Apocalypse Denial

I grasp the cold metal handle of the shabby, wooden, inner door, press my thumb on the old lever, and push. Wood scrapes against the marked-up lime linoleum as I hip-check the door.

“Hold on a minute!” An old woman’s shaky voice calls out from deep inside the house.

“It’s okay, Gran, I got it.” The door continues on the well-worn road on the linoleum. I walk into the dismally-lit kitchen, and close the door with my knee. With some force, it finally shuts with a bang.

I hang my keys up on the wall rack, place my wallet on the tray below, then walk to the living room. I address my elderly grandma, who is standing, facing the TV. She must have risen from her chair after hearing the door. She remains stationary, eyes riveted on the screen. “Hi Gran.” It’s as if she doesn’t hear me. “Hi Gran,” I say in a louder voice.

“Oh hi, Dear.” She seems absentminded, barely registering that I’m standing beside her.

I hear the audience erupt into applause, through the speaker Jake set up for us, in an attempt to modernize our living room. I glance over at the TV. The speaker is dressed in an expensive suit and wool coat. It’s a far cry from the discount coat I saved up for months to buy for Gran last year. I gently take her arm and lead her backwards, until she’s back at her chair.

“Hmm?” Gran glances at me through her glasses as if seeing me for the first time. “Oh.” She sits down in her threadbare armchair.

I wrap Gran’s shawl around her, while giving her a hug from behind, trying to make her more comfortable. The old farmhouse is cold and drafty—I make a mental note to talk with Jake to see what can be done. I sit next to Gran’s chair and turn my eyes toward the TV, and the president’s speech.

President Ash has been in power since I was a small child, back in the 2040’s. Over my entire lifetime, our society has been plagued by disease, poverty, environmental disaster, and uprisings. Tens of millions have died from the pandemics in our country, and an even greater number live in poverty and polluted conditions today. Gran says these are all clear signs of the Apocalypse.

“The four horses of the Apocalypse,” Gran had drilled into me, “represent all the trials we are currently going through. The illness that has ravaged our society for years, the disaster with our food sources, other environmental calamities, the civil war—are all a result of our society turning its back on God. But look, President Ash led us out of the civil war victorious. He’ll bring us out of the other calamities as well.”

It disturbs me each time the charismatic president requests donations to fight to keep him in power—and Gran reaches for her purse to contribute. I don’t believe in his assertions about the ‘end of days’. The financial inequality in our society is staggering, and is clearly part of the problem. Most of the population forced into poverty experiences effects of the ‘Great Calamities’ personally, whereas the excessively wealthy remain nearly untouched. As a result, to the poor it looks like we’re living in an Apocalypse. If we actually had a middle class, it wouldn’t look like the ‘End Times’ at all. That’s just my take on things.

As I sit here, I know I’m putting off the inevitable, the distressing news I have to share. I already feel I’ve let myself down, and I expect to get a response that makes me feel even worse. Gran has her own opinions of what my future should look like and what kind of person I should aspire to be, but I disagree with her.

Don’t get me wrong, I do want to develop good character and be a good person at heart and in my actions. I just don’t believe my future options should be so restricted. Being relegated to looking after a household and all it involves is not the future I aspire to—not that there’s anything wrong with it for those who would be happy in that position. I have different aspirations, ones that Gran opposes very vocally.

A commercial break. I sigh, knowing it’s time to talk to Gran about my big issue.

“Gran.” She looks over at me. “I found out today that I didn’t get in.” Just saying it makes me feel even more miserable.

Gran mutes the remote and gives me her full attention. She brightens. “It’s okay, Andrea, God must have a different path for you. When God closes one door, He opens another. You’ll be safer this way and start to prioritize important things.”

Although I’ve heard Gran say some of those phrases over the years with conviction, they just ring hollow in my ears. Instead of getting the empathy I need to work through what feels like such a loss, a loss of my dreams, I feel how shallow those words must be to anyone who is dealing with a loss in life.

I listen to Gran rattle off various platitudes I’ve heard many times before, and I realize I’m feeling something I didn’t expect to feel. Anger. I rise from my chair and interrupt her. “I have a headache. I’m going to lie down for a bit.”

I feel a bit guilty at the concern on Gran’s face, but leave the room and make my way up the old, rickety stairs to go to my room. I know I’ll have complete privacy there, since Gran hasn’t ventured up any stairs since last year, when she had a scare due to a fall. After that, Jake and I moved her bedroom downstairs into the old den to be safe.

