The Temperature of Things

If you throw a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will jump out. If you heat the water with the frog, it will boil alive. Or so they say.

And that’s how we got here, wasn’t it? Not all at once. No fire falling from the sky. No sirens ringing in the air.

It was quieter than that.

One adjustment here. A compromise, a small one really. Perhaps a white lie.

Before anyone could consider jumping, the water was already boiling.

It’s almost comforting, isn’t it? The belief that disaster will come all at once. Loud. Undeniable. Ubiquitous – something we would all recognize

You don’t realize how much time you’ve wasted arguing over the signs of a disaster until you have burns on your skin.

The Settlement

The rules were simple: everyone was tested. Anyone infected was removed. No exceptions. No delays. Survival depended on it.

The few buildings left were dedicated to testing and cleaning. Those who worked inside received precious personal protective equipment that we all coveted.

Before entering the building, they showered – a daily luxury afforded to no one else. They dressed in their white hazmat suits, sanitized by the previous shift, and stepped inside.

They screened one another before reporting to their assigned stations.

Residents were tested daily. If you failed to appear, you lost your rations.

Signs lined the road to the testing site: daily rations allotted after screening.

What the signs did not say was this: losing rations was not the only punishment.

Refusal meant removal from the Settlement.

No exceptions.

The Office

My palms are so sweaty, I thought.

In fact, it was all I could think about.

My palms are so sweaty, I’m going to have to shake this man’s hand with my sweaty hand.

Great first impression.

Will he think I’m sweating because I’m nervous? What if he thinks I’m lying? Lying people sweat, that’s definitely a thing. He’s probably going to think I’m nervous because I’m lying.

All because my fucking hands are sweaty.

Oh God—this fabric will show it if I wipe my hands on my skirt. I’m stuck. I’m stuck here with sweaty palms.

Can I use the bathroom? Do I have time? Okay. Just ask.

I cleared my throat. “Ex-excuse me.”

The tall wooden door swung open before I could finish.

“Ms. Collins?”

Fuck it’s too late. He’s going to think I’m a lying liar because of my nasty, sweaty hands.

“Yes, that’s me.” I responded politely, voice shaking.

The secretary looked my way and nodded. “This way.”

I stood, wiping my palms against the seat of the chair as subtly as I could manage, and followed.

She led me into a private office. “He’ll be with you shortly.” She gestured to a chair.

“Thank you,” I muttered, sitting down obediently

Maybe there’s a tissue box in here and I can wipe my hands?

The door closed.

I looked around for tissues. No tissues. Only stacks and stacks of files. That’s when I noticed: one window, the only method of viewing into and out of the office.

I swallowed. Or gulped.

My palms started sweating more.

The Settlement

The line was long, and the faces of the residents were forlorn. Though it had become routine, the testing never lost its edge.

People used to chat in lines like this.

Now, they avoided eye contact. No one wanted to be noticed – no one wanted to give anyone a reason to look too closely.

Eyes and faces stayed fixed on the pavement below their worn shoes.

“Next.”

Shuffle.

“Next.”

Shuffle.

“Next.”

Shuffle.

The rhythm was familiar to the residents. In fact, that rhythm was almost comforting. It was when the rhythm was disrupted that anxiety rose. Heads lifting and eyes darting.

Once at the stations, the testers did not greet them.

“Next.”

The resident moved toward one of a dozen stations. Muscle memory guided their chin to the strap ahead of them and they looked into the light. Temperature taken. Pupils scanned.

No explanation. No feedback.

“Next.”

And so on.

“Next.”

A pause.

Too long.

Someone shifted in the line. A head tipped out of the sea to peer forward.

No one asked.

The head bobbed back into the crowd.

No one whispered what happened.

No one shared with their neighbor.

“Next.”

The Office

“As you know we have spoken to the other party, and they have provided evidence. This is your opportunity to respond.”

I didn’t look at him while he spoke. It was rude of me. I could hear my mother’s refrain in my ears: Look at me while I’m talking to you.

I was torn.

There was a particularly riveting divot in the desk in front of me.

There was also a piece of blue fuzzy lint on the man’s right sleeve.

Both begged for my attention.

“I have a set list of questions I need to follow up on.” He continued. “We will go through the list.”

My head bobbed up and down automatically.

“According to your former employer, you did not report the sexual harassment.”

My eyes snapped to meet him.

What? Which harassment. Which incident?

I didn’t respond. He had not asked a question.

“Well?”

My eyebrows furrowed deeply. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He sighed, folding his hands together on his desk.

“Did you report the sexual harassment?”

What time? To whom?

“Could you clarify?” I asked quietly, wiping my sweaty palms on the seat below me.

“Doug and Paula said you didn’t report anything to them.”

God he’s getting angry. That’s not going to help my case.

“I - I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m confused. There were so many situations. Could you clarify what they said I didn’t report?”

Another sigh. Sharper this time.

“The sexual harassment.”

“By whom?”

“By Doug and Paula.”

I blinked.

“Did I report to Doug and Paula that Doug and Paula were sexually harassing me?”

“Yes.”

I swallowed, stopping from asking the question again.

“I – well. I reported to them that Trevor was sexually harassing me, and another colleague, Willow. She reported it too. There was a meeting.

Did they say that they didn’t know he was touching us? We had a meeting. There were so many witnesses. So many reports.

“They said they didn’t know.”

