Perfect Imperfection

Chapter Three

I've read about life before now. The crimes and disorder. Life was chaotic, but that was over two hundred years ago, the twenty first century. Since then, everything has changed. Our world is no longer run by presidents or governors, but instead by hundreds of government officials. Every neighborhood has a manager, who decides schedules, pairings, jobs, and more for the households that belong to him. Each neighborhood has a name and each household has a letter code. To keep things organized, people no longer have names, but are numbered based on social status. There are five classes. I'm in the second class, with my mom and one of my brothers. Today, our neighborhood manager visits each household they facilitate with a child starting their adulthood. Over half the households qualify, including ours.

"19,025, remember this visit is centered around you," Mother lectures as I help her cook tonight's dinner. "There's a possibility we could find out who your future husband is!"

"Mother," I sigh. "I'm not turning eighteen until August, and it's not even June!" Whenever mom brings up my future husband, I try and sound confident, but really, I'm terrified of being paired.

"I know, darling-" she gasps, having cut her finger on the chopping knife. "Get me a tissue, we can't get blood on the dinner!" I rush out of the kitchen and over to the bathroom. I close the door and try to calm down. I can't be getting paired today! 

"19,025, hurry!" Mother calls. I run back to the kitchen and help her bandage the small cut.

"You don't think I'll actually get paired today, do you?" I ask, going back to cooking.

"Darling, it's not my decision," she answers, which makes me even more nervous. I get no say in who I'm paired with. "Now, go change out of your work uniform, 19,025." I rush upstairs and hurry into my room, locking the door. Maybe I could pretend to be sick, or even crawl out the window. I couldn't face the manager. Once I get paired, my entire life will change. I'll no longer be a teenager, but a wife. Not a waitress, but a nurse. Not a daughter, but a mom.

The doorbell rings just as I finish running down the stairs. Mother rushes past me, heading for the door. She takes a deep breath and opens the door.

"Household VGIAXWR," the manager states. A greeting. Mother nods and he steps into the hall. His gaze starts at the floor, going up the walls and to the ceiling. He's inspecting the house.

"Tea?" Mother croaks, her nerves obviously getting the better of her. The manager strolls past her and continues down the hall, stopping in front of me. He's quite intimidating, being six foot and three inches, a whole foot taller than me. He clears his throat. As much as I want to look away, I don't. I can't disrespect the manager.

"Identification?" he asks, robotic.

"19,025," I stutter. It's an unspoken law for citizens to never address their manager so informal. "Sir," I quickly add.

"Age?" he asks, but not before pausing. I watch his eyes scan my body from my dull grey shoes to my auburn hair.

"Seventeen," I answer, my voice unsteady. He looks back into my green eyes. "But I'll be eighteen in August, sir."

"You'll be paired by the end of the month," he informs me, still emotionless. He gestures for my mother. "Show me the house." Just like that, they've gone into the kitchen and I'm left shaking. I lean against the wall as memories flash before me. My childhood is ending. And when it does, I'll never truly belong to myself again.