Mara

Mara -- 21/9/2016

Mara suddenly became aware of the room around her. It was exactly how she had remembered it, save for one solitary tube of lipstick carefully poised on the vanity in front of her. The sleek black cap looked at her from its deep red eye. As each fractal of her room steadily built a clear perception, she automatically read the blue post-it note coming into focus: "I know I broke our rules, but this one really made you look alive. Happy New Year - Lucy"

Mara's neck turned to the right like she was flying drunk on autopilot. No cracks, no tension, but a hesitation that strained its way straight down her spine. Mentally sore, but physically stable. She wiped a leftover crumble of red from her lips. For a moment her deserted eyes rested on Lucy, who was still warm although she looked thoroughly defeated.

I should shave her eyebrows. I should pierce her nose. I should let the neighbor's dog lick her down to the bone. I hate following Lucy. I wish it was just the three of us again, four is too many and I can feel it.

There was a level of trust and respect that had to be maintained in these arrangements, and it was with that thought that she decided she had to let Lucy's innocent offense slide. After all, maybe it was a good color, Lucy had no reason to lie.

She looked at the girls' heads placed so neatly into their radiation sockets. Mara always told herself that they were just charging, but when it was her turn for the body she never really felt recharged.

However, she could not deny that she was carrying a bit of rosy luck this time around. On her last five trips she had poured sweat over the calendar, trying to predict if this day would come. There are a lot of different variables in determining when the body will decide to make the rotation, and its dialogue with the mind is the biggest unknown. But tonight a soft wave of accord spilled through Mara as the small neon screen next to her prompted "13:47 - December 31" She would have the body for New Years Eve.

The last New Year's Eve in her memory seemed like a dream. Her body then was longer, leaner; her balance was better and she took pride in the way her feet could graze the top layer of the dancefloor. Nausea overcame her as she flashed back to her cousins' relentless teasing of those long toes, and the panic she had felt as her embarrassment hid them 3 inches deep along the shore of the lake. Now, she crossed her arms to massage her collarbones, then at once exploded into a stretch only otherwise accomplished by lazy cats in the sun. This body was 3 ½ inches shorter, 20 lbs lighter, and littered with dirty freckles she had foolishly tried to scrub off on her first attachment.

She gazed again at the 3 heads beside her, all in varied degrees of lifelessness. Of course they weren't rich, no one with any money would split four heads to one body, even if it was one of the most advanced Caucasian models on the market (well, at least it was at the time). Although everyone in Mara's situation longs with a broken heart for the day when they can once again return to a body to call their own, there is something to be said of the bond shared with her alternates. In a way they were all taking care of each other, which was a rare comfort upon awakening. A flash of red caused Mara to catch her breath with a microscopic leap, and she noted that her fingernails were freshly polished and buffed. It made her feel like she had just returned from a junior-high slumber party, and she reached out to Lisa like an old friend.

"Bless you Lisa. I know you will have something good for me to wear."

She reached for the lipstick then turned back to the girls. The girls she never really knew, yet shared a part of herself with. She kissed each of them on the cheek, and carefully closed the long rectangular lid over their faces, hiding their souls behind the golden lock sealing the treasure chest.

It took her two hours to shower, cut her split ends, and slip into one of Lisa's most stunning evening gowns. She wondered if Lisa had the same blue eyes that matched the costume so well to Mara's own. Mara's gratitude was balanced by shame, no one would ever want to borrow her austere contributions to the closet. It took her three more hours of staring out the window to drift from the end of the bed and convince herself that the life she found herself in today was better than no life at all. On New Year's Eve no one thinks beyond midnight, aside from fantasies of resolution. She could flow as a ripple, drifting through a sea without expectations of past or future.

--

Her nerves surrounding the doorbell subsided as she pushed herself through the unlocked entrance and into the crowded foyer. Crystalline light from the centerpiece chandelier reflected onto one hundred pearly smiles, and Mara forced herself to act as #101. Although her slow scan of the room was meant for familiar faces, it halted at the bar in the corner of the room. Making her way to a stiff drink, she collected piercing gazes to feed her paranoia. They know, she thought. They know that my head was in a box yesterday. They know that this morning, my body held a different person. They know that my head spun 17 times before being secured in this neck, and it will spin 17 more times by the end of the week. They know that they are better than me.

"Glad you could make it," chimed a familiar voice softly in her ear. Celeste stood like an apparition next to her, glowing from more than her diamond riviere. Was it good luck, good genes, or good money that kept Celeste immune from the air of this city? She was still first-class, sophisticated though jaded in her birth body. "I heard you barely get to see all the seasons. Thought I saw this bag of bones walking down the street last week, but the gal swore she was the sole owner. Oh well, expect a practical joke from me another time." A wink.

Scowling across Celeste's gleam, Mara prayed that the clique lingering at the next cocktail table hadn't picked up her secret. Those who lost their body were weak, couldn't survive the city. It wasn't a small percentage of this community, she wondered if it was even still a minority. But there was a secret shame in buying or renting a new body, although the price would have made it luxurious years ago. If only the judges on their high horses knew that eventually, every authentic human body would find itself no match for the airborne contamination. Yet on this night, Mara remained a second-class citizen.

Celeste let her arm fall across Mara's shoulders, and Mara cringed at that loss of 3 ½ inches. How did it make her feel so powerless?

The women walked slowly across the room, holding two half-empty Manhattans. Celeste was a good friend, and it was savored her job of catching Mara up on the gossip. After a few juicy tidbits and a just as many cocktail cherries they found themselves looking across the valley from the empty balcony. They both tried to take pride in breathing deeply.

"You should be good at this game by now!"
Staring across the dim line of treetops: âI donât know if I want to play."
"You must have a sixth sense for it already."
"I'm not sure if I even still have five senses."

Celeste visibly opposed the awkward silence by listing off names in accompanying tones and giggles.

"Stop!" as they looked into each other's eyes.

"Dylan Fieldsor? What a pity."

"The worst part is that it wasn't even the virus that killed his body. Don't spread this around, but all those years on the gear finally caught up to him. And now he is overcompensating by sponsoring a new field lab for the Public Health & Wellness Institute. I suppose some people still find nobility in the plague."

"So I'm guessing he's got enough money to avoid sharing that brand new body. What's it like? He obviously holds high standards."

"You won't believe it, he chose a variation on the 3500A. Said he was tired of the upkeep. But you can't blame him, that upkeep is what killed him, isn't it?"

"So you consider him a dead man?"

--

Somewhere behind the pair a countdown had begun. They started back inside when mad laughter erupted after 7, 6, 5 - the clock admitted there was still 45 minutes to spare. As the dawn of the 22nd century carefully approached, the glint of the beckoning chandelier shone a new light on the faces of the party. How many of these necks were fused by patented technology, how many of these heads had been in treasure chests since the last new moon? Mara had bought her body from a state licensed representative, but had some bought their heads instead? Had it been worth the stars to wish on this night, when all it's brought has been doubt? The shine of the glamour around her began to feel wholly artificial.

Champagne glasses were toasted to pieces and fell through an atmosphere clouded by more than just cigarette smoke. Why was the government's black market on bodies so taboo when the handiwork could be seen strewn across the room? Somehow our contempt was holding the elephant in the room together.

"Mara! I've been looking everywhere for you. Have you seen Dylan Fieldsor? What happened to that masterpiece of a man?"

Mara's unconsciously furrowed brow prompted Celeste's boastful response: "Oh, I know! You must have been talking to my new double, just picked her up last week."