Freedom Capsules

Ralph:

It’s 5pm by the time we get home and we’re exhausted. I woke Noah up at 3am so we could get to the entry site by seven, but he never complained. “You want pizza for dinner tonight, buddy?”

               “No. I don’t think so,” he says. “Jaxon and Sam never get to eat pizza. We should have oatmeal or something,” his empathy moves me.

               “Pizza is your favourite, though. How about we have one tonight to celebrate, and we can plan the first meal that we will have with them when they get out?” I hope this compromise gives him some peace. Plus, I am anxious to get on the computer and listen to what is going on in their apartment now that they are completely aware. I doubt I will hear anything that gives them away. It will just settle my nerves to know that they got home safely.

               “Okay, “he finally agrees. “I’ll order it. You get the laptop, alright Dad?” He’s a smart kid. I’ve spent years cautioning him on the secrecy of our cause, and it has resulted in him not having many friends. I take him to school and pick him up every day. He could walk both ways, or ride his bike, but I am paranoid that they will somehow find us and take him away. He wants to join the soccer team and my first reaction is to forbid it, but I told him I would think about it. If I am there at every game, what could happen? Once we expose Nusa and get our family back, we can move anywhere we want - make a fresh start. The kids can have a normal life. I can have a normal life.

               I hear Noah order a pizza and muse over how natural this is. I think of my time in Nusa, living in a small white apartment with Clara, Sam, and my dad. There were no phones, no laptops, no choices for dinner. Music and news were pumped in on Sundays, but the news was bogus. Scare tactics to keep us in line. Noah is going to come in here, put his feet up on the coffee table and watch a movie tonight, probably filled with fantasy and action and ridiculous characters, something that my other boys couldn’t even imagine. One thing I’ve learned over the years is patience, and to not dwell on what can’t be changed. Tonight, nothing can be changed, so I will enjoy my son, pizza, and the fiction we are sure to watch.

Noah:

               “Hello?” Dad didn’t notice the phone ringing. He gets distracted all the time. 

“Noah? It’s Alan. You’re back. Can I come over?”

“Yeah, we just got home. Sure, I’ll ask Dad, hang on a sec,“ I cover the receiver the same way Dad does and stretch the curly cord all the way to the next room. “Dad, it’s Alan. Can he come over and have pizza with us?”

               Alan calls almost every day since he escaped two months ago. Bruce got him a room in a motel near my school while he becomes normal again. Assimilates, the grown-ups say. When I see how hard regular things are for him to do, I get worried about my brothers. They’re going to be really weird, too. Dad never turns him down. He says that he’d hope someone would do the same for Sam and Jaxon.  Alan’s mom and dad are still in Nusa and were trying to find him a wife when we snuck him out. He’s twenty-four years old and never went to school, never had a real job, can’t drive and talks like a dork. He’s lacking social skills, is what Dad says. “Of course. Does he need me to pick him up?”

               “Nope. He’s riding his bike,” I go back to the kitchen to hang up. “Come on over, buddy,” That’s what Dad calls him so I do, too.

Ralph:

Alan arrives at the same time as the pizza. He nods at the delivery girl and maneuvers by her. I can detect her interest, admiring his polished good looks and see that curiosity is getting the better of her. Our town only has a population of about two thousand, and new faces are rare. We live down a long country road, our cabin hidden by woods, but the locals know how to get here. Downtown has a small restaurant, furnished as if it were still 1965, a hardware store, a grocery/liquor/drug store, and a few other small businesses and municipal buildings. The motel is just outside of town and shares its parking lot with the only gas station for fifty miles in either direction. Noah’s school is right behind the motel and educates every kid between kindergarten and grade twelve in the county. Anyone who comes here is either visiting family or lost which is exactly why we chose it. Bruce owns a well-hidden mansion about thirty minutes from here, protected with state-of-the-art electronics and an impressive human element; guards stationed twenty-four hours a day. Our central command is in a bunker under his house, deeply imbedded in rock and impossible to permeate, even by satellite. I think his cash infusion into this town is all that keeps it alive.

