2051

Sarah Leeves
Jul 28, 2017 · 8 min read

“And here’s the charging room, designed to mimic a 20th century sleeping room, but, of course, rewired this year to hold up to four pods, although I doubt you’ll ever have more than two.” The sales agent finished her tour of the apartment, eyeing our sleep-deprived faces disapprovingly.

“Did you say the screens were tracked?” My husband asked. I looked over at him. He’d been quiet for several minutes, zoned out. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sagging more than usual. I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about our disheveled state. We’d both been due for a rejuv treatment for months but we couldn’t afford it. We were saving as much as possible for the down payment, which included cutting back our doses.

“Of course, up to four users. There’s a screen on almost every surface in the house.” She tapped her electric green fingernails on the stainless steel counter impatiently, “the owners are hoping to get it sold tonight. They’ve lowered their asking price to four million.”

“What do you think? Is it big enough for the three of us?” I asked.

The real estate agent rolled her eyes. “It’s an 800 square foot apartment near the downtown core. It’s the largest you’ll get for this price range this month…”

“I think we should take it, it’s the best we’re going to find so close to work.” My husband rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. I agreed. We needed somewhere to recharge, and fast. The baby was due in less than a month but we still couldn’t afford the delivery cost. The hour of travelling time we’d save every day meant that we might be able to make enough for the baby to be born with a nurse in the room.

“Good choice. Where do you work? We may have some financing available, depending on the company” the agent said, bringing up the tenancy agreement on the table’s screen.

“Neep, I believe we get a 10% discount for being within a kilometer of the office?”

“Yes, yes you do. You two must be quite bright to be working there. I owe my sanity to Neep, if not my life,” the lady smiled, automatically friendly. “Do you have any of the latest samples? I heard the latest version is almost blur-free.”

Typical. We were always being asked to give away free pills. To tell the truth, we didn’t get paid enough to buy the damn pills for ourselves, much less to give them away for free. “Sorry, we’re just data analysts, we’re not R&D,” I told her. The majority of Neep’s employees were like us — poor, sleep-deprived, barely able to buy their next dose — yet for some reason everyone thought we hadn’t felt tired in years.

“What a pity. Sign here, please.” She passed me the pen impatiently, far less friendly now that she knew her next dose wasn’t going to be free. We signed and were given the keys before midnight.

“Do you think we should take an extra dose?” My husband leaned in close on the subway so no one else could hear. If they knew we were carrying pills, we’d probably be followed and mugged on the way back to our old apartment.

“I think I can make it until four, can you? You can always take a short nap while I pack.”

He scoffed, “I’m not napping, Anna, I don’t feel like wasting my night.”

I frowned at his tone, worried that the lack of Neep in his system was making him more irritable than usual. We worked in different fields at Neep, him in the larger division of no-sleep benefits, and me in the smaller division on the negative effects of the pills. All my research showed that withdrawal could lead to irritability and physical violence, but according to my boss the data wasn’t concrete enough. So, I kept my mouth shut, both in the office and when my husband got unruly.

“Huxley Station, arriving at Huxley Station,” chimed the screen in front of us, a small map appearing in the top right hand corner while the rest of the screen continued to show ads for nurseries, baby toys, and diapers. I flipped through the ads absentmindedly, trying not to disturb him any further. He stared at the opposite wall, which automatically began to show a mirage of conflicting ads — menswear, sex toys, razors, alcohol, diapers, escort services. I watched them out of the corner of my eye, curious what the advertisers knew about my husband that I didn’t.

It was two in the morning by the time we made it to our old apartment. The city floodlights were on in full force, drowning the inky sky and illuminating the dirty, cracked pavement that led up to our basement bachelor. Our landlord was sitting on the porch with his five-year-old daughter, smoking a joint while she drove a tricycle in circles on the patch of dead grass that he advertised as a lawn.

“Need some Neep?” My husband asked me, and I tore my eyes away from the little girl. We shared a wry smile, the catchphrase rolling off his tongue as easily as “I love you.”

“I’m awake, no worries. I was just thinking about how shitty this building is.” I said, knowing our landlord was out of earshot.

Eric laughed, “It’ll sure be nice to have hot water for a change. I can’t believe neither of us noticed how dirty it was when we first moved in.”

“We had so much Neep in our system, we could barely see. I’m surprised we even found the place.”

“Well, luckily the baby won’t have to live here. You couldn’t imagine the squalor my daughters grew up in. I wasn’t home enough to clean, and my ex… she just lay in bed all day.” His voice wavered at the end, emotion leaking through his usually calm exterior. After the divorce, his ex-wife had been sent to rehab and his daughters, now practically grown, to a boarding school for troubled youth.

I tried to change the subject. “Do you want to pack up our clothes while I get the bathroom and living room stuff sorted?” He nodded and disappeared. I know he was best left alone after mentioning his past family. I’d learnt that early on in our relationship.

