The Tiniest Hinge

The intake employee with the red-striped top pointed down the hallway and said, “Just go right through those doors, and you won’t have to worry about a thing for the rest of your life!”

Her exuberance had become very draining. Worry? I haven’t worried about anything since the healers fixed my hormones fifty years ago. I was lucky to be in the third ring from the epicenter, or so they told me.

The door creaked open when I held my orange card over the scanner. The floor in the huge room was an odd shade of blue and rough. It was almost as if someone painted over sand. As I was contemplating why someone would paint sand, I felt a small tug on my shirt. “Are you new here? I don’t remember your face,” said a small human, peering up at me intently.

“Yes. It’s the first day of the rest of my life,” I replied while scanning the room.

“That doesn’t make any sense. Isn’t that every day?”

I chuckled when I realized the kid made a good point. I started to realize my Finishing was going to be unlike anything I had experienced before. The governors had placed the Finishing and Waiting together during the weekdays. I had never encountered so many little people and elderly in one place, and the commotion was overwhelming. I would need to take my orange pill soon.

“Well, what number are you?” the child demanded impatiently.

We looked at my card together and the boy said, “987. I’m 888, so we will see each other every day! What’s your name? I’m Jacob. We have to get in our lines!”

More exuberance. I was exhausted already. Surprisingly, Jacob kept talking to me. Even though this card was brand new, my old card was also orange. Anytime I would pull it out, all conversations stopped, which was just fine with me.

After telling Jacob my name, he pulled me to the sign that listed numbers 900-999 in bold black letters. There were numbered circles along the floor, and sure enough, Jacob was almost directly across from me when I stood on my spot.

Pointing to the circle in front of mine, Jacob said, “That’s Spencer’s. She is so funny. She sings songs about sunshine and submarines and always makes me giggle.”

Soon after, a child dressed in a yellow t-shirt and denim pants started toward us from the front of the room near the food-laden tables. Jacob went silent, finally, and focused on the person approaching. She walked quickly with her eyes trained to the white line on the sandy blue floor. When she noticed my shoes on spot 987, she suddenly stopped and snapped her eyes to mine. Something about her light green eyes reminded me of someone. She quickly turned toward the front and waved her hand at the floor when Jacob greeted her quietly.

Her reaction confused me. My orange card was in my pocket; she couldn’t have seen it. She was probably around five years old and didn’t even know her colors yet anyway. She wouldn’t learn those until she started Training in a few years. I turned to look at Jacob, and he shrugged his shoulders at me.

A voice boomed over the loudspeaker. Afternoon activities were broadcast, as were the lunch choices for the day. When egg souffle was announced as the entree, many young voices booed. Cheers erupted, however, when ice cream was listed as dessert. Still, Spencer remained quiet throughout the duration with her hands fiddling with something around her neck. Suddenly, a glint of shiny metal caught my eye. What was she doing? What did she have? I watched her hands closely. There it was – a silver heart-shaped locket. Contraband! I looked around quickly to see if anyone else had noticed. She slipped it back into her shirt, clasped her hands behind her back, and stared straight ahead.

“Pssst. Pssst,” Jacob hissed. “I figured it out. Her gramma Finished yesterday. You’re on her spot.”

My brain stilled instantly. Her grandmother Finished. The locket was her grandmother’s. My grandmother had a locket. Why am I remembering that? My mind drifted aimlessly, and I smelled apple pie. Weird – they did not announce apple pie as a dessert choice. My mind carried me to my grandmother’s kitchen. I was crying uncontrollably, and Grandma was singing "You are My Sunshine." That’s what she always called me.

“Sunshine,” she said as she picked up my chin, “you are crying because you have so much love in you. I know you don’t want to go home tonight, but you will be back next weekend. It’s not that long from now.

“Should I send you home with an extra slice of pie, so you can think of me tomorrow when you eat it?”

She was always able to make my heart feel better, even better than these orange pills do. Her heart was full of love, too. On quiet rainy afternoons, she would show me her brushed-gold oval cameo locket with a picture of my grandfather safely placed inside.

I would sit on her lap, and throughout her stories, she would open and close her locket. Her locket was not heart-shaped, but it helped shape her heart. After each story she would tell me, “The tiniest hinge can open the most important things.”

My brain struggled to bring me back to the lunchroom. Contraband. Apple pie. Grandma’s words continued to swirl in my head: “You have love in you, Sunshine.” “Open the tiny hinge.” No – contraband! No – apple pie.

It felt like a red alarm light was flashing in my brain. I frantically reached for my orange pill.

“Psst. Psst,” again Jacob hissed. “The robots are coming.”

I looked at the little human with confusion. What is he talking about? I then realized the red lights and alarms were real. I pocketed my pill and asked Jacob what was happening.

“Contraband check! Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

My eyes flew to Spencer. Her back was stiff, and her hands were shaking. Without thinking, I poked her on the shoulder and said, “Give it to me. Now.”

She turned to me; her eyes now filled with fear. “Now,” I repeated.

Shakily, she raised her hands to her neck. Grasping the locket tightly, tears started falling from those haunting eyes. She quickly handed it over and turned, drying her eyes on the back of her hands. The locket slid into my pocket next to the orange pill. Then, we waited.

Human-sized electronic units were traveling on wheels down each aisle. As they approached, an energized field hit me causing the hairs on my arms to stand up. The robot on my right started beeping and flashing. The entire room went silent. A guard rushed over and pulled me out of the line. Using a hand wand, he scanned my body. Unsurprisingly, the alarm flashed an orange light when it moved over my pocket. Before he moved any closer, I pulled out my orange card.

He flipped it over, looked me in the eyes, and led me back out the door where I arrived. The guard stopped and said to me, “Sorry about that. That was probably distressing for you. I am going to take you to the infirmary so a healer can evaluate you.”

“There’s no need for that,” I replied cautiously. “I’m feeling fine.”

“This is protocol. You should know that by now. It’s just a few feet down this hallway.”

The guard pushed a button near a bright white door. The door slid silently open to reveal the type of medical room I had visited numerous times in my lifetime. This was familiar territory. The healer behind the desk looked up at me and said, “When did you take your orange pill last?”

I pulled the pill from my pocket and said, “I was just going to take it when the alarms started going off in the lunchroom.”

“Good. Take it now, and you can have your lunch in here. It will be quiet with no rugrats running rampant. They take some getting used to, but we are here to help you. I apologize for not informing the guards of your metal hip. You arrived earlier than expected. Well, make yourself at home, since that is what this is now.”

So, tomorrow, then. Tomorrow, I will give Spencer her locket and start the first day of the rest of my life.