Promise of a New Day

“Are you kidding me? You put me in with a One??”

I stare at the black canvas tent in the second cell as the cop behind me closes the door to the holding cell room. 

“Can you put me somewhere else,” I spit out loudly. 

“New protocol,” is all he says as he guides me to my home for the weekend. “Besides, you’re my last booking. It’s already after five, and I’ve got an hour commute.” 

He scans his card and opens the cell door. I consider his color as I move past him. 

“You a Seven? Eight?” I inquire. 

He shuts the door behind me and answers, “An Eight. Too dark for a short commute. Too light for the fields or delivery.” 

He gives me the once-over and returns the question. “A Ten?” 

“In the flesh,” I acknowledge. 

“Fields or delivery?” 

“Fields,” I reply sharply. 

“Huh. Why, if you don’t mind my asking,” he asks me. 

My eyes are back on the tent as I answer him. 

“So I don’t have to look at them.” 

He nods back at me. 

“Respect. Sorry you’re stuck in here til Monday for insubordination,” he says earnestly. “I’m on the weekend shift, so I’ll at least try to get you the good food.” 

“I appreciate that,” I tell him as he runs his card through the scanner and leaves me to silence. 

I take my first real look around the room. Two holding cells, side by side, line the back wall from one end to the other. On the other side of the room, there are windows on each wall and skylights overhead. 

Swanky, I think. Must be from before the times. 

My section has a low cot, a sink, and a toilet in the corner. I’m assuming the other does, too, under the covering. 

So far, I haven’t heard a sound from whoever’s in there. And that’s fine by me. I have no desire to talk to one of them. 

So silence it is. 

A different cop rolls in a cafeteria cart with covered trays a little while later. Looks like a Seven. He places the trays through the meal slots attached to each door. 

I’m retrieving mine when I hear the voice. 

“Could you please put the tray under the tent?”

My whole body turns towards it in surprise. Soft. Light. Feminine. Musical. 

The cop doesn’t say a word, but takes the tray to the edge of the tent. 

“I’m right by the edge,” he says and taps the canvas. “Am I good to lift the bottom?”

“Yes,” floats the voice from behind the curtain. 

I watch him coolly as he carefully lifts the cloth and quickly shoves the tray underneath. 

“Why did you bother with that?” I ask him. “She could’ve just come out to get it when it got dark.” 

The cop takes his time standing up, and when he finally looks me in the eye, he says, “You ever see a One burn?”

I shake my head with a shrug. 

He holds my gaze and says, “Lucky man.” 

Without another word, he exits the room with the cart. The squeak of the wheels mark his retreat down the hall. 

I take one more glance at the tent before I grab my tray and sit down on my cot with it. 

Seems to me like lucky would describe someone who gets to sit at home while others do all the work. All because the sun went haywire. 

I eat my chicken and rice in silence and place the empty tray back on its shelf. The only signs of life from the other cell are the occasional squeak of the cot or rustle of cloth. Fine by me. I have nothing in common with her. 

The July sun is starting to set when I hear her voice again. 

“Excuse me. If you don’t mind, could you tell me when it’s fully dark?”

I’m still surprised by its cadence, so I answer, “What?” 

“Could you tell me when it’s dark?” 

I give her a look of disdain, even though she can’t see me. 

“Just check your SYNC,” I tell her condescendingly.

A high-pitched laugh returns to me. 

“What need would I have for a SYNC? No need for a countdown once I step into the light or a UV flare-up notification. If I go out during the day, I’m dead.” 

It’s not the answer I was expecting.

“How do you know I won’t just lie to you?” I ask her with suspicion. 

“I don’t. Maybe I’m hoping you will,” comes the wistful reply. 

All I can do is stare at the dark material in confusion. 

“I get it,” she speaks up after a minute. “I’d hate me, too.” 

We say no more as the sky chases away the remaining light. Blue to indigo to black. I keep expecting to hear her voice pipe up and ask if it’s dark yet. 

But she doesn’t. 

I keep waiting. Let out a sigh. Wait. 

