Off Grid
by KJ Hannah Greenberg

 

 

Poppy slunk into the alley behind the building. She meant to sit on cardboard boxes and take refuge in the shade of an oversized dumpster. The air was already heating up.

 

After stacking a few pieces of packing material around her, she leaned her head against a large trash bin. The woman reached into her rucksack for water, having forgotten that she had finished her last bottle in the waiting room. Poppy closed her eyes and then breathed deeply, trying to remember the four square pattern Miri had taught her.

 

A few minutes of substantial inhales and exhales later, she felt more centered. So, she allowed herself to regard the skin on the underside of her right forearm, paying special attention to a spot mere centimeters from her wrist. That area was gauze-wrapped.

 

As a parting “gift,” her doctor had, initially, enveloped Poppy’s arm so tightly that the bandage had had a torniquet effect. Poppy had threatened to cut off that dressing herself if the clinician refused to redo it. Toward that end, Poppy had grabbed stich scissors.

 

Consequently, the medico had redone the draping, all the while cussing the younger woman. There were no rules requiring her to be gentle when removing a patient’s subcutaneous chip.

 

A scrawny cat walked past the young woman. A few crows, too, had stopped to see if she had comestibles. All the moggy and the birds saw was a gal who had folded herself onto debris scattered near a dumpster.  Respectively, they slinked and flew away.

 

Poppy sighed. It was wonderful to be off-grid but horrible to have been “fired” by her primary care provider. At least, her mother practiced herbal medicine and Miri, her long tenured acupuncturist, could be relied upon.

 

After crying for a while, the young woman got up, dusted off the seat of her jeans, and walked back to her apartment. The warm October air allowed her to forego the subway in comfort.

 

Ryan had already gotten home. Rather than a hug, he greeted her with a snarl. His favorite publisher had again returned his most recent manuscript. Worse, that concierge hadn’t made requests for content changes. What’s more, there was nothing about Ryan’s mechanics that was beyond the ken of the publisher’s proofreaders. Rather, Poppy’s husband continued to receive rejections because production teams wouldn’t or couldn’t integrate his desired formatting.

 

Poppy sat next to him on the sofa. Tissues and scattered papers covered the floor near his feet.

 

Ryan kicked Poppy.

 

“You kicked me!”

 

“Did not.”

 

“Look at the scoff on my white stockings. You sure did!”

 

Ryan forcefully extended his foot into their coffee table. “That’s a kick.”

 

“Apologize!”

 

“I didn’t kick you. Maybe, my foot softly collided with you. You know, I banged into you.”

 

“Baboon!” Poppy ran to their bedroom and locked the door behind her. After an hour of sobbing, she called her sister.”

 

“My doctor fired me.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“That’s why I called you.”

 

“The doctor’s perspective is what I mean.”

 

“Oh!”

 

“She doesn’t want the liability. Why can’t you act normal?”

 

“The drug she wanted me to use is banned in North America and Europe. It causes blood cancer. I looked it up before getting the script filled.”

 

“You’re so contrary.”

 

“Get in line if you want to gaslight me.”

 

Poppy pressed the disconnect button and then cried some more.

 

Around bedtime, Ryan knocked on the door. “Sweetie, let’s press ‘reset.’ We can kiss and make up.”

 

“No!”

 

“I need clean clothes for the morning.”

 

“Don’t care.”

 

In the middle of the night, Poppy’s phone rang. She unsuccessfully fumbled for her reading glasses. “Hello? Hello?”

 

“Dear Poppet, Stella says you two fought.”

 

“Mom?”

 

“Your one and only.”

 

“It’s three in the morning.”

 

“Oops. My bad. I always forget the time difference. By the way, still taking your mamaki?”

 

“Koloa’s six hours earlier than here.”

 

“Hmm. True. Although you didn’t ask, the zipline course is still very profitable. I wish my tinctures offered better income.”

 

“Goodnight, Mom.”

 

Poppy stuffed her phone into her underwear drawer, placed Ryan’s pillow over her head and went back to sleep.

 

In the morning, she failed to find her husband. On balance, several days’ worth of dishes had been washed. Equally, the main bathroom’s garbage can had been emptied. As well, the sofa blanket had been folded and the sofa pillows had been neatly arranged.

 

A little while later, while she was using the en suite shower, she heard the apartment door open and close. By the time that she had dressed, she could smell coffee.

 

All things being unequal, she didn’t even grunt at her husband as she headed toward their home office. She hoped he’d opt to work in the public library or in a café for the day.

