Originally published November 24, 2020 for The Prose Challenge
The world feels so crowded now. It’s one thing to wake up and be told the total world population is over 7 billion, and another to be thrust into that crowd of bodies. Every few steps I seem to run into someone new, feel a strange shoulder brush against my own, hear a voice speaking into a small rectangle I can now recognize as a phone, or one of those tiny microphones small enough to fit in an ear. I hate to admit it, but the doctor-scientists were right to keep me separated from the public for so long, though I’m sure they would have preferred keeping me locked away indefinitely. It gave me time to adjust to my new surroundings, so now, as I walk down the street, I can at least recognize the phones and earbuds and smart-watch-things for what they are. Modern technology continues to confuse me, but it does not frighten me, like a caveman stumbling upon a medieval village. No, it’s the people I find scary.
I keep my head lowered, eyes on the ground, watching for approaching feet to make sure I don’t bump into anyone. It’s easiest for me to travel this way. Less sensory overload. Sure, the shoe styles have changed, but people still wear shoes. Brown shoes, white shoes, shoes with flowers winding up the fabric. At the end of the day, they’re all still shoes. And sidewalks still look like sidewalks—solid, reliable slabs of gray crisscrossing in uniform lines. The ground is my safe space. Plus, with my face down low, I’m not as likely to be recognized.
I never wanted to be famous. My goal in life was to create my own loving family with a cozy home to call our own. I never wanted to be a marvel of science, living proof of humanity’s great triumph. I never wanted strangers to gather around me, eyes saucer-wide, ready to poke and prod and interrogate me like some alien species and not a human woman. That was never my dream. But it was my husband’s.
I married the now famous Dr. Rupert Burton when I was only nineteen. I’ve come to understand that getting married at that age is considered shocking in this new world, but it was common in my day. Especially in a town as small as Riverside. If you didn’t marry right out of high school, all the guys were likely to be taken or long gone from town by the time you got around to it, especially with how scarce jobs were. So I wasted no time. Besides, I’d known who I wanted to marry since my sophomore year. The scientist. The genius. The dreamer. My upperclassmen, Rupert.
My first year of high school was spent watching Rupert from afar, too nervous to approach. My eyes always found him in the halls, as if drawn to him by a magnet. He was much taller than the other boys, with mussed red-brown hair and lanky limbs. Not the kind of boy most Riverside girls went for, but I was smitten. And at Sam Hawthorne’s end-of-the-year party, the contents of a stolen bottle of courage burning in my stomach, I finally approached Rupert. He was wary at first; no one else in town saw Rupert’s potential for greatness. More often, they saw him as an odd duck, and resented his desire to flee the town, not for lack of jobs like so many others, but out of distaste for the town itself. And they weren’t wrong—Rupert hated the town, and he wanted out. He made that clear in our first conversation, his eyes afire with longing for a far-off, bright future that only he could see. I listened to him, mesmerized, and was delighted when he did the same when I shared my dreams. The party continued around us, but we were oblivious to it. Our world contained only the two of us and our longing for the future.
Over the next two years, I spent more and more time with Rupert, and once we’d graduated, we left Riverside with matching rings on our fingers.
Those early years were hard. We lived in a tiny apartment, Rupert attending college, me working as a waitress in two separate diners to pay the bills. But I was so happy. I got to spend my days with the love of my life, so long as I wasn’t at work and he wasn’t busy with class or homework, which, I now admit, he usually was. Late nights at the library or the lab were not uncommon, but I convinced myself it was fine. One day Rupert would have a great job as some sort of scientist—I was never quite sure what he was studying specifically, as he either waved me off or used technical language too complicated for me to understand when I asked—and then our lives would really start. I could quit my jobs, or maybe just one, if I wanted the extra spending money for decorating our home, though what I really wanted was to focus on starting a family. We could have our own tiny Rupert Junior. With his red-brown hair and my hazel eyes. The image never failed to flood me with warmth. I imagined Rupert, the searching expression seared into his eyes fading into awe at the sight of our son. What a beautiful life it would be.