I toss my book bag onto the floor, and fling myself onto my bed. If I really did have a headache that wouldn’t have been a wise thing to do. I bury myself in my bed with my pillow on top of my head and over my ears to block out the world. That’s when I finally allow myself to feel the emotions I’ve held in check from the moment I found out the results. Tears start streaming, dampening the sheets beneath my face.

I grab some tissue from my bedside table, as my nose starts running. I try not to make a sound, since the old farmhouse doesn’t have the best soundproofing. I don’t want Gran to hear me cry.

What really gets me is they wouldn’t let me see my test scores or give me the opportunity to learn from my errors. Isn’t school about improving our knowledge and skills? Then why wouldn’t they let me see my test scores?

I turn onto my side. “Dial Jake.” I wait, hoping Jake isn’t busy.

I hear a clicking sound. “Heya Andy. What’s up?”

I try to keep the tremble out of my voice, but I can’t keep the rasp out. The traitorous sound reveals I’ve been crying. “Hey.”

“So sorry about this afternoon, Andy. I still can’t believe you didn’t get in.”

The tears start again, gushing this time. “I worked so hard for this. It was my dream.”

“I know, hun. I’m still shocked. I never in a million years would think you wouldn’t get in. I thought it was a sure thing.”

“I felt so confident, and after the last exam, I was smiling. I was sure I aced them all. When I asked to see my scores, they refused to show me.”

“It’s so odd. This is the first time they’ve ever denied students from viewing their test scores.”

“I just feel so miserable. Maybe if I knew what I did wrong, it would be easier to accept.”

“I totally understand. If I was in your shoes, I’d want to see my scores, too.”

“What should I do? Do I just give up? It’s over, done--throw away my dreams for the future? I spent the last three years diligently studying, focusing on academics instead of on a social life, and I didn’t make the cut.” My voice is rising, then I suddenly remember Gran downstairs and bring down the volume. “I didn’t even get government permission to attend a community college with minimal admission standards. I just don’t get it.”

“Is there any way to see your results? Persuade the principal maybe?”

“Ha! You’re the one with the gift of persuasion. No. They made it clear that no one can view their test results, under any circumstances, according to the new government mandate. Case closed.”

“There’s got to be a way to see them. Maybe yours were accidentally switched with someone else’s.” I can tell Jake’s wheels are turning. Switched results seem like a strong possibility at this point. More likely than me failing my exams.

I sniffle and scrub my face with the back of my hand.

“Where are the test results kept?”

“Why? You’re not thinking of stealing them are you?” I wryly think about the time Jake was caught trying to ‘borrow’ Suzy Meier’s cookie in the first grade. His explanation sounded almost convincing. He had a way of putting facts and logic together and making them sound persuasive when there was something he really wanted. It’s why we always got along so well. Two logical souls. Well, apart from today’s devolving mess of a state I find myself in.

“Of course not. But a bit of snooping could be helpful. Snap a photo here and there, read the reports later. Fast in and out.”

“In the past they’ve been with the Guidance Counselor, in his office. But are you sure we should do this? What if we get caught?”

“If we get caught, we make it look like we’re just trying to find a quiet place to make out. At least we’ll be in a lot less trouble when they believe that excuse.”

“Hmm, I guess so.” I feel doubtful about the ‘what if we get caught?’ plan. Especially since we’ve never made out before. How would we make it look convincing so they don’t suspect we’re up to something else? There should be a book written on this stuff somewhere.

But if we’re caught what’s the worst they could do to us? Bar us from going to university? Oh right, they’ve already done that—at least in my case. Now I just need to know why.

“You’re not sounding too enthusiastic there, Andy.”

“Sure I am,” I deadpan. “I’m thrilled about this new step we’re taking together in our relationship.”

“Aww, you don’t sound as shy as when I first held your hand.” I blush at the memory. I know Jake is teasing me to try to get me to warm up to the idea of our upcoming escapade together. Because I know I’ll just end up going along with it. My desperation to know why I’ve been blocked from going to ‘any’ university is more extreme than my worry at getting caught at this point.

I dry my tear-streaked face on some tissue and sit up. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Great! And don’t worry. I have a plan.” Well, if nothing else, he’s resourceful. I’ll give him that. “Lunch break tomorrow sound good?”

“Yup. Definitely the best time for it.” The guidance counselors’ offices are in the old wing of the school, far from the quadrant where the new staff break room is, and their new state-of-the-art cappuccino bar. The new machines practically guarantee every staff member’s presence during lunch hour.

That night I do an internet search on ‘fake making out’, just in case Jake was serious about our ‘alibi’. It’s difficult to know when to take him at face value. I find a bunch of videos for an acting class, and watch the one called ‘Make-out Fake-out’. I try not to laugh, but it’s both amusing and a bit embarrassing. It’s embarrassing in the context that Jake and I have been lifelong friends until recently, and we’ve only ever held hands.