Eventually I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. So I finally call out to her. 

“It’s dark out now.” 

At first, there’s no response. 

But then I hear the cot creak. 

I don’t want to look, but I’ve never seen a One in person before. And her voice…

A hand slides out between the overlapping flaps, and there’s enough moonlight streaming in to make her out as she emerges. 

She has long dark hair. I can’t tell quite what color. But the contrast against her skin is… like nothing I’ve ever seen. 

I’m not sure if her skin is actually translucent from years of sun-neglect or if it’s from the incoming luminescence. 

She sees me staring and stays rooted where she is, watching me with a curious eye. Down and up. Around. 

“So you’re a Ten,” she states, not really asking, but taking a step forward. 

I only nod. I don’t trust my voice yet. Ones are not supposed to look like this. 

She continues to study me as she takes another step.

“You have beautiful skin,” she says forlornly. 

“I’m not too dark for you to see?” I say, trying to summon some rancor.

“No,” she answers without even a blink. “My eyes are used to it. I live in darkness.” 

She should have light, something says in my head. She leans against the back wall and slides to the floor, her legs tucked under her.  

“Would you- would you tell me about the fields?” she asks tentatively. 

I give her a guarded look and respond, “Why?”

She pauses, wets her lips before continuing. 

“Because I miss the dirt,” she whispers and lifts her head to the skylights. “The clouds. The smell of the rain.”

Her eyes glisten as she counts off what else she misses until I can’t listen to anymore. 

“I’m gonna go to bed,” I abruptly say at the next pause. 

She smiles as she says,” Ok. I’m going to stay up, if you don’t mind. I can sleep later.”

I nod as I lie down and wrap the scratchy woven blanket around me. 

“Make sure you don’t fall asleep out here,” I speak into the night. 

“I won’t.” 

She’s not up when the commuter cop who booked me brings breakfast the next morning. Or when he brings lunch. He makes a remark about ‘light and lazy’ as he takes her breakfast tray and replaces it with the lunch one. 

Twenty-four hours ago, I would have agreed with him. Before I met one. Heard her voice. Saw what’s real. 

She’s not what they said. And I’m not sure what to think or do or say. 

I can tell when she wakes up. I tell myself I must’ve seen the fabric sway or heard the blanket swish, but it was something… invisible. In the air? In the energy? 

Something changed. 

“Are you awake?” comes her voice. 

“Awake? It’s after noon,” I tell her. 

“Hmm,” is her reply. 

I’m not sure where to go from here, so I say, “They brought you food, but it’s on the door shelf, and I can’t reach it, so…”

“It’s ok. I can wait,” she breathes out. 

There’s a pregnant pause as I search for something to say. 

“So why are you in here?” is what proceeds from my mouth. 

It is curious how a One ends up in jail. 

“Hmm,” she said again. “A delivery was brought to my house by mistake, and I kept it. Gave it to my neighbor.”

I stifle a groan. Those laws were strict.

“She’s an Eight. Her husband was a Three, an unforgivable combo. The kids are all Fours. So I took the chance,” she explains. 

“That was a big risk,” I admit. “Most people report missing deliveries.” 

“I know. Figured I don’t have much to lose,” she said matter-of-factly. 

The conversation continues between the two of us, despite the barriers. It abruptly stops when Commuter Cop comes in with two more trays. He gives me a nod as he slides the top one through my cell door.

As he replaces her lunch tray with the dinner one, he eyeballs the tent and gives a contemptuous look at the uneaten lunch. 

“You know she can’t come out to get it,” I remind him. He sends me a cold look. 

“If you don’t mind, could you please put the tray under the tent?” Her voice drifts from beyond the thick black veil. 

He acts like he doesn’t hear her as he turns toward the door and swipes his card. 

“Come on, man,” I protest as he walks out the door without a glance. “It’s not her fault!” 

The door slams behind him, punctuating the response. 

I wait an extra ten minutes after dark to let her know night has settled. She makes a beeline to her tray once she emerges. I make the same moves to retrieve mine. When she notices what I’m doing, she stops and watches, confusion on her face. 