               I pay her with a twenty. “Thank you, Jenny. Keep the change.”

               “Who’s your friend?” she asks, unable to contain her curiosity.

               We concocted a story before he got out of Nusa and stick to it. “That’s my nephew, Alan. He’s visiting for a while.”

               “Why’d he come to this shithole?” She asks, brazen. “Did he just get out of jail or something?” She blows a huge pink bubble. “Hey.” She says, casually, chin in the air, eyes looking past me. I gaze back and see Alan standing there, perfect posture, hands clasped in front of him in typical Nusa form.

Alan:

               “What is in your mouth?” The pink balloon smells strange, but also kind of good. She smells really good.

               She looks at me like I just arrived from Mars. I must have made another mistake.

               “Alan was raised by my sister in Singapore,” Ralph rescues me. Her mouth is partly opened and this statement has not helped subside her confusion. “Gum is illegal in Singapore,” he explains, hoping to answer her unasked questions. I don’t know if it’s true, but either does she.

               “Oh. Cool,” She shrugs and carries on chewing. Crisis averted. “You should come to the restaurant for coffee sometime,” She’s talking to me. Why is she winking at me? Is that a normal human reaction when someone answers a question?

               “That’s a great idea. I’ll make sure he does. Thanks again, Jenny. Goodnight” Ralph says, too quickly, as he shuts the door in her face and turns back to me. He’s annoyed. We stare at each other, neither knowing what to say.

               “Pizza! Let’s eat!” Noah interrupts, notably lightening the atmosphere. He’s already set the coffee table for three and is searching for something to watch on TV.

               “Do you have any crackers?” I ask, staring down at my brilliant green tennis shoes. I’m avoiding eye contact. I’ve not worn a stitch of white since leaving Nusa, and sometimes I think people are laughing at my clothes. Noah has told me I look like a clown on several occasions.  Ralph tells me that to outsiders I might appear to be too uptight to don such casual attire, and I’m projecting the military style of Nusa. “My stomach is still too sensitive to eat pizza,” I confess. Noah doesn’t understand, but Ralph does. After years of a perfected diet, anything with grease or spice can really do a number on you. It took Ralph a few years to train “his guts” to accept the unhealthy American lifestyle, or so he says.

               “Of course,” He fixes me a dinner of unsalted table crackers, carrot sticks, chamomile tea and peanut butter. He says everyone who breaks free of Nusa craves peanut butter. It’s the protein because they don’t re-introduce meat to us for at least a year. I don’t ever remember consuming meat and just the thought of it hurts my digestive tract.

               I want to talk, but I’m timid. Ralph never pressures me, although he knows I had been working at the same factory as Samuel for the last seven years and he must have a lifetime’s worth of questions. They say I provided them with tons of useful intelligence when I was first extracted, but once they incorporated me into society, I froze; forgetting everything. As my memory returned, so did the realization of the life of slavery I was unknowingly a part of. I’ve left my family behind and sometimes ache for them, not as they were in Nusa, but as they were before they were compelled by the government.

               I finally get the nerve to look up, and I’m so nervous to ask that I feel faint. I brace myself and I can see Ralph do the same. “Ralph, I need to ask you something.”

               We are sitting, facing each other. He puts an encouraging hand on my shoulder. “Anything.”

               “Can we go into town for coffee the next time Jenny is working?”

Ralph laughs. “That’s a very normal reaction for a man your age,” Why is everyone winking at me today?

Noah goes off to bed early and Ralph invites me to sleep over. I never decline and have become a pro at pulling out the stiff old sofa bed. The frame is bent, taking a special technique of yanking and twisting simultaneously, but I have perfected it. I help myself to sheets, pillows and a quilt that came with their cottage. I spend almost half an hour in the bathroom, primping for bed, still not used to the unlimited water supply and take full advantage of it, especially the hot, sometimes showering for twenty minutes. In Nusa we conserved water and used only what we needed to wash ourselves. If there was an abundance on Saturdays, we celebrated by having showers that were longer than thirty seconds, knowing the reservoirs would be refilled that night.

