Go Back

They’re taking our tech away.

Civilians like me are supposed to turn it in for recycling.We’ve all been entered into a lottery, some kind of tech draft. We all have our number and mine’s almost up.They called 214 this morning and mine is 238. I figure I have about a week left before I have to stuff all my tech into a pre-addressed container and ship it off to who-knows-where.

“Sarah, you should just do it, now,” my older sister told me earlier this month.I could tell by the look of her hologram hovering above my phone she was really worried.“I keep hearing terrible things. Did you see the news report yesterday about the roundups? If you don’t—”

“Ok, ok. I’m gonna do it, I swear.My number’s almost up.” I mute the hologram talkback feature for a minute, reach into the fridge and grab a beer to wash down her words. My nerves are boiling over.

“Sarah, don’t do that! I need to see your face. Put me back on!” I switch back over to hologram mode. “Just remember, Sarah, they say this won’t last forever.Everything will go back to normal when they figure out how to use synthetics to make tech.”

“Sure, Liz. You’re probably right. I love you, ok. Talk to you soon, k?”

I end the call. All this talk of normalcy has me nostalgic for what was.

Up until about a year ago, we all had tech. It connected and tethered us. The “sharing and liking” addiction previous generations predicted proved very real. Real life (IRL) friends faded away and the ping of a new social media message became the nation’s new opioid crisis. Because of that, many people ended up in and out of de-tech centers, trying to lose the hold tech had on them.

Tech addiction and rehabilitation lead to fear, and fear lead to certain fringe groups gaining influence.I’m not for sure, but rumor has it, the President is now just a puppet for the nostalgia GB movement, GB standing for “Go Back.” But I don’t know. Everything is just rumor right now. All I know is that I’m on limited tech time.

I throw myself onto my bed and look over at the box I’m supposed to stuff everything into. It’s lined with plastic bubble wrap.I figure I have plenty of time to take care this.

Boy am I wrong.

The next day, the self-driving RideShare van drops me and about half a dozen others off in my neighborhood. I walk the same sidewalk as always, past old, distinguished houses mixed with newer co-called pod-homes, that more resemble college dorms.As I round the corner to my bricked duplex, the one bedroom I’d rented just a year before, I hear a commotion. It sounds like a low buzz of bees whose hive was under attack. People talk loudly but do not shout. Then a megaphone blares loudly.

“Please step back. We mean you no harm. We are here to gather up what the leader of this great country has ordered. Anyone who violates this will be arrested on site.”

I dart into a nearby alleyway.

I can still hear the distant roar of the guards and crowd, and my body shakes.

Then I remember this alleyway leads to my place. I hadn’t been down it in awhile because it’s the long way around, but at this point, I don’t care.

I run down the cracked asphalt, past forgotten overflowing dumpsters and out to the sidewalk that leads to my place. It’s about half a block to my right.I walk through a tangle of pedestrians. Some line the curb, listening to the megaphone. Some are holding their technology.I bumped into a crying teenager and stop to say sorry.She looks at me with red eyes, grabs her phone and tossed into the path of a passing car. I hear the crunch of glass and metal.Briefly, I worry she’ll do the same with her body, but I can’t wait around to find out the answer.As the front steps of my duplex come into view I hear someone calling out. It’s faint, but I can still make out the words.

“Psst. Hey. You!”

I keep walking, trying not to look in the voice’s direction.

“HEY! YOU!” The voice gets a bit louder.

Despite all my better instincts I turn around and see a girl, maybe 13, standing inside one of my neighbor’s driveway.Her long, brown hair reminds me of myself at her age. She’s about half a foot taller than me, though. Her brown eyes are red around the edges and she keeps rubbing her right arm.

“Where ya going?” She asks.

“Home,” I say.

“Can I come? Please! I’m so scared. I don’t want to be sent away. I have this phone I got from the underground. If they catch me, I’m scrapped. Please! Please help me.”

I’d heard of this so-called underground. Mostly teenagers have been using it to get burner phones, or ones they only use once or twice.

“Why don’t you just toss it?”

“I can’t give it up. I can’t. I spent all my credits on it, plus I need it to face chat my boyfriend!” The desperation in her voice is palpable. I can’t bear it.

“Um. Ok. But don’t any ideas,” I say. “You’ll leave as soon as the guards are gone. What’s your name?”

“Lily.”

Lily and I walk side by side, not talking. Right before we get to my place, I tell her I live across the street, over the bridge of the dart train. The Z-line as we all call it. I point far away at a red and white faux-brick building. I tell her to start walking, so no one will suspect we’re together. I tell her I’ll meet her there.

It’s a lie.

As soon as she starts walking, I sprint in the direction of my real place. I feel so bad, but “sometimes you just have to be selfish,” my mom’s words ring in my ears all the way there.

I look back to find Lily but don’t see her.

Climbing the steps to my place, I take one last look back and suddenly she’s right in front of me.

“You didn’t really think I would fall for that, right?” she says with a snicker.

Damn this girl’s sneaky.

“Sorry, I just don’t really trust many people, ok?” At this point, I’m feeling a little scared.

Lilly nods and follows me inside.

I race through the living room past the couch, on which Lily proceeds to make herself at home.

I enter the bedroom and go straight to the box of tech behind my bed.That’s when I hear a voice from behind.

“Hands up.”

I turn around to see two men dressed in black. One is tall and burly, with reddish, lopsided facial hair.The other is shorter with a salt and pepper 5 o’clock shadow.

They look like police officers but anyone who's been paying attention knows all the cops have been turned into government guards. They all wear the GB armbands.

“GB Police here. All tech must be confiscated and we have not received yours yet, pretty lady.”

He’s tall and wide- like a linebacker. I don’t dare make a move. I stand there with my hands over my head wishing I hadn’t come home. The other man comes over to me and starts to pat me down.

I feel my face flush. It always does that when I was nervous and mad. I feel sweat beading on my scalp.Soon, my whole head of auburn hair will be wet.

“Look, lady, you know as well as I do that the President issued an executive order that bans the general population from having tech.You have the instructions on when and where to turn it in. Your name is up next…”

“Yeah, but I still have time. I…”

My eyes begin to well up before I'm able to finish my sentence. I clench my eyelids together and force the tears from falling.

“What’s your name, lady?”

“Sa… Sarah,” I cry out. My biceps are hurting from holding my hands up so long.My breath gets shallow. “Where are you taking me?”

“Who said anything about taking you anywhere?” Bill says. When he smiles I see a wad of chewing tobacco in the lower corner of his mouth. I didn’t know people still did that stuff anymore.

“Oh, I — just thought. I thought that — people were being rounded up and taken to… centers,” I say.

“Chester, you hear of anyone bein’ taken places?” Bill asks with a sly giggle.

I’m not finding any of this funny.

“Naw. That’s not true at all,” Chester says.He then proceeds to rummage through my stuff.

“Come on man, we ain’t gonna find nothin’ here worth taking,” Bill says.

“I just gotta try. I need some cash and the black market’s hot right now,” Chester says.

I put my hands down slowly and exhale.

“My tech is in the box right there behind my bed!” I call out.

They both jump around and laugh like idiots. Bill holds up the box like he’s won the lottery.

“Ok lady, you’re coming with us,” Chester says.

“Why? You have my stuff! So why?” I beg.

“Time’s up,” is all he says. He grabs my arm and leads me out of my apartment, not even bothering to close the door. Behind me I hear Lily’s cries. I can only assume Bill rounded up her and her tech, too.