The Only Ones (28 page)

I just say, really quiet, “Well, you are.” And I will tell you this. She does.

The first day of school, they let me go in with her through the Lock and to the door of East Side Girls, where the guard sprayed us with antiPatho and checked her South Brother tests all over again before they let us in. This guard has a gun. So this is an arm guard! It is a really indoor school, I mean dark, and very near the Lock so you don’t see much of the rest of the Dome. The guard brought us to the office, where Ms. Regina Chaffee is the Principal. Remember stiff like wood? Ani was stiff like wood. But I was proud. She doesn’t have Special Needs any more! She has regular Needs! So ha ha ha. You have to take her now.

Once she’s settled, they make me go out and kill time till three. I don’t get to wait in a room, like at Mill Rock. I don’t even get to wait inside the miniDome. I have to wait on the street. At three some other Parents are at the door with me when the girls all come out in Hygienic uniforms, navy blue, with a little tie around the neck that could double as a mask. How cute is that? And look who comes out in the uniform too, with a yellow tie because she is a First Year girl. Ani Fardo.

Still alive.

We walked to the Lock, took the ferry, rode the podtram, walked home, and when we got to the garden apartment she just lay down on the floor, in her little uniform, with the little yellow tie. So I have to undress her myself and carry her to bed. And when I lay her down and start to pull her cover up, she stretched her little arms to pull me close so she could whisper in my ear, “Ma?” And here is what she whispered. “I hate that school.”

It is the first thing she says when I meet the little van she comes home on. Sometimes she even cries. She does not cry on the way to the bus the way she used to, that first Mill Rock year.

She waits till we are home.

Sometimes she just falls in a heap in the courtyard, on our steps, sobbing so hard she can’t even say why, and I’m on the steps with her, holding her. “What happened?”

We just stay like that, me holding her, her sobbing, in her little uniform, with the little yellow tie, till she could get it out.

No one will sit with her.

So I just sit with her on the steps while some leaves fall on our head. I don’t know what to say here. I don’t want her to cry but this is a really different life she’s starting and I got no idea how it works. I got her in a good school but the sitting part is over my head. When I was her age, no one sat with me. They still don’t. Except Ani. All I could think of to say is, “Why not?”

“They, they—Ma!” Her shoulders is shaking under the uniform. “They act like something is,” sobbing and sobbing, “like something is wrong with me!”

Well when she said that I went stiff like wood. Did they figure us out? “What do they say?” I honestly don’t think anyone at that school is bright enough to figure us out. Still.

“Ma! They don’t say anything.” Sobbing and sobbing. “They give me looks.”

Looks. Well I know what that is like, but it is probably ok. “They are Dome girls,” I go. “They never met someone like you. They think you are unique.” Like I got any idea what that is, but I thought it will cheer her up.

It didn’t. She pushed me off, ran inside, and now will not sit with
me.

It turns out in her new school, nobody is unique. They will not sit with anyone who is.

Expecially if they got the Aid.

So when a few weeks passed and no one sat with her yet, I ask Ani could she sit with others who are Aid.

“Ma! You don’t know anything.” She is eating Process in the kitchen. She is so hungry when she comes home, she scarfs down one, two Process Paks. And then a whole regular meal. And I got to find some way to pay for all this. “Ma, if they sit with me everyone will know they are Aid too.” The other Aid girls want to pass as regular. In this school, everyone wants to. Even the regular girls. The difference is, the regular girls do pass.

“Ma! What’s for dinner?”

Potatoes.

She hates potatoes.

So that is news to me. I mean, she’s lucky to even have that. The food drops these days is few and far between, and I am generally in Nassau County when they come. We got new expenses too. At East Side Girls she does not get the cuchifrito bus and driver because in Manhattan Dome that’s not how it works. She does get a discount coupon for minivan Transport to and from the ferry. Ani still can’t bring this off herself, but the school gives me Partial for an Aide to walk her through the transfers. I just have to work a few more hours to pay the other part.

I also pay the other part of Ani’s Transport fare.

Also shoes.

My regular client, Mrs. Postow, sets me up cleaning for the Tomko family. So between them, Mrs. Postow, and Lorena Hutz who I already clean for sometimes, by October, I’m working so long I must bust my ass to reach the Stop in time to see her climb off the minivan, hand me her schoolbooks, and say, “I hate that school.” She wore a yellow Cardigan they gave her, to go with the uniform. You can be sure she hates that Cardigan.