 

Ryan, however, intended to work at home, so Poppy gathered her laptop and a thermos of green tea before heading out the door.

 

Mere blocks from her apartment, a preteen cyclist collided with her. Seemingly, that child hadn’t heard that sidewalks were designed for pedestrians.

 

After EMTs deposited her at the closest hospital, Poppy and her gurney were placed in an Emergency Department hallway.

 

Ryan appeared before she had even been seen by a doctor. Poppy’s driver’s license, which had been snuggly seated in her wallet, had enabled a nurse to use city care software to identify and locate Poppy’s next of kin.

 

“Would it make you feel better if I admitted that I had “kicked” you?”

 

Poppy groaned and then blacked out. Sometimes later, she woke up in a curtained off area of the Emergency Department.

 

Ryan was seated next to her bed; she had been moved off the gurney.

 

“I talked with Stella.”

 

“You called her!?”

 

“She’d want to know that you lost consciousness. Anyway, she told me that cyclists and pedestrians, alike, have ‘duty of care.’ I thought she only knew about patents, copyrights, and other kinds of intellectual property.”

 

“Our insurance?”

 

“Might be useless given your negligence.”

 

“Huh?”

 

A short man from the hospital’s accounting department pushed aside Poppy’s curtain. “You’re dechipped! How’re gonna pay?”

 

“Huh?”

 

The clerk grabbed Poppy’s arm and revealed the place where a scab was barely forming.

 

Ryan pushed him away and then looked wide-eyed at his wife. “Poppy! No! That means you’re uninsured!”

 

She closed her eyes in response, and, apparently, remained that way for the better part of a week. When she reopened them, she was in an actual hospital room. Her sister and mother flanked her bed. Ryan was pacing just outside her door.

 

“Even expertly tinctured Curcuma Longa is useless for some things.”

 

“Mom-my!”

 

“I think, though, some kukui salve will help heal the incision.”

 

“The police determined that not only was the perp riding on the sidewalk but also that his tires were inadequately inflated, that is, he couldn’t stop in a normal  amount of time. Nonetheless, no one’s sending a minor to juvie for this sort of thing.”

 

“Stell-la!”

 

“Plus, his lawyer’s claiming you were intoxicated; there was weird smelling stuff in your thermos. Additionally, your ripped out health care chip is incriminating. Worse, film from the cyclist’s head cam shows you were slouched over and zigging as you walked.”

 

“You’re back with the living!”

 

“Ryan! Bang into me if necessary—just get me out of here!”

 

“I’m leaving you in your mom’s care. I took the substitute teaching job.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Begins tomorrow. Your mom has a manager to watch her zipline. We have no money and will likely pay a huge fine.”

 

“Stella?”

 

“Needs to fly back to her firm.”

 

“Sister, it’ll be fine. you’re likely suffering psychosis and need more specialized care than I can provide. You’re unstable. You’re entertaining false beliefs. I asked Mom to send you to the psych ward when your body’s sufficiently healed.”

 

“Why delay? Just go home!” Poppy tried to roll over to place her back toward her sister, but her tubes and wires made that maneuver impossible.

 

The jiggle of those same tubes and wires sounded an alarm. The nurse who ran into the room rearranged Poppy and her assorted accoutrements.

 

Stella Ubered to the airport.

 

Mom went to a neighboring hotel for “a rest.”

 

Ryan fell asleep on the guest chair. A string of saliva dangled from his lower lip to his chest.

 

During morning rounds, Poppy was poked and prodded by a handful of medical students. Their attending doctor shared a last name with Poppy’s former primary care provider.

 

The squirrely accounting clerk also revisited. “Good man, your husband. He’s indentured himself, so to speak, so that your bills will be paid off before you reach retirement. My boss was so impressed with your husband’s sincerity that she granted you a 3% discount. I’ve never seen that done before.”

 

Poppy closed her eyes. She remained silent.

 

Eventually, without a detour to another floor, Poppy was released from the hospital. Her mother moved into her and Ryan’s apartment.

 

One day, as the pair was sipping green tea, Mom spoke weird words; “maybe, Luv, you should get a new implant. Your recent adventure cost your family hundreds of thousands since you’re no longer part of the system.”

 

“How can you serve conventional medicine? They wanted me to take cancer-causing drugs just ‘cause of protocol. How could you say such things?”

 

“I think you should find a new, conventional provider as well as should get a new chip.”

 

“You still use herbs and acupuncture?”

 

“Of course! I’ll never trust allopathic care. Still, it’s best if you’re plugged in before anyone realizes you’re pregnant.”

 

“?”

 

“ A mother always knows.”

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