The Ableists

 

PART ONE

THE FORCED MOVE

In two weeks, the country where I was born and have always lived is sending me to Havana, Cuba.

I’ll be turning 65. I can no longer work. I have a bad case of arthritis. After 65, in my country, C, if your family does not have the financial means to support their elders, they export them to a partnering country. A country that costs them less to financially support seniors. Luckily, my husband, Herb, was 15 years older, so he lived with me until he died. After he died, I developed agoraphobia, so I did sales agent and customer service jobs from home to survive.

TWO WEEK LATER

A social worker is knocking at my door from the Senior Social Services Travel Group. My sons Harry and Henry came earlier this morning to have our last breakfast together to celebrate my birthday. They even got me a small chocolate bar, which is hard to find these days.

I pop my white, blue, burgundy, and pink pills before opening the door.

“Hi, I am Greta,” she says cheerfully. “I will be travelling with you. You are our first pick up of the day. There will be five other seniors coming, who share your date of birth.”

“We will bring her luggage down,” Harry tells her.

“Okay, we are right in front of your building,” she says and leaves, giving us our last minutes together.

I watch my sons bring my five pieces of luggage to the elevator. I then walk behind them with my Disney cane my grandchildren bought me for my birthday. They will all be visiting me in Havana for the winter holidays in December.

After my sons have loaded my luggage onto the black limousine shuttle bus, we come together to form a three-way hug.

“We love you, Mom,” they let go and say in unison. “We will talk everyday on the Blabbermouth App.”

“I will miss my family so much. I love you both to sun and back.”

I start crying and head inside. The door of the shuttle hisses as it closes. I go to the back of the shuttle, and I wave goodbye to my sons.

As I turn around, Greta asks, “If you need to talk, I am here for you.”

“I just feel like meditating for now, getting lost in my memories.”

“I understand,” she says and moves back to her seat next to our driver.

But I can’t meditate, I start having an allergic reaction to the disinfectant. It makes me tear up, and then I start crying quietly.

ARRIVAL AT THE SENIOR COMPLEX HOTEL IN HAVANA

As I walk into my brightly decorated room, I immediately run to the bathroom to throw up. The four-hour flight over was turbulent. The anti-nausea medication, Strong Tummy, is wearing off. But the realization that I was taken away from my apartment that I had spent living for 35 five-years with my, belated, husband, Herb, and my boys gives me vertigo. I go to lie down in bed.

There are hardly any Cubans who live here under 65. Since Cuba made an exchange with countries like mine to turn it into a senior care and hospice country, Cubans that were able, meaning not having any health issues or non-seniors moved to my country C.

When I finally feel better, I get the pills out my purse. I pop the third daily cocktail of medication for my agoraphobia. I can only take the large green pill for my pain at supper once per day.

I go look out the window of this large hotel, and I see colored houses matching my pills. As I plan on not going out much in this foreign land, I start naming the houses. They will be my new friends. I will write short stories about them in my room with a sunny view.

I am too tired to unpack, but I found the piece of luggage, I snuck two African violets that I call the twins. They belonged to my mother. I have had them for 15 years. Violet was also my mother’s name, that’s why I can’t let them go. I put them on the windowsill to stare at the vibrancy of the Cuban sun.

My stomach starts growling, so I call the reception to see if I can buy my first meal. The C government gives us $24,606,55 Cuban pesos as a monthly pension, amounting to $1400.00 C dollars.

The receptionist says, “Unfortunately, all your meals need to be bought in the dining room. Or you can go to a grocery store or restaurant in the neighborhood. Please don’t forget to meet with your other newcomers in the blue room behind reception at 5:30 p.m.”

“Okay, thank you,” I answer, frustrated.

I turn on the air conditioner in my room and decide to take a nap. I still have 45 minutes and set the alarm on my phone.

THE FIRST SUPPER MEETING

There are seven seats in the room behind the reception room. I see my name on the dining table as I get close to it, Laura.