Our plans were pushed back even farther with the start of the war. I thanked God for Rupert’s poor eyesight, which saved him from the draft, but his long days at the university did not disappear. Rumors swirled that the university was assisting in some sort of experiments to help with the war effort, though Rupert never offered any information, and I never asked. Loose lips sink ships was the law of the land, after all. I trusted Rupert, and I trusted my country; there was no need for me to pry.
As for myself, I left one of my diner jobs to work in a factory. I liked the idea that Rupert and I were helping the war effort together, in our own ways. The work was more physical than I was used to, and I often returned home sweating like a pig. On those nights, I was grateful Rupert was out, so I could wash off the sweat and grime without him ever seeing. I still wanted him to only see me as the picture-perfect wife.
Rupert stayed at the university until the end of the war, having been offered a position as soon as he graduated, along with an offer to continue his studies. I asked him once if he was to become a professor at the university; I liked the idea of my young husband being the academic equal to all those old white-bearded men. But Rupert refuted the idea, though he said he couldn’t tell me much about his work, and assured me I wouldn’t be interested. I wasn’t sure about that; I was interested in everything Rupert did. I loved him, after all. But I stopped prying. He was an important man with important work to do. I did my best to keep our (still small) apartment in order and have dinner ready for him, on the off chance he came home in time to eat it.
After the war, Rupert continued to excel in his field. He stayed at his university job a little while longer, but one day he threw open the door to our apartment and announced we were moving.
“I got a new job,” he said by way of explanation.
“Oh honey, congratulations!” I said, wrapping my arms around him and kissing him. “Where is it?”
“In Franklin,” he replied.
I pulled back in surprise. “But that’s so far!”
Rupert squeezed my waist. “I know, but Stuart Laboratories, that’s who offered me the job, is the leader in exploring new scientific horizons. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Plus, they even offered to buy us a house. No more walking up five flights of stairs to reach our front door!”
I looked around our tidy but cramped apartment. Rupert was right. It was a great opportunity. Plus, with a house worth’s of space, we could finally start working on expanding our family.
“You’re right,” I said with a smile. “Let’s celebrate!”
We celebrated with spring rolls from our favorite Chinese restaurant—the cheapest thing on their menu. It was the most we could afford, though with Rupert’s new job, I imagined we’d be able to afford much better soon. I smiled across the table as we ate, looking at Rupert and once again envisioning what our child would look like. Rupert stared out the window, that far-off searching look in his eyes. A pang of loneliness caught me by surprise. I had the thought that, despite sitting at the same table, we were both eating alone.
A rumble of worry passed through my stomach. Rupert’s success didn’t surprise me one bit. I’d always known he was a quiet genius, someone who would change the world. I’d never doubted the bright future that awaited him, but in that moment, I wasn’t sure where my place in it was. Then Rupert glanced toward me and smiled. I smiled back, pushing away my doubts as I reached for another roll.
The move to Franklin was both hectic and wonderful. My mind spun with all the things I had to do—decorate the house, send out our new address and phone number, find the nearest stores for everything we’d need—I hardly noticed the weeks passing. Rupert was busy as well; his job started as soon as we arrived, and his days were as long as ever.
But I never forgot my dream. Once we’d been settled in for a few weeks, I began nudging Rupert on the family front. At first, he would brush me off with a quick response. It’s not a good time. I’m still adjusting to my new job. We need to save more first. That sort of thing. I tried to be patient. I was patient. But as the weeks turned into months, and my mom’s weekly phone calls began to mention more of my childhood friends settling down and having children, I became agitated. I grew more persistent in pursuing the issue. I bartered. Thought of a response to all of Rupert’s refusals. I’d get a job to help save before I got pregnant. I’d do all the work to prep a nursery, so he wouldn’t be distracted from work. With a wink, I even promised to be the one to give birth. Rupert didn’t laugh. I wasn’t sure the joke had even processed for him. I wasn’t sure he could see me past the distant yearning that still haunted his eyes.