Ralph:

Finally, I get a chance to sit down at my computer and even though I have been up for almost twenty hours, I log into my boys’ apartment, rewinding to 1:00pm, approximately the time they should have gotten home.

I can hear the water running and Alan humming a tune that plays often on the radio. He’s taken to music, as do most Nusa emigrants. The radio is particularly fascinating, though, because of the commentary and commercials. Free speech and the ability to buy anything is such a foreign concept that it seems like science fiction to them. I recline my chair and close my eyes, listening to the water and remembering the day that Clara and I broke free from our mental prison.

We had both been sick, very uncommon in Nusa, and bedridden. We shared a bedroom, as all married couples do, with separate beds. I had vomited the day before and Clara tended to me the best she could, but we were not assigned medicine and were mandated to report any illnesses to the infirmary. Clara decided to stay with me instead of going for help. Ultimately, this decision changed the entire course of our lives. I was contagious, and within hours she was nauseous too. We missed work on Friday and Saturday, and by dinnertime the law was knocking on our door. Dad let one officer up to our room, while the second stood guard. The cop that entered our bedroom was all business and asked one question. “Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, how many meals have you missed?” I’ll never forget it, because it seemed like the most inappropriate thing to demand from two incredibly ill people.

               “Four. Maybe five” was my reply. He shut the door and approached me, pulling a small notepad from his pocket.

               “I am going to have to report this to the infirmary,” he said in a loud, authoritative voice, but was furiously writing at the same time, shoving the note at me. “Have you been having strange visions and memories?” it asked. He hastily scribbled “Just nod or shake your head. Don’t speak”.

I nodded “yes” and looked over at my wife. He showed her, and she nodded too, in slow motion, nervous, while looking at me. From his breast pocket he pulled out a handful of capsules, placing them on the nightstand between our beds. “Take one of these with each meal for the next few days” he wrote then said out loud “Make sure to eat your next meal today. This is not a request. If you still feel ill tomorrow, you must report to a doctor. If you do not comply, there will be consequences”. He turned on one heel and exited.

I gazed down at the mystery capsules and noticed a small corner of paper, something written on it. “They can’t hear you in the shower.”  I showed Clara who forced herself out of bed and down to the kitchen. I heard her share a few non-committal words with my father before she reappeared, holding her hand out to me, motioning for my silence. I accepted her gesture and let her lead me into the lavatory where she turned on the water, stripped and climbed inside the narrow stall. She indicated that I should follow her, so I did, even though it was hard to maneuver in there for even one person.

               “I just checked the water tank,” she whispered. “There’s enough”.

I hadn’t been this close to my wife since Nusa took over our lives. I didn’t have any memory of being this close even before, but feelings are stronger than memories and this felt normal; right. We hadn’t eaten in two days, and the fog that had been inhabiting our brains for years was starting to lift. The flashes we had been having were fragments of our old life, our life in the real world. “Who do you think he was?” she asked, referring to the guard who just gave us this most precious gift.

               “Our guardian angel,” I replied. I couldn’t think of a better way to describe him. I held my wife’s naked and wet body close to mine and for the first time in so long, was consumed with love and need for her. I had forgotten what it was like to feel anything and was filled with hatred for those who had turned us into an army of mindless slaves. We were so thankful for this moment that we stayed there, wrapped up in and memorizing each other until the water ran out. Noah and Jaxon were conceived that night.

               “Good night, Ralph,” Alan’s voice snapped me out of my reverie. “Thanks, again”

I turned back to my computer, the time stamp reading 1pm – perfect. I fast-forwarded until I heard Sam and Jaxon enter, making mundane conversation for about two minutes before their apartment door opened, a loud voice demanding “You boys have missed two