Gray

The line is busy this morning and I am doing the work of two. So many buttons, all shapes and shades of gray, in need of sorting.

The job is not meant to be done alone.

At breaktime, I chew my mustard-and-cheese sandwich. The Boss wobbles toward my bench. I sit up a bit straighter. Wipe the mustard off my lip.

“Not keeping up so well today, are we, Cleo?” He glares down at me with hooded eyes, gaze threaded between the bottom of his silver-rimmed spectacles and the top of his three puffy chins and two sagging jowls.

I glance over his shoulder. Letters, obsidian black on polished steel, keep watch over the door: Buttoneers Never Deviate.

“I’m sorry, Sir. It’s just that Grover isn’t here. We are usually a pair on the line, and…”

The Boss hrumphs. “Grover did not report this morning. He will not be returning to the Button Manufactory.”

“Oh, but Sir, I am sure he…”

“And you best buckle down, unless you wish to follow in his footsteps. Carry on, Buttoneer.” With a sharp nod, he turns on his heel and wobbles further down the line.

The end-of-break bell rings. The belt begins moving again, spewing an endless jumble of buttons, flowing inexorably toward me. I wrap the remainder of my sandwich, straighten the plasticized ‘Buttoneer Cleo’ pin on my lapel, and begin my duties again.

All afternoon, I try and fail to ignore the worry gnawing at the back of my mind.

Where is Grover?

****

At precisely 7pm, I consume my usual meal of mushroom lentil stew.

At 7:29pm, one minute earlier than is proper, I sit on my couch.

The gameshow on the wall-screen usually makes me laugh right along with the live audience. But tonight, I struggle to pay attention. I stare at my dark phone on the coffee table. I tear my eyes away and turn them toward the window.

The same gameshow plays in tandem on three other wall-screens, visible through the curtainless panes in the apartment building across the street. A flickering carnival of color in a dark, gray world. I smile. My shoulders relax a little.

I’m not alone.

Then worry taps at my mind again. I sink back into the worn, dark gray corduroy upholstry.

My phone buzzes.

The screen erupts with laughter and applause as I grab at the device. Grover’s name flashes at the top of the screen. I drop it on the floor in my haste.

Come to the South Side Gate at 10pm.

I deflate and stare down at the message.

Grover wasn’t sick, or hurt, or in trouble. He meant to leave the City.

I could never leave the City. To leave the City, that would be just, well… dangerous. Irresponsible. Uncouth. Anything could happen outside the gate. There was nothing dependable about it.

Dependable is decent. That’s what Mother and Father always said before they went away. If you are dependable, it means you are good. An upright, moral person. It means you have integrity.

But Grover… he is no longer dependable. I suppose that makes him a Bad Person.

The woman on the wall screen slips and splashes into a swimming pool full of bright green slime.

My only friend is a Bad Person. And now, I will never see him again.

****

I do not sleep well that night. Nevertheless, I rise with the comforting, gray light of morning. I brush my teeth and hair, pull out the light gray coverall but then exchange it for the darker one, arrange the ‘Buttoneer Cleo’ pin on my lapel just so, impulsively stick another, heart-shaped pin with the words ‘Gray is Good’ below it and trot off to catch the bus to the Manufactory.

Large, crisply-printed letters run the length of the interior wall of the bus, above the windows.

Gray is Good. Dependable is Decent. Deviation is Deplorable.

****

“I expect better from you, Buttoneer Cleo.” The Boss wobbles up again on my lunchbreak, interrupting my snack of radishes and canned fish flakes. “You have deviated from your quota. Buckle down, or you may lose your Buttoneer status.”

“I’m sorry, Sir. It’s just that… It’s quite hard to keep up without a partner, Sir.”

The Boss tsk-ed. “True Buttoneers have no uses for excuses.” His upper lip twitches in a barely concealed sneer at the last word.

There are beads of sweat on his forehead. I think this odd since he’s only been sitting at his desk the whole morning.

****

Finally, at 7:34pm (four minutes late), I loll on my couch, exhausted.

The scenes on the wall screen splash kaleidoscope colors around my gray walls. I never messaged Grover back. I don’t know what to say. And he’s surely either been caught or disappeared out the Gate by now. He was always so good at sneaking around. Doing things no one expected.

I should have known he would become a Bad Person. Perhaps it is better this way.

My phone buzzes.

Cleo, come to the South Side Gate at 10pm tonight. Please.

My vision blurs. I look out the window, blinking. Outside of the flashing colors of the gameshow playing in two or three other windows, it is a dark, gray night. Bad things happen to City people who deviate on dark, gray nights. What if something bad happened to me? What if something bad happened to Grover? What if I wind up going away to the Gray-maker tonight? Like Mother and Father, only far too soon. What if…

*****

He is there, Grover, at the Gate, at 10pm. I see him huddled in the shadows, out of view of the Gray Guardians standing stiffly at their posts nearby. Moonlight squeezes muted color from outside through the cracks in the wall. A pool of it spills in from under the massive door. The sight of it is obscene, but somehow alluring; like so much poison. My stomach twists and I wish to be home, secure in my bed, wrapped and safe in my predictable, warm, gray wool cover.

But I banish the thought. I can’t go home, not yet. An anticipation, a longing I can’t quite grasp dances just out of my reach.

Grover’s face lights up when he sees me. “Cleo, I didn’t want to leave without you. Or at least, without saying goodbye.”

“You have a phone for that, if that’s all you wanted.” Yes, I’m rude, but I’m properly miffed, after all. Grover left me alone with no warning, with all those buttons to sort – all of mine and his, too.

“I… I wanted to see you, though. See you for real.” He shuffles his feet and glances at the Gate, and then at his watch.

“Um, video call?” I mean, duh.

“Cleo. Come with me. There is so much more to the world than this… pale, lifeless place. Dull as two-day-old dishwater. You know I’m right.”

I sniff. “Gray is good. Dependable. No surprises.”

“I’m just saying, Cleo. Would an occasional surprise be such a bad thing? A little art? A little… color?”

I look into his face. His eyes are light brown. Not a sliver of gray there.

A shame, really.

I step back, out of the shadows. I scream. “Guardians! A climber! Hurry, he’s getting away!”

*****

I will miss Grover. Like I miss Mother and Father.  

But I am a Buttoneer.

And Buttoneers Never Deviate.