Body of Stars

by Laura Maylene Walter

  Marie was there, too, standing pressed in the corner of the room as if trying to contain herself.

  “We were waiting for you.” Cassandra gazed down at her own body, but in a detached way, as if it had nothing to do with her. “Let’s do my back first. You know how hard it is to interpret markings in a mirror.”

  I approached Cassandra and lightly ran the tip of my index finger from mole to mole, like I was playing a connect-the-dots game across her shoulder blades and down her spine. Cassandra’s skin shivered beneath my touch. She let out a nervous laugh and pulled away.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m still getting used to how this feels.”

  “I won’t use too much pressure,” I promised.

  Cassandra’s new markings looked like they’d been there forever. She’d woken up that morning and there they were, with no fanfare, just as they’d been fated. It was both a mystery and a fact of life. Whatever her juvenile predictions had revealed about her adult future would still hold true, even now that those markings were faded and gone, but this passage to adulthood pulled everything into focus.

  Marie joined us in trying to decipher the markings. I watched her trembling fingers and thought back to the summer festival, when she and I ran straight to the last deep stretch of park until we reached the Ferris wheel. We pushed past the creaking gate to enter a car that swung wildly when we stepped inside. As the ride jolted us into the sky, we leaned forward to view the fair from above. Instead, we saw our classmate Veronica in the car underneath ours, at an angle that allowed us to see straight down her dress to the pale moons of her breasts. Marie gave a start and sat back so hard she made our car sway. When I looked over at her, she was blushing deeply.

  It was that same way in Cassandra’s room. Marie stared at our friend’s body, transfixed, her face flooded with color.

  “This is good, Cassie,” she said at last. “I don’t see any illnesses, and you’ll be happily married one day.”

  “Look at this.” I pointed to the bunch of pale moles on her hip. “You’re going to have a very successful career.”

  “Yes, but in what?” Cassandra craned to see for herself. “My mom couldn’t figure it out, and neither could I.”

  Marie and I studied Cassandra’s skin for a while longer, but it was no use. The patterns meant nothing specific to us, only something vaguely good. My own juvenile career markings were similarly ambiguous—aside from suggesting I might work with Miles one day, and that my profession would involve intricate work, they didn’t reveal much. Of course, I could look forward to future clarification when I passed to my adult markings. Cassandra no longer had that luxury. Now that she was a woman, these markings represented the last predictions she’d ever have.

  We consulted the gilt pages of Mapping the Future to look for career constellations that resembled Cassandra’s, but we couldn’t find a perfect match. I pressed my finger against Cassandra’s right hip and closed my eyes. I waited to feel the low vibration that the best interpreters experienced during readings, but I felt nothing. I was talentless.

  I turned to the guide’s index, tracing my finger down the list until I came to the entry for Expectations, Subverted. We’d all heard the tales of a couple who married based on the woman’s markings only to divorce years later, or the woman who gave birth even after her markings labeled her barren. Usually, all one had to do was return to Mapping the Future and remap those markings to discover their true interpretation.

  While I read, Cassandra seemed distracted, gazing at her arm. Getting new markings, it appeared, was a bit like falling in love with yourself. I thought again of Deirdre in the school bathroom, how she leaned in close to the mirror to apply that lipstick. She’d been confident and bold, just like Cassandra was now. And then she was gone.

  I dropped the book and grabbed Cassandra’s shoulder. “You need to pay attention.”

  She blinked. “To what?”

  “Everything. I don’t want you to end up like Deirdre.”

  Cassandra waved her hand, and her dismissal felt all too familiar. She was a changeling, but she was also the same girl who raced me to the dock at the lake and leapt in wildly, determined to make the bigger splash.

  “You need to see a professional.” I gathered Cassandra’s clothes from the floor and tossed them at her. “Someone who knows more than we do about what those markings might mean. And we should go now, rather than wait for your government inspection. That will take too long.”

  Cassandra hesitated, holding the clothing to her chest like a shield. Then, slowly and with care, as if each layer against her skin was a weight, she dressed.

  * * *

  * * *

  Downstairs, Mrs. Hahn waited in the foyer, blocking the door. She wore an immaculate white tunic and a jade necklace, but her polished appearance was marred by her tense expression. She was like a wire strung too tightly.

  “You can’t possibly think you’re going out so soon after changing.” Her eyes, red-rimmed, tracked her daughter. “It’s too dangerous. Especially after what happened to Deirdre.”

  “We already talked about this,” Cassandra told her. “Remember? It’s daylight, and I’m with my friends. It’s fine.”

  “I’ll come with you, just to be safe.”

  “Mom, you promised. You gave me your word you wouldn’t lock me up once I changed, or follow me around like I’m a child.”

  Mrs. Hahn paused. “That’s true. Girls need their independence. Your father always said that the second you passed to your adult markings, that was it. No more school, or parties, or anything until the danger passed. But I won’t have my daughter kept a prisoner.”

  “Exactly.” Cassandra put a hand on her mother’s arm. “Besides, Deirdre stayed out after dusk, and I heard she flirted with men. You know we’re smarter than that.”

