Verita

by Tracy Rozzlynn

  I wanted to slap the sympathetic look right off her face. “What the hell do you mean I ‘have to move on’?”

  “Well you’re not really part of our world anymore, are you? You can’t really expect to have a relationship through the phone, and it’s not like you can just hang out whenever you feel like anymore. I mean, come on. You, yourself, said it took half a day’s worth of buses just to get here.” That teacher tone was back in her voice.

  Ugh. She was really grating on my nerves. How dare she take his side? Then it occurred to me. The cold, cruel behavior today wasn’t just about protecting me from Brad. It had been there all along during the past two weeks. I’d just been too distraught and distracted to see it: a string of excuses about how driving out to visit me was impossible right now, cutting conversations short, and plenty of vague half-answers that left me feeling ignored.

  I swallowed hard, determined to keep the hysterical laughter I felt creeping up at bay. I had been so very naive. “So you’re breaking up with me, is that it?”

  “What? No. I wouldn’t break up for Brad. I’m just trying to explain to you what’s going on with him.” Jenna seemed confused, but behind that confusion was a look of guilt.

  “No, not Brad. You!” My eyes narrowed as I accused her. “It seems like you’re the one who’s waiting for me to figure out that it’s time to move on. You’re the one who wants me to figure it out and leave you alone. So I’ll ask you again. Are you breaking up with me?” I felt myself shaking from the mixed emotions brought about by my realization, but I didn’t break my stare. I was determined to make her say the words out loud. I wasn’t going to let her weasel out of this friendship by letting it fade away over time.

  “Okay, fine!” She threw her hands up in the air, then grabbed back onto the steering wheel. “You know what? Yeah. Yeah, I am. You need to figure out that we can’t be friends; not like we used to be. And you can’t expect me to set aside time every night just to sit and listen to you moan and complain about how much you miss how things were before. Things are never going to be the way they were. You’re never going to come back to school. We’ll never be college roommates, or pledge the same sorority together. It’s not going to happen. We’ll never be in the same circle again – if we ever were.”

  Cutting her off, I spat, “What is that supposed to mean, ‘if we ever were’?”

  “Oh, come on, Brett. We both know that the only reason you weren’t a complete loser and geek is because of me. If it wasn’t for me, you would have always had your nose buried in a book. You would have had absolutely no idea how to dress, or how to wear makeup, and would have never got the attention of any boys. I’m the only thing that kept you remotely popular. The sooner you figure that out, the better it will be for everyone.” Jenna’s voice had turned back to cold, condescending and cruel. It hurt, but at least I saw her clearly now. I had always known she had a mean streak, but being her friend I had never been the target of it before today, and so I had chosen to ignore it. But now I was no longer part of her crowd. I no longer fit into her level of prosperity or status, and, as a result, I was no longer worthy of her or her time. To her, I was no better than a fashion-impaired stranger.

  “Arriving at final destination on right,” the GPS voice chimed.

  “I’m so very, very sorry if listening to the pain of your childhood friend, who has lost everything and everyone she has ever known and cared about, is an inconvenience. And I’m so sorry our friendship has been such a burden for you.” Jenna pulled over to the curb and I swung my door open. “Do me a favor and let Brad know I won’t burden him any longer either.”

  I got out of the car and paused. I wanted to say something poignant, something profound enough to cut her to the bone and make her regret just how much she’d hurt me, something that would haunt her throughout the rest of her miserable life – but when I opened my mouth, all I could utter was, “Go to hell.”

  I slammed the door, turned and ran so she wouldn’t see me break down in tears.

  That was when I knew I was truly alone in the world.

  Halfway down the corridor, the nurse comes to an abrupt halt and turns left. I can tell the door is heavy by the way she has to strain to open it, and by the echoing thud it makes as it closes behind us. On the other side is another seemingly endless corridor. There’s only one difference between this and the last: both sides of this corridor are lined with doors, not just the left. Doors come one after another, hardly any space between them. Each door has a small window in it, but I intentionally keep my eyes averted from them. I’m too scared to examine them closer, too scared to think about what I might see inside.

