The News

I was never one of those people who watched the news. Who had the time? I had friends who did. They would drone on or post nonstop. It was always some issue, cause, or terrible thing had happened. I couldn't live that way. It would have made me crazy. I said, "I don't watch the news, it's too depressing." And, "I'm too busy."

We were at a little diner. Our second, maybe third date. Ben asked me if I'd heard the news. What did I think? "I don't really pay attention to politics," I said. But then, politics started paying attention to me.

It was small at first, barely noticeable. I got a notice from work; some healthcare services were no longer covered. That meant my birth control. What a pain, I thought. I was okay though. I could afford it. But the next bill they passed said that someone had to sign for me to get it, my husband or my father. We were serious by then, Ben and I, but marriage wasn't on the table. He joked that he would marry me so he could sign for me. We laughed but I felt something shift between us. "We'll just use another method," I said. I could ask my father but it didn't seem worth the embarrassment.

Next came The Family Safety Act. It instated a curfew, midnight, for all women unless we had a waiver for work or medical travel, and a new dress code. Nothing too short or too revealing was the gist of it, I gathered. We laughed. I joked to my coworkers that we'd all turn into slutty pumpkins at midnight. No way they could or would ever enforce this. But, I started reading the news. I still didn't watch it, couldn't listen to people ramble on, but I clicked headlines sometimes. People were writing letters, signing petitions, leading marches. Ben was one of them, but not a crazy one. We had better things to do. This was a joke anyway, women could still go wherever and wear whatever they pleased.

I was working from home, finishing a report, when I got the text from Ben. I don't even remember having to look for the channel, it was just on. I was watching the news now. Multiple cities. Dozens of people. It didn't seem real. I wanted to keep scrolling, to change the channel, to distract myself. I couldn't.

After the attack, it didn't take long for the security checkpoints to appear. Questions, metal detectors, bag checks. It felt safer, at first. Then, it made us nervous. Mo from work just didn't come in one day, stopped for "suspicious activity." Then it was Maria. Then, me. I heard the shout from behind me, my skirt was too short, they had to measure. That was a new catcall. The rips the agents tore in my skirt, pressing me down and cuffing me, didn't make my skirt any longer. Now, I was the news.