  Ms. Hahn’s gaze flitted around the room to the granite-topped console table, the coat tree, the polished floors. She took in these things of beauty and then turned to look at me.

  “We’re going to see Julia, my brother’s teacher,” I said. “She might have some insight into Cassie’s future career.”

  That did it, this reference to Cassandra’s mysterious career markings. Mrs. Hahn took a deep breath and moved away from the door.

  “Stick to the busy streets. Right to Julia’s, and then straight back afterward,” she said. “If anyone comes near you, don’t be afraid to scream. Go for the groin if it comes to that. Do you understand, girls?”

  We agreed. As we headed out the door, Cassandra and Marie began chatting about various career options. This was, I realized, the first time I had ever known Cassandra to take such an active interest in her future career. Maybe I didn’t know her as well as I’d thought. I certainly didn’t know, not then, that she’d go on changing until a time came when I couldn’t recognize her at all.

  * * *

  * * *

  We kept a brisk pace all the way to the interpretation district. After we passed under the Future as Fate arch and hurried through the cobblestone streets, Julia’s townhouse came into view. Red brick, three stories high, the narrow facade—a place where the future was made an ordered thing.

  When Julia opened the door, I pushed Cassandra forward.

  “This is my friend Cassie,” I said. “She just passed to her adult markings.”

  “I can see that. Congratulations, Cassie.” Julia wore a soft gray robe over her clothes, and she fidgeted with its belt as she considered us. “But I don’t work on Sundays, and this isn’t an emergency.”

  “Please? We need a reading.”

  Julia took in my expression and softened.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll do a quick reading and then have you on your way.”

  Julia led Cassandra to her office while Marie and I waited in the parlor. I passed the time by twisting my hands together in my lap.

  �
��You’re panicking,” Marie said in a quiet voice. She reached over to rest her hand on mine. “Cassie will be fine.”

  “But you know how she is.” It felt traitorous to describe Cassandra as I sometimes saw her—impulsive, wild, boastful—so I didn’t. “I’m worried about her, that’s all.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Marie repeated.

  She was too naïve to understand the risks. It was probably due to being sheltered by her modest mother. I knew I wouldn’t be the same if my mother had always covered every inch of her skin and refused to work or socialize in a mixed-gender environment. While Marie’s mother didn’t compel her to dress modestly, other aspects of the lifestyle, such as the focus on traditional gender roles, crept into my friend’s daily routine. Marie attended a domestic arts club at school, and she could do things I couldn’t, like follow sewing patterns or set a table with formal place settings.

  “I just want things to stay the same,” I said.

  Marie shook her head. “It’s already too late for that.”

  I fell silent. From the corner of the parlor came the ticking of the grandfather clock. I focused on that sound, waiting and waiting until the office door opened down the hall and Cassandra reappeared, her eyes shining.

  “Julia says my career will be something high-end, most likely in medicine,” she told us. “She thinks these markings can make a case for me to get into medical school.”

  “That’s great.” I’d never known Cassandra to dream of becoming a doctor, but if her markings suggested she could, that changed everything. “Did she see anything else?”

  “Nothing we didn’t already find on our own. My future husband isn’t anyone I know yet, so I’ll have to wait for that.”

  I looked at my friend and pictured the life she believed she had coming to her—professional success, financial security, the love of an as-yet-unknown husband. Cassandra would surely take that future for granted. She wouldn’t think twice about whether it could be ruined.

  “Wait here,” I told my friends. “I’ll be right back.”

  I walked down the hallway to Julia’s office. She was at her desk, staring at the doorway like she’d been waiting for me. Maybe she could sense my nerves, how my heart beat hard and fast.

  “Celeste. Please come in.”

  I took a seat. “Cassie seems happy. You told her exactly what she wanted to hear.”

  “I told her the truth.”

  “Maybe you should also ask her to be careful.” As I spoke, my gaze was drawn to the framed document hanging behind the desk. It was written in Latin.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  Julia glanced over her shoulder. “It’s my degree from university.”

  “I didn’t know you went to university.” While professional interpreters had to be licensed and adhere to a set of guidelines, they didn’t usually pursue higher education. Interpretation was an art form that didn’t fit into a specific academic discipline.

  “I once thought I’d be something else. Maybe an engineer. That’s what my father hoped I’d become.” She laughed a little. “And before that, my mother wanted me to be a homemaker like her. I have five brothers and sisters. Can you imagine? But that future died once I passed to my adult markings. It was marked on me plain as anything: no marriage, no children.”

  “That’s awful.” I estimated Julia was in her mid-thirties, still within childbearing age, but I’d never wondered whether she was fated to have children. I supposed I’d assumed it just hadn’t happened yet for her.

  She didn’t seem moved by my concern. “The right future found me,” she said. “I can help people, especially young girls, as an interpreter. And in any case, motherhood was never my dream.”

  “I guess.” A note of doubt had crept into my voice.

