The Occupation of Emerald City: The Worker

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Authors: Ken Brosky
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test, then chores, then sleep, then breakfast, then studying
before homeroom, then finishing homework between class. That’s why I couldn’t
finish college. I always felt like I was missing something . My anxiety got out of control. My parents never
understood that.
    Now, here, I’m missing something, and every second I spend in
here, the world I got so used to on the outside is continually changing . “If I explain to the union
what happened, they’ll help me get my job back.”
    “Where did you work?”
    Somewhere. Right? I was shoveling something. Coal. “The city
power plant.”
    Joshua nods. “Good job. If it still exists, I guess.”
    “What do you mean?” I ask.
    Joshua leans over the table, squeezing a cheeseburger in his
hand so the bread compresses. “For all we know, the Coalition is running the
power plant now. Or maybe they’re just outsourcing it, just like they’re doing
with the torture in here.”
    “International Law clearly stipulates that an occupying force
cannot take control of the occupied country’s government functions,” I say,
repeating words that my high school History teacher, Mr. Mantii, had drilled
into my head. The wrinkled old man had been fond of saying, “Repetition is the
mother of all learning,” and used it often enough to keep it stuck in my head
for fifteen years. He talked about the World Wars as if they were glorious. He
talked about banking as if it was the root of all evil.
    “Yes, of course,” Joshua says. He takes a bite of the
wadded-up cheeseburger, stuffing half of it into his mouth. The brown outer
layer of the bread crumbles onto the table while he chews. “Because god knows
our country always follows the law. I overhead a lot of things in here from
guys speaking our language. They all want to go home, but they say our country
isn’t secure . That’s a strange word
to use, don’t you think? The country isn’t secure .
Secure from what?”
    I can’t eat any more. Just a single quarter pound burger in
my stomach feels out of place, two tenths of a pound too much given my previous
diet. I haven’t looked at my body yet and I don’t want to. My shirt feels
greasy and loose and my pants hang loosely around my waist even while sitting.
    “I was seeing a woman,” Joshua says. “Before they got me.
Lauren. She was pretty. Prettier than any woman who’s ever spent time with me.
Long brown hair, really nice brown eyes and thin shoulders.” He sighs, licking
the ketchup off his upper lip. “She would put her hair in pigtails sometimes
and she could just walk around in sweatpants and a t-shirt and still look
beautiful. She knew all the best little restaurants in the city.”
    “I’ll help you find her,” I say. I’m not sure where that came
from. Since when am I the charitable type? I’m not. I just don’t want to be
alone again anytime soon. I’ve had enough of that.
    Joshua looks up from his food. “I would appreciate that,” he
says. But then his shoulders sink. He tosses the half-eaten burger on the
table. “Not that I’m even sure if she’s still in the city. Hell, we only went
out a dozen times. I don’t imagine she’s even … you know what? I don’t even
want to say it.”
    “I doubt she’s moved on, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I
say with a smile. “Occupations aren’t really the best time to jump back into
the dating scene.”
    “No,” Joshua says, smiling. “That’s true. But what if it’s
really bad out there, and she’s changed? What if I’ve changed and I don’t know it?”
    “There’s only one way to find out.”
    Joshua holds out his can of Pepsi. “Then let me return the
favor. I can come down to your job with you. You’ll go in there and tell them
you were wrongfully arrested and I’ll tell them it’s true and everything will
be forgiven.”
    “I appreciate the offer.”
    I take a sip of my soda and relish the feeling of the bubbles
traveling down my esophagus, one of the little pleasures of

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