Resa: a story set in the world of 'the Balance'

Resa

'What is it?' Resa asked. It was a Labrador, a Golden Retriever. A beautiful dog, young, intelligent, alert. It looked to her with friendly, innocent eyes. It was more than just a dog, it was a picture-perfect companion that would guide her over.

'A dog,' said her husband. 'Happy birthday,' he added. He leant forward to kiss her. 'It's not every day you turn five-four.' He smiled. Resa stared at her husband. His smile was fixed. It was the same smile he had had since they were married thirty four years ago.

'You've never changed,' she said.

Garson stared at her the way he always stared. He smiled again, glancing down at the dog, as if he were waiting for gratitude. The dogs were not supposed to be given as simple gifts; they weren't flowers or chocolate-sims, they weren't a platitude. Resa felt an annoyance at her husband. She stared at him, shocked.

'What's wrong?' he said.

'Nothing,' she replied. 'I...' She couldn't go on. In that moment his quizzical face was the most annoying thing she had seen since she was under. She looked away from him, her eyes falling on the Labrador. The dog was nothing more than a tired expression of a mile stone on the road of a mundane life, one that was nearly lived. Her eyes snapped up and she glared at her husband, wanted to shout at him to stop looking at her, to slap his face, to scratch his eyes and let her nails carve into his cheeks. For an instant she could feel his skin pulling beneath her nails, curling and gathering in ragged bloody strips. Afraid, she stepped back, bumping against the kitchen work surface, the corner of the solid beech top banging painfully against her hip. Again, just for a moment she felt the sensation clearly, as if she was still an under and had fallen. In the space of a few seconds, revulsion, anger, fear and pain. She hadn't felt anything like it since she was under, since she was sixteen, since the day before her seventeenth birthday.

And then she was fine. She straightened, turned to her husband and smiled. The same smile she had used since they were married thirty four years ago. The change was as smooth and fast as her seventeenth birthday when she was joined. 'Nothing at all,' she said.

'So, fifty four,' said Margrit. 'What's it like?'

'Just the same as fifty three,' Resa lied. Margrit nodded, smiling. Resa started to stare at her smile and shook herself to stop. Margrit noticed her attention and smiled more, her mouth impossibly wide. Resa sipped her coffee, to cover her embarrassment.

'What's wrong?' said Margrit. 'You're red.' She nodded at Resa's cheeks.

'Nothing. I'm just...' Resa floundered, panicked. Margrit looked concerned, her eyebrows high. Resa took another sip of coffee, sipped again and tipped the cup further and further till she was drinking quickly, almost gulping.

'Steady,' said Margrit. 'You're only allowed one a day. Shame to waste it.' She leant forward conspiratorially and whispered. 'I hear you can have as many as you like when you go over.' She giggled. 'Imagine it: as much coffee as you can drink. I should be quite light-headed!'

People at other tables glanced over at Margrit's outburst. She looked down, giggling once more. Then the Counter swept their table and they both dutifully looked into it, their irises flashing red for an instance as they were counted for the third time since they had sat down to drink their coffee.

Resa stared at her friend. She was fifty three years and eight months, just four months and one week behind her. As she looked, she regained control, her face losing its inappropriate colour. She smiled at Margrit.