A Dystopian Freedom

Billy’s mother hated when his father went in to work early. It meant that she would have to expand the sidewalk shield on her own. The sidewalk shield was a bulky, heavy expandable tunnel required by law for all families with school-aged children. The government would subsidize those who could not afford it, but only the collapsable type. They would even pour sidewalks for those that didn’t have one extending from the front door to the street. Billy’s mother hated how it looked but she had grown fond of the stable, non-collapsable tunnel. Yes, it would be an eyesore, but it would make her life so much easier. The concrete tunnel had become a standard feature of newer homes, and some of the newer models were actually quite nice. She saw one with a mural of a beach. Yet, Billy’s father was not quite ready to commit to the expense. For now, the collapsible tunnel would have to suffice.

Billy watched as his mother struggled to pull out the tunnel. Some of the casters had rusted or lost a bolt or two. It was like dragging out a shopping cart with a stuck wheel. He heard a stream of profanity as she pulled and hunkered down against the inertia of broken casters and heavy steel framework. The really rich folks had electric collapsable tunnels. How it this time she wished she could just push a button.

Finally, after about twenty minutes Billy’s mother had the tunnel completely pulled out and locked into place. She motioned for him to come out. Billy opened the screen door and started through the tunnel. It was scary this time of year. It was October and it was still somewhat dark outside. The tunnel had no lights affixed to the inside. In fact, sometimes his mother would have to escort him through the tunnel with a flashlight.

“Are you cold?”

Billy shook his head no. Billy wasn’t in the mood to talk. He was a little disappointed since the government had decided that P.E. was too dangerous, that the students would be better served with more study time. The committee was still debating on what to do with the playground equipment. No more playing on the Jungle Gym or sliding down the slide pretending you are a soldier in a fort fighting against the enemy. Johnny, your best friend, there to help you in your quest for victory.

The bus squealed to a stop. Billy’s mother pushed the tunnel up against the bus. The clips locked into place, securely fastening the tunnel to the bus. She opened the tunnel doors inward and waited for the bus doors to open. A voice came through an intercom situated on the side of the bus.

“Billy Mason?”

Billy’s mother pushed the red button on the intercom. “Yes, it’s Billy Mason.”

“Ma’am, I need him to respond. That’s protocol. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this.”

This new bus driver had a knack for pissing Billy’s mother off. In five years, of the three bus drivers Billy had, he was the only one that insisted on the “protocol.” She pushed the button and let Billy answer.

“Yes sir. I am Billy Mason.”

“And who is with you?”

Billy’s mother rolled her eyes and mouthed the word Jackass.

“Deborah Mason, my mother. She’s the only one with me.”

“Do you testify that this is the truth and understand that if you have been dishonest, you will be held accountable?”

“Yes sir, I testify that it is only me and my mother here in the tunnel.”

“You forgot to tell him the Easter Bunny is here with us,” his mother quipped.

Billy chuckled as the bus doors slammed open. The bus driver gave him a sinister stare as he caught the tail end of his laughter. He knew a jest had been lobbed his way.

“Safety is no joke son,” he admonished.

Billy hugged his mother and climbed up the sticky, dirty stairs. He wondered why the stairs were always sticky. Didn’t they wash the bus every now and then?

The bus driver was armed with a pistol harnessed to his hip. There was an armed guard sitting in the very first seat and another one sitting in the very back seat. Billy called him the back guard. His friend Jeremy called him the back 5.0. Billy didn’t know what that meant but he liked the sound of it.

Billy took his assigned seat next to Mary. There were no passenger windows on the bus, rather a thick green sheet steel covering, with painted pictures of various animals. At his seat was a dolphin, a poorly drawn one. To Billy the dolphin looked like a miserable clown with an extra-long snout. The poor thing was trapped, not able to escape, forever forced to leap for ungrateful children who would rather be looking outside. The bus only had a thick tinted windshield and video monitors on the sides surrounding the bus driver and one for the back guard.

