Day 11

Reading the internet, I see many suggestions about what to do with incels (involuntary celibates). For some reason, a lot of men think by marrying them off to available women, violence against women would stop. I guess these men never heard of domestic violence? Some seemingly intelligent people have actually proposed that available women should marry one of the incels. So far I haven’t seen anyone propose a solution as radical as the one in this story, but I have found that there are many things so far out there today that will be mainstream ideas tomorrow. So here we are: the cure for the incels.

REDISTRIBUTION

“Excuse me, miss?” The police officer looked in her car; there was nothing to see. She was in a rental, a clean car, and only her. She wasn’t speeding, so why did he stop her? “I was just checking to see if you’re married.”

“What?” Michelle couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice, or off her face. “Why? What does it matter?”

“Could you please answer the question? If not, I will have to issue a citation and haul you in.” The officer glared at her. “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

“I’m not married.” Michelle was often tormented by her friends about why she didn’t have a man; she hoped this was one of their jokes, sending one of their endless introductions by having him stop her.

“Then you’ll have to come with me.”

“What? No!” Michelle rolled up the window but he had his arm in it before she could get it all the way to the top. “Is this some sort of a joke? Who put you up to this? Was it Aimee?”

“This is no joke. It’s the law.” The officer examined her driver’s license. “You’re twenty-six?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“No, and I don’t plan to be. I’m a busy woman, and I don’t particularly want to tie myself down.” Michelle reached for her driver’s license but he held it away. She grabbed his arms when he reached for her keys. She debated biting him to make him drop them, but that would be a chargeable offense.

“Are you resisting arrest?” The officer had his gun out. It dangled at his side, but he twitched as though eager to use it.

“Arrest? For what? For being single and twenty-six?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Excuse me, but I didn’t know that was against the law.” She tried to smile, to make it a joke, but her jaw muscles were too tight with anger to smile. “This isn’t funny.”

“It isn’t meant to be.” The officer pulled his arm out of her grip and her keys disappeared into his pocket. Good thing she had a spare one in her bag. The rental agency gave her two.

Before Michelle could get the second key, the officer unlocked the door and pulled her out. She landed on the ground, stunned and bruised by the fall. He hauled her to her feet and held her so she couldn’t run away. She felt him snap on handcuffs. He shoved her into the backseat of the police car and roared away, leaving her rental idling on the side of the road. “Hey, we need to turn that off! Emissions, you know.” The officer ignored her.

The police force was busy, swarming with women. Michelle noticed none of them had a ring on what she called their married finger. She recognized a friend and joined her, hoping someone could tell her what was happening. Vanessa was as puzzled as she was.

A television clicked on as if by magic. Someone flipped the channels until they found the news. A news reporter was talking about a new bill…well, not new. It was signed at least two weeks ago. Why hadn’t any of them heard about it? Apparently it was a shadow bill, passed in secrecy and signed in secrecy. Neither Congress or the president wanted protestors. The bill required redistribution of unmarried women under the age of thirty to the group of men known as incels – involuntary celibates.

“That’s why we’re here.” Vanessa sounded as miserable as Michelle felt. “I guess I should have married Jason.”

“Maybe you can persuade them to redistribute you to him since he’ll be without a partner with you gone.” Michelle tried to be helpful. She didn’t even have that option; she was not dating anyone right now.

The next few days were the strangest Michelle ever knew. The women were searched, stripped, had their measurements taken, and given numerous tests. At least some of the tests were obviously fertility tests. When the nurse attempted to do the virginity test, Michelle refused to allow her near.

“You know that test isn’t worth anything? A woman without an intact hymen may have been born that way.”

“I know. I am required to do the test. Will you please let me?”

“You don’t wanta be here any more than I do, do you?” Realization hit Michelle; a lot of the women who subjected them to indignity and humiliation were only following orders. Maybe….one or more of them would help.

“Look, lady, I work for the government. If it’s a law, I have to follow it. Now would you please get up on the table? I’d hate to have to call one of the policemen.” The stern tone washed away Michelle’s hopes. She crawled up on the table and the nurse did the examination. “Good. You’re a virgin.” She turned and left.

“Wait!” Michelle wanted to know how the nurse determined that, since she was not a virgin. If she ever had a hymen, which she didn’t know, it would not be intact now.

