The Immortals by Mary Hallberg (chrysanthemum read aloud txt) 📗

both of us; Matt hadn’t read at many because you had to be invited, and most of them were outside The Necropolis and on school nights so he couldn’t go. But this one was on a Friday night, and spending Friday night in a warm coffee shop sounded much more appealing than spending it on a dark road dodging drivers doped up on TNV and vodka.

“I really hope this isn’t boring,” Paige whispered to me as Matt and Gage talked about something else up front. “I really like poetry, especially Matt’s. But I bet a lot of the other people reading are old and writing about stuff I don’t care about.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” I said. “I bet some of the other readers are poets too.”

“I hope so,” she responded. “Because I do like it. Most people don’t believe me when I say that.”

“Really? Why not?”

She shrugged. “Probably because I want to be a doctor, like you. People think poetry is boring for anyone who isn’t a poet, I guess.”

“So, you want to be a doctor? Me too! How much longer do you have until college?”

She sighed. “Three years. I’m just a freshman now. I can’t wait to get out of high school. Too much drama.”

“My mom says the same thing about her high school experience,” I said. “I guess some things never change.”

The reading was in a coffee house close to Rochester. It was dark, and soft jazz music played over the speakers. There was a burgundy rug spread below the two dozen tables on the main floor. Most of the chairs were occupied and people chatted amongst themselves. I had gotten so used to The Necropolis, fast paced and loud, that this was a strange contrast. I kept waiting to hear horns honking on the road outside or a crowd of people to all come in at the same time.

There were five writers reading their work, and Matt was third. Apparently their works were all new inclusions in an upcoming edition of something called the Norton Anthology; according to the host, it was the only literary anthology that had survived the collapse, even though the collections it printed were limited.

Matt was the only Immortal reading. The first writer read what he called a “creative nonfiction essay” about his life post-collapse. He had been a prominent psychiatrist and was able to keep his private practice open; in fact, he was getting more business than ever. According to him, people are born with a predisposition to mental illnesses like depression and even alcoholism, and traumatic events — say, a worldwide economic depression and the subsequent loss of a job — could trigger that illness. So he had no shortage of pre-disposed patients after the collapse. They couldn’t pay him nearly as much as they could before, but he made more money than he had pre-collapse because he had so many more patients.

The second reader wasn’t as interesting. He just rambled on about how his life had gotten even worse after the collapse. Just like everyone else’s life. I was a little tired of hearing about the collapse and the “impoverished state of the world” as he put it. I stifled more than one yawn as he read.

Finally, Matt was up. His poetry was much better than the prose of the previous two readers, though I suppose I was a little biased. He briefly touched on the splendor of The Necropolis, comparing it to pre-collapse New York City with all of its bright lights and constant action and goings-on. But he mostly focused on his family’s charity work and that feeling everyone supposedly gets when you do something good for someone else. He said he was grateful that he had become Immortal and now had the resources to help others. And somehow he managed to do it without a trace of arrogance, something I always thought all Immortals developed eventually.

The last poem he read was a love poem, surprisingly different — and dull. I’ve never cared for all that romantic nonsense of flowers and chocolates and not being able to live without a person. Just seems kind of needy.

Paige, however, sat at the edge of her chair with her eyes wide. I stifled another yawn halfway through, but this one I felt bad about. The only words I remembered at the end were “big blue eyes” because Paige gasped a little when she heard them. It didn’t even occur to me that her eyes were brown or that mine were blue. Well, it did, but lots of girls have blue eyes, and Matt had probably written the poem before he and Paige started dating. So I really didn’t give it much thought. Maybe I should have.

chapter ten

The day before Black Friday, Jacey asked me and Luke to go to dinner with her. We were joined by Gage and Matt at a little buffet restaurant we'd never been to or even noticed before. In addition to their usual menu items they were telling turkey and dressing plates, which Matt said they never had before.

“Must be for Thanksgiving,” Luke said as we sat down.

“Why would people eat turkey on Thanksgiving?” I asked.

“Back when I was younger, Thanksgiving was a huge deal.” He took a sip of water. “Kids got off school, sometimes for the whole week, and families had traditional Thanksgiving dinners. Turkey and dressing was sort of the standard meal. Most people stopped doing it after the collapse. That’s where Black Friday came from, you know. The day after Thanksgiving was supposed to be the start of the Christmas season, so everyone went out and bought their Christmas presents that day. It turned into a huge deal.”

We arrived at the electronics store just before ten. Elizabeth was already waiting in line. Jacey wanted us to meet her there, but Luke insisted he was going with us.

“I’m not letting you guys go down there alone,” he said.

“Luke, come on. We won’t be alone. Matt and Gage will be