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“Why are you here?” he asks, getting straight to the point. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands are clasped together and I can tell he’s tense, as his knuckles turn white. I want to do the same just so I can be closer to him, but I restrain myself.
In a society where no one trusts each other, I somehow feel the need to tell him everything. To open up my heart and pour out my truth. Show him I’m here to help. That I want to be in that light he puts in the window.
“I want instruction on how to teach the peaceful ways of protest.”
He looks me up and down and his eyebrows draw together as he studies me. “Why?”
It’s a fair question, but I feel myself become defensive.
“I have to fight back in some way. I don’t condone violence, but I need to do something. I want to plant seeds of change.” I want that so much. I just don’t know how to do it. Like him, you never know who you can trust. I saw my mother get taken, but I also saw her bring so much joy to others and make them smile. I want to heal in ways other than physical.
“And you think that’s what I do?” His tone of voice hasn’t changed and it’s a little maddening. His eyes are intense and never leave me. For a moment I feel trapped in them, and the sensation is all too familiar.
“I saw the light in the window. I know that it used to mean anyone burning that kind of lamp offers a peaceful place to gather and help to those who need it. They were considered teachers. People who taught others how to cope,” I push, desperate to know if that is what this is, praying that it is. I need this. For the first time in forever I feel alive. I feel like I can make a difference, a real one. I don’t want this taken from me.
He doesn’t correct me or clarify why he has the light burning. Instead he asks me another question.
“Why would you risk everything you have?”
I look down at my scrubs. It’s an obvious sign that I have a good job on the inside. Risking it in some way would be stupid to a lot of people. I’m tired of moving through the motions and keeping my nose down. I’m not living. I’m existing, trying to survive, not living. I want more than that. I want change for everyone. I don’t want other girls to end up trapped, being controlled like I am.
“Because if I don’t do something to help, then nothing will get better for the girls who come after me. I don’t want them to be forced to marry if they don’t want to. Forced to live lives they don’t want.”
Those words make him lean even more towards me, and in the light I can see something in his eyes. I don’t know what it is, but he looks me up and down and I feel exposed somehow.
“You’re married?” This time the question is accusatory, and he sounds angry. His whole body is tight, his breathing erratic. Anger permeates the room and it feels as if the place could ignite. “When did this happen?”
“No, not yet. But my twenty-fifth birthday is months away and The Regime is preparing me for marriage.”
“You’re not going to.”
I don’t know why his response sounds like a command, but it sends a thrill though my body. I try to ignore it.
“I have to get married. I don’t have a choice. I’m one of them.” I have to push those last words out of my mouth because it feels like a lie. It feels wrong.
“You live here.” His tone is dismissive.
“I’m a scholarship student. Every year they choose an ‘illegitimate’ girl to go to one of their schools. I was one of the lucky ones.” My voice is flat, because somehow it doesn’t feel as if I’m lucky. Can I really be considered that if the people I live around are all suffering while I advance? What makes me so special?
“Why did they choose you?” He leans forward farther, and he’s so close I can smell his deep, earthy scent.
For a second I’m caught up in his dark eyes and I don’t remember to respond. When his eyes travel to my mouth, I lick my lips. I briefly wonder what it would feel like to have his mouth on mine. I blink and swallow before I realize I’m supposed to answer him.
“To keep me quiet about my mother. She disappeared. Well, they actually took her. She was a peaceful protester, but she had a large following. She was a teacher of our history and the truth. The Regime didn’t like it.” They didn’t like anything but obedience.
