Page 13 of Strange Love

“That’s so not going to happen,” I respond. “I’m not the kind of person who draws the attention of someone like that.”

She leans back in her chair and laughs incredulously, “You’re kidding, right? Corey Delacour looked at you like you were the most desirable present under the Christmas tree. Everyone will want to get to know you with him interested in you.”

My heart sinks as I realize what she’s saying. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s the last thing anyone wants.”

Ivy, Age 13 - 1983

I wake up every morning to the sound of a loud bell ringing, signaling the start of another day in this underground bunker where we sleep. It’s a large room with eight bunk beds for girls of all ages. The youngest is six, and the oldest is fifteen. I think my birthday has passed, so I’m pretty sure I’m the second oldest.

The girls appear sometimes, and I can’t help but wonder if they were taken the same way I was. We don’t talk about it. We rarely talk at all. There’s always a woman with us, and we’re forced to call her “Mother,” which I hate because she’s nothing like my mother. I think about my mom every night as I cry myself to sleep. I force myself to remember everything about my home and family because I’m afraid I’ll forget if I don’t.

This woman is here to keep us in place, and that’s it. There is absolutely nothing “motherly” about her with her stern expression and monotone daily commands. How long have I been here? I wouldn’t know if it weren’t for the daily rituals. By my count, it’s been several months. I have a small notebook that I took from the main building one day. I keep it under my mattress and make a mark at the end of every day. Or at least I try to. I’ve forgotten sometimes, so I may be a little off. Most days feel like an eternity.

We have a strict routine, starting with reflection time every morning. Before sunrise, we gather in the common area and sit on hard metal benches. Our leader, Auron stands at the front of the room with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for us to settle down. He’s tall and imposing, with his intense dark eyes.

Auron is the chosen messenger who speaks to an alien race called The Divine Ones. They have inhabited Earth for centuries. He tells us about The Voice of the Sky, the leader of The Divine Ones, who has chosen him to guide our group through the world’s end. He warns us about The Voice and its supreme power over our survival. According to Auron, Ronald Reagan and Yuri Andropov are extraterrestrial beings disguised as world leaders, trying to provoke a nuclear war that will lead to the end of humanity.

It sounds unbelievable, but all the adults here believe it. I still don’t buy it, and I think most of these people are plain nuts, but a small part of me can’t help but wonder. I’m young and know little about politics and world affairs, so dismissing their claims entirely is hard. I’ve heard my parents and teachers talk about the Cold War, and it’s very scary. In any event, this structured schedule keeps me distracted from missing my old life and family too much. Until I’m alone with my thoughts at night. Nighttime is always the worst.

At night, among the soft breaths, occasional cough, and fretful creak of cots, I lie in the dark, listening to the sounds of the other girls. I steal these moments to think about my parents and Natalie, pretending the sound of rustling sheets is the sound of Natalie opening Christmas presents. I can close my eyes to the dark and remember every detail of our living room, from the brown plaid shades that cover the east-facing windows to the tan carpet and cream eggshell-painted walls.

Our Christmas tree is lit with colored bulbs like the Northern Lights during gloaming; the scent of dried pine and sweet, warm sugar cookies wafts through the air. My dad sits on the couch in his bathrobe with a cup of coffee, and my mom, bright with cheer, wears her red heart flannel Lanz nightgown scouring the base of the tree for gifts to pass out. Natalie hands me a small box wrapped in Holly Hobbie paper. I notice the bumps and abundance of tape on my gift in contrast to the neatly folded corners and lush bows of my mom’s wrapping.

“I wrapped it myself!” Natalie grins through a jack o’lantern smile, one of her two front teeth recently falling out.

“Thanks, Nat,” I grin back and pull her into a hug. I can feel her soft warmth, smell her tangled, cherry-scented Vidal Sassoon rinsed hair. I hold this memory. We are warm. We are safe. We are happy. We are all together. I feel a choke in my throat, like my heart is about to come out of my mouth. I cling to the Strawberry Shortcake doll Natalie gave me that Christmas morning.