  Instead, I redirect my gaze to the nurse ahead of me. She has a strange gait. She doesn’t look like she’s walking oddly, but I can hear it in the echo of her footsteps against the metal floor. Instead of the normal click-clack, click-clack you would hear as she steps, heel first, then toe, I hear a click-clack-scratch, click-clack. Her right foot drags slightly. If I were wearing more than booties, both my feet would be making a dragging sound.

  Soon I notice several more nurses ahead. They’re all standing in front of open doors, talking and busying themselves. An ominous feeling overtakes me, and I begin to second-guess myself. This is just too drastic a step. There must be other options that I haven’t considered, other solutions that are less extreme than this. After all, it was a bit of a snap decision, and I honestly haven’t given myself ample time to mull it over. Maybe if I explain that to the nurse, she’ll understand, and I can have some more time to make sure this is the right choice for me.

  Talk about overreacting. When I got back to St. Augustine’s, everyone acted as if I had broken every possible rule that existed and that I had done it all intentionally. Okay, so yeah, I might have forgotten to tell anyone where I was going, but I was back by the afternoon curfew. No one had bothered to tell me that when school let out early, the curfew was earlier.

  Apparently, though, intention and knowledge doesn’t matter when a rule is broken at St. Augustine’s. My television, phone, and computer privileges were revoked. To top it off, now I had to report back to the house immediately after school. There was no time limit on the punishment either. I would have to earn my privileges back. When I pointed out how much of my schoolwork was online, I was actually laughed at and told I should have thought about that before breaking the rules. Again I tried to point out that I wasn’t aware that I had been breaking any rules, but it didn’t matter. I had probably just kissed goodbye to any chance or hope I ever had of getting an academic or swimming scholarship.

  Now, on top of it all, I’d been kept out of school and brought to the child services office. Just how much more punishment were they going to give for my unintentional infraction? I dropped my head into my hands, once again wishing that I would just wake up from this nightmare. It was clear I was no longer considered a responsible teenager from a loving, stable home, that could be trusted, and whose actions would always be given the benefit of the doubt. Now I was a parentless delinquent, never to be trusted and to be kept strictly in line.

  I sighed, and looked around the small, cramped office I was waiting in. It was way too small for all the items crammed into it. Bookshelves and filing cabinets lined every wall. A few plants were trying feebly to survive on the inadequate light provided by the fluorescent overhead lamps. The last remaining furniture-free piece of wall was behind the social worker’s desk; on it was tacked a poster of a kitten hanging from a branch, the words ‘Hang in there’ emblazoned across the bottom. I resisted an urge to pull down the poster and shred it into a million pieces.

  “You must be Brett,” a rich, deep voice behind me asked.

  I turned and watched a tall man in charcoal suit enter the room. The suit looked too expensive and too well-tailored to belong to a social worker. The man had the build of a linebacker. His chest was so broad that even the best tailoring couldn’t make him look like he genuinely belonged in a suit. This was clearly not h
is office. There was no way he’d be the owner of that infuriating cat poster.

  “Yes, that’s me,” I answered hesitantly. My stomach clenched nervously. This clearly out-of-place man couldn’t be a good sign.

  “I’m John Roberts.” He reached his hand out in front of him so I could shake it. He towered over me, and his presence made the room appear even smaller than it was. “You can call me John.”

  John sat behind the social worker’s desk and leaned forward, attempting a warm smile. It didn’t come off: it just made him more intimidating. “So, Brett, reading through your file, I can see that your life pretty much sucks right now.” It was clearly a statement, not a question. I was momentarily taken back by his bluntness.

  “I, uh…well…yeah, it does,” I agreed, and dropped my head to stare at my knotted hands resting in my lap.