Billy genuinely liked Mary, but he didn’t feel comfortable talking to her. She was the smartest person in class, and he felt so dumb next to her. He wanted to talk about video games and football. His father had told him that video games were a lot better when he was growing up. They were fun… immersive he thought he heard his father say. He didn’t know what that meant. His father explained that it meant that you felt like you were really there. The government had begun to censor and restrict video games, because it was felt that they led to violence.

The bus screeched to a stop. Billy heard the clicking as the school tunnel fastened to the bus. First the armed guard got out and then the students filed out in strict military fashion, with their arms down by their sides and their fingers extended. The school tunnel was well lit. It was a brick structure with only a bullet proof fabric at the very end to attach to the bus. The orange warm glow of the overhead lights made Billy feel safe.

Lakeland Elementary was the first school built with strict safety in mind. Someone had overlooked the dangers of an outdoor playground but beside that, it was as safe as a prison. There were no windows and only two entries. Surrounding the perimeter of the property was ten-foot-high fence with razor wire spiraled out across the top. This was a concern for some parents, but officials had thoroughly pondered the situation and assured the public that there was a high degree of certainty that kids that age did not have the ability to climb that high. Besides, they would be sufficiently monitored.

There was a master control, and all classrooms were locked remotely once the students were seated. Each class had its own bathroom and lunch was eaten there served through a slot in the door. Most of a student’s day is located in that one classroom. There was at one time P.E. but as already mentioned, that was scraped because of safety concerns. Some perceptive citizen had hypothesized that a sniper could easily cause trouble.

Billy walked through the metal detector without a sound. He always imagined that one day it would clang and ring out, lights flashing, sirens wailing. He would be thrown to the ground and arrested. Somehow, he had accidentally brought his father’s gun to school. This wasn’t just an occasional daydream, but a routine nightmare that afflicted him.

The students sat at their desks, looking straight ahead, no talking, no noise whatsoever. A loud horn bellowed throughout the building. A robotic voice announced that the doors were shutting, and every student should stay clear of the doorway. A heavy steel door with a slot in the middle slid out from a recess in the side of the doorframe to a recess in the other side of the doorframe. A bang and a click and the students were locked in for the day.

Instead of Mr. Davis, his regular teacher, there was a tall woman with a beehive hairdo in a bright blue dress. She stood out in a drab solitary confinement, and yet, he was comfortable with Mr. Davis. Mr. Davis was one of the few soft-spoken teachers. The rest were loud and mean, like they were prison guards. Mr. Davis was patient. He never got mad when you got something wrong. He just waited and prodded the students with little hints until they finally, if not the correct answer, got nearly the right answer. Then he would cheer as if the students had discovered something new, knowledge the world had yet to ascertain.

“I will be your new teacher, Ms. Marshall.”

“Where’s Mr. Davis?” Billy asked.

“That’s none of your business.”

Except for that first rude response, Ms. Marshall seemed nice enough. She wasn’t as polite as Mr. Davis, and she snapped a few times at the class, but all in all she treated the students well. Still, Billy couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Mr. Davis.

When school ended and Billy eventually got home after all the procedures and protocols, he was anxious to ask his parents if they had heard anything about Mr. Davis. After what seemed an hour of endless questions through the intercom, the bus driver finally opened the door. Billy jumped off the steps and into the tunnel.

“Mom, Mr. Davis isn’t my teacher anymore.”

“He isn’t. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I thought you would know.”

It seemed neither of his parents knew anything about Mr. Davis, but Billy would learn soon enough.

As he sat in his room he could hear the television in the living room. The six o’clock news was reporting on a road rage incident on the intersection of Howard Blvd. and Green Street. A Dale Davis had been shot and killed. There was a debate among officials about whether it was possible to completely rid society of soft targets. The governor conceded that it would be tough but if it meant building a bubble around every citizen or making more laws to curb violent behavior then he would be willing to do so. His main priority was the safety of every citizen. And then some ignorant politician had the temerity to suggest that maybe there were too many guns. Said official was escorted from the building.