I try not to think of being as physically close to him as those in the acting demonstration were to each other. With flushed cheeks, I close my laptop, shut off my bedroom light, and fall asleep for the night.

_

I glance up from my tablet, and realize class is ending. I pick up my belongings and my heart starts racing again as I head to the door. It’s time to meet Jake at the other end of the school.

I walk down the hall in my navy shoes and plaid skirt, passing by everyone else in matching uniforms. Uniforms in public schools became a government requirement a few years back. I can’t say I really mind. It makes it easy in the morning to get ready.

I continue my musing to distract myself as I head to the outer doorway by the office to meet Jake. Once I arrive, I pull my navy cardigan closely around me, and push open the door to the outside. Jake is standing on the cement steps. He wedges a small stone between the door and the frame so it stays open about an inch.

From our vantage point, we can see the chair-back through the window of the office of my guidance counselor. We watch as he rises from his seat, takes his coffee cup, and moves out of view. We wait, then Jake quietly opens the door.

“Why are you tip-toeing?” Jake has a smirk on his face. “You look suspicious. Just be casual, as though you have a legit reason to be in this area during lunch hour.”

I take a shaky breath, and Jake opens the glass door to the group of offices. He tries the door to my counselor’s office, and we find it’s locked. “What now?” I’m feeling more nervous with every second.

“No worries.” Jake pulls out his student ID card, presses his knee hard up against the old door jamb, then deftly slides his card between the door and jamb by the doorknob. At the same time, he pushes the door inward with his body. The door jerks open slightly.

“Okay, go inside and snap the photos you need.” He must notice my questioning look, and gives me a lopsided smile. “I was totally joking yesterday.” He touches my cheek to remove a stray hair. “I’d want our first kiss to be special. Now go and get what you need. I’m right here.”

I step into the office, and head straight to the filing cabinet. I check one of the drawers and it’s unlocked. I know student test information is kept here, as it’s been removed from here to show me in the past.

I quickly find my name within the alphabetized files, and pull out the folder. There are a lot of documents inside—copies of academic test results and report cards. I find a large tan envelope, and slowly and carefully pull out the contents. What I find shocks me.

My scores on the tests are nearly perfect. But how could they be, as I wasn’t accepted to university? Did they just make a simple mistake? I continue to flip through the booklets and see nearly perfect scores, until I get to the ‘psych eval’.

I open the booklet, and notice a comment made in red pen and circled, on the scoring summary page. It says: Compliance Risk. I pull out my phone and take a photo, then flip the page. The only thing significant on my personal information page is that my gender, checked ‘female’ by me, is also circled in red. I continue flipping through the evaluation, noting that several of my answers throughout the booklet are circled in red. I snap photos of those, too.

I go back to my academic score summaries and take photos of them, so I have proof in case I need it. I don’t have time to take pictures of the documents in their entirety, but I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.

I’m so engrossed in taking photos, I don’t notice the footsteps and men’s voices drawing nearer in the outer hall. My eyes glance up and I freeze, as I hear the old glass door squeak open. All noise suddenly stops. One of the men’s voices resumes. “Why are you in here?”

I hear Jake speak, feigning nervousness. Only the office door separates me from the three of them. I feel exposed, my eyes darting around desperately for somewhere to hide.

“I was looking for you, Sir. There’s a girl that looks like she’s having some sort of break-down.” I hear Jake and the two men rapidly exit. I methodically put all the booklets back into the envelope and file. I quietly close the drawer, and listen carefully.

I don’t hear anything unusual, and am about to exit the office. Then I notice a page on the desk labelled, ‘New Government Mandates’. I snap a photo of it before I leave.

Once outside the offices, I walk toward the outer door. I hear footsteps and people talking as they approach. Panicking, I hightail it out of there, and don’t stop until I’m around the corner, blending in with a large group of students.

After school, Jake and I meet to walk home, and I tell him what I found in the files. “I’m not sure what the significance is, but I’m sure we can figure it out.”

“For sure, Andy.” He strains his eyes, looking at my phone. “The pics are too small to read on the phone. We’ll use the projector?”

“Yeah, I’ll just let Gran know we’re out in the barn doing school stuff.”

Gran insists we stay for freshly baked scones before leaving. Jake opens the stubborn front door, and I turn around and smile at Gran. “We’ll be out in the barn, working on a project if you need us.”

“Okay, Dear. Jake, would you like to stay for supper?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.” Jake avoids eating our food, knowing we’re on limited rations.

“Nonsense. You’re staying for dinner. Then you and Andrea will have more time to work on your project afterwards as well.” Gran's voice brooks no argument.