My plate of food is already waiting for me. I have stir-fry tofu, green beans, and salad. There is also another small plate in front of it with a peach and banana, for dessert. They also included a mocktail for me to drink, called the Berry Cosmopolitan, full of essential vitamins and minerals.

At this moment, Maxine enters the room, announcing, “Hi, I’m Maxine. I have been assigned to be your full-time social worker.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Maxine.”

“Likewise, Laura.”

Then the other five seniors from my flight enter the small dining/greeting area.

“On your first night, I dine with you,” she says as a mini orientation. She then hands out a sheet of her coordinates and that of our medical staff. “Our clinics are in the smaller, neighbouring hotel in which we work and live. We are mostly all from C, but there are a few Cubans with disabilities who work with us. Cubans are now well-versed in English. You’ll have a monthly appointment with your doctor. They will contact you to schedule your first evaluation.”

“So, I am David. Can we eat?” he says, breaking the tension in the room, making us all laugh.

Maxine then makes us go around the table to introduce ourselves. We do so. Four women and two men. We make mostly small talk about our children and grandchildren back home.

Before we start dessert, Maxine hands us our hotel guide. “You need to do one of the exercise programs recommended three times a week in the guide. You have choices like yoga, tai chi, and so on.

“Your pension payment card has your digital diet embedded in it. You have a thousand meals to choose from to keep you healthy based on your conditions. Please try to eat three meals a day if you can. If don’t have the appetite, you can buy a protein bar in our vending machines on each floor. Those are the only two rules we ask you to follow. There are plenty of social things to do inside the hotel and Havana in your free time to keep you busy.

“May I be excused now?” I ask. “I’m exhausted. I was so anxious about the trip that I could not sleep for a few nights before it.”

“Of course, I hope you sleep well. Take all the time you need to acclimatize.”

Going back to my room, I feel relieved that I don’t have to think about my schedule anymore. In my free time, I am going be able to read and write. Luckily, I do not have to go outside much as everything is close by to the hotel.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS

For the next month, I had developed a routine, I would go to the tai chi class every morning at 5:00 am. Then I would have breakfast with my group about another hour later. In this way, I can engage with the least amount of people as possible.

Then, I would go shower and go sleep until eleven-ish. I would read for an hour and work on my novel for a couple of hours. Then, I would have what I lupper (lunch/supper hybrid) around four o’clock.

Afterward in my room, I’d read on my e-reader, do some indoor exercises, and talk to the houses across the street from chair at my window before heading to bed.

I would also sneak in fruits and veggies whenever no one was looking to my room from our dining hall.

But one night happy the to maximum, Maxine, my social worker knocked on my door.

After opening my door, she said, “I know you have agoraphobia. I am here to offer to walk with you outside. We can walk around the pool’s hotel for 30 minutes.”

I knew she would keep insisting. So, I counteroffered, “How about five minutes every night at 7:00 pm?”

Maxine was excited, “It’s a deal.”

“Do you promise me to go outside more when your kids visit for the holidays?”

“I do. I only feel safe around them since my husband has passed away.”

I had no intention of telling Maxine that they were staying at a hotel only a block away.

 

PART TWO

THE NEXT NIGHT: TURNING ON THE NEWS

I hadn’t watched the news since I have been here. They don’t give us smart TVs. They give us one from the 1990s. Luckily, they give me access to international cable for 15 C dollars per month.

I watch the C-News Network. I had about half-an hour to kill before Maxine would arrive for our pool walk.

The news, like usual, was grim. Europe had broken apart, so they were debating with the high cost of living what to do with their non-ableists. They were looking to strike deals for countries in the Caribbean islands for their citizens with health challenges, seniors, and the other unwanted ones like North America had done.

Suddenly, there is breaking news. War had broken out between the wealthy ableists and the working ableists in my country. I can see my former city of M with riots on the streets. They are setting houses, helicopters, and cars on fire with DIY bombs and Molotov Cocktails. It’s hard to see anything from all the smoke. My husband came from New York state, so I hope my kids who have dual citizenship will head there. They live outside the city in MH. New York State became its own country two years ago, luckily, I had them all update their passports.