I was at a loss. I had held onto that vision for so long—my perfect family, a brilliant husband and beautiful baby, and our own cozy home to complete the package. It had gotten me through the worst moments. Cleaning up vomit at the diner. Avoiding the leering eyes of some of the older customers, keeping a cheery smile while avoiding their wandering hands. In the factory, sweat pouring down my face, blurring my vision, I kept returning to that vision. When I laid awake in bed, muscles aching from my shift, Rupert still away at work, that dream gave me strength. It healed my muscles, soothed my increasingly lonely heart. And now, it seemed my dream would never be realized. I found myself crying myself to sleep more than once. Always alone. Rupert’s late-night work habit had only worsened since moving to Franklin. The more I pushed him to discuss our family, the more he stayed away. I think he even had a cot moved into his office, so he could sleep there instead of coming home. As I wrapped another cooling dinner in tinfoil, I would tell myself he was busy, but I knew that was only half-true.
Looking back, I’m surprised at how well I kept it all bottled up. Whenever my mom called to check in, I put on a bright, cheery voice that I knew would banish all her worries. Yes, we were in good health. Yes, Rupert’s job was doing well. No, no grandchildren yet, but we were still getting settled. There was plenty of time for all that. Those last words were a knife in my heart, bringing tears to my eyes, but I never let the pain reach through my voice and into the phone. I would pretend I was back at the diner. Marvelous Margie, some of the regulars called me. Always a smile on her face, a cheery note in her voice. She would never worry anyone.
However, I wasn’t as good at hiding my feelings in person, which I found out when I ran into Loretta Haines at the supermarket one day. She, like Rupert and me, was from Riverside. After high school, she had gone away to college, fallen for a boy, realized she had no interest in nursing, dropped out, married the boy, and immediately started having children. At least, that’s how she told it, but the Riverside gossip vine was a powerful thing, never fully releasing someone once it got hold, and old Mrs. Witherby liked to say that Loretta had jumped to the final step a little prematurely, and the marriage was more to save face than the happily ever after Loretta’s family liked to describe. Going by the distant, tired look in Loretta’s face as she rolled her cart down the aisles, a child in the front, a paper bag full of liquor bottles clinking at the bottom, I found myself believing the Witherby version.
Loretta’s eyes lit up when she saw me.
“Margie? Is that really you?”
I smiled and nodded, tucking away my critical thoughts.
“It’s great to see you Loretta.” We had never been particularly close, but with Rupert gone so often, any familiar face in this unfamiliar city was a blessing. Still, I hoped this would be a quick hello-and-goodbye interaction, so when she toddled her cart over to me, baby continuing to burble, I felt dismayed.
“I thought that was you! I just had to say hello.” I could smell cigarettes on her breath, but tried not to scrunch my nose.
“We, that is, me and Dave. Dave’s my husband. Did you know I got married?” I nodded, but Loretta didn’t pause to catch my response. “We saw that article in the paper about Stuart Laboratories, and I could not believe the name I saw. Rupert Burton! Who’d’ve ever thought they’d see his name in the papers one day?”
My stomach clenched. My smile was plastic on my face. Rupert was not a topic I wanted to discuss. He had come over just the night before, only to leave after another screaming match.
“I always believed he would achieve great things,” I managed to say.
“Of course you did,” Loretta replied, as if talking to a child. I half expected her to reach out and pat me on the head. “I remember you always trailing after him at school, like a little puppy. It was so cute,” she added at the last moment, seeming to realize that her comparison wasn’t particularly flattering. She focused on the baby for a moment, pulling its hands away from the box it had been trying to pull from the shelf. I was thankful for the reprieve, but wished it could have come from a different source. I didn’t want to acknowledge the child. Rupert and babies. My two least favorite topics, coming together in the middle of the grocery store. I took advantage of Loretta’s distraction to drop the false smile from my face. My facial muscles sighed in relief.
Once the baby was decently settled, though it continued to eye the shelf with longing, Loretta turned back to me.
“So, how does it feel to be married to a famous scientist?”
I had been ready for the question. I’d already fielded the same from my parents and a few other people back home. Time for Marvelous Margie to make an appearance. But when I opened my mouth, no words came out. A stone was lodged in my throat, blocking my voice. I tried to force it away, and a whimper escaped my throat. I flushed at the pitiful sound. Marvelous? More like Miserable Margie, I thought.
Loretta looked at me with concern.
“Oh honey,” she said, and pulled me into a hug.
It shouldn’t have been pleasant. Loretta squeezed so hard I expected my back to pop, and her skin smelled of old alcohol, mixing with the cigarette stench of her breath. But I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been hugged. It was such a wonderful feeling, to be held, to have someone care about me. I hadn’t realized how alone I’d felt. My life had become empty and cold, but Loretta’s arms were warm. Here, there was understanding and love. Alcohol sweat be damned.