Jake looks at me sheepishly, then glances back at Gran. “Sure, Ma’am. I’d love to join you if you’ll have me.”

“Then that’s settled.” I see a sly smile appear on her face as she looks away. I shake my head.

My father built the barn before I was born, after the old one became ramshackled. It hasn’t been used for animals, apart from a horse or two. Well, plus the odd barn owl that’s helped reduce the rodent population.

Jake and I slide the doors shut, and turn on the light. We climb up the ladder to the hayloft, where Jake’s projector sits. Because I have the creepy barn, our friends unanimously voted to have spooky movie nights at my place.

Jake hooks my phone up to the interface. I take my phone and scroll backwards, explaining what each page is on the screen. “These pages are all my academic scores.”

“Wow, almost perfect scores. I’m not surprised though.”

I keep scrolling back until I get to the pages with the red markings. “Okay, look at questions 8, 18, 28, and so on that were marked in red. Every question ending with the digit ‘8’ seems to be measuring the same personality trait: how easily a person is persuaded or influenced.”

“Yeah, I remember those from the test. I didn’t realize they were using the scores to measure anything significant.”

“Here’s the summary scoring page.” I scroll through the photos, to the page that has both my gender circled in red, and ‘Compliance Risk’ circled several times in red.

“Holy hell. What is this crap?” Jake is visibly upset. “If this is what’s sabotaging your chance at university, we need to do something. ‘Compliance Risk’? What does that even mean?” Jake continues to rant. “Okay, tomorrow we go to someone higher up—the principal or the School Board.”

“We can’t, Jake, or they’ll know we broke into a school office. We could be expelled!” I flip to the next photo, the one I impulsively took of ‘New Government Mandates’.

Reading through the text, to say we are both in shock is an understatement.

“I can’t believe what I’m reading. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this is a prank.”

I read a section out loud. “‘…having high-scoring women limits opportunities for men. As a result, women will no longer be admitted to post-secondary education. Exceptions: a fraction of lower-scoring women will be admitted, so there are no complaints of gender-bias. At the same time they naturally won’t present as real competition for the men in the program.’”

“That’s insane.”

“It goes on. ‘Eventually we will be able to show statistically that women have no aptitude for post-secondary studies, based on the lower-scoring women, and mandate they be denied access.’”

“How messed up is that?” Jake is shaking his head. “And I can’t believe they’d leave a document like that lying around!”

“I think I lucked out.”

“Okay, let’s get you into university a different way.” I can see the wheels turning in his head.

“How?”

“None of your test scores would have been sent to any of the universities or colleges you were applying to, since it was determined that you didn’t pass. So we apply directly to your first choice of university instead, bypass the school entirely.”

“But won’t the result just be the same?”

“Not if we use the clues here. Plus, I have an idea.” Jake points to my phone. “Here, let’s pull up the university site.” Jake takes us to university registration. “The only downside is that you’ll have to take the tests all over again.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind. I’ll take some time to study up again and get into the ‘zone’”.

Jake laughs. “You’re so cute.”

I cock my head to one side, my eyes questioning as though they’re saying, ‘Like, really?’

Jake gets back to the matter at hand. “Okay, the initial application needs to be filled out before you do the testing, so let’s work on that.”

“Alright.” I start typing in the info.

“Wait. Don’t put Andrea as your first name.”

“What?”

“We need to disguise your gender. I hate to think they would still be discriminating on that basis. It’s disconcerting, since the government already removed all ‘other’ gender options from documents years ago. What next? Discrimination based on ethnic origin? To be safe, put ‘Andy’ instead, since that’s what you go by anyway.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Leave the gender box unmarked so it just says ‘Select One’, as if it was an oversight.” I follow Jake’s suggestion.

Once done, I click ‘Submit’. “Alright, I’m set to take the tests online—if my application is accepted.” We head down from the hayloft, and close up the barn. As we’re walking back to the house, I mention to Jake about the draftiness of the house. He agrees to take a look.

I feel excited and nervous, hoping the university will accept my application. A couple days later, I receive an email saying my application has been accepted, and I’ve been approved to take the admission tests. Tension seeps out of me.

On Saturday morning, I sit in front of my laptop at the small, quaint wooden desk in my bedroom, ready to log onto the testing site. Once I’m cleared with biometrics, the session starts. I sigh with relief on Sunday afternoon after finishing the last academic test. Now I just have the psych component to do.

I try to keep my answers to any ‘compliance-based’ questions moderate, and hope the changes are adequate. I take a deep breath as I click ‘submit’. Now the wait begins, and if I’m accepted I can go on to the next step in the registration process, applying for financial aid.

