Janita Lawrence - Why You Were Taken

28 September 1987

Westville

In the news: Two bombs explode at the Standard Bank Arena in Johannesburg. John McEnroe is fined for his antics at the US Open. Star Trek: The Next Generation debuts on (American!) TV.

What I’m listening to: Michael Jackson’s Bad album. Superbad!

What I’m reading: Misery by Stephen King: injured and drugged, an author is held captive by a psychotic fan. So-o-o creepy. Make P get up to switch the lights off!

What I’m watching: Fatal Attraction. Not the best movie to watch in the week before your wedding! Totally scary, I loved it.

We got married today at a tiny ceremony at Westville Magistrate’s Court. P’s best man (Whitey) was there, and both of our parents. I totally thought my folks would boycott the wedding but they were troopers. Dad put on a brave face and Mom took turns crying and fussing with my dress in front, as if a piece of fabric could cover my huge pregnant belly. I mean it’s totally gigantic! I never thought it was possible to get this big! The ONLY thing that fits me apart from this big meringue of a wedding dress is my old ‘Sex Pistols’ T-shirt. I practically live in it!

When I wrote to Dad about it (the pregnancy) he was very cross and I didn’t hear from him for ages. Mom phoned me and told me to be patient, and that he would come around. If not before the wedding then definitely once the baby was born, she said. His first grandchild! She was right. When I saw him he hugged me (carefully avoiding the bump), and said: “There’s nothing to do but to make the best of a bad situation.” I wanted to say to him: a lovely baby is not a ‘bad situation’, but I was so totally grateful to be forgiven and to feel loved that I just kept quiet and kissed him.

The ‘wedding photos’ are going to be so funny. We got a certificate right away saying that we are husband and wife. Me, a wife?! Ha! I’m so sure! Our wedding song was our favourite song by Bryan Adams: ‘Hearts on Fire’. I got quite emotional, think it’s the raging hormones. But when I looked at P I could tell that he had a lump in his throat too.

We went to a seafood restaurant afterwards and my dad ordered lots of platters and sparkling wine. I couldn’t, like, have seafood or wine in my state but I didn’t feel like eating anyway. I toasted our marriage with Grapetizer in a champagne glass. Totally the Best Grapetizer I have ever tasted.

Afterwards, in bed, exhausted but happy, P lay with his hand on my stomach and we could feel the baby moving.

Happiest day of my life, and I can’t wait to meet my baby.

Johannesburg, 2021

‘Oh,’ his new manager says, greeting Seth with an awkward smile, ‘I thought you would be wearing a suit.’

At the behemoth reception of Fontus the walls are covered in digital 4D wallpaper of waterfalls, streams and lakes. White noise gushes through the sound system: water splashing and birds chirping. Seth doesn’t shake his proffered hand.

‘I don’t wear suits.’

There is heavy security at the front door, which is at odds with the holograms of rising mist and darting digital hummingbirds. Men with concealed guns and pepper-spray look serenely on as employees and visitors enter through the metal detectors.

As they make their way through the building, the moving images change according to which section they are in: the waters Anahita, Tethys, Hydra, followed by the carbonated soft drinks. Anahita is platinum and crystal, blonde hair, and pale, skeletal models. Diamond drops and sleek splashes of mercury. Tethys is dew on grass, rainforests, intelligent-looking people wearing spectacles, good dentures, hands on chins. Cool humidified air streams past them as they walk.

Wesley doesn’t back down. ‘It’s company policy.’

Hydra is smiling black children, barefoot, dusty. A gospel choir. Fever trees. Optimistic amateur vegetable gardens. Dry red earth. Seth gets thirsty just looking at them.

‘No, it’s not,’ says Seth. ‘I would never have signed the contract.’

There is an awkward silence until they reach the section where he will be grinding: Carbonates. As expected, there are bubbles frothing and fizzing all around them. There are five different colour subsections in Carbonates. Wesley slows to a stop in the red area: CinnaCola. The décor is like a large tin of red paint has exploded.

‘It may not be in the actual contract…’

‘Well, then, there’s no problem. Is this my office?’ Seth strides in and slips behind the desk, surveying his stationery. Shrugs off his black hoodie and slings it over his chair. He’s never had a proper desk job before; he’s used to being in a lab of sorts. He uncaps a brand new permanent marker and sniffs it. Wesley tries to not show his irritation. He always attempts to set a good example to the people below him. He looks at Seth swivelling in his chair and purses his lips. Strokes his soul patch with two fingers.

‘We have an 8AM meeting every Monday morning to set up our week’s goals,’ he says.

Y eah, I won’t be making those, thinks Seth, but resists saying so.

‘A goal not written down is just a dream. What is measured is managed. CinnaCola assembles in the Red Room.’

Seth inspects the contents of his desk drawers. Wesley tries to get his attention.

‘But it’s not all work-work-work here! On the last Friday of the month, we do a teambuilding activity, where we compete against the other FCs.’ Wesley fingers the red lanyard around his neck. ‘FC. That’s Flavour-Colours,’ he says. ‘It’s teambuilding and fun and all that but it’s also a serious competition. It’s important that we win. What are you good at? You know, apart from maths? Paintball? Boules? Triathlons? Firewalking? Extreme Frisbee?’

The distaste must have shown on Seth’s face because Wesley stops talking and looks uncomfortable. He puffs out his chest and says ‘It’s compulsory.’

Is it also compulsory to walk around with a carrot shoved up your arse? Do they hand out complimentary organic arse carrots here?

Wesley’s cheeks colour, and for a second Seth thinks he said it out loud, but then realises it’s because Wesley has caught sight of his sneakers. They’re limited edition, by a local graffiti artist, and have the word Punani emblazoned on the sides. He guesses that they’re worth more than Wesley makes in a month. Seth is tempted to put them up on the desk, but then thinks better of it. Best not to push him too far, too soon. Managers are assholes at the best of times and he can’t have anyone deliberately obstructing him. As a peace-making concession he takes out his eyebrow-ring and puts it in his pocket. Rubs off some of the Smudge on his eyes. He sees Wesley soften. It works every time.

‘Okay, then,’ says Seth, pointing at his giant flatscreen Glass, ‘I’d better get started.’

Wesley attempts a smile, and looks immediately like a rodent: his nose crinkles up and his lips reveal his large front teeth. Perfect, thinks Seth, Wesley the Weasel. At least now he won’t forget his name. There is a welcome pack on his desk containing his access/ID card, to be clipped onto his very own red lanyard, a CinnaCola shirt in his size, complete with animated fizzing logo, and a blue book of Fontus rules of conduct. The Fontus logo is, unimaginatively, a stylised illustration of a fountain, and the word ‘Fontus’ is set in a handsome font, uppercase. He turfs the lanyard into his drawer and slides the card into his pocket.

‘You have to wear it,’ says The Weasel. ‘The lanyard, and card. It’s for ID as much as it’s for access.’ He points to the camera in the corner of the room. ‘Security, you know.’