The Anarchists (5 page)

“Yes, your honor,” said Samantha, “and. . .”

“And,” Kareza interrupted, “since her record. . .”

“Since her record is clean, Miss Noor. . .look, we’ve done this first offender song-and-dance before, haven’t we? I know what you’re going to ask. . .fine, treatment, no jail time. . .Miss Ruiz, how do you plead?” He stared at Quinne, who still had a re-hydration pack attached to her arm. She looked to the droid, and then at Kareza, who affirmed her decision.

“Guilty.”

“You sniff addicts make me sick,” he scorned. “Five hundred unit fine, and 120 days of drug treatment. Pay your fine, complete the program and your record will be expunged. Next case.”

“Seriously!” she exclaimed. “You, and that said a fine and community service!”

Kareza snatched her by the unaffected arm. “Shut up! You’ll be found in contempt and he will tack on community service. You’re lucky to be alive. Reenlist later. Go to a meeting or something and get some perspective. They hold them every day downtown.”

“On New Year’s Day?”

“The holidays are the hardest times. Sooner you start, the sooner you finish.”

Quinne made arrangements to pay the fine, picked up her belongings and hitchhiked to her apartment. She’d half expected Cee Cee to mete out more judgment when she arrived. But on Saturday afternoons, Cee Cee and her witness group canvassed the community for “lost souls.”

According to the schedule she‘d gotten, a counseling meeting happened in a few hours. Quinne sighed and resigned herself to go. “Channel Zero.”

The HTV projected an anchorman onto the living room floor. She listened to politicians volley back and forth over a new American currency while cooking some breakfast. The smell of poached eggs, buttered toast, and sizzling pork bacon were pleasant to her nose. She cooked more than normal, as she had not eaten since lunchtime on New Year’s Eve.

Quinne cleaned her plate and entered the shower, scrubbing herself clean of holding cell filth. Seven months ago, she and Troy were engaged. Today, she was a drunken sniffer. 

She donned a baby pink and sky blue Nike sweatsuit and settled in to watch a movie she had seen three times. She dozed off but awoke when the door opened and Cee Cee entered.

“I see you got home in one piece.”

“All mornin’ in a cell, dehydration, and a misdemeanor charge, no thanks to you. Thanks for leavin’ me.”

“Still the victim. You look no worse for wear.”

She ran her hand through her curls. “Why you gotta be so mean? I thought Christians ‘re supposed to be lovin’?”

“They are. . .we are. But there’s so much I can take, Q. My Pop-Pop pretty much drank himself to death. So, if you’re gonna kill yourself like that, I can’t stick around and watch.”

She sighed. They went over this every time she got drunk. “Gotta stay clean and go to meetin’s, if I want to stay outta jail. There’s one going on at six o’ clock downtown.”

“Might as well get it over with, huh?” Cee Cee scooted over on the couch and placed a hand on Quinne‘s. “No judgment. I’ll even drive you, go with you. The streets are wild on New Year’s Day, especially in that part of town. We cut our evangelizing short because of it.”

Quinne clenched the hand and laughed. “Sure? I can flash good ole Saint Maria and hitch a ride.” 

They shared a laugh before leaving the apartment.

By 6:00 p.m., the community center percolated with excitement and meetings on each hall. Quinne pressed her thumb against a plate on the vending machine. INSUFFICIENT FUNDS FOR PURCHASE. TRY AGAIN.

“Here.” Cee Cee did the same and pushed the corresponding sensors for honey glazed pretzels, popcorn and potato chips. “I know you’re nervous.”

Quinne grabbed them and dug into the packages. “Thanks.”

“Don’t be, Q.” The women held hands down the hallway to the room number the court had assigned. Inside it, a middle-aged, balding white man with horn-rimmed glasses and a white turtleneck welcomed them.

“Substance abuse group?”

“Yes,” said Cee Cee.

Quinne handed a thumb-sized green disk to him. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. I’m Mason Conway and I’ll authorize this after every class. Come as often as you like. Miss one session, and you have to make it up the same week. At the end of 120 days, if I haven’t seen you enough, I’ll report you. Understand?”