“Is he stepping out?”
I blinked. The tears that had welled in my eyes rolled down my cheeks, but no more followed. Loretta’s question had caught me by surprise.
“What?” I said, finally finding the power to pull back. The look on Loretta’s face was unsettling. Her eyes glimmered with a hunger I’d never seen before. I imagined her launching forward to take a bite out of me, her yellowed teeth sinking into the flesh of my neck. With a slight panic, I realized she was still gripping my wrists, her fingernails digging ever so slightly into my skin.
“I mean, has he not been faithful to you? It happens you know, especially when a guy starts getting a lot of attention he’s not used to.” She paused for a moment, considering. “Does he have a secretary?”
“Um, I don’t think so—” I began. How had we gotten on this topic?
Loretta shook heard head, ignoring my response. “It’s always the secretary. The same thing happened to my friend Catherine.”
I could feel the heat rush to my cheeks. Fear was quickly melting away to anger. How dare Loretta Haines of all people judge me.
“Rupert is not stepping out.” I almost spat the words.
Loretta looked taken aback for a moment, but recovered quickly. She sprung forward, her grip on my wrists keeping me from pulling back.
“Does he hit you?”
She whispered the words inches from my face. I couldn’t stop myself from cringing at the cigarette smell this time. Her eyes roamed up and down my arms, the bruises she imagined to be under my sleeves reflected in her eyes.
“No!” I cried, trying to pull away. Loretta’s grip tightened.
“It’s okay, you can tell me.” Her eyes sparkled with a craving I didn’t understand, but it scared me. “You can tell me.”
“I—I have to go,” I said. I ripped my wrists from Loretta’s grip, hurrying out of the aisle, abandoning my own cart. I heard her call out, but I ignored her.
I raced back to the car and drove home. I sat on the couch in the living room, stroking my wrists. If there were going to be any bruises on my arms, it was Loretta who’d left them. Her eyes kept flashing through my mind. Why had she looked at me like that? That wasn’t caring in her eyes, but pure want. My stomach twisted as I struggled to imagine what could have sated that hunger.
I didn’t bother to turn on the lights as the sunlight coming through the window began to fade. Eventually I headed to bed, not even bothering to glance toward the kitchen. I felt too ill to eat, and I knew there would be no one else to cook for. I laid in the dark bedroom, feeling the emptiness of the house all around me. I wrapped myself in blankets, but not even that could keep the cold out.
What had my life become? No friends, my parents miles away, and a husband who’d rather sleep on a cramped cot than be at home with me. I turned to my usual balm—the face of a chubby-cheeked, red-haired Rupert Jr., grinning up at me. Suddenly, the image transformed into Loretta’s baby, dirty hands grabbing for me, face twisted in a shriek, eyes demanding something of me I didn’t have to give.
Eventually, I cried myself to sleep.
It was about a week later when I came home to find Rupert waiting for me.
He sat at the dining table, a spread of Chinese food laid out. It reminded me of our celebration dinner before moving to Franklin, though this time it was clear money wasn’t an issue. It looked like Rupert had ordered everything on the menu.
Rupert smiled sheepishly at me and waved a hand at the food.
“I was going to cook, but then I remembered why I usually stay out of the kitchen.” That explained the faint burning smell I could detect coming from the kitchen.
I didn’t know what to say. For a brief moment, I considered fleeing the room. Instead, I set my purse down and sat down opposite Rupert. I examined the feast before reaching out for the Chow Mein. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed something to do. Rupert smiled, believing his offering had been accepted.
“Listen, Margie,” he began, “I’ve been an idiot. I wanted to apologize for how I’ve been. I was so stressed about the move and the new job, and I took it out on you. Can you forgive me?”
I looked up from my plate. He seemed so earnest, but I wasn’t ready to let months of pain be wiped away so easily. Also, as much as I hated to admit it, Loretta’s words whispered in the back of my head.
Does he have a secretary?
“I don’t know,” I admitted. I stared down at my plate of noodles. This was too much food for two people. It was going to go to waste. Just like all those dinners I’d prepared and saved, before finally dumping them into the trash. I felt tears well up in my eyes.
