Pink (short story)

The day I started asking questions I was ten. It was the same year I decided that I wanted to be called “Pink” instead of “Catherine”. Both my mother and I loved the color, and all of my mother’s clothes were pink, but that’s not really important. ​

I was in the car with my mom, watching all the Left people walk through the streets on their side. They looked so tired, I knew the feeling. Walking Days are the worst. Class, the gym, work, everything was made worse on Walking Days. You have to wake up early to get anywhere on time. It was Driving Day for us. I squished my face up against the window, trying to get a better look at them, when I finally blurted out the question that had been burning in me for ages:

“Mom, who are the people on the other side? Some say they are devils and some people say that they are our reflections. Which one is true?”

“They are devils and reflections in some people's eyes, but, they are us, Catheri-um, Pink.” she said gently, looking straight ahead and barely moving her lips. The cameras were everywhere. We were not allowed to speak of the Lefts. Especially since we were in such close proximity to them on the streets.

“What do you mean they are us?”

“In the higher grades, I was taught that long ago, when the world was made, a thick piece of glass was put between us so that if something happened that could cause humans to become extinct, one side would survive. Eventually, extinction happened to the Lefts. A horrible illness struck in the 20s. But, instead of just breaking down the glass and living as one, volunteers tunnelled deep underground and they grew and prospered. Now, we’re the same.”

“Why can’t we talk to them? Why are we still separate, Mom? Our technology is more advanced; we won’t become extinct.”

“I don’t know, Pink. I just don’t know.” she shook her head as we arrived back home. When we pulled up into the driveway, my mom turned towards me and looked me straight in the eyes. 

"Please, don’t ever fight it. Don't fight the glass system. I know you. And I know that you will consider it, but please don’t. Don’t attract attention to yourself. Don’t let the cameras go green. Green means bad. Don’t rebel, It will only hurt you.”

Then, she turned, got out of the car, and walked away. No explanation. Nothing. 

My mother disappeared shortly after. The police assumed she had run away from me for some reason. When she didn’t come back after a year, my family held a small funeral for her and we buried her favorite dress. I became an orphan, but I was allowed to stay at home with a nanny until age fourteen. After that, I was on my own. 

When I turned seventeen, a new boy moved in across the glass from me. I could see into his back yard from my side yard. I longed to meet him. Day in and day out he was all I thought about. 

The first day I ever made eye contact with him was the anniversary of my mother’s death. I was covered from head to toe in my mother’s pink clothes and laying in the side yard to get some sun. He smiled at me. He was playing with a little girl and had a Jessie from Toy Story cowgirl hat on his head. I called him Jesse from that day forward and I often wonder what he called me.

After our first eye contact, I looked for him everywhere. On his Walking Days, I looked for him on the sidewalk. On Driving Days, in a car. He was so interesting to me.  At night, I would wait to see if he would go into his backyard so we could see each other. I wanted to talk to him, for him to be my best friend, but I could never figure out a safe way. 

The next time we made eye contact, I waved. Jesse looked at me, terrified. His eyes bounced from his camera, to mine, checking to make sure they didn’t go green. His eyes seemed to say, “They’re watching. What are you thinking?” I was horrified. Always watching. 

That night, I snuck out my window and onto the roof. Curfew scared me, but I needed to meet Jesse. I wanted to know about Lefts and their way of life. I leapt through the air and into the tree with the camera. I was quiet, careful not to make the light go green. Green means you’ve done something wrong. Then, I smashed it to bits. And the other two cameras in my yard. Bam, turned to dust. 

The next day, I happened to see him again. I smiled and waved at him again “hi”. He looked at the cameras. I shook my head. He glanced again and saw that they were no longer there. He quickly and swiftly scooted his sister’s playhouse up to the glass and wedged himself between it and the glass, completely hidden from his cameras. 

I sat in the cool grass on one side of the glass with him on the other. I wrote on a piece of notebook paper I had.

“You are a Left.”

He nodded. I could almost hear him saying, “Duh.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. He reached into his pocket and took out a crumpled piece of paper and a tiny pencil. 

“It is the way it is.” he wrote. 

“I want to be able to meet.”

He smiled at that. 

“We are meeting. Now.” 

We talked for a little while longer about just pointless things. Until I guess something happened and he had to go back in. He put his hand up to the glass. I placed mine against it on the other side. We had never hugged, touched, or even actually spoken to each other, but in that moment, with him, I felt like we were connected.

Our little conversations continued for about a week before we decided we should try meet in person, without the glass. The camera repair men had already come to look at my cameras and had promised to fix them “within the next few days” So, I started digging almost immediately. Looking back on it, I should’ve known that they wouldn’t leave me without some form of observation or surveillance. I should have known that the cameras had been replaced with smaller ones until they could get my new ones. I should've known they wouldn't believe my story. That they were skeptical.

The cameras were not visible, but the green lights Jesse noticed while we were digging, were unmistakable. He froze and gently pointed at the tree. As soon as I saw it, I got up and ran. He ran, too. I jumped in the car even though it was Walking Day. I could hear the police sirens getting closer to me as I zoomed down the street. As soon as they came into view. I slammed my foot onto the accelerator and turned sharply, ramming the car straight into the glass. A small crowd had formed on either side, but I could see Jesse running to the front, throwing a bike to the side, and smiling-completely out of breath. There was a hole barely large enough for him to squeeze through, but he managed. We embraced for the first time ever. For the first time in the months we had seen each other, I touched him. I could smell him. I knew for certain he was a real person. I hugged him tightly, but we were torn apart almost immediately by the police. I kicked and screamed and then everything went black. 

I haven’t seen much light since. It’s so dark in here. I don’t know how long its been since all of that happened and I wonder what happened to Jesse. I’ve given up on screaming all the time. It took me a long time to remember that Jesse wasn’t actually his real name and that even though we had talked what felt like a million times, I didn’t actually know his real name. 

The only time I do still scream is also the only time I ever see light. Once daily a food bar is dropped in from the ceiling. And just for that moment, I look up and see light and I scream like hell until I can’t see the light anymore. And the door closes. And I know that I’m alone. Whenever I stop screaming, I imagine Jesse answering, shouting: “Catherine, I’m here! I’m here! I’ll get you out! I’m her.”

This last time though, I don’t think I was imagining. Someone was screaming, but I didn’t hear “Catherine." I heard “Pink."