She clenched her teeth and inhaled. “I’ll be here.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Mason smiled. “We’ve got natural juice, water and sugar-free pastries. No coffee or tea. We don’t do stimulants of any kind here.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little strict?” Cee Cee objected.

“Maybe. People come in here with all sorts of substance addictions and the first thing they look for is to fill the void. Caffeine and calories are the first ones they try. Others fall into bed with the first person they see. Some turn to religion and find out most of them expect you to deal with your mess. This program gets addicts to focus on why they do what they do and talk about it with people who understand. You’re less likely to relapse that way.”

Quinne visibly shuddered. Why she got drunk and sniffed was no one’s business – especially not a group of strangers. Cee Cee, her lone friend, found out why through drunken babble. “Why would I wanna talk about it?”

Without looking up, Mason handed them thumb-sized blood red disks with
Genesis Institute
imprinted on them. “You wouldn’t, but you’d prefer that over another drug charge and jail, right?”

“Great,” Quinne said. She inserted the disk into her holophone and viewed its contents. “Sounds like one of your Christian deals, Cee.”

“No, Ma’am,” Mason clicked his teeth. “The Genesis Institute and the courts keep a close eye on us and this program. If they get wind of one mention of God, Allah, Buddha, Zeus, whoever, we lose our funding.”

He presented the duo with a disk on drug recovery and met some other participants at the door. Quinne and Cee Cee sat at the bottom curve of the chairs formed to make a semicircle. Mason greeted each of the attendees with a reassuring salutation.

Quinne examined them. One appeared to be a businessman of high societal standing. She could tell by his tapered suit and highly-shined leather shoes. A new mother sat near them and reeked of baby accoutrements. An older woman who looked to be the age of Quinne’s mother, a married couple, and a grungy-looking, tattooed teenager about her age followed. He smiled, first at Cee Cee, then at Quinne. She remembered those ragged teeth, but he did not recognize her, though she’d slept with him at least twice for sniff.   

“Welcome!” Mason clapped his hands together. “I applaud you. You have taken the first step in reclaiming your life. I'm Mason, and you may not know it by looking at me, but I’m 12 years sober. I had it all. But, after a while, the pressure got to me and I drank. After that, you name it and I tried it. . .anything to match that first high.

“When that didn’t do it for me, I sniffed. And after that, I started mixing them all. I lost everything. Went to jail a few times, and I did. . .unspeakable things. Turns out. . .” Mason choked up. “My family. . .thinks I’m crazy and should go travel the world. Being selfish for the first 45 years of my life got me this. I figure, if I help you avoid the same mistakes I made, maybe I’ll get another 45.” 

Quinne and Cee Cee tightly clasped hands. The former blinked back tears. 

“So,” Mason said, composing himself. “We’ll now go around the room. Introduce yourself this way: ‘Hi, I’m say-your-name,’ and name your addiction. Identify your enemies and fight them.”

The tattooed man’s addictions were sniff and marijuana. Of the married couple, the wife labeled liquor as her demon. The businessman hemmed and hawed until Mason laid a hand on his shoulder for comfort. Crack cocaine was his vice. Cee Cee introduced herself as Crystal and expressed her support for her friend.  

Great, it‘s my turn.
“Quinne,” she said matter-of-factly. “Booze. . .sniff.”

“You all need to know – this is not the end for you,” said Mason. “It’s the beginning of an abusive substance-free life! Let’s go counter-clockwise now. New folks, now we dialogue. Talk about what’s on your mind, or whatever. Be open, but please respect the privacy of others and don’t discuss what you hear outside of these walls.”

When it came time for Quinne to share, she gulped down some juice. The eyes in the room, particularly Mason‘s, did not intensify – but softened.
They pity me! Sympathy in exchange for transparency
, Quinne guessed. She preferred judgment.

Cee Cee tightened her grasp, but Quinne wrestled free and sprinted from the room. “Q!” Cee Cee started after her friend, but Mason encouraged her not to follow after her.

“Let her go,” said Mason. “She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Outside, in the clear air, the hot tightness of the room dissipated in the overcast chill. Quinne turned the corner, jogging for blocks until pain in her side forced her to stop in an undesirable section of downtown.

