22 — Shopping
I needed groceries.
I dressed. My fashion sense had become, “whatever I could afford, and fit me,” which proved to be a surprisingly tall order. It seemed like everything I liked was intended to be worn by women smaller than me. I felt a twinge in my head, knowing that I had shaped myself merely to complete work tasks in a way that felt familiar to my old self.
Even after this body became real, flesh and blood, definitely a size or two smaller than the old one, it was still quite a bit bigger than what was considered ideal for the women of this culture. Fashion was only meant for those who fit the mold.
I had caught myself staring at my reflection in a shop window. I remembered feeling so light and free the first time I breathed air into this body. Today I felt heavy. I
looked
heavy.
My eyes moved from my reflection to the shop interior. I worked in a shop just like this one, assisting the owner with women's clothing. I'd take the clients’ sizes, my measuring tape collecting their dimensions (precise to the millimeter), and then do alterations to give them the perfect fit. They'd look gorgeous in their new dress or coat by the time I was done. I, meanwhile, would become familiar with all of the ways a body's proportions could be more flattering than mine.
I hated it, but I was good at it. It was money. Unlike Daelus, who was expected to bring in income but had most of his basic needs provided for by the delegation, I needed money to simply survive.
I snapped out of it. I was out to buy food, not clothing. Besides, the summer fashion wouldn't suit me. The styles were cut to flatter the body, but the dresses always just made me look like a rectangle, or a potato.
Only a few months had passed since I fully became myself. Johnathan was still fighting against the delegation to continue the murder investigation. I had already moved on. It was clear to me that it wasn’t an assassination, or even a murder. It was a
firing
. Daelus had been a failure as a delegate and the delegation had decided to replace him. He hadn’t been around long enough to make simply killing him a matter of inconvenience, so they had taken the path of least resistance.
I found myself in the market, absently filling a hand-basket. I was buying a mix of my old standbys (potatoes, rice), and new things I had begun to experiment with (eggs, fruits, lentils). I found that my tastes had changed rapidly as I explored my new life. Things tasted differently. I enjoyed new smells and sensations. I was curious to try new things.
I was beginning to understand why delegates, when they were brought through time from the old world to the new, through a process I still didn’t understand and still couldn’t remember, had a sort of amnesia imposed on them. They’d quickly miss the old world, and may be tempted to bring some things back.
The variety of food was so much smaller than I remembered. This new world offered seemingly infinite choice within a very narrow band of what was considered the correct sorts of things for people to eat. Food was meant to be consumed quickly to allow you to resume your task or to be eaten while still doing it. Even as a delegate, living that opulent life among the ruling class, meals were brief, something to be gotten over with quickly so you may move on to other matters. I remembered long meals in the old world. A meal could last the entire night, or an entire morning.
It was a moment of truth, though. The cost of the items in my basket compared to how much money there was in my purse was giving me a negative sum. I took a long breath, stared at what now looked like a pauper’s ration, and put the box of dehydrated potatoes back on the shelf. The fancy coffee beans were coming home with me. I deserved at least a little treat, the smallest of treats.
After settling on the contents of my basket and paying, I crossed back through the plaza — maybe one I had designed myself a lifetime ago — on my way home. I was surrounded by shops, cafés, and taverns, which were starting to open for the evening, and felt a pang within. I wanted to stop somewhere. I wanted to be out in the open for a bit. But everywhere I looked I would need to buy something in order to be able to stay, and my purse was now empty.
I thought for a moment and realized I couldn’t think of a single place where you could just be. Nobody gathered anywhere. The plaza had no public seating. Even the museum I used to curate as part of my delegated tasks, the Museum of Fine Art, Antiquities, and Anthropological Curiosities, had an entry fee. This so-called new world hadn’t been designed for anyone to actually live in. Just
shop
.
My part in that weighed heavily on me. I wanted to sink into the pavement. I wanted a massive rectangular machine to appear above me and reduce this entire place back to atoms, myself included.
Snapping free, I kept walking and looking. The city went on and on, never repeating, but all the same. All of it had been designed to make it look like it had always been this way. The city said,
don’t question why things are like this. Don’t try to make them better. It’s always been this way. It probably has been for a reason. Accept it and move on.
I couldn’t afford to be anywhere, so I just went home. I was paying to live there too, but at least the rent wouldn’t be due for another few weeks. I would probably need to go without more treats until then.