“Oh Margie.” Rupert reached across the table, resting his hands on my own. “I’ve been such an ass. I’m so, so sorry. About work, and not being here, and…and for not being ready to start a family.”
I jerked in surprise. Rupert gripped my hands tight as I looked up. The distant yearning that always haunted his gaze was gone. For the first time, it felt like he was looking right at me.
“I’ve been an idiot, and a coward. But I want to make it all up to you. I want to make everything right.”
I burst into tears then, and Rupert hurried around the table to hold me. He rocked me gently in his arms until my sobs subsided. God, his embrace was world’s better than Loretta’s had been. After a few minutes, just as gently as he’d held me, Rupert pulled away to look at me.
“I want to make everything right,” he repeated. “But first, I want to show you what I’ve been working on.”
I had never been to Stuart Laboratories before that night. I was disappointed to find is was rather unimpressive. The lab was large and boxy, surrounded by nothing but a parking lot and security fence. Beyond that, there was nothing. I had made out a sign stating that one of the adjacent plots had been purchased, but no construction had begun. Beyond the security fence, there was nothing but empty flatness, swallowed by the night. Looking out at it, I found myself shrinking away from the car window, intimidated by the endless seemingly endless darkness.
Rupert pulled up to the security gate and into the comforting glow of the streetlights. He gave a hello to the man in the booth. The security guard had a wild beard and held what I suspected to be a dirty magazine in his hand. He quickly returned Rupert’s greeting and raised the gate to let us through. He seemed relieved to have us gone.
The inside of the building was a maze. Long hallways stretched out in all directions. Tiny signs gave some indication of where they led, but I had no time to inspect them. Rupert was on familiar ground, and he sped down a hall to our right without checking to make sure I followed. I hurried after him, afraid I’d lose sight of him and become lost in the labyrinth of identical white hallways. When I caught up to him, I reached for his hand, and Rupert gave it, glancing back with a quick smile. I felt so warm in that moment that all my fear melted away. I was finally getting a better understanding of Rupert’s work. If things kept going like this, maybe one day these halls would be as familiar to me as they were to him.
Loretta’s words returned to me, and I found myself asking, “Do you have a secretary?”
“Huh? No. I think Stamford—he’s in the other wing—might, but I’m not sure. I’ve always thought one would just get in the way.”
Rupert seemed oblivious to my motive in asking the question. I flushed, ashamed I’d doubted him, and gave his hand a loving squeeze.
After several minutes, we stopped at a door near the end of a particularly long hallway. Rupert pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and fit one into the lock. It clicked, and Rupert swung the door open.
The room was large, with high ceilings. Windows near the top of the far wall revealed the darkness outside. I felt myself relax. I hadn’t realized how closed in the narrow, windowless hallways had felt. Lowering my eyes, I spotted bulky, modern machines lining the wall to my right. In the center of the room stood a tall, cylindrical object.
“Is this your office?” I asked. Rupert chuckled.
“No, that’s down the other hall. This is my lab.” I blushed, embarrassed, but it faded quickly as my curiosity drew me toward the center of the room.
The cylinder was tall—made even more so by the stand it sat on—but not wide. As I got closer, I noticed hinges sticking out from the otherwise smooth surface. A door. I walked around the cylinder, until the fancy machines were to my back, and sure enough, there was a wheel-like doorknob sticking out of the metal. Small steps built into the stand led up to the door.
I turned back to Rupert.
“What is this?” I asked. He grinned wider than I’d ever seen, liked he’d been waiting for me to ask that exact question. He came up and rested a hand against the cylinder reverently.
“This is my greatest accomplishment,” he said, barely above a whisper. He turned to me, the intensity in his eyes startling. “It’s finally finished. I wanted to share it with you before anyone else.”
I flushed. I had never been able to grasp Rupert’s work, never really been given the chance, I realize now, but here he was, giving me a front row seat before anyone else. I could feel my own grin pull my cheeks apart. I knew what question to ask next.
“What does it do?”
On cue, Rupert spun the wheel and pulled open the door. I saw that the inside of the cylinder was hollow, and, surprisingly, lightly padded.
