Free For All

 

I remember the announcement of the Free Fall. I remember it being made up to be a time of liberation. It was a time of hell.

“Two weeks. We will show the government what we want for two weeks, that’s all we have. That’s all we need. We will show them what we’ve been asking for! This is the start of the official countdown and already we’ve seen the hopeful faces ready to stand by us.” I still see myself standing in front of the television with my family and the neighbors huddled around.

“We will not be oppressed! We will strike fear in the government, not them in us. We will not be scared! We will stand together! Two weeks. In two weeks time we will start the Free Fall.” His sleek black hair frayed around his ears, his pale eyes wanting justice. I stare at the tan eyes contrasting with his pasty skin. “I am Dante Mangano and I stand for the Free Fall. What do you stand for?”

He looked untouchable. He was rubbing his hands around his elbows, his muscles seemed to be clenched in anticipation like he was dreaming of his own Utopia. I remember staring at him sitting on a barrel with three other middle-aged men sitting on boxes. They carried no weapons except their scowls and words and that was enough to strike fear. The room they sat in was dim lit, a single light flashing down on their stoned features.

I still cringe at the memory of the man fade away and the sign of the Free Fall flashing onto the screen. A snowy bird with two leaves—maple leaves— as wings. The wings standing upright like the bird was about to land, its talons reaching out as if to perch on a branch. Such a simple and kind of pathetic sign, but it struck fear to everyone who saw it.

The announcement was two weeks before the Free Fall. It was just enough time to separate those who celebrated the next two weeks and those who wished for the two weeks to go as fast as it came. My own neighbors built their own fences, around their houses and around their own opinions. I remember Mr. Plaster standing proudly as he draped a Free Fall sign on his porch. Three days later, when the days got closer, I can still see him hiding not so proudly behind his curtains as the Mr. Fink ripped the flag from his porch and set it on fire.

I think everyone still remembers Dante Mangano talking in the tiny television that stood in the middle of our living room. I remember the anger in the guy’s face as he announced it, so much liberation pulsing through the vein under his thick eyebrow. He took over every telephone, radio, laptop, tablet, any kind of signal just to cast his declaration for equality.

I can still hear the gasp slip from Mrs. Fink as she surveyed the scar along the man’s face. I can still picture her crying as her own son, Trent, left to join the Free Fall, her disappointment left it’s own scar on her face.

 “It’s more like a free for all.” Dad whispers to Mom as he wraps his arms around her small figure, trying to keep her confident. The television buzzes into a slight fuzz before turning back to the normal news, but no one listens. We all know what’s happening right now.

 It’s a revolution.

“Eli, can I see you outside?” I hear a voice whisper in my ear. I manage to nod, my eyes still planted at the crackling screen. From the corner of my eye I see some of our neighbor’s trudge back into their houses and some stay put and console Mrs. Fink.

 I look around for the body that matched the voice but he seemed to have disappeared outside already. I gaze over to the glass door leading to our backyard. I see Jez laughing outside with her friends, no matter what she was going to have her birthday party. She was drinking from a red cup, underage but the adults seemed too flustered to notice. She looked untouchable. It was hard to believer we were sisters, it’s even more hard to believe that she was older.