I stand and stretch out my stiff muscles, while yawning. I can finally spend some time with Jake.

Jake and I go for a walk, trudging down some of the muddy side trails, inspecting the property fence and buildings. In some places the mud is so gooey that it sucks our boots down. At one point, I step out of my boot in my sock and nearly fall over.

“Whoa, Andy!” Jake is laughing as he grabs onto me. “Now this is an interesting situation. We could play ‘Test Your Balance’ as you stand there on one leg.” He’s clearly getting a lot of pleasure out of teasing me.

“Ha. Ha.” My voice is sarcastic, but it is an amusing situation I find myself literally ‘stuck’ in.

Jake has me hold on to him as he reaches down, trying to yank my boot out of the mud. It’s like it’s been suctioned into the mud. Sluuuurp. My boot finally comes free, and Jake stumbles backwards. He plants his foot behind himself while keeping me upright.

“Hmm. Your other boot is likely stuck, too.” Jake suddenly scoops me up into his arms while I squeal from surprise. He’s right. I’m in my socks. He whispers into my ear, while his stubble tickles my cheek. “And this is why we always wear lace-up boots on Andy’s farm.” He carries me out of the muck, and sets me down on the grass next to the old brown wooden fence while he retrieves my other boot.

The sun is starting to set, and we round the path to home. “It was so nice, getting in a bit of exercise after two days cooped up inside.” And there’s no one else I’d rather watch the sunset with. I sigh, trying to allow myself to relax, but I also feel my scores are hanging over my head. Jake has so much faith in me, that I’ll do fine again. I think sometimes I just need to have more faith in myself.

We walk back to my front door together, and suddenly everything feels a bit awkward between us.

“So, uh...well, thanks for rescuing me. And my boots.”

“Yeah, your boots.” Jake smirks. “Can’t forget those. Sucked into a muddy vortex, and rescued by yours truly.”

I laugh and mock-slap him on the arm. “Our hero. Extraction successful.”

“Soooo, see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” I find myself fidgeting as we stand by the door.

“Come here.” I step forward into Jake’s open arms and he envelopes me in a hug. He grips my hair in his hands, nuzzles my cheek with his nose, and softly kisses me on the cheek. “Goodnight, Andy.”

_

Monday morning is agonizing. Getting out of bed is extremely difficult, and I start my shower half-asleep. Unfortunately, the water switches from hot to cold, and jolts me awake. Another thing I need to talk to Jake about.

I make it to school, and see Jake before class, crouched down, reorganizing his locker. He sees me as I walk over and he stands up to greet me.

“Hey, Cutie.”

“Hey yourself.” I feel my cheeks heating up as I recall Jake’s lips softly kissing my cheek last night.

He grabs his books and taps his keycard to his locker. The tiny light turns red, indicating the door is locked.

Jake looks down at me fondly. “I’ll walk you to class.”

The first few days of the week seem to go by slowly, as I sit on pins and needles, waiting to hear back from the university. After school on Wednesday, I see an email response. I phone Jake.

“Well, come on, read it to me. What does it say?”

I read the email out loud to Jake. “Dear applicant, thank you for your recent application and test submissions. We are proud to inform you that you have been accepted into our program as a first year student. We were also very impressed by your test scores and excited to let you know you are eligible for several of our scholarships and sponsorship programs.” I let out an excited squeal. “Eeee!”

“Yes! Way to go, Andy! I knew you could do it! And with scholarship options, too. That’s awesome. Sooo happy for you!” Jake shares his happiness with me. I know how proud he is of me. If only Gran would be that proud.

_

Six months later, Jake and I have everything packed in his truck, and we’re ready to leave for university together.

Gran has come around. It took some time for her to accept that I was old enough to make my own life choices, and she supports me now in my choice.

As we embrace goodbye, she whispers in my ear. “You know I am proud of you, Andrea.” Words I’ve waited to hear for months stir up deep emotions inside me, and I feel tears spilling down my cheeks.

“Thank you, Gran. That means everything to me.”

After our goodbyes, Jake opens my door for me and I climb into his truck. He jogs around and hops in on his side. He sits there for a minute without starting the engine.

“Well, this is it. We’re off to explore something new, Andy. How are you feeling?”

“I’m nervous, excited, giddy, scared. So many things at once. I think the biggest thing I feel is relief. Relief that Gran is supportive, and I’m going with her blessing. It means a lot to me.”

Jake smiles at me, and leans over, kissing me on the lips while stroking my face with his hand. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

As we travel down the road, I drift off with Jake’s words floating through my head, and with contentment in my heart.

Everything is going to be just fine.