free air

Border crossings were the hardest part. More accurately, immediately after crossing the border the adjustment was difficult, even perilous. We often said we would welcome a buffer zone, some sort of transition space. It's awfully challenging to travel from one climate, atmosphere, and culture into another one totally opposite. As born and raised Confrairians, we naturally took air for granted. We never thought of it as a commodity. Air wasn't something bought or sold. It was there for the taking, no questions asked. We were born into this and never imagined any other regime existed, or could exist. The first crack in the wall of this thinking came with the arrival of the first Contrairian refugess. Who are they? we thought. We knew something was amiss. Their pale pallor, skinniness, hoarse voices, and thirst. It goes without saying: their difficulty breathing. After all, COPD was practically in their DNA. So, free air was our birthright. A given. But not so for the Contrairians. They had to refill their cylinders daily. From what we have heard, the irony was that they had to purchase their air at old gas stations, from machines that said FREE AIR. How's that for bitter irony? And cruelty. They told us that the FREE AIR pumps only took quarters. At last count, 24 quarters for each day-cylinder per person. Adds up, doesn't it? We're just learning about this, but apparently the Contrairians have lung portals for refills. It seems logical to assume that the cylinders contain pure oxygen. We do not know what their atmosphere consists of. The two countries are undoubtedly sealed off by some sort of shield or vacuum. We don't know. We should know. It's a state secret. (We can't help but wonder if there's clandestine collusion and black marketerring on each side of the border, though we can't imagine what THEY would have of value for Confrairians.) The future is bleak. Air wars are a virtual certainty. And we have nowhere to flee to, not that we know of, not yet. Maybe someone reading this can send a message in a bottle, or in an empty cylinder. Something. Anything.

those were the days

Remember when we all had "devices"? We stood in elevators, paused on sidewalks, stole looks while driving; we peeked at illuminated screens that gave off a glow. Even in bed, we furtively glanced at our electronic alter egos, sometimes while barely awake or while sleepwalking. Our thumbs danced on touch-sensitive keyboards. Some of us exercised magical powers by tapping unseen keys accurately, while we performed other tasks (called multitasking), to send messages to friends or relatives or business associates, or to virtual strangers. Others of us, typically older, relied on index fingers to tap what were called "texts" slowly, one letter at a time, often punctuated by cartoonish colored symbols we called emojis. The screens would demarcate receiver and sender by variably colored panels with messages ("threads") displayed, and stored, if one so chose. Something called "social media" was another source of communication. 

Do you recall any of this? Does it ring a bell? Does a vibrating hum in your brain trigger a memory? 

These communications ranged from the profound to the superficial; from the mundane to the sublime; addressing the full range of human activities and emotions. 

Does any of this whatsoever jog your memory? Nearly everybody was in the game, young and old, rich and poor. The incarcerated, the paralyzed, the senile, the "unable" were the few populations excluded. 

And then what happened?

Accounts differ. Volatile and passionate arguments erupt when the topic is explored.

This was long before Resident Telepathic Implants (RTIs) liberated us from the burden of tapping fingers or dictating texts (often not corrected for erroneous "predictive" spellings. This was long before we collectively shucked our devices with all their accoutrements (cases, chargers, USBs, blocks, screen protectors). All of that gone.

We were bereft.

We were lonely.

We didn't know what to do with ourselves, or each other.

Solar Flare Apocalyptic Eruption IV (SFAE4) was a turning point. There's a rare consensus on that. With no electrical power grid, so-called networks became useless and antiquated. The sun was rude in its ruthless vaporization of Modern Life.

But what were we to do? Whom were we to blame?

Those were the days, weren't they? Those were the days, my friends.