“Oh!” I put her books in my bag. I’m catching my breath, I ran so hard. “They will not sit with you still?”

“Ma!” We are crossing Douglaston Parkway. “The other girls are stuck up. They think they are so special.”

Well this at least I know from Mill Rock how it works. I go, “Ani, you are special too!”

Well now she stops right where we are, in her Cardigan, and she goes, “Oh! You are really the world expert, how special I am!”

I will tell you, for a minute there I’m like, well I’m going to knock you from here to kingdom come. I have to take a lot of deep breaths to calm down. But I do. This is a different life. I’m not knocking her anywhere. I just held her books, took deep breaths, and we walked home.

It turns out world expert is the new thing.

In November, another kid starts using the same Northern Boulevard Stop, Agosto. He goes to school in Rego Park. Me and his mother, Yselma, wait together at the Stop. So one day Yselma says, well how does your daughter like her school. I say, well she hates it. Yselma says, oh everyone hates middle school.

I told that to Ani while we were buying Process from some oldie on Northern Boulevard. I thought this will cheer her up, she is regular.

She goes, “Oh. You are really the world expert, what Everyone does.”

And I will tell you, if Cissy Fardo would knock me to kingdom come? Well, if I talked like that to Edgar Vargas, he would make me regret the day I was born. Which I did.

But that is not going to happen here. That was my life. She got a different life. I just pay the oldie, put the Process in my bag, and we walk home, and when we get inside, here we go again. She hates that school, and this is why, it is about the Flip! The other girls all have a Flip. They will not sit with her because she does not have a Flip. They go to a special Dome salon to get the Flip. Oh, Ani, I’m having trouble enough paying extra for the Aide, plus the Transport balance, plus what about Christmas gifts? I will cut the Flip myself. No, Ma, no. I will get Alma Cho. So Alma Cho comes by with scissors and cuts the Flip. When it’s finished, Ani looks into the mirror wall and starts to wail. “I hate this Flip!” Goes in her room and slams the door. “Ma!” Sobbing through the door. “Nobody’s Flip looks like this.”

Alma Cho says wet it down. Wet it down.

I say, through Ani’s door, “So it is a little different, but the Hygienic uniform is the same.”

But Ani’s coat is not the same. She only has an old coat Mrs. Postow gave her. She hates that coat.

For Christmas I bought her a fancy one from Norma Pellicano’s friend Darleen.

She hates that too.

Yselma said it is the age. What did I know? When I was Ani’s age, I didn’t know anyone my age. I was the only virgin Edgar Vargas ran. I don’t even remember who pulled out the hairs. At least I do not have to see how many hairs Ani has now because she hides them. If I come in while she’s getting dressed, she covers them up.

Almost spring. She is getting tall. The new thing is, do I know you? She is so busy not knowing me when she gets off the minivan that she trips and falls in the street and when I go to help she does not know me all the way home till we get in our living room with the plaid furniture and the glass tabletop and mirrors. Then here we go again. She hates that school! And this is why, besides that she is Aid and the Flip did not work plus she hates her coat, well it is about a special backpack the other girls have, that is shiny and has an airbag so it could sort of float, and, I mean, ok, that is practical, because you do not have to lug the backpack but what that kind of backpack sells for, this is out of the question. She goes in her room and slams the door.

I hear her crying from her room, in the night.

I’m already cleaning extra hours just to pay her school expenses! And what about the magnet belt!

But she’s crying so hard. I just don’t want her to cry like that.

Now maybe what I’m going to say right here could hurt somebody’s feelings. I’m just trying to be honest. Remember how Janet Delize said about Ani, when she was six days old, “I don’t even know why that poor child was born.” Well, that stupid backpack Ani wants so bad? There is probably a kid somewhere, that’s why they’re born.

iv

Whoa! Out of practice.

I woke up very dizzy in an RV outside Newburgh. Some new shady OBGYN is washing his hands. Rauden is holding up eight fingers. Eight solos. Good but not great. I’m paid by the egg.