  “Well, we think you have a lot of the valuable qualities we are looking for.” He nodded his head, reinforcing his statement. I was reminded of a bobble-head, as I wondered exactly who the ‘we’ he referred to was.

  I realized he was looking at me strangely. “Me? There’s nothing special about me,” I blurted, realizing he’d been waiting for a response.

  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that being modest won’t get you anywhere?” He chuckled: a deep, warm laugh, obviously amused with his wit.

  “Well, I do well in school and swimming, but—” My voice trailed off. That life was behind me now, and I had little hope of getting any of it back.

  “Let me guess: so much has happened to you that it feels like someone else’s life now, not yours.” My eyes widened as he finished my thoughts. A lump formed in my throat, cutting off my voice, so I just nodded. “Well, I’m here to offer you an opportunity.” He sat back in his chair and gave another attempt at a warm grin. “In essence, I’m offering you an even better life than you had before.”

  “Well, I—”

  I didn’t finish my sentence; a flash of rage rolled through me. How dare he? Is this even legal? He’s going around offering an understanding shoulder to kids in my kind of situation, and then, before you know it, they’re signing a contract to join the armed forces. How dumb does he think I am? I may not know what I’m going do with my life now, but I’m sure as hell not going to give it up to join a war that I’m not sure we should even be involved in.

  My face contorted with fury. “You kind of sound like an army commercial,” I snarled at him, and waited for the shocked expression I expected. But he just sat there, unfazed. So I continued, “I have no desire to be a soldier. I don’t care what the pay is or if it pays for college. So I’ll just leave, and save us both some time.” My jaw twinged with pain: I had been clenching my teeth.

  I jumped to my feet and made to leave.

  John started to chuckle, so I stopped and turned back to glare at him. “Glad to see there is some spark in you. I was beginning to think you had a bit too much in common with this kitten behind us.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “We’re not recruiting for the armed forces,” he said matter-of-factly, and motioned for me to sit back down.

  “Then why are you here, and who is this ‘we’ you keep referring to?” I eyed him warily as I slowly sat in my chair.

  “I’m from the CTA; the Center for Technological Advancement. We’re a private corporation and, as the name implies, we’re focused on technological breakthroughs. I’m here for a special project that, while sanctioned by our government, will not be run by any part of it.” He said the last half of the sentence slowly to stress his point. “This project could change the face of life as we know it. An added benefit of the project is we’ll be helping disadvantaged teenagers with potential, like you.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, looking overly smug.

  I scowled at him. “Well what exactly is the project you want me for? And let me just get this clear right now: I’m not interested in being anyone’s lab rat.” I stared straight back at John, meeting his eyes, daring him to just try sugarcoating or beating around the bush with anything he had to say.

  John leaned forward again, never breaking eye contact, or even blinking. “I can’t give you all the details right now. All I can say is that you would be part of something big and important; a lot better than anything you’ll find here.” He gestured to the clutter around us.

  “And what’s the catch?” I demanded, still suspicious.

  “You’d be leaving behind your friends and family,” he admitted freely – most likely because he knew I didn’t have any left.

  I quirked my eyebrows at him. “For how long?”

  “For good.”

  “And exactly what third-world country would you be sending me to? Would it be the Amazon or the Arctic that I’m dropped in the middle of?” I crossed my arms tightly around myself, as if that would somehow stop the chill running along my spine.

  “No, nothing like that.” Again he sounded amused with me. I glared back at him, unwilling to be the source of his entertainment.

  “Why on Earth would anyone want to take a job where they could never see any of their friends or family again?” I actually stomped my foot in frustration, but then realized how childish I was behaving. So, I put on what I hoped was a stoic look, and waited for an answer that wasn’t the obvious lack of said friends and family.

