Immunity/Community

Test day.

Today.

I can't remember the last time I went to the doctor.

I can't remember it, but I can feel it. I remember the pricking in my arm, squeezing mom's hand, the terrifying mask.

And, what for? After all those shots, I still must take the test. We all must. It took a while before I realized that a person was doing the pricking, and someday, I could see the person behind the mask.

Well, if I pass.

Passing is imperative. It's funny; I am more nervous about this test than the others: my college admissions test, my competency tests, my physical fitness tests. I wasn't anxious for any of those, even though I had to work hard to pass. Even though failing could be detrimental.

Perhaps it’s good that I passed all those tests. Perhaps I’ll be excited when I see the results. Perhaps my medical aptitude test qualified. Perhaps it will matter.

Perhaps, but only if I pass this test. The test I can't prepare for.

"Margaret!" Mom calls. "Megan!"

Megan stirs in her bed. She was always a better sleeper, even on days like these. It is incredible how two sisters can look identical yet be so different. The only identical thing is our matching heart-shaped lockets.

We've always been different. Megan could always do things before me. Ride a bike first, swim first, finish tests first. Everything always seemed so easy to her. Nothing ever seems to bother her.

If she doesn't pass today, she’ll be fine. She's always fine. It’d be easier to be like Megan. If she wants anything, she won't say it aloud.

It’s futile to want anything until after the test. That’s what I keep telling myself. Keep your wants to yourself.

The water feels good running down my body in the shower. I don't know why we must shower today, but it’s nice to look at my body one more time before it’s different. It will be different, regardless. More importantly, what my body can do will be different.

The red rushes down my leg. Ugh, today of all days. It’s ironic. The red might not even matter after today, but no matter what, the red will come.

Bodies are strange. I've only seen mine and Megan's. It must be strange to see another body, a male body. It must be even stranger to see a baby's body, to touch a baby.

I think that's what I want the most. To touch a baby, to smell a baby. I hear they smell good.

"Margaret!" Megan calls groggily. "I need to use the bathroom."

I walk down the hall into the kitchen. Mom's hair is like the sun, bright and full of possibility. I wonder how she really feels.

"Happy birthday!" she says, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. I open the refrigerator. "Remember Maggie, no eating until after the test. Trust me; I have all your favorites for dinner."

It's true. Breakfast has always been my favorite meal, and the fridge is full of bread, bacon, eggs, and orange juice. There’s even some champagne. Mom said we could have some champagne for our 18th birthday, regardless of the results. There are pizzas in the freezer for Megan. Such a good mom.

Most moms don't have to endure this. Most moms only have one test, one worry at a time. Megan and I are double the trouble, but Mom, forever the optimist, insists we are double the fun.

Mom says I'm like Dad, always expecting the worst, but she's wrong. It’s because of her that I want things, because of the hope behind her eyes.

"How's the French toast, Dad?" I ask, rolling my eyes. It would not occur to Dad to wait until after we leave. He looks at me sheepishly, his cheeks full. "It's fine,” I say. I'm not hungry anyway."

"I wasn't either, honey. It's entirely normal," Mom says. "What’s taking your sister so long?" she frets, rushing down the hall.

"She can't stop moving," says Dad, his eyes following her. Dad always says so much while saying so little.

He's in his work clothes. Most dads would probably take the day off. It is an accepted practice to take the day off, more if your kid passes. You need time to plan the party.

I have heard about the 18-year-old birthday party. The party that starts the rest of your life. The party of possibility.

I've never been to a party before. I remember watching Mom and Dad go to parties, and concerts, and weddings. They looked so beautiful, so free.

But Dad doesn't look free now. He looks like he can’t wait to leave. He wipes his hands and rises.

"Come here, Maggie Mouse," he says, drawing me close. He hasn't called me that since I was a kid. Well, I guess I am a kid, until today. He can't say it, but I feel his nerves through his clothes. We all want this day to be over. To just know.

My eyes follow him to the door. He scans his wrist, and the door unlocks.

"Bye, Megan, good luck today!" he calls awkwardly. Megan calls from down the hall. She's not the hugging type.

Dad looks at me warily, and I shrug back. Megan’s hard to read sometimes. It's best to leave her be. The door locks automatically behind him.

"Margaret, you ready?" asks Mom. "Megan, come. We can’t be late."

I wonder what would happen if we were late or if we refused to take the test. I wonder what THEY would do.

It would probably be the same as failing. I couldn’t go away to college, or get married, or travel. I couldn’t become a doctor.

"Time to go!" says Mom, scanning her wrist. Megan grabs our masks off the hook.

It’s always hard to adjust to the light. We must exercise every day, and limited outdoor time is recommended, but I have always preferred to read. Megan was always more athletic and outdoorsy. Always at home in public.

