explained it in quite such a pleasant manner. Makes me feel a tad guilty.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Please finish your story.”
“After I discovered what was really in some of the vitamins, I stopped taking them and let nature take its course.”
It takes a second for my brain to decipher what she is saying. “So you can conceive by fornicating? It doesn’t have to be through insemination?” I ask, confirming I understand what she is saying.
“If you don’t take your daily vitamins, then yes.”
Wow, that is definitely something they don’t teach in school. “But why do you call it ‘making love’?”
“That’s a little harder to explain. When you’re in love with someone, fornication takes on a whole other meaning. It is the ultimate way to be one with your love. You’re baring your entire person to him—mind, body, and soul.”
“I wish I could say I understand, but I don’t.” I wonder whether it is my unique circumstances contributing to my confusion, or whether all non-traditionalist citizens would feel the same.
“When it happens, you’ll understand,” Rhonda says.
I doubt I will ever have a relationship with a man like the one she is describing, but, then again, if you had asked me yesterday what I would be doing today, sitting in the kitchen of a family of traditionalists would not have been my answer.
When our teacups are empty, Rhonda takes me for a tour of their compound. They have chickens and rabbits, and I’m astounded because I have never known anyone to have livestock outside of the government corporations. She also shows me her veggie patch and explains her portable hydroponic greenhouse. It occurs to me everything she has shown me was probably stolen from the government at some stage. I knew one thing for certain—the government did not let citizens have their own animals or grow their own food.
I am impressed at their setup nonetheless, and it dawns on me they are almost self-sufficient, relying on the city stores for very little. When she has finished showing me around, we head inside to make lunch.
I twist my hands behind my back when I see Howard sitting at the kitchen table. His hair is all scruffy again, and I blush when he looks up from the cup in his hands and smiles.
“You didn’t sleep very long,” I say.
“I never do,” he replies, his tone of voice telling me he wishes he did.
I stand and stare, watching him drink. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something, but nothing comes to me. He winks and immediately my ears catch on fire. I have to restrain myself from covering them to hide my embarrassment. As if that would make a difference.
I turn, and Rhonda is staring at both of us with a giant grin on her face.
“Do you need a hand with anything?” I ask, though that probably isn’t the wisest thing, seeing as I’ve never made my own food—ever.
“No, thank you, dear, you’re a guest here. I won’t have you doing any work.” Rhonda turns to her son. “Howard why don’t you take her and show her the reading room? I’ll call when lunch is ready.”
Howard nods, places his cup on the table, and stands.
“Come on,” he says, moving around the table. “It’s this way.”
He places his hand in the middle of my back and leads me down the hall. When we reach the room at the very end, he opens the door and I can immediately see why they call it the reading room. There are wall-to-wall bookshelves, and my natural curiosity has me scouring them in no time.
“Do you like to read?” Howard asks.
“Yes, very much so.”
As I look at all the different titles on the first set of shelves, I notice how old at lot of the books appear.
“Are these very old?” I ask.
“Yeah, they are. Most of them were my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather’s. He and his family chose to sacrifice some of their clothing when they came here so they could bring books.”
“Wow, that is amazing. I don’t ever remember
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Please finish your story.”
“After I discovered what was really in some of the vitamins, I stopped taking them and let nature take its course.”
It takes a second for my brain to decipher what she is saying. “So you can conceive by fornicating? It doesn’t have to be through insemination?” I ask, confirming I understand what she is saying.
“If you don’t take your daily vitamins, then yes.”
Wow, that is definitely something they don’t teach in school. “But why do you call it ‘making love’?”
“That’s a little harder to explain. When you’re in love with someone, fornication takes on a whole other meaning. It is the ultimate way to be one with your love. You’re baring your entire person to him—mind, body, and soul.”
“I wish I could say I understand, but I don’t.” I wonder whether it is my unique circumstances contributing to my confusion, or whether all non-traditionalist citizens would feel the same.
“When it happens, you’ll understand,” Rhonda says.
I doubt I will ever have a relationship with a man like the one she is describing, but, then again, if you had asked me yesterday what I would be doing today, sitting in the kitchen of a family of traditionalists would not have been my answer.
When our teacups are empty, Rhonda takes me for a tour of their compound. They have chickens and rabbits, and I’m astounded because I have never known anyone to have livestock outside of the government corporations. She also shows me her veggie patch and explains her portable hydroponic greenhouse. It occurs to me everything she has shown me was probably stolen from the government at some stage. I knew one thing for certain—the government did not let citizens have their own animals or grow their own food.
I am impressed at their setup nonetheless, and it dawns on me they are almost self-sufficient, relying on the city stores for very little. When she has finished showing me around, we head inside to make lunch.
I twist my hands behind my back when I see Howard sitting at the kitchen table. His hair is all scruffy again, and I blush when he looks up from the cup in his hands and smiles.
“You didn’t sleep very long,” I say.
“I never do,” he replies, his tone of voice telling me he wishes he did.
I stand and stare, watching him drink. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something, but nothing comes to me. He winks and immediately my ears catch on fire. I have to restrain myself from covering them to hide my embarrassment. As if that would make a difference.
I turn, and Rhonda is staring at both of us with a giant grin on her face.
“Do you need a hand with anything?” I ask, though that probably isn’t the wisest thing, seeing as I’ve never made my own food—ever.
“No, thank you, dear, you’re a guest here. I won’t have you doing any work.” Rhonda turns to her son. “Howard why don’t you take her and show her the reading room? I’ll call when lunch is ready.”
Howard nods, places his cup on the table, and stands.
“Come on,” he says, moving around the table. “It’s this way.”
He places his hand in the middle of my back and leads me down the hall. When we reach the room at the very end, he opens the door and I can immediately see why they call it the reading room. There are wall-to-wall bookshelves, and my natural curiosity has me scouring them in no time.
“Do you like to read?” Howard asks.
“Yes, very much so.”
As I look at all the different titles on the first set of shelves, I notice how old at lot of the books appear.
“Are these very old?” I ask.
“Yeah, they are. Most of them were my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather’s. He and his family chose to sacrifice some of their clothing when they came here so they could bring books.”
“Wow, that is amazing. I don’t ever remember
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