I just got dressed fast and head for home. I don’t want to be late for Ani at her Stop. The way this Harvest worked, I beefed myself up at home to save time. It was not hard. I bought my own cryoKit at Iron Triangle. If everything works, viables should be on the market by the end of the week. I will get a cut of any sale. Rauden also gave me a few coupons today on spec.

I ran across the bridge and made it to the MagLev in time but from here on, everything went wrong. The MagLev got delayed. I missed my hybro to the Bronx. Why did I take the sailbus? The wind changed. I ended up in Yonkers, in some really shady neighborhood where people in masks come right up to the sailbus whispering, “Blood? Life?” One guy even gives me a card when I climb off. “Good rates on the Change,” he whispers. By the time I got back to the Bronx I was so late there goes all the spec money on a shaw to Queens, and when I made it to the Stop, Ani was crying in the street. The minvan came early for once.

I say I will never be late again. I’m going to get you something really special for your birthday, you will see.

But when I message Rauden in a week, no sale. Two weeks. No sale.

It’s Yselma who explains the Change but first she says I must swear to never do it or let Ani do it. I’m like, ok, whatever.

So she says, “You know if a girl with Stealth Virus tries to Host a child from her own genes, her Immune is so challenged it could bump the kid off and herself too?” I sort of knew. Well, she could get around the problem a few ways, like rent a Host or do Host swap. But maybe she’s afraid the Host will run off with the child. Then she could buy what they call the Change.

When Yselma said the word, she spat, right on Northern Boulevard, where we are waiting for our kids to come home.

The way it works, Yselma says, they tweak the mother’s DNA so it is not what it was. So she is not gene for gene her original self. She freezes a bunch of her original eggs first so they stay their original self. Then she does IVF with those original eggs, but she is not
her
original self, so her challenged Immune does not need to be so confused, who is who. It is a little hard to follow. The main thing is, nobody dies. Well, if it works. It doesn’t always work. Girls sometimes even die from the operation because the sleazy guys who do the work aren’t MDs or even Techs. Yselma thought the whole thing is dangerous and stupid. I thought it’s stupid too. It’s true Ani is not going to have this problem because she will not get SV but Yselma and her friend Xochitl have it. They both have Stealth Virus and did Host swap with each other’s kids and all of them are all still alive. They even plan to do it again. She asked me where I heard of the Change and I say Yonkers and she says oh she heard of that. They deal hardy product, if you need that sort of thing.

Well, then the van showed up at last, our kids got off, still alive, and we all went home.

But what Yselma told me was an environmental factor. In more ways than one. But we are way, way ahead of ourself.

One week before Ani’s birthday, I went back to Yonkers to sell blood while Ani is at school—I don’t know what else to do. I been messaging Rauden but the Newburgh product did not move. I brought my old quarantine Proofs to Yonkers, for quality assurance. I thought it’s going to be a simple in-out operation. It didn’t work. The first dealer said, oh did I mention you must give a hand job? I walked out. The next only dealt blood in combo with organ sales. They say nobody does blood solos any more. They offer top dollar for certain organs but sleazy as these guys are, something bad could happen to me and if I die, there goes Ani’s different life, fire or no fire. I walked up and down the strip till it got really late, but all the rates is so bad I’m almost going to do the hand job but froze at that dealer’s booth. So I’m a bad mother. Instead, I sold to a different dealer at a rate so low I couldn’t buy anything good at all, at least up here.

I end up buying a used backpack from Norma Pellicano’s friend Darleen. It hardly floats at all and was not new. Maybe a good mother would of done the hand job and maybe not but either way, it didn’t work.

On the morning of her birthday Ani climbed on the mini with the birthday backpack. In the afternoon she kicked it all the way home. No one will sit with her.

“Well,” I say. “It’s still a nice backpack.”

She doesn’t say a word to me. She doesn’t have to. I could think it myself. Like I am the world expert, what a nice backpack is.

Twelve years old. Still alive.

Well, I can tell you, when Ani’s bleeding starts at Mrs. Postow’s personal Dome where I bring her in summer to watch TV or play Games while I clean, compared to Year One, it’s a walk in the goddamn park. She just comes out to me where I’m scrubbing the Dome roof and tells me what happened. I don’t have an Episode. I don’t even talk about nature. I just tell her how it works and show her what to do. I give her some cloths for the blood and say, “Don’t tell Rauden,” and she gives me a look like, why would I?