“Why haven’t you eaten that?” she asks. 

“I was waiting for you,” I respond as I sit down on the floor in front of her. I balance the tray over my crossed legs and unwrap the baggie of plastic utensils. 

She sits down slowly, carefully. 

“Why?”

“I don’t actually know. But I’d like to find out,” I admit and wait for her reaction. 

After a moment, she hits me with a shy grin and removes the lid from her tray. It broadens as she rips into her tableware and digs in. 

She makes a face after she swallows the first bite. 

“Wow, that is some spicy curry!” she declares as she sucks in a breath. 

“How’d you get curry?” I exclaim with a look at her meal. My chicken is plain.

She shrugs as she spears another piece. 

“Don’t know, but I’ll take it,” she says and pops the bite into her mouth.

“You know, we can trade if you don’t like it,” I suggest. 

She gives me a feral look and jabs at me with her fork. 

“I dare you to come in and get it,” she challenges with flashing eyes. 

“Don’t tempt me,” I taunt with a wink. 

Something wakes me before dawn. I sit up and see the gradual lightening of the sky through the windows. Confused, I look around. 

Then I see her. She fell asleep on the floor against the bars. I ease off the cot and go to wake her. 

I shake her gently. She doesn’t stir, so I shake her again.

“Hey, you need to wake up. Sun’s coming up,” I say softly. 

I try shaking her with two hands. 

“You fell asleep out here. You need to get up and get into the tent before the sun comes up,” I repeat. 

That feeling of dread and panic that starts in your throat and moves into your gut rolls through me. So I shake her hard, harder. Raise my voice. Yell. 

She’s not responding, and I swallow the lump in my throat, hoping for it to be washed away by the waves of nausea. 

And I think of the spicy curry.  

I start to yell for help. Bang my tray against the bars. No one comes. The sky continues to lighten as I yank at the bars on the door, on all the bars, searching for weaknesses. 

There’s no way, and the sun is climbing.  

I look around my cell. There’s the blanket, but it’s such a loose weave that there are gaps. It won’t do on its own. And there’s nothing else. 

Almost. 

She already has pants and long sleeves. It’s her hands, neck, and head. 

I take off my shirt and shove her arms into it. I tie off the sleeves so her hands don’t poke out. Then I pull the neck hole above the crown of her head, but don’t pull her head through. I pull down the shirt over her chest. 

I look over her again and tuck her pant legs into her shoes. I wrap the blanket around her for good measure. My arms go through the bars to hold her against me as best I can. 

She won’t like waking up constrained, but I have to do it until she understands the danger she’s in. 

The sun rises. And its hours of waiting. Meals never come.

She groans and shifts mid-afternoon. I can tell when the confusion sets in, and before she starts to thrash, I speak up. 

“Hey, it’s ok, it’s me, but I need you to listen to me right now and don’t move, ok? I’ll explain everything, but just don’t move,” I tell her calmly. 

She nods and says, “Ok. What’s happening?” Her voice is quiet and contains traces of panic. 

“You fell asleep outside of the tent. But I think you were drugged, because I couldn’t get you to wake up. So I have you covered up as best I can,” I relay to her. 

“It’s daytime? The sun’s up?” she cries out as I feel the panic take over and she starts to squirm. 

“You can’t move,” I remind her firmly. “I’ve got you covered with my shirt and a blanket, but if you move around too much, it could shift.” 

She stills immediately, but I can still sense her terror. 

“It’s going to be ok. I’m right here, and I’m not leaving. You will see another day, I promise you,” I vow as I squeeze her closer, bars and all. 

“Ok,” she whispers, as if her volume might cause a ripple. 

“Do you still want to hear about the fields? I can tell you all about them,” I continue.

I tell her everything I know and can remember about the fields until the dark comes and she can pull everything off. 

She sits up and stares at me. 

“You saved me,” she whispers. “Why?” 

“I guess I finally saw the light,” I say as I pull her to the bars and kiss her.