First Meetings.
It always rained in the lower decks, and it was hot too, the whole damned year-round. The underfloor ducting from the Uppers leaked down onto the lower folk, in a grimy, warm, trickle of a storm. Concrete-moss high rises grew up towards the uppers, built out and extended, until they leaned and grew into each other.
The tops were never the same from one month to the next. New floors were tacked atop old foundations, stacking up until, like a grey-green, proverbial Icarus they flew too close to the sun. Then the uppers would send down a demolitions crew and take them down a notch. Loxley looked up as one of those towers fell with a controlled boom.
“Can’t have us lowers getting too close to the sun, ay kid?”
“No, sir.”
Loxley had heard about the sun all his life, the Sherriff talked of it often.
“One day, kid, I’ll see it again. That golden yellow sun. Kid, maybe I’ll even bask in it, ya never know.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever see it.” Loxley said, looking down at his big toe, poking out through a warn recycled-paper-sole shoe.
“’Course not, kiddo. You ain’t born right for it. Me, I was born just on the cusp. I got rich blood somewhere in here. That’s why Jonny keeps me around. He’ll be up there before long now. Maybe I will join him, ya never know.”
“Ya never know.”
The Sherrif never took his eyes away from the upper level but pulled out a thumb drive and waggled it towards Loxley, who reluctantly pulled out his government issued cred-lock. The Sherrif connected his drive to the device, and after a few moments a green light flickered on, after which, he removed it again.
The Sherrif pulled at the invisible brim of an imaginary hat and left Loxley, standing on a balcony overlooking the underfloor. Once Loxley was sure he had left, he let out a few quiet tears. It was no good letting’ people like that see you cry, he thought. The wounded rat meets the grinder.
Later, Loxley found his way to the front of the queue at the WFP. The operator barely looked towards the boy before beginning his monotonous script. “Twenty-five items maximum, every three days. Place them five items at a time in the bagging area, here.”
The boy raised his basket and tipped out the only five items he had in there. The man looked down, then up at Loxley with a lifeless exasperation.
“Come on, boy. You know the score. One in every five items has to be a from the personal care section.”
“But I don’t need soap or toothpaste. I need food.”
“Trust me, boy, you need the soap. Besides, if we give you the food, someone else goes without. You can always use another token and get another five.”
“I cannot. This is my last token.”
“Not my problem, boy. If you can’t ration the food out, then you will have to go hungry. You’ll learn to do it better next time.”
Loxley was about to argue when a fat hand flumped down onto his shoulder. The operator looked up, and Loxley followed his eyes, wheeling to see a tanned, tubby man with sleepy red eyes and wild eyebrows.
“Excuse me, son, but I believe we can fix this mistake.”
Loxley could feel the heat in his face overcoming his cool.
“No, I am sick of this. What do you expect of me? Of us? We are trying, but they take everything. Everyth-”
“Calm yourself.”
“I will not, and I am not your son. I am not your son, I am not that guy’s boy, nor his kid.”
“That’s good to know, but I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to this gentleman here. Excuse me, son, I believe we can let this slip, for now. Tick the box that says exception, in the bottom right corner.”
The man sighed but complied.
“Initials?”
“FT.”
Loxley didn’t trust what was happening, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity and quickly scooped up his five items and strode toward the exit.
“Hold up.”
“Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me.”
“Oh of course, how rude of you. What’s your name?”
“Rude of me? Oh. Loxley, Sir.”
“Friar. I am not a Sir, I’m Friar Tuck.”
“Like a line cook?”
“He he he, no, not a fryer, a Friar. A brother.” Loxley’s blank expression spurred him farther. “A religious man, Loxley.”
“I see.”
“The man is right, Loxley. You do need to be able to ration your meals.”
“I know how to ration. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Oh, then I guess the rumours are true. The Sheriff has a scalpel. Well at least he left you one token.”
“It won’t be enough.”
“I don’t suppose it will.” Tuck looked deep in rageful thought. “Hm, well that settles it. Come with me, Loxley. I have some friends I would like you to meet.”
Loxley had learned not to trust. He didn’t think it was a smart plan, going with the religious nut, but there was the possibility of more food. He kept his eye open for exit strategies as they walked but felt more at ease than he expected. He didn’t trust the man, but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t distrust him, either.