The Separation

Chapter One

I'm not old enough to remember a time when love existed, a time before The Separation. Women and men have lived apart for almost a century now, and most people who could remember otherwise are dead and gone. But not Grace,

At 102 years old, she can remember what it was like before the war. This means that she's old enough to have given up parts of her mind to dementia, which is why today is so hard for us both.

When I ask her whether she wants a sweater, she doesn't bother to even glance at me. She stares out the front window at the snowflakes floating down, her watery blue eyes glazed over.

"Grace?" She doesn't respond, and I glance at the clock. I've spent ten minutes trying to get her attention, with no success. This is my duty. To take care of her, even when she doesn't want me to.

"Get in the chair, Grace." I brace myself, holding the handles of her wheelchair tightly. I know that if I drop my politeness, she'll respond. It goes against everything I've been taught to speak to her without perfect respect, but lately that's what it takes. She turns to glare at me.

"No," she responds. "We'll walk."

I sigh with relief. We'll still be late––really late––but at least now she's speaking. I pull a cardigan over her spindly arms and then bundle her in a heavy winter coat. With slow, unsteady steps, we make our way out the door into the snow.

The air is frigid as it whips snow into my face, which is typical for Compound A in late winter. At least it's the norm for our side of the city, Genesis. I don't know what the other side is like.

Compound A was the first male-female segregated compound established after the war, and because of that, we have what the Matriarchal Council calls a "symbiotic" relationship with the men on the other side of the wall. The other compounds aren't so lucky; they're still adjusting to our way of life. Still, I get sick of walking these same streets, day after day, never knowing what it's like to see anywhere else. I was born here, and I'll die here because most other compounds are too dangerous for us to visit. Even if they weren't, I'd never get into the visitation program. It's nearly impossible. The fact is I'll never get to see anything but Genesis, its layout etched in my brain forever.

I can see our destination long before we reach it. Most people go to sleep soon after dark to save money on power, but one shabby house in the western part of the city is all lit up. I can see a face peeking out the window, then a wide, white smile. Luna. I smile back and hurry Grace along. Luna is my best friend, and tonight is her night, in many ways. The only problem: it's also Carolyn's night.

Carolyn was Grace's best friend and Luna's Elder. When Luna was twelve, Carolyn chose her as a Youth the same way Grace chose me. Our jobs as Youths are to take care of our Elders for their more vulnerable years, until they pass away. At the point of passing, the Youth inherits everything the Elder owns. In the eyes of the Council, this is done to grow confidence and responsibility in the Youths. What they don't mention is that it also cuts down on the cost of assisted living for the elderly. Even though I know that's true, the partnering system is the one and only thing I agree with the Council about. It brought Grace and I together, which means it's the reason I met Luna. It's also the reason we're here at Carolyn's house tonight: the inheritance ceremony.

As I push through the door, the scent of warm vanilla and brown sugar swallows me up. It brings a smile to my face: it's the smell of my second home. Even though it smells right, everything is different inside. The little house is squeezed tightly full of people, most of whom are seated in the threadbare living room, which has been rearranged to accommodate them. Lights are on everywhere, and I shudder to think what the bill will look like, especially now that Luna alone is responsible for the whole house.