“Get in,” Rupert said. I started with surprise. I looked at him, expecting him to laugh and say he was kidding.
He was serious.
“Is…is it safe?” I asked. I could feel my fear earlier returning. The metal chamber felt menacing, like the mouth of a metal beast, and Rupert was asking me to jump right in.
He reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Of course it’s safe. I checked and double checked before bringing you here. Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do,” I replied, shamed. I hadn’t meant my hesitation as a dig at Rupert’s work, or him. I wanted to put all our fights behind us. Just like him, I wanted to make everything right.
After a final moment’s hesitation, I pulled myself up and into the machine. Before I could get myself turned around, the door slammed closed.
I cried out and smashed my fists against the metal door. I realized there was a tiny window built in at eye level. I peeked out and saw Rupert spinning the wheel, locking the door in place. He looked up and gave me a thumb’s up, smiling. Trust me, he mouthed. I forced my own shaky smile back at him. My fist rested against the door. I dropped it and tried to relax.
Rupert was saying something outside the chamber, motioning with his hands. Lay down. Again, I hesitated.
C’mon, Margie, trust your husband, I chided myself. I pressed my back against the padding. It wasn’t comfortable, but it kept away the chill of the metal.
I watched Rupert hurry off to one of the machines and start messing with various switches and buttons. Lights flickered across a screen that he hunched over to read. I was getting used to my metal cocoon, and felt slightly less afraid. My excitement started to spark back to life. It was sort of like being in a science fiction movie, or at least this was how I imagined them to be. I’d never really gotten around to the movies much. Maybe Rupert and I could go see one after, have a little celebration. We could share a box of popcorn if we weren’t still stuffed from the Chinese.
An alarm blared from above, destroying my growing calm. Every muscle in my body tensed. I looked for Rupert and saw him turn and throw me a thumb’s up. The screen behind him flickered wildly.
Before I could respond, a hissing sound seeped from the door. I shrank back against the padding. What was happening?
“Rupert?” I called out, but there was no way he could hear me over the alarm, and he had returned his attention to the machines behind him.
Suddenly, a white mist sprayed out from the walls of the cylinder. I hadn’t even noticed the tiny holes dotting the metal. At first, nothing happened. The mist seemed to bounce off my skin, like I was surrounded by an invisible force field. But it kept coming and when the mist finally hit me, I screamed. It was cold, so cold my skin burned like fire wherever it touched. I had to get away, but there was nowhere to go. I tried to hit my fist against the glass, to warn Rupert that something had gone terribly wrong, only to find I couldn’t move. Wherever the mist touched, I burned in agony and then froze. I opened my mouth to scream, but the mist seeped into my mouth, freezing and burning me from the inside.
I lay frozen in that hell for what felt like an eternity. Before my consciousness faded away, I remember thinking: How awful. Rupert was so excited. Our lives were finally getting started. He’s going to be horrified when he sees. Why did this have to happen? We only wanted to make things right.
I woke up sixty-seven years later. The first thing I did was scream.
The doctors, completely surrounding me, rushed to sedate me. I was blind to them, blind to the room I was in, filled with machinery that was much smaller and sleeker than the last machines I had seen. I was blind to everything but the memory of the hell I had fallen asleep in. I screamed and thrashed until the blackness took me again.
I don’t know how long it took, but I was eventually able to wake without screaming. The doctors—some called themselves scientists, but I couldn’t tell them apart—swarmed me day and night, checking the various screens to my side. Checking my vitals, one explained, though that didn’t make me any less confused. When they weren’t studying the screens, they were studying me, shooting off a thousand questions a second, far too fast for me to understand, especially when my head was fill with questions of my own.
Eventually, someone got around to telling me what was happening.
“Do you not remember?” one of the doctors—I was sure this one was a doctor—asked me. He had brown skin and dark hair, and his eyes held a delightful liveliness.
I thought back to the cylinder, and the freezing, burning mist.
“I remember,” I replied. “I just don’t understand…”
Like Loretta decades earlier, the doctor cut me off.
“Well, Dr. Burton’s experiment was a huge success. Went better than anyone could have imagined.” The doctor prattled on, but I found myself zoning out. His words made no sense, like we were speaking slightly different languages. I was being battered by words with no way to understand them. But his next words drew my full attention. “You’ve been asleep for sixty-seven years!”