She looks so natural walking down the driveway, waving to the neighbors, like today is like any other day. Like today doesn't decide the rest of our lives.

The doctor's office isn't far, but I can't stop looking outside. The sky is so blue, and the people are so busy, the masked and the unmasked. Megan rolls down the window, putting her head out, which always makes me nervous. She has so much trust.

"It's warm, Maggie," she murmurs. "You should try it."

I roll down my window, feeling the balmy breeze. The streets seem so peaceful, even the ones beyond the border. The ones I've never been to. It makes you wonder how the world could be so dangerous.

We stop at the checkpoint. Mom rolls down her window and offers her wrist. The bot scans it, and we enter the medical center’s parking lot.

After the test, I might be able to drive around the lot. Mom said I could, maybe. Megan will probably learn faster. If she can.

We walk inside, taking the elevator up. Usually, the elevator is the worst part of going to the doctor. I hate standing next to strangers in a small space, breathing the same air.

The lady in the elevator glances at us.

"18?" she asks, smiling knowingly. Mom nods stiffly, and the lady's smile falters. She strokes her wrist absentmindedly.

The waiting room is welcoming enough. Mom signs paperwork while we grab our Orientation pads. It’s a formality at this point. I can recite the speech from memory.

"Today you’ll be tested to determine your immunity to the Virus. Throughout your childhood, you have been preparing for this day through inoculations of all strains and social distancing. You’ve maintained your health with a nutritious diet and regular exercise. You’ve completed your online schooling and competency tests. You’ll receive the results of the relevant tests after completing today’s procedure. Today you’ll begin to make the choices that determine your adult life.

There’s no need to be nervous. The test won’t be painful, and the results will be processed immediately. There are two possible results: immune or non-immune. There’s no passing or failing. Both results necessitate a set of requirements and choices.

IMMUNE

If you’re immune to the Virus, you must take a position in public service. You do not have to attend college, but the option of living on campus is available. You can choose to be a surgeon or a sanitation worker, but your immunity will be tested regularly. After passing, your left wrist will be implanted with a microchip that secures your access to public spaces. You’ll be able to take your driver's test and date your immune peers. Your parents will help you navigate these changes.

Many immune individuals have found it difficult to adjust to public life. For the first year, you’ll be monitored to ascertain your ability to cope with social gatherings. It’s essential to spend this time focusing on your career and becoming independent.

The final step in adulthood is to choose a life partner and procreate. Every family unit is required to produce two children to ensure the continuation of the healthiest possible human race.

NON-IMMUNE

If you’re not immune to the Virus, your transition into adulthood will be less disrupted. You’ll continue residing in your parents' household until you finish your online studies in a private field. You’ll receive the appropriate technological equipment to carry out your studies and eventual job placement. Some career paths will require minimal certification, while others will require much preparation.

After finishing your studies, you’ll choose to live in a private household or join a non-immune community. Many people decide to join a community if they desire to find a life partner or develop friendships. Non-immune communities are the only public spaces where you’ll not be required to wear a mask. It’s important to remember you’ll still visit your parents and siblings for important events and holidays.

Finally, you’ll receive your sterilization procedure today and be transported home to recover. The recovery time will be longer for females than males. There are few side effects. Many non-immune individuals have found comfort knowing they’ll not subject the next generation to faulty immune systems.

Both immune and non-immune individuals have the responsibility and opportunity to contribute to society equally. Today, we celebrate your choices and thank you for your sacrifices."

"You listened to the WHOLE thing?" asked Megan, rolling her eyes. "I tuned it out."

I wish I could tune it out. All the thoughts that I’ve been pushing down are bubbling to the surface.

"Margaret and Megan Carpenter," calls the nurse from the front.

Mom squeezes my hand and attempts a weak smile. I wonder what she wants for us.

I wonder if we will take the test together, but we’re ushered into separate rooms. Megan turns back to me.

"See you on the other side," she says with a wry smile.

I walk into the room. There’s one chair between two doors. Two blank doors.

"Where do the doors go?" I ask the nurse.

"One of the rooms is prepped for microchipping, and another for sterilization,” she says. “We will tell you after we receive the test results."

She finishes with my arm. I didn't even notice. I can't stop staring at the doors.

"Great," she says. "I'll pop this in the scanner. Be right back."

The door slams and I realize I’ve never really been alone before. I mean, I’ve never been to a party, but the online world has always been at my fingertips. I’ve never spent a night alone. Maybe that’s why everyone has two children. So, no one will be lonely.

Soon she’ll return. Soon I can go through door #1 or door #2. I wonder if they are locked.

I hear footsteps down the hall. My heart thumps beneath my chest. Door #1 or door #2?

What about the third door?