The Horror of Knowing by Sandra Videmsky (a longer piece)

The Horror of Knowing - A ficticious (thankfully) story by Sandra Videmsky

“The president has today made a speech declaring that everyone should be tested for this disease,” the news reporter on the screen told the eagerly watching audience. Lizzy watched silently.
The CNN logo blinked on the screen before her, and the picture switched to President Obama himself standing outside the White House, crowded by microphones labeled with various network insignias and call letters reaching over one another to catch his every word. The breath came out of his mouth at intervals foggy from the frigid cold air outside DC in the January snows. “Knowledge is to everyone’s benefit to have, to use, and to then prudently act on. I personally am convinced that this nation needs as much preparation to fight this unknown challenge armed with the knowledge that could save us. This starts with each American making use of these tests to personally determine their own situation, and then we can make steps to work together to fight this epidemic and win. There is no doubt in any person’s mind that meeting this new intelligent people, the first besides ourselves, has brought evils already, but this does not mean that this great nation will shut out a new source which we can learn from and benefit from. We will not blind ourselves with intolerance and ignore what these people can offer, including something both parties want: a cure…” No doubt that he was a great orator, Lizzy could give him that.
Those words brought her out here this freezing morning, bundled under some four layers comprised of two shirts, a sweater, and a jacket, and then still chilly. She had not seen a line like this ever. The clinic where the tests were to be administered was not even in sight. Lizzy tried to remember the sense of urgency the CNN report had instilled in her the evening before about coming to be tested herself.
“A CNN exclusive interview…” He was a scientist, he was working to administer these tests, and he was an alien. He apologized for the horror that had been unleashed on the unsuspecting world. “We apologize that first contact could not have been made on better terms.” His English was fantastic, though accented. “The tests have been successfully used on humans. We fought this disease on our world, and we won. These tests were a deciding factor. Tests tell us if the subject has the disease, and how long he or she has to live, within a few weeks’ margin of error. We will make every effort on finding a cure, but it will take time to study how the disease has jumped species…”
The disease, known as Purple Spinal Affliction, spread quietly from their world, which had long before developed immunity to it. When the alien and human worlds collided, somehow traces of the old affliction escaped and started targeting humans, who had no immunity. It was a great deal for an ignorant world to shoulder at once: discovering intelligent life from beyond the Earth, and contracting their deadly pathogens.
Lizzy was there talking with her friends, the line crawling forward at snail’s pace. Well, the President’s message had worked, maybe a little too well. A number system had been set up. Speakers had popped up overnight in every store and on their fronts announcing numbers every so often. “Three-fifty-nine, you are next, number three-fiftynine.” Lizzy eyed her slip which read 511. She sighed, but saw Suzanne, who was habitually late to arrive had number 760. At least she could sit here in Borders sipping a coffee with her friends instead of going to work, since it was closed today.
“I wonder what sort of burdensome thing this is to administer if it takes this long,” Suzanne commented.
“Maybe there are simply too many people and too few clinics and that’s why it takes so long. You know, this is the only clinic in the county. At least for us it is close to home,” Angie, number 538, offered.
“This is worsely organized than Katrina. There will be complaints this evening for certain, maybe we will even see a picket line organize before us,” Lizzy said.
“The clinics are not this sparsely spread out everywhere, though,” Suzanne pointed out.
“I heard only the aliens themselves are giving these tests,” Angie said.
“Really? I have wanted to meet one myself since they appeared,” Lizzy voiced.
Angie echoed her, “I’m so curious what they are like.”
As the ultimate gesture of goodwill and trust between the two races, President Obama was one of the first to receive a test for the deadly affliction, after the Secret Service had all done so. They didn’t show the event on television, but Lizzy and her friends could imagine what it might have been like. The door clicked where the alien scientists were waiting shyly but professionally. Some small talk began between them, but died fast from the stifling solemnity of the atmosphere. He had the needle prepped in his hand and the president offered his arm. They waited tensely…
The test was negative. He did not have the Purple Spinal Affliction.
“Number four-forty-four, I won’t repeat it again. Come in two minutes, or you lose your chance…”
Lizzy was starting to feel irritated and over-caffeinated. Number 444 had quit, and others were walking away as well. She no longer had any desire to take the test, only to know her death sentence. That was all this test was. If you had the affliction, they told you how long you have to live. There was no cure; nothing was even being tried yet. If she had the disease, she was not contagious and nothing would happen to her until a week before the infection turned terminal. She would then have muscle spasms, episodes of blindness, all-over pain, and loss of motor skills culminating in paralysis and death. Essentially, she had nothing to gain and her life to lose. She figured she could always get tested later.
“I think I’m going home. I have had enough,” she announced.
“Why?” Suzanne said. “It can’t be more than thirty minutes until it is your turn, after we have already been here so long. This is important to do! Don’t you want to know?”
“Know whether or not I’m going to die if I’m not even sick? Not really. I think I will choose to live instead, not stand waiting to have my death warrant read.”
Angie stood up as well. “I agree. This scare is out of proportion. I understand getting tested for cancer because then you can get treatment, but for this there is not treatment. The apprehension would be worse than the disease.”
“I don’t want to live like that,” Lizzy proclaimed.
“Fine, then, but I’m staying right here. You should still get tested, if not today, soon,” Suzanne told them. She was always one to follow the rules to the letter. If Obama told her to get tested, she would stand out in the cold as long as it took to get tested. She didn’t even need him to take the test himself to prove his point.
Lizzy and Angie put on their sparkly dresses and red high heels that evening and went to a club that was still open. They danced and celebrated being alive while others morosely drowned the news of their deaths in alcohol. Lizzy met a handsome man as well who shared her sense of life.
Two years later, Lizzy had all but forgotten about Purple Spinal Affliction. She had a steady relationship. She and Angie never got tested and never showed symptoms of getting sick. Suzanne said her test came out negative and didn’t elaborate. The aliens had made no progress on a cure, and the condition was out of the media. Everything was fine, until when she, Angie, and Suzanne were out in Starbucks and Suzanne suddenly collapsed. She was shaking as though she was having a seizure. Angie screamed. Before Lizzy knew what was happening, the entire coffee shop was surrounding them. “Sue, what’s wrong?” She asked in a panicked voice.
“P..purp..purple s..spinal..” Suzanne stuttered. A stone dropped in Lizzy’s stomach.
“No, no! You said you didn’t have it. The tests were negative!”
The spasm had passed and Suzanne weakly heaved herself up, but could barely stand. Her voice shook as she said “I lied, okay? They told me I would die a week from today.”
“Oh, Lord,” Angie gasped, grabbing her arm to steady her.
“You made the right choice, Lizzy,” Suzanne told her slowly. “You lived. You and Angie both. You were right: it was a death warrant. I'm not even sure that it wasn't a set-up...”