“What?” I was sure I had misheard.
“Oh yes,” he said, nodding eagerly. “Your husband, Dr. Rupert Burton, put you in his cryogenic chamber—the first one ever!—way back in 1952. It’s 2019 now. Dr. Burton completely revolutionized our way of thinking—from space and time travel to death itself. His experiment—or should I say, your experiment—was the marvel of the twentieth century. He told everyone about his brave wife, and how she volunteered to be the first test subject. I’m sure he wished he could be here to see you awake. It’s really such an honor to meet you.” The doctor paused, scooting forward on his stool. A strangely familiar glimmer filled his eyes. “Tell me, what do you remember of that legendary night?”
I screamed then, but not out of fear.
After that, I told every doctor-scientist that came to visit me what really happened. I wasn’t a willing participant in my husband’s experiment; I had no idea what the machine even did. He had lied and tricked me into that machine. I thought they would be furious, but instead, they ignored me. Whenever I brought it up, they averted their eyes and shuffled their feet. A few muttered apologies. From others I heard whispers of it being a different time, of ethical requirements not being as strict back then. Tell me, when had it been ethical to lie to your spouse? Still, I was forced to accept that the doctor-scientists didn’t want to hear what I had to say about my husband. These men would never listen to me, because my words tainted their image of their hero, and they couldn’t allow that.
Eventually, someone let it slip in earshot that they may not necessarily be allowed to keep me locked up forever. After that, I started demanding more from them. I would answer their questions, run through all their tests, but it came at a price. I needed to learn about the world I’d woken up in, which was terrifyingly different from the one I knew. They reluctantly agreed to drip-feed me information, which was both a frustratingly slow and overwhelming process. But I persisted. After almost two years in the facility, I felt confident enough to move out of the lab.
The laboratory that had funded my husband’s work and kept me alive in the chamber paid for a small studio apartment while I searched for work. I was stunned at how high rent prices are. And I had no idea what to do for a job. I spent several days paralyzed with fear in my apartment, unwilling to venture out into unfamiliar territory. I wouldn’t even go near the computer I’d been given, or the giant black rectangle that I was assured was an average-sized TV for this time. One day, I decided enough was enough, and forced myself to put on a pair of shoes and walk out the door.
I didn’t make it far. Technically, I didn’t really make it out of the building. A few steps outside, I discovered a small café on the first floor, and I hurried inside. Even a few seconds of the blare of cars and people had been too much for me. Thankfully, the café was quiet. The style was decidedly of this new world, but it felt cozy. Safe. I went to the counter to order the coffee, which was much more difficult than I expected. There are so many kinds of coffee now! The young girl behind the counter was patient with me and helped me pick a drink she thought I would like, for which I was beyond grateful. I took my cup back to a small table and sat, sipping and glancing out at the world when I felt brave enough.
There was another woman sitting a few tables away. I’d noticed her typing away on one of those laptop things when I first walked in. Its sleek silver body looked like a sculpture. I’d forgotten about her in my attempts to order my drink, and I almost jumped when I realized she was standing over me.
“Sorry,” she apologized. Her long curly hair was pulled back in a ponytail, highlighting her soft brown eyes.
“It’s okay,” I said. Remembering my manners, I waved to the seat across from me. “Would you like to sit?” Maybe this could be good practice for me to interact with people. Anyone but another doctor-scientist.
The woman didn’t hesitate to slide into the chair. She glanced at the counter, where the girl was distracted on one of those smaller rectangles—smartphones. The woman leaned forward and whispered.
“Are you Margaret Burton?”
A cold sweat broke out across my skin, and my heart started to race. The doctor-scientists had warned me about my new fame, that some people might recognize me and call out on the street. Apparently, there had been pictures of me published when I first awoke, but those were old photos of me, before I was frozen. I had done my best to assume a new, more modern look, hoping no one would recognize me, but it looked like I’d failed.
The woman must have sensed my panic.
“Don’t worry, I’m a friend,” she said. “My name is Jamie, and I’m a journalist, and I want to help you.”
I wasn’t sure what this strange woman could possibly offer me. I waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, I decided to push.
“What do you want?” She seemed surprised by my directness, but she didn’t waver.