  “Because, Brett, you’d be part of something that could change the future of mankind. You could be part of something important, where you could really make a difference. Besides, at this point you don’t have anything to lose, and there’s so much you can gain.” His voice was soft and sympathetic, but it drove home the brutal truth: I had no one, nothing to miss and no one to miss me. It didn’t matter where, or exactly what, his special project was; it had to be better than the future I was currently facing. Wherever I ended up, it would be better than staying here.

  I let out a long, defeated sigh. “Okay, fine. What do you need me to do now?” I swallowed hard: my control over life had all but dissipated.

  “Nothing. We’ll take care of the details. All you’ll need to do is pack any small, non-clothing personal items you want to bring with you.” He stood, giving me a broad smile as he shook my hand. “You’ve just made the best decision of your life, Miss Bradbury.”

  I wanted to believe him, but I had a heavy, sinking feeling in my chest.

  The nurse stops in front of a door my chamber. I swallow hard as she opens the door. She asks me to stand facing the container. I try not to compare its shape and size to that of a coffin. Instead, I focus on keeping the back of my flimsy thin hospital gown closed as I step in front of her. But even that is pointless. I feel her untie the two little bows that precariously hold it together.

  “Please remove the booties, step in and turn around to face me,” she directs with a cold, indifferent voice. I resist rolling my eyes. You’d think I would get a little bit of sympathy, considering I’m about to spend the next several centuries in this metal box.

  She busies herself connecting different stickers with wires to my skin under the gown. I assume they’re meant to monitor me during my sleep. She warns me that it will hurt for a second, and I feel the pinch of a needle as she connects some kind of IV to me. Then she removes the gown. The one thing they neglected to mention to me when describing everything is that I’d have to be naked. I’m mortified at the idea of spending my years naked. Even if there isn’t anyone around to see, it’s horrifying. Not to mention that when I wake up I’ll still have no clothes on.

  Fortunately, I’m only mortified for a moment. Whatever is in the IV is quickly doing its job. My eyelids already weigh a ton, and I can hardly keep them open. My mind feebly attempts one last round of doubts and worries about all that could go wrong, and then I am asleep.

  I was taken from the foster care center the same day I spoke with John. I brought with me a small grocery bag holding the few precious things I had left: my MP3 player, some family pictures, a gold chain and cross given to me for my confirmation, and my father’s
wedding band. My mother’s rings never made it back from the Caribbean. Somehow the ring was ‘lost or misplaced’. Of all the objects I once had and valued, so darned little of it held any real meaning or importance for me.

  I spent the next week with a group of girls at what I think was part of the CTA’s center. We spent half the time being poked, prodded and examined by doctors. The other half was spent taking test after test. Before long, the tests all blended together. They all seemed to be one kind of aptitude test or another. Frankly, I was getting tired of deciding if I was more like a bird, a lion, a lamb or some other silly animal.

  It wasn’t until the end of the week that the project was finally explained to us. A life-sustaining planet had been found within our galaxy called Verita. We were going to be part of a colonization project. We would be cryogenically frozen and, while frozen, trained in our determined specialty. I knew, and they knew, that they were sugarcoating everything. It was what they didn’t say that frightened me. They stressed how it was their breakthrough technology that made the journey possible. They pointed out that a construction crew was a year ahead of us, so we would arrive to a fully constructed colony. And finally, they claimed they wanted such young subjects because there was a possibility of slight aging occurring over such a long time span, and they didn’t want us to feel pressured to procreate immediately.

  What they didn’t say to us was that the technology was untested, and nothing like this had ever been done before. They didn’t truly know what we’d find on the planet, and there was a chance that we’d just grow old and die in our sleep.

  That was yesterday.

  That’s how I ended up where I am now – naked and unconscious in a metal box, waiting for the day when I either fade away into oblivion, or wake up feeling as if no time has passed. Hopefully I’ll wake up to a better future on a new world. And hopefully John was right about my decision. But now, all the reasons that brought me here no longer matter. I’m committed now. I made my decision, and there’s no turning back. All that is left for me to do now is wait, and hopefully not die, but wake up.