I am frozen watching the images. I feel pins and needs going through my body in sharp waves. I also then feel my entire burning like I have had a major sunburn.

I open my door and wobble to the elevator, and as the lobby door, opens everyone is there. I think I was the last one to see the news. I look for Maxine, but I can’t find her anywhere.

Everyone is starring at the big screen in the dining room.

The man next to me notices that I am shaking and hugs me, which calms my nervous system.

Once I am calm, he fills me in, “I’m Larry, it seems the wealthy ableists wanted to increase this year’s inflation rate by 30 percent.”

“What?”

“We were already having so much trouble keeping up with the cost of living this past decade.”

“I only have one daughter, I hope she found shelter somewhere underground. She is a nurse. All the lines are dead in C. No one has been able to reach their families so far.”

Suddenly, the news jumps to a garage with a reporter interviewing someone from city C.

“I came to country C as an ableist two years ago at the age of 24. I work as an AI developer. Now, I can’t even afford food or to pay my electricity. This war had to happen. I’d be safer in South Africa with everyone deemed to have a disability,” the young man rants, angrily.

After his rant, the news jumps to a group of ableists beating two members of the decorum police. After beating them close to death, they remove their masks.

Everyone watches in horror. It does not seem anyone has recognized any family or friends in the news.

“I’m going back to my room, there is nothing we can do but wait,” I tell Larry.

“Do I mind if I slept on your floor; I am too scared to be alone.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“I used to be a soldier, so I can sleep anywhere.”        

THE NEXT MORNING

Upon awaking, the first thing I do is turn on the TV, while Larry was snoring on the floor on a duvet and underneath a thin bamboo sheet.

Larry wakes up to see the first image from our capital, O, with the healthy ableists all shot in the head, and left in a row on the street. They did not cover their faces.

Larry and I were both relieved that we did not see our children, but we both looked green from fear.

“How can I be safe in Cuba and my daughter is in danger in C?” he questions.

“Yes, for once all the unwanted in society are safe.”

Then, my Blabbermouth chat app rings.

“Mom, it’s Harry, we made into New York,” he says distraught.

We have a weak signal.

“Oh, thank the lord, is everyone with you?”

“Yes, mama,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

Then the line goes dead.

Larry tries to call his daughter afterward, but he can’t reach her line. She does not use any apps.

“Let’s wash up and go downstairs.” I say, fearfully.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER

There are over 500 people in the dining room, which is meant for 400 people, leaving so many people to stand against the walls. Larry and I are the last to join them, stuck at the entryway of the dining room.

There is a man on the stage. The entire team from embassy C surrounds him.

“Hi, I am ambassador, Miles Smith, we must act fast, we will call your names one by one to the terminal to come up on stage. With the help of AI, we have made applications for all of you to seek asylum in the country of New York or South Africa. Once you come up, please check the text box on the top of which country you wish to be sent to. At the bottom, digitally sign the form and hit the send button.

“Afterwards go pack your smallest bag, shuttles buses are coming to take us all to the embassy. We will be safe there until are our planes are scheduled to leave to La Guardia or to Johannesburg?”

“Are the Cubans planning to retaliate against us,” Larry asks on his loudspeaker app.

“No, but our country has frozen all our funds until the war between the two classes is over. We need to be smart with the Cubans pesos we have left to get out of here safe and sound.”

For some reason, this calms everyone down.

“You all need to be downstairs for the buses to take us to the embassy at 6:00 pm. I will settle our hotel bill here.”

HOURS LATER: OPERATIONS EMBASSY

At six pm, there are about 500 of us outside with the staff, taking up the whole street.