That’s a lie. They knew. We told them we didn’t like that he was giving us massages and had told him to stop. Wait- “We also told Trevor’s boss. It was in email to him.”

“They said those emails don’t exist.”

They said…of course they said that.

“I don’t have access to those emails anymore. But I know they exist; his boss and Willow were on them too.”

The man leaned forward and grabbed a file from a pile, one with a different case label. “Yes, well. I’m not a detective I can’t tell them to send me anything.”

But you are an investigator, doesn’t that mean you should be investigating?

The Settlement

“Next.”

The resident moved forward, pulling her hair away from her face. She leaned in, resting her chin against the plastic brace.

The light flicked on.

A pause.

Too long.

The tester didn’t speak.

The resident’s fingers tightened at her sides, sweat accumulating on her palms.

“Is something wrong?” She asked in a careful and small voice.

The tester didn’t answer her. Instead, they glanced toward another station.

That station wasn’t a testing station.

The figure behind that station stood from his stool and approached.

The tester did not respond.

The tester did not reassure.

The line shifted behind the resident.

A head bobbed out of the crowd once again, trying to get a better look.

“A flag.” The tester said.

“Step aside, ma’am.” The man said.

“What’s the flag?”

“Step aside.”

She looked behind her, hoping for a supportive face. No eyes met hers.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong? I was tested last night. I’m fine.”

The tester’s voice sharpened. “We don’t have to explain protocol.”

The rhythm of the testing line had come to a screeching halt.

No one moved to fix it.

“Step aside.”

The Office

“This level of harassment is not something this office typically handles.”

I nodded. Of course I did. Nod. Agree. Be agreeable.

“Why didn’t you go to the police? Why didn’t you sue?”

Why? Why does that matter?

“I was told that this office helps protects workers and their civil rights.”

“We do,” he said. “But this is an extensive case. If you’re expecting us to obtain the records you say exist, that’s not going to happen here.”

The records that I was told you would get.

“I’m sorry, I-”

Stop apologizing, Jesus. You haven’t done anything wrong. He’s being an ass. You did what you were told to do. Tell him.

“Yes?”

Don’t apologize. Don’t do it.

“I’m sorry, I guess I was told this was the best course of action since they had ways of getting out of a lawsuit.”

Fuck. Stop apologizing. You don’t guess at anything. You don’t fucking guess.

“What you’ve said happened,” he said, “it’s serious. You could’ve gotten a lot of money.”

Money? This isn’t about fucking money.

“That’s not, I want accountability.” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I don’t want this to happen to someone else.”

Slow down. You sound whiny and emotional. Cool it.

“Hmm.”

Hmm?

“If you don’t have the evidence to support your claims like they have, I’m just not sure that this is the best option for you.”

My chest tightened.

“I can’t get evidence; they blocked me from the systems.” I said. “But I have witnesses. Lots of witnesses.”

He nodded and flipped through yet another file. “I can take those later if needed.”

If needed? Isn’t that the point? You wanted evidence.

We sat there, in silence.

What do you want from me?

“Well?”

I blinked.

“Uhm, I’m not sure-“

“Do you want to continue this?” He asked.

Do I want to continue?

“We have to assume that they are providing all relevant information.” He said.

What? How is that fair?

“I understand that can be,” he appeared to search for the right word “emotional for victims.”

Emotional. Fuck. Victim. Fuck. What is happening right now?

“So, if you’d prefer not to continue for,” he raised two fingers up and hinged them, “mental health reasons. I understand.”

Oh.

That’s. He’s giving me an out. He’ s asking me to take the ‘out’.

The Settlement

The resident didn’t move at first.

But she did. She stepped back.

Not because she believed it.

Not because she understood what they were saying.

But because staying was no longer an option she could afford.

“For everyone’s safety,” the man said.

No one looked at her as she stepped away.

The line resumed.

“Next.”

The Office

“So? Do you want to continue?”

The question wasn’t a real question. It was a narrowing hallway – one that kept closing the further I stepped into it.

He had already weighed the situation and found it lacking.

“Since we don’t have those emails you said exist.”

They fucking do exist. I’m being punished because I wasn’t able to download the servers before they assaulted me?

“It’s already been a few years. Understandable if you want to put it behind you.” He flipped open another file.

Behind me. I thought bitterly. Like I’m not reminded every day.

It’s been years because of your systems. Now it’s too late to do anything else but this.

That’s when I realized it. I was cornered, led here by wolves and ready to be prey.

My fingers went numb first. Then my jaw.

This is about accountability. To show they can’t keep doing this. You must continue.

Be brave. I told myself. Be useful. You can do it. Be the change.

But nothing changes.

Not here.

Not now.

Not with him watching me like this.

I thought about witnesses. About emails. About the way certainty led me here, to this office.

Now that confidence belongs to someone else.

“I..”

My voice cracked.

This isn’t about me.

This isn’t about me.

It was about the next woman. It was about stopping the cycle.

“You have to consider your mental health and all that. It’s understandable.” He spoke.

Understandable. Everything is understandable right before it ends.

He was right, I supposed.

Could I survive this?

I cleared my voice and whispered. “I don’t think I can continue.”

The words didn’t feel like mine. I felt like a person on a ransom video reading from a script. The words had already been decided for me.

He nodded, as if this was just another outcome. I had clearly passed his test. “That’s understandable.” He said and stood, guiding me to the door.

This is it. We are all boiling, but I’m the one that’s getting burned first.

As I exited his office I heard him call to his secretary.

“Next.”