I began to sort through the bathroom, taking only the things we couldn’t replace — fancy face creams designed to revitalize your skin and improve cell regeneration, make-up, 72-hour shampoos, anything that cost more than a few dollars. Most of the things we owned right now were cheap and designed to be replaced after a few months anyways. In the living room all I needed was to gather our keepsakes. We had a few souvenirs from our honeymoon, an old painting my husband had inherited from his grandmother, and a few other odd things we had picked up from our university years. I packed everything up into one of our suitcases, and Eric came out with two garbage bags’ worth of our clothes. From the subway I paid our rent for tomorrow, just in case we forgot anything. My landlord would have to wait an extra day before accepting the next tenant. He’d enjoyed reminding us of the waiting list for a unit such as his — cheap and “safe.” With any luck, it would be filled with another young couple the day after tomorrow.

It was four by the time we made it back to our new house. My husband immediately started watching a show, the same silly sitcom he’d been watching almost non-stop this week. I reordered our monthly supply of groceries and necessities, as well as a few extras we needed for the new place. After unpacking our clothes, I laid down on the couch in the other room. We couldn’t afford a pod just yet, but eventually we’d replace the couch with two or three pods, designed by Neep to supplement the pills. Pods were cheaper than pills in the long run, but almost a million up front. For now, we were stuck with the pills and pathetic naps.

A few minutes later Eric came into the room. He brushed my hair off my forehead and kissed me softly. He sat on the floor in front of me and lay his head beside mine, resting his eyes for just a moment before I could hear the sound of his slowed breathing.

I had a difficult birth. There were complications to the C-section, according to the nurse, and I stayed in a healing pod recovering for two days. For those two days I alternated between periods of black-out sleep and a wide-awake, pulse-racing, hyperactivity that helped my body recover. I was not sure if my daughter had survived. When I was released the nurse handed her to me and I held her, feeling strangely disconnected to something that had so recently been a part of my body. But now her body, tiny in my arms, had been torn from me and I felt empty.

“She’s beautiful,” my husband whispered when he visited me after work. We looked at her in silence. His hand brushed mine almost unconsciously.

We walked home, living only fifteen minutes from the hospital. My husband had bought a cradle and some baby necessities while I was away. The baby screamed all night, lost in her new home with these two strangers. My husband and I took turns holding her while watching TV.

At around five in the morning my husband muted the show and turned to face me. I was holding the baby, who had finally fallen asleep, on my chest, my eyes half closed with exhaustion. “Wake up, I need to ask you something,” he whispered, stroking my cheek.

“What is it?”

“My boss has an offer for us. Us and the baby.” He hesitated, and then continued. “He said there’s a new pod they’re releasing, designed to help babies develop, better than letting them sleep all the time. My boss says we can get the baby into the beta round for free. No babysitters when we go back to work, she’ll be there with us in the building. And it’s supposed to help her develop, teaches her things and stimulates brain and body growth.” He popped the pill he’d been saving all night and offered me one. I took it, gulping down the mint-water carefully, trying not to wake up the baby. She stirred nonetheless and started to cry.

“I don’t know, how safe is it? How long is the program?”

“We could pull her out at any time, it’s voluntary, and so far the tests have gone well. Faster development, smarter babies, it’s like a healing pod with information videos.” He shifted in his seat. “I told him we’d do it.”

“What? Why? Without asking me?”

“You were sleeping, goddammit.”

“I was in a recovery pod. I was healing.”

“You weren’t there and I needed to do everything by myself. Babysitters are a nightmare in this city, you know. And crib rentals aren’t cheap. This would be free.”

“Can we say no?”

“Fuck, babe, I can’t back out now. She’s going, end of story.”

“Since when do you get to decide? She’s my daughter too.”

“You were gone, I decided.” His voiced raised and I put the baby in her crib. She was crying and squirming too much to keep in my arms.

“That’s not fair.”

“Nothing is fair! We have a good opportunity here and you’re going to waste it just because you, what, feel like being a stubborn bitch today?”

I pushed him, my hands on his chest, “hey, watch your language, husband!”

He pushed me backwards onto the couch. “Just shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch.” He raised his hand, about to, what, punch me? Hit me? I ducked out of the way and ran out of the apartment, leaving him to deal with our screaming baby.

I cried in the stairwell until I heard him leave then got ready for work. He’d taken the baby and by the time I got there she was already in the pod. No visitations allowed unless you withdrew her from the program, but the scientist in charge told me that my picture from my employee badge would be flashed to her like a commercial break in between programs so she knew my face.

Sarah Leeves

Written by

Bibliophile with a BA and an interest in archival studies. Writing random musings and bad poetry in order to maintain sanity.

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