After catching her breath, Quinne resumed walking, as if for an important appointment. One of the neighborhood indigents followed her at a distance close enough for her to notice. She left the community center so quickly that she did not know in which direction to return. Without breaking stride, she produced her holophone and dialed Cee Cee, who did not answer.

The device’s geographical positioning system took time to load. Luckily, a public transport with a route back to her loft picked up passengers a block ahead.

Before she took another step, a dirty rag clamped over her mouth and dragged her kicking into an alleyway.

CHAPTER FOUR

TEANNA

New Year’s Day, 2050

Teanna slipped from underneath the meaty arm across her midsection. Its owner, Theodore “Tiny” Mitchell, slept as if he’d been drugged.

True enough, traces of sniff lined her nightstand and sniffers were clumsily hidden inside its top drawer. After inhaling the residue, she stumbled into her nightgown and set the bottle of Hennessey on the floor close to the snoring man. When Tiny awoke, he would need it to fend off dehydration. If he was nice, she’d give him water. If not, she’d let him boil up into a ball of pus.

Lately, her unemployed lover appeared to have mellowed. It wasn’t the drugs. Sniff heightened Tiny’s aggression, and that put Teanna on guard. But she needed release. The craziness of her circumstances necessitated it, but she could not afford to be caught with narcotics. State officials conducted surprise visits on people they suspected of abusing the system. One slip up and her assistance would be revoked. Then, Tiny could bankroll her lifestyle, if she needed it – which tended to happen.

She’d often rung his holophone for financial aid. Most times, he did not answer, but this past Christmas, he did – showing up around 6:00 p.m. with groceries and contraband. Two hours later, both were flying high. Teanna did not remember much about the past few days, besides waking up naked. She would be 43 this November and too old to continue like this.

Outside her bedroom, she found her 17-year-old Teiji, or “Tay,” and his preteen sister Meleasa in the cluttered dining room eating turkey sandwiches and barbecue potato chips. Teanna scratched her head. “Tay, you lost your mind? There’s milk, cereal. . .”

Teiji eyed the clock on the kitchen wall. So did Teanna.
One in the afternoon.
“Happy New Year. I figured you wanted to sleep.”

She yawned and pointed to the water faucet. Teiji filled a glass with cold water and continued doing so until Teanna held up her hand. She finished drinking and kissed him on the forehead. “Happy New Year.”

Meleasa followed her lumbering mother back into the kitchen. “We go back to school on Monday, Mom. Can I go over to Mia and Tiffany’s? I know I’m grounded, but just for a few hours?”

“I’ll think about it. What’s on your agenda Tay? Hot party?”

He sighed. “No hot party because I’ll be studying. Miss Buff’s pushing me for the poly-sci summer internship in D.C. with State Representative Mateo. Don’t know if I want to do it.”

“You got the credits to graduate now, so it ain’t like you missin’ anythin’. Why not?”

Meleasa sucked her teeth. “He’ll miss Kelly. That’s why not.”

“That true?” Teanna crossed her arms.

“No.” He cut his eyes at Meleasa. “Not entirely. It’s my decision, isn’t it, and I’ll have to live with it. So, back off, Mel. Kelly’s cool with whatever I do. You are too, right?”

Teanna drew a deep breath. “I ain’t Kelly and I ain’t ‘cool’ either. If you gonna be successful, can’t be makin’ your decisions based on a girl. See my life and the way it’s turned out? I love ya’ll, but I wish I’d decided some things on my own instead of considerin’ your daddies.”

“It’s not that simple, Mom.”

“Oh?” Teanna asked, feigning shock. “Un-complicate it for me, then. Can’t be that lil’ piece of job you got. What we ever gonna do without that?”

Tiny appeared in the kitchen wearing boxer shorts and a tank top. “Don’t play,” he interrupted. “It’s good money – even for him.”

Though Teanna had an American Indian, Black, Filipino, and Caucasian background and Meleasa was one-quarter Dominican, Tiny held judgment for the half-Japanese boy, whom he considered  effeminate.