It takes about five hours to get us all to our embassy. It is a five-storey building with 50 offices. We are sent to the offices based on the destination we are seeking asylum. We all feel squished like sardines. Larry stays with me. I believe he thinks he has a mission to protect me. His daughter lives in the capital of C, so I can understand why he has chosen New York. We take up the last three floors.

We end up living in the embassy for two weeks. There aren’t any showers, just bathrooms. We leave behind a light fowl body odor in the air, since everyone has almost used up their deodorants. We had to survive on one meal per day, and a snack. Country C also cut the salaries and the benefits to its C citizens and pensioners.

 

PART THREE

 

ARRIVING AT LA GUARDIA

After getting of our plane, we must walk through a closed thin hallway, where they dry spray disinfectant on us. I suddenly feel like I am at a car wash like in the old days. There is nothing we can do but push trough the pain on our bodies due to pressure of the cleaner.

Once outside, there are more shuttle buses with our luggage prepacked, but these bring us to an abandoned building in the Bronx.

The crew of drivers brought us here. We were 30 per shuttle bus.

One of the loud bus drivers, yells, just pick up your stuff and head inside the building once we all debark bus by bus. There are 300 of us. The rest of us stuck in the embassy asked for asylum in Johannesburg and left a day earlier.

Larry and I are on the last bus and before going inside, our ambassador stops one the drivers and asks,” “Is someone going to meet us here?”

“Yeah, probably,” he says. “I’m just a driver. This neighborhood has plenty of food banks with free cosmetics and clothing stores around for your immediate needs.”

All the buses leave.

The ambassador, Larry, and I are the last ones to enter the abandoned building.

“Mr. Ambassador, there is no one here,” a senior woman says on her loudspeaker app to him. "What are we going to do?”

“At least, we are still alive and together,” he says on his loudspeaker app on his phone. “We will figure it out. Before we settle down, I have news to share with you.

“It’s the European B country’s healthy ableist workers in our country, who started forming an army. Everyone from the other nations joined in, including our own. The healthy worker ableists were forced to live on the streets.”

He pauses for us to settle down.

“Let’s all find a spot to lay our things. The staff will come back here to plan as soon as they are settled in.”

“A man with a heart condition like mine, will die here,” a man, saying on his loudspeaker app. “Medication is not free in New York. We have been left with nothing.”

I realize this new home of ours is not a safe space, but our burial ground. Maybe, the fittest of the seniors will survive.

I then feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see Harry and Henry. At first, I think I am hallucinating.

“Take your stuff, mom. We’ll be heading to our one room apartment. We are 8 people living there, But it’s better than here. It belonged to our dad’s first cousin. His wife said we are welcome to use it.”

“Gloria was always generous, but I can’t leave these people behind.”

“You have a chance to get out of this dump,” Larry consoles me,

My son Harry uses the loudspeaker on his phone, “There is an adopt a senior program in New York. A  group from the organization will come meet you soon to place you with a family that has lost their elders. People will be taking you in to help you.”

“Oh, what a relief,” the ambassador shouts without realizing his loudspeaker app is on.

“I’m sorry to report that anyone under 65 will have to find jobs here. You can stay in the garage of our building. Everyone has car planes now and parks on the roof. It’s better than here,” my son Harry announces.

The ambassador goes to shake my sons’ hand, “You are good men.”

“We luckily are dual citizens and could escape,” Henry says. “We are just helping our community.”

The plan is quickly announced by Laura's son Henry, “The embassy staff will follow us to the closest subway station.

The social workers will stay.”

I go give Maxine the address of our building, so they could join us later.

“Our team our will stay here with you each of our clients is in foster care. The rest of the staff can make the garage ready for us. Our mission was to work with seniors under any conditions,” Maxine says one her app’s loudspeaker.

Meanwhile, I run to give Larry my Blabbermouth Account number to reach me once he has been placed in a safe home.

“Thank you for being my friend through all of this,” I say, stuttering.

“I will call you the first thing I can, I think you are the first friend I have made in years,” he says, pushing me literally to follow my sons and the embassy staff.