“I want to help you tell your side of the story. Everyone always talks about what a wonder Dr. Burton was, but what about Margaret Burton? Who is she as a person, not just as the first person ever to be cryogenically frozen? Also—” Jamie darted another glance around the café, “I’ve heard that the lauded Dr. Burton may not be the hero we all think he is.”
I stared into Jamie’s eyes. There was a familiar look there. I found that I finally understood it.
“How would you tell it?” I asked. “My story.” I watched Jamie suppress a squirm of eagerness.
“I would recommend starting with an interview, something we can publish in the magazine I work for,” she began. “But in the long run, I’m thinking a book. We can tell your whole story, from birth to now. I’m sure we could find a publisher in no time.” The light in her eyes danced as she talked, but it couldn’t hide the hunger underneath.
I stared down at my coffee. The heat had burned its way into my hands without me noticing. It was far from the worst burning I’d felt. After a few minutes, I looked up.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
I glance up and gasp with relief when I realize I’ve reached my destination. I hurry off the sidewalk and through the tall iron gates of Belmont Cemetery.
The air is brisk as I walk, and I suck it in gratefully. Falls days like this always make me feel so alive. I used to hate the growing chill in the air, but now I relish it. The sensation across my skin, filling my lungs, is proof that I’m alive.
I pull a paper out of my purse and read the directions on them. I’d printed them off my computer. I still wasn’t great at using my phone for much else than making calls, though Jamie did say I was getting better with text and email.
I hurry through the rows of headstones until I find the one I want.
Rupert Burton
1915 – 2011
Rupert had lived a long, successful life. He earned the Nobel, along with countless other awards I can’t remember the names of. He traveled the world and advised the heads of various scientific communities, along with a few heads of state. His work inspired countless scientists. I read one article that said it would be impossible to ever fully measure Rupert’s impact on the modern world. He was a god among men, his face and deeds memorialized across the country. I’d seen photos of him in his later years. Like that night, the yearning, searching look was nowhere to be found. I’d thought I was the one to close that hole, and in a way, I suppose I was. Just not in the way I’d expected. At long last, he was where he belonged.
Rupert had gotten everything he wanted. Recognition, fame, success—all of his dreams had come true. And all he’d had to do to get it was sacrifice me.
I sometimes wonder what Rupert thought would happen when I woke up. Did he think I’d awaken and be delighted by his betrayal? Did he predict the rage I would feel? That would explain his insistence on keeping me asleep for decades, even setting up a trust to fund my slumber after he passed. It might have worked, if the lab hadn’t been hurting for money and decided I was more valuable awake. Perhaps he trusted the people who woke me to preserve his legacy. In fairness, they certainly tried. But I was a marvel in my own right. People wanted to hear what Marvelous Margie had to say, so I told them everything.
I bend down over Rupert’s grave, clearing away some leaves that had settled at its based. Then I pull a book from my purse and rest it against the headstone.
Cold and Alone: My Life with Rupert Burton the title read. My name, Margaret Cooper, right underneath. I had switched back to my maiden name during the course of writing the book. The cover features the same photo of me that the news had when I first woke up, the photo most people recognize me by. It’s a closeup of my face, hair curled just so, teeth gleaming out between painted lips. I wore a blue dress in the photo, though no one but me knew that, since it was in black-and-white. No pearls around my neck; we’d never been able to afford them. It was rather picturesque: behold, the loyal housewife who risked her life to further her husband’s work. There are photos of him in the book too. He’s an old man in one, eyes overflowing with satisfaction. A lustrous career and a gleaming legacy had filled the hole I never could.
But Rupert didn’t realize that, as much as people love a success story, they love a scandal more. He was never good with people. He never saw the way they hungered for the pain of others, the way their eyes glimmered with that want. To know others were more miserable than them. But I had. I’d seen that look on Loretta Haines’ face that day in the grocery store, and I’d seen it in Jaime’s eyes at the café. Rupert gave the world miracles, but I revealed the lies they were built on.
I pat the headstone before standing up. A tiny piece chips off the corner into my hand. I roll it between my fingers and smile.
“Get used to that, Rupert. Your whole legacy is going to come tumbling down.”
I turn and walk away, breathing in the sharp air of my new life.