After all the women were logged and tested, it was time for the redistribution. All unmarried men who had no girlfriend were invited to come select from the women available. The women fought as they were forced into sexy dresses, but it was no use. They were lined up in a room, each with a box in front of her. The box had a slit for men to put a card with their name if they were interested. The women would be distributed by lottery.

Michelle’s box filled rapidly and another box was brought. Some of the other women also had overflowing boxes. She stood in her most slouching posture, trying not to look attractive or desirable, but still they stuffed her box. She watched the men file by, mostly young but some older men. A man who looked old enough to be her grandfather stuck his card in her box.

The lottery was ordered based on number of cards. The ones with the fewest cards went first, and they would move up. Michelle would be last, logging one card more than the woman before her. They stood helpless as women were paired with men who appeared to be unsuited to them, often men younger than they were, often men much older. The men looked smug; the women looked miserable.

Now it was Michelle’s turn. All the cards were dumped into the wheel they just emptied and the man in charge spun the wheel. “Remember, if I call someone and you are already mated, we’ll draw again.” He reached in his arm and pulled out a card. “Vincent Alloway.”

Michelle watched to see who won her. She was shocked to see the old man making his way toward her. At the instructions of the man behind the lottery wheel, he took her arm. All the couples stood in a line against the wall. A flashbulb nearly blinded them as someone took a picture for publicity purposes. A man stepped forward dressed in judge’s robes. He started with the first couple matched. “Do you, Bryce, take Jessica…” and so on.

“Don’t say no” the old man whispered. “They will put you in jail. They will…” He quit speaking as the judge moved their direction.

The judge looked at the card he was given. “Do you, Vincent, take Michelle…” A couple of “I do”s and it was over. Michelle was glad the judge didn’t say to kiss the bride.

She followed Vincent to his car, wondering how she was going to get out of this. Her parents and her boss had been petitioning for her release ever since she was arrested, but were not successful. She rode in silence; Vincent didn’t say anything either. They arrived at a nice house in a middle class suburb, much like the house she grew up in. She followed him into the house, watching for escape opportunities. A man his age was probably retired so he would be home all day.

“Michelle.” Vincent sat on the sofa and invited her to sit in the chair across from him. It was comfortable and she collapsed, having had nothing but hard bunks to sit on since her arrest. “I want to let you know that I will ask nothing of you. I have a staff that cleans and cooks. I have a job I love. I am a widower, and I still love my late wife. I don’t need a wife, and I imagine you don’t need a husband?”

“I have never wanted a husband.” Michelle spoke defiantly, not willing to go gently.

“Good. Than my arrangement should work well for you. I went today to save a woman from…whatever fate. Maybe I’m playing white knight, I don’t know. Maybe I’m treating you like a damsel in distress. All I know is that you…none of those women…deserve this. I have friends who are willing to do the same if it works for me. There is a network on the internet of men, most of us past the age of desirability, who will marry one of the women if they can win the lottery. I was surprised when I heard my name. I am a statistician by trade and know how unlikely it was. If I believed in God, I would say it was meant to be. But it was really coincidence.” Vincent paused. “You have complete freedom to follow your dreams, to work, to do the things you always do. I will set up your room in any way you want if you would rather not have to use my kitchen or other rooms. I will not bother you; I work long hours, so you don’t even have to see me. The only stipulation is that you have to live here; I learned while researching that they anticipated this, and wrote that they must remain married and live as a couple.”

Michelle finally understood. Vincent wasn’t the one who won the lottery, she was. She returned to work and resumed her life as best she could. With the help of her boss and her parents, she began working to get the law repealed. Meanwhile, she and Vincent became great friends. It was like having the grandfather she always wanted. Meanwhile, widowed college professors all over the country were marrying the women and releasing them…as long as they remained in their house.

Tears overcame her as she stood in the cemetery watching them shovel the last heap of dirt onto Vanessa’s coffin. Many of the incels who received women had abused, and in some cases, killed their wife. Michelle had remained in contact with Vanessa; she knew her friend had been treated like a blow up sex doll. She turned away, feeling guilty. How long would they have to wait before Congress did the right thing? How many women would have to die?