  “You know,” Julia went on, “I learned a long time ago that I could live the life that best suited me, not anyone else. One day you might learn that, too.”

  I felt insulted, though I wasn’t sure why. “I already know what I’m going to be. A psychologist.”

  “Of course. I only mean that sometimes, our true abilities surprise us. Like your brother and his gift for interpretation. No one could have predicted that.”

  “Maybe, but he’s still a boy. There’s no use teaching him in the long run.”

  “He has real talent, Celeste. You might be surprised.”

  But I saw no surprises in the future. Not even for me, someone who was a mediocre reader of markings at best.

  “Here,” Julia said. “I’ll show you.”

  She came around to my side of the desk and propped her left foot on the edge of my chair. She rolled up the bottom of her pants leg to show me her ankle, which was encircled by a set of markings like a bracelet. I held in a gasp.

  “Oh, Julia.” I leaned in closer. I was looking at a constellation that spelled misfortune. “What exactly does it mean?”

  “Look at the variations.” She pointed to the tiny markings orbiting a set of larger ones, the pale markings joined up with the darker. “That many variables make specific predictions almost impossible. All I can determine from Mapping the Future is that this pattern indicates future loss.” She looked at me. “The first time your brother saw this, he sat down for a good long look. He couldn’t figure it out—this kind of prediction needs time to come to light—but he’s smart, with excellent instincts, and he’s not intimidated by a challenge. He’s a natural, Celeste.”

  “But he’s still a boy. He has no future in interpretation.”

  “I trust him, and I trust that he’ll find a way. That’s what matters.” She covered her ankle and removed her foot from my chair. “You’re a lot like Miles, you know. Once he sets his mind on something, that’s it. From what I hear, you’re the same about your future career.” She peered at me. “If I may, what attracts you to the field of psychology?”

  I looked away, thinking. People didn’t generally ask me why I wanted to be a psychologist. Whenever teachers or my friends’ parents learned what I wanted to become, they usually just smiled as if I’d said something amusing. Sometimes they’d make a joke about psychoanalysis, like how they should be careful about what they said around me lest I uncover their secrets.

  “I knew a psychologist once,” I said. My voice was tentative. “She was my mother’s friend. This was a long time ago; I was very young. When we went to her house, she’d let me play with her impression cards.”

  “I remember those. They were once quite popular. Each card had a different image, just a simple line drawing in ink—is that right?”

  “And only two colors: red and black.” I nodded. “I loved those cards. My mother’s friend explained it all to me, how she gave them to patients and asked what they saw in the images. Everyone had a different answer, she told me, because it wasn’t about the image so much as what each person projected onto it. I found that fascinating—that our minds work so differently, and that we reveal the psyche merely by describing what we see in a picture.”

  Julia was watching me closely. “When you put it like that, it sounds like you’re talking about the art of interpretation.”

  “It’s not the same at all,” I said quickly. “The skill in interpretation is in figuring out what the prediction means. Like the marking on your ankle—it refers to one set future, even if that future is unknowable to us right now. But psychology is more open-ended.” I paused. “I like the thought of choices. Of there being a larger puzzle with more than one answer.”

  “That makes sense. Still, everything you say suggests that you could make a great interpreter, too. Just like Miles.”

  It would always come back to interpretation for Julia. She and my brother both saw the world in the same way: as one long stretch of predictions just waiting to be understood.

  Slowly, I stood. “I should go. My friends are waiting, and Cassandra’s mother is expecting
us.”

  “Of course.” Julia stood, too. “If you girls would like an escort back to your neighborhood, I’d be happy to walk with you.”

  I shook my head, letting Julia know we’d promised Cassandra’s mother that we’d stick together, and that we weren’t afraid. It seemed important to say those words to Julia, to stress our courage. As if by convincing her we were strong and clever and safe, I could also convince myself.

  * * *

  * * *

  My friends and I left and made quick progress through the streets, crossing under the arch and passing into the heart of downtown: the courthouse, the old stone church with the crooked cemetery stones, the bank headquarters displaying my father’s ad. I noticed a flurry of activity around the bank, a gathering of men, and on instinct I froze.

  “It’s okay,” Marie said. “They’re not here for us.”

  I looked again. One of the men held a ladder against the wall while another climbed. I was still standing there, gaping, as the first corner of my father’s banner came loose and flipped over itself. Then the entire top half went slack.

  “Come on, Celeste,” Cassandra said. “We don’t need to watch this.” She and Marie gently pulled me away and placed me between them, like I was the one who needed protection.

  They told me not to look back, but I did anyway. I watched my father’s advertisement crumple. I watched the beautiful face cave in on itself, watched the torso stand bare and alone until it, too, was folded away. I watched until the banner was dangling, about to drop. I watched until my neck hurt, until my friends urged me on and I turned around.

  Behind me, I could hear the banner fall.

  Mapping the Future: An Interpretive Guide to Women and Girls

  Addendum IX, Gender and Sexuality

  Following numerous inquiries surrounding the shifting perception of gender and sexuality, the authors hereby enter into this edition of Mapping the Future the following addendum: