After everyone had settled into their chairs, G stood in the front of the theater and said, “It’s time for the purge.”
Gabby’s eyes went wide, and she mouthed “The purge?” to Markus. Did they need to run? She gripped her purse with her taser tightly. She’d seenThe Purgewith Ethan Hawke. As she recalled, he was cute, but there was a lot of murder.
“He doesn’t realize how other people use that word.”
“Recline your chairs and open your eyes,” Genesis said, like he was about to take them on a magical journey.
Gabby began to relax. Markus wouldn’t let them get murdered.
Like an actual planetarium, the screen displayed the stars. The Milky Way and the Big Dipper twinkled overhead. When Gabby was in college, she’d gone to a “The Dark Side of the Moon” Full-Dome show, Pink Floyd’s songs and futuristic images on the planetarium’s screen. She’d forgotten about that until this very moment.
Instead of Pink Floyd, meditation music filled the room, and a yawn replaced Gabby’s nerves. She was going to have trouble staying awake. If Genesis kept this up, she would probably sleep through the ritual sex.
Before she drifted off for real, recorded voices played over the shimmery sounds of reflection and gentle rainwater. A woman confessed, “I don’t love myself. I try, but I don’t think I’m lovable. Did my mother love me?”
She reached for Markus’s hand and glanced into his eyes. What was going on? “Who was that?”
A man’s voice said, “I hate my job.”
They kept coming. Different voices, but many similar complaints.
“I hate my wife.”
“I cheated on my taxes.”
“I cheated on my husband.”
“I cheated—”
“I cheated—”
They were listening to confessions. Were they from the conches?
It was confirmed when Gabby’s own voice filled the room. “I’mso stressed all the time. I want to have it all, whatever that means, but I feel like I’m killing myself to get it. What’s the point?”
Okay, that hadn’t been too bad. It was her conch confession from the first day. Sheridan’s podcast had been running through her mind. Concerns that she was just “doing it all” instead of “having it all.” Like most women.
Genesis called out over the recording. “Sister Gia, youcanhave it all. Tap into your G and set sail.”
She couldn’t. Beneath the whole universe, or at least a picture of it, Gabby knew she was just a conglomeration of dust that had once been a star, but now owned a van and could barely handle her daily life. The rat race she was engaged in seemed not only impossible but inconsequential, at least in the moment.
The recording sped up, a frenzy of confessions: broken trusts, infidelity, insecurity. More voices were layered on top of each other, so many people echoing the same inadequacies and insecurities. All the people in this room self-flagellating together. Had they known this would happen? Probably. They’d all been here before.
Markus’s voice cut through the din of voices. “I’m not happy.”
She could barely see his eyes, but she looked in his direction and squeezed his hand.
Gabby’s voice filled the room again, hers isolated. “I have cold feet.”
Someone snickered, and she gathered they were going to have to talk about that one.
Genesis yelled out, “That’s normal. Everyone has cold feet.”
Markus’s voice came through again. “I’m scared I’m not enough.”
Something about the weird experience had her turning towardMarkus and him to her. It was strangely intimate. They were inflicting this embarrassment and shame on themselves and this weird moment of forced vulnerability with a group of supposedly important people, some of whom she’d only read about in magazines until today.
After the secrets were done, a gong sounded. They all lay completely still until the sound shimmered and trailed into nothingness.
