INGUS:

“I can't believe you're actually making me try this,” she says, as we sit on the couch. She sits with her legs to her side, staring intently at the can of peanuts on the coffee table. I crack them open, and I open the soda. I pour in the goodness, and watch the magic of the carbonation bubble. “We just need a spoon,” I say. She points to the kitchen and tells me, “They’re in the drawer on the left side of the stove.” I go and open the drawer, revealing all sorts of expensive silverware in an organized tray. Tea and artificial juice packets surround said tray; lemonade for both kinds.

I sit back down on her couch, handing her the can of peanuts and shortly after, the spoon. She takes a whiff, doing a double take in order to take another smell. She stirs the peanuts, and takes a bite. Her face, while still under the mask, expresses an initial disdain, however, after a few bites she accepts its taste enough. After taking another bite, she asks me, “Did you bring the movie?” I pull it out from my coat, showing it to her like a grand trophy. “Oh my god, you have it on VHS too, where’d you find this?! This is just like the copy I had.” I tell her about finding it in the garbage. “Why would anyone throw this away?”

She tries to hand it back but I insist on her keeping it. “Seriously? This is the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten, thank you.” She hugs me, and a warmth overtakes me. I can smell the light whimsy of her perfume placed upon her neck. Hugging her feels electric, like our bodies touching is creating sparks all around us. She stops and tells me she actually wanted to show me some of the movies on TV. 

MS. 2000:

We watch a movie in the dark, Rohdan staring at us from the hallway. Watching this with Ingus feels nice, and I’m able to distract myself a little. I bring out a yellow blanket from the bedroom: the rest were dirty. I cover both of us and I can’t help but feel kind of at home. Most of the time I’m locked up in here with my thoughts, listening to Jazz while taking a bath. I don’t really have hobbies, I don’t really have interests, but watching this with him makes me feel like a teenager again.

After the movie is over we somehow get onto the topic of what Ingus’ childhood was like. We end up talking about video games, oddly enough. I tell him that I used to play a certain console, and he lights up. “I used to play that too! I remember in Numena, you probably know how it is, my family couldn’t afford a memory card so I had to beat video games in one sitting,” he says. “Same here! I had beaten a game I got for my birthday after my mom bought it. I played for 20 hours straight,” I say.

There’s something about those times that I really miss, before being an adult hit me like a truck. When I was a teenager I had no responsibility, I only really had to worry about school. “Did you go to school, Ingus?” He shakes his head no. “I kind of went straight into working. I was raised by my dad and he felt that with the way technology was advancing, school wouldn’t really do me any good. He had told me that I needed to get a job as soon as possible and hold onto it. He said it was ok if I was stupid as long as I was still alive.” 

He continues, “Anyways, I worked cleaning a few places as a teenager, and once I was old enough I moved out. At that time, most jobs had been taken from all of us. I ended up finding the landfill I work at and I haven’t stopped ever since. I wish I was more interesting but I haven’t really done anything with my life.” He looks down, clearly ashamed. I put my hand on his shoulder, patting it. “I’m not too interesting of a person either, Ingus; that’s just life in Numena for you. You’re born to work and die.” I continue, “When I was 18 my parents kicked me out and I’ve been doing this ever since.” “Can I ask you a question, Ms?” he abruptly asks.

“I just, what is it exactly that you do?” I explain. He shows a face of something adjacent to disgust. “So you’re no better than an Ecstacy Machine?” My immediate reaction is to be offended but I can tell he's asking innocently. “Well, I guess that’s one way to put it,” I say. “Do you feel good, doing what you do? I don’t see how a woman like you deserves to be at a job like this.” “Well, it’s not about me feeling good, it’s more like, I’m just doing a job I guess.” He starts to push the issue, and in earnest, I want to be defensive, but I can hardly blame him. “Why don’t you leave?” 

“It’s not that easy, Ingus. I need this for everything, I can’t just change my life like that.” “Everything?” “Yeah, I do what I do so I can stay alive and not have to go back to Numena. I have a nice apartment here, and if I left, the person in charge of me wouldn’t just let me keep all of this.” “Why not just start saving up money and then use it to get out of here?” “I’d rather not talk too deeply about this with you, Ingus.” The compulsion to avoid such conversation arises, and my fists clench. If he weren’t here right now…

“Well, what about the mask? Are you going to remove it? I’d like to know who you are. I only know you as Ms.2000, but what’s your real name? You seem so amazing and I want to see your beautiful face.” I tell him that we’re never going to be at that level, and I only remove my mask or reveal my name to people I care about. He tells me that he still bets that I'm beautiful. “No,” I say. I’m not beautiful, and that’s just the truth, but I’d be lying if I didn’t feel happy with him saying that. 

We end up putting on another movie and he falls asleep as the night reaches its apex. I cover him with the blanket and decide to just let him sleep here. Our conversation, aside from his prodding, went well. The cracked window shows me Euphorika, and I quickly pin the blinds shut again. I go into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. Could he be telling the truth? Could he really find me beautiful? I mean, he said it himself, I’m basically a glorified machine, only made to provide something. Why would Ingus find me any differently? 

The hope I desperately try to run from comes back, but with it comes the urge to pull my skin underneath my jeans. Could I get out of here? Was it possible to even remotely claim womanhood, or a sense of being Eleanor again? Was I even her under this mask? Even in my own presence I hardly like to remove it. The person underneath is a stranger, and I wear her identity, not the identity of Ms.2000. God, Ingus, why’d you have to ask that? Why couldn’t he have been someone to take advantage of me, or call me names? Why did he have to say that, and make me feel like I could get out of here?

I pace around the bathroom. He probably is lying like the rest of them, anyhow. Everyone has an angle, and if I’ve learned anything, you can’t trust a living being if it has a libido. I’ll let him stay for tonight. Something about him clashes with how I feel. I want to doubt him because there’s something about his naivete that hurts more. If I am really what he says that I am, and if I do deserve to be out of here, then I shouldn’t be here, and that thought is more painful than me being destined to be here. 

I lay in bed, focusing on my breathing. I can feel the synapses in my brain begging for me to reach for my legs. God, this is hell when this happens. My brain itches and burns, and the only way to stop the incessant itching is to give in. If I don’t, the cold panic overtakes me. I can’t sit still. Anytime I allow my mind to think, anytime I allow a second to be in my body, I just want to squirm and let it all out. I need to let it all out. It’s like I’m a robot going against my programing, trying to break free from what I was meant to do. NO! I can’t do this again. I get up, and head into the kitchen. I decide to make tea again.