“You always smell mine, so you should have one too,” she coos and holds her doll up too. “Look! They are twins! With two Strawberry Shortcakes, we will defeat the Purple Pie Man!” Natalie uses her doll to knock the evil chef doll off the coffee table.

But the Purple Pie Man is not defeated. He steals away one girl, leaving the other impossibly alone on that frozen sidewalk, shrieking and sobbing as she runs toward the closest house. My thoughts linger on her crying. I can still hear her after the van’s cargo doors slam, and I am back in the bunker.

After our morning lessons and meditations, we all have assigned tasks to help maintain the commune. The men and boys head out to hunt for game and work around the property, while the women and girls tend to do chores like laundry, harvesting vegetables from the greenhouse, and cooking meals for everyone. I’ve noticed that some of us also have jobs outside the commune, returning at night to contribute in other ways. It’s said that some members used to have personal wealth, but they donated it to The Station as instructed by Auron through The Voice.

Our daily routine also consists of physical exercise, generally stretching and running. We never play games or do anything fun. Our clothing is standard, the beige dresses that remind me of lumpy oatmeal, and our hair is always braided away from our faces. Music and dancing are forbidden, as we must stay focused on preparing for the ascension by following Auron’s teachings.

Twice a week, the familiar white food truck pulls up to The Station, its loud engine echoing off the tall brick walls of the grand building. I rush outside to greet the driver, a middle-aged man with kind eyes and calloused hands. Sometimes he leaves the radio on a low volume so I can hear the latest music being played on the radio. He unloads crates of fresh dairy products - milk, cheese, yogurt - and always saves me a special treat from the back of his truck: an ice cream sandwich. Even though he never speaks to me, I can tell he cares in his quiet way. His brief visits are my favorite part of the week at The Station.

I don’t attend school like normal kids do. Auron insists that learning about Earth is pointless, as it will all be changed once The Divine Ones take over. He also says we must cut ties with our families and friends from our previous lives, although I’m confined to this place, so I am left without a choice.

Auron constantly reminds us that The Voice is always watching, and any attempt by our loved ones to save us will result in their torture and death. It’s a terrifying thought, and I’ve spent countless hours crying at the idea that it could be true. If this is my destiny, I can accept it, but the idea of my family suffering because of me is too much to bear.

At night, I cling to my Strawberry Shortcake doll that, during the day, stays hidden under my mattress and inhales her scent. It brings me back to reality, which I still believe is the real world, and strengthens me. I try not to cry into her hair or smell too much, afraid that once the aroma disappears, I’ll have nothing to hold onto from my old life with my family.

One night, as I’m getting ready for bed, I notice that one of the older girls in our room, Lucy, has been absent all day. Curious, I quietly ask one of the younger girls named Melissa where she is. After looking around to ensure no one is listening, Melissa reveals that Lucy is getting married.

“Married?” I whisper too loudly before realizing someone may have heard me. When no one enters the room, I continue in a quieter tone, “But she’s only sixteen!”

Melissa tells me that Lucy is now of age to be a wife, per Auron’s teachings. She said Lucy went into a tent on the outskirts of the compound with Auron and several other men earlier that day to partake in a “medicinal cleansing.” From past experiences, I suspect this involves drugs that cause people to act strangely upon leaving the tent. Auron claims it elevates your consciousness to a higher level. I realize this must be how they convinced Lucy to agree to an early marriage.

The shepherd’s pie we had for dinner threatens to reappear, so I hurry up the stairs and fling open the bunker door before reaching the bushes just in time. Melissa follows me and regards me with concern.

“Are you okay?”

I wipe my face with my hand and meet her kind gaze, “I think so.”

“Do you have your period yet, Ivy?” she asks with wide eyes and a concerned look.

Remembering last month when I saw bloodstains in my underwear while doing laundry, I lie and say no.