The Ignored

“I’ll stop by then and pick you up before I go.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“See you later.”

“Later.” I walked down the empty sidewalk to my new house. It was starting to get dark, and whatever automatic timer turned on the outside lights had already kicked in. The porch light was on, as was a light on the edge of the garage that illuminated the driveway.

Tim had said that he’d steal keys for the houses from the sales office, and the keys to my place were in the lock. I pulled out the keys, pressed down on the oversized latch, and walked inside.

My house.

Our house, really. But for some reason, I thought of it as my house, and thought of John and James as my guests.

I put the suitcase down in the foyer and turned on the lights. Recessed fluorescents in the hall and entryway came on, as did the standing lamps in the living room and den, and the chandelier in the dining room. I stood there for a moment, took a deep breath. The house even smelled good.

I heard a noise from upstairs, what sounded like a knock.

“Hello!” I called. “Anybody home?”

I waited, listening.

Nothing.

I picked up my suitcase, carried it upstairs, and dumped it on the floor of the master bedroom. There might be a fight later over who got this room, but I figured it was first come, first served, and I wasn’t about to give up my claim.

As Tim had said, and as we’d discovered earlier in the afternoon, the bathroom was marvelous. The tub was sunken on a raised dais and was the size of a Jacuzzi. At the head of the tub was a windowsill filled with plants. The frosted glass window overlooked the front yard.

I had to whiz, and I did so in what had to be the quietest toilet I’d ever used. I walked back out to the bedroom, plopped down on the bed. I felt good. Happy. Each of the houses was unique, the furnishings and decorating provided by different firms whose names were announced by small plaques next to the ash cans outside the front doors, but they had obviously been intended to please as many people as possible, and that cross section of the public that they were aimed at was us.

I loved these houses.

And mine in particular.

Once again, I heard a knocking sound. I sat up, listened. It seemed to be coming from the room next to mine. What the hell was it? Rats? Bad plumbing? I got out of bed, smiled. Maybe I’d have to complain to the company. I walked out into the hall, into the next room. It was obviously supposed to be a girl’s bedroom. There were ballet prints on the wall, dolls on the white desk, stuffed animals on the pink bedspread. I scanned the room, seeing nothing that could possibly have caused the sound I heard. Maybe it was something in the wall between the two rooms —

A woman jumped out of the closet.

I screamed, backed up, almost tripped over my feet. She stood there, next to the bed, glaring at me. There was anger in her eyes, but there was also fear, and neither of us made a move toward the other one.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Who are you?”

She could see me, I suddenly realized. She could hear me.

I looked at her more carefully. She was older than me, between thirty-five and forty, probably, and despite the wild eyes and hair, there was something demure about her, a perceptible shyness. Her forcefulness seemed fake, her aggressiveness forced.

“Are you Ignored?” I asked.

She stared at me. “How… how did you know that word?”

“I’m Ignored, too. We’re all Ignored.”

“All?”

“There are thirteen of us. We’ve come to live here.”

She stared at me for a few more seconds, then sat down hard on the bed. She looked at the wall, I looked at her. She was attractive. There was an agreeable softness to her features, an intelligence evident in her eyes. Her lips, dark red, neither too large nor too small, seemed somehow very sensuous. Her hair was light brown, her medium-sized breasts perfect.

Was I attracted to her? Not really. She was pretty, but the sort of spark that had flashed between Jane and me the first time we’d met was not there between this woman and myself. Nevertheless, I felt a stirring in my groin. It had been so long since I’d been alone in a room with a woman, talking to a woman, that even this casual contact aroused me.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Mary.”

“Do you live here?”

“I used to. I guess I don’t anymore.”

I didn’t know what to say to her, and I wished Philipe was here with me. I took a deep breath. “Where are you from?”

“Here. California. Costa Mesa.”

“Are you alone?”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Why?”

“I mean, are there any others like you?”

She shook her head slowly.

I thought that I should ask her to join us, but I wasn’t sure if I was really in a position to do so. That was for Philipe to decide. I looked at her, she looked at me. We stared dumbly at one another. She was the first female Ignored I’d seen, and the fact that she even existed surprised me and threw me off guard. I guess I’d assumed that being Ignored was strictly a masculine condition, that whether by design or accident, everyone who was Ignored was male.

I was glad I was wrong, though. Already I was thinking ahead, thinking that we could find girlfriends, lovers, wives. All of us. We could live relatively normal emotional and sexual lives, have healthy, happy relationships.

But what would the children be like? If being Ignored was genetic, was the gene for it recessive or dominant? Could we have normal children? Or would our offspring be even worse off than we were? Would they be completely invisible?

All this I thought in the few brief seconds that we stood staring at each other. Then she stood, broke the spell, and started toward the door. “I… I guess I’d better be going.”

“Wait!” I said.

She stopped in midstride. “What?”

“Don’t go.”

She stared at me, frightened. “Why?”

“Let me talk to the others.”

“What for?”

“Just let me talk to them.”

She backed up, sat down again on the bed. She nodded slowly.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I said. “Will you stay here?”

“Where else do I have to go?”

I moved out of the room, hurried downstairs, and ran over to Philipe’s house to tell him about Mary.

“A woman?” he said, excited.

“A woman?” Paul repeated, frightened.

“I think we need to discuss it,” I said.

Philipe nodded. “You’re right.” He immediately had Tim run from house to house and get the others, and a few minutes later, we met in Philipe’s living room. John, James, and Tommy had still not returned, but the rest of us were there, and we sat on chairs and couches and on the floor.