatever he found left him seemingly puzzled.

“Did you know Mr. Barrow has been arrested Ms. Derry?”

I did know that. The world knew it at this point. Every TV news station played his arrest on repeat for weeks. Each anchor touting hope for our future now that extremists were at last being dealt with.

But they have no evidence against him. That’s why we’ve all been required to speak with the feds. If Meg hadn’t have leaked that little tidbit to social media, we were sure they would have conjured some smoking gun.

“Seeing Terry tackled onto the concrete is something that will remain with me for a long time, detective,” I say.

“Then you must understand we will be seizing your curriculum as well as any compensation you received from Mr. Barrow,” he says.

“What if he is found innocent?”

The suit folds his hands over the graph of my life.

“Ms. Derry, if I were you, I would be more concerned about your future.”

My thighs began to itch as goosebumps flared across my flesh.

“And why’s that, sir?”

“At the very least we can hold you here as a conspirator, at worst a terrorist.”

I watch his glasses flash as a breaking news report blinds him momentarily. I take those moments to remember how to breathe and blink.

I am not a terrorist. I am not the problem. I am simply the consequence, the equilibrium. A summer storm conjured to cool the Earth’s surface. A natural conclusion. It is them who cower behind headlines and nuance that are unnatural. Them who choose to be blinded, to submit no matter the cost.

His smug smile has drooped now. His pupils are microscopic. Rage coils in his clenched fists and grinding teeth. The glasses are flung against the steel table.

I want to burst with laughter, to point and sing and dance. But I can’t. Not now, maybe not ever. Still I savor the warmth of it. The victory, however fleeting it is. Me, a painfully average person being escorted from the bowls of a federal institution. Free despite the resources they have to condemn me of their accusations.

Meg is sitting in her Volvo. The suits say nothing to me, bitter losers. There is no relieved greeting. No scowls from Meg to my escorts. Just silence for the fifteen minute car ride. She squeezes my hand once, and that’s all we allow for ourselves.

The lock clicks behind us and arms are around me instantly. Squeezing me and wrapping me in spearmint soap.

“I don’t know how you two pulled it off,” Terry’s voice broke, “but I will repay you, somehow.”

The TV was on but muted. And there was Terry being released, charges dropped due to lack of evidence.

“There’s no real detectives anymore, Terry. Nobody reads anymore. Even the burrow is so caught up in how they look, their own individual lives. They can’t string together a timeline without putting it into some AI. Its like they forget most average citizens know how to use this stuff,” I say.

Meg, Terry, and I laugh then. We collapse on the couch. Meg pulls our burner and sends the all clear to the rest of our contacts.

We don’t think we will always win, but we would all rather lose than pretend we don’t know how to play.