by Rae Thomas
When I hear the final bell, a sigh of relief escapes my lips. I rush through the throngs of socializing students toward the double doors that separate me from freedom. Just as I reach the threshold, I lift my arm to catch the door and realize that it’s already being held open for me. I recognize that golden hand. I reluctantly lift my eyes to meet his, and I see something in them that I did not expect. David is anxious. He looks at me, and his eyes seem heavy. For a moment, I am unable to look away. Our eye contact is broken when someone shoves past me and I momentarily lose my balance. I can’t be irritated with whoever pushed me; I’m the one standing stationary in a doorway, after all. David holds my forearm to steady me as more students rush around us. He holds onto my arm more firmly and leads me away from the doorway to the stone steps in front of Nineteen. Now that we’ve broken eye contact, I cannot stop looking at his hand on my arm. I feel electricity enter my body at all of the points where his fingertips touch my skin; my heartbeat quickens. When we reach the steps, he turns to face me and I allow my eyes to move from his hand on my arm to the bicep that is half covered by the sleeve of his black shirt, to his neck and up over his jaw line. My eyes linger for a moment at his lips then move up and meet his gaze. His eyes still look sad.
“Violet, are you upset with me?”
Upset with him? I’m not, but still, I had avoided him, and I don’t really know how to explain why. He had only told me the truth; that’s what I’d asked of him. In fact, at the time I’d been flattered, even excited that he would trust me with details that could probably get him into a lot of trouble. Despite this, knowing the truth has changed something in me. I knew that Cerno was a second chance for humans, but I didn’t realize that it had come at the expense of so many lives that could have been saved. I didn’t realize that we had ever decided that some lives are disposable. And David is the one who told me this. David is the one who changed the way I feel about my life and even my own father. Simply the possibility that my father knows about this makes me feel even more distant from him. I feel so much guilt that my ancestors had been able to leave Earth while so many others were left for dead. And it was David who placed this burden on my shoulders.
“I’m not. I just… had nothing to say.”
David drops his hand and takes a step back. After looking at me for a moment longer, he turns to go. Now I regret blaming him. I had asked him to tell me. I had almost begged him to give me the details I needed to understand the gaps in my father’s story. I had been so desperate to answer the questions that plagued me that I didn’t stop to think about what the answers could mean. I had relinquished my own ignorance, and this guilt is the price I have to pay.
“David, wait.” I allow my bag to fall to the stone steps so I can catch up to him more quickly. He is only a few steps away, but I don’t want him to be lost in the crowd that still mills around us. He hears my voice and turns to me. Seeing what I’m sure is a look of urgency or even desperation on my face, he begins to make his way back to where I’m standing. I look at the ground until I see his boots. Now he’s standing right in front of me. I look up at him and for a moment, neither of us knows what to say.
Until now, David and I have only been friends here at the Academy. He’ll tell me a funny story about hacking into the Headmaster’s computer only to find him playing computer games, or we’ll laugh about something he says to Madam Aldine. Today is the first day that David or I have shown emotional attachment to one another.
Well, I certainly won’t be the first to speak; I’m sure we both know that. In order to remedy what has unquestionably become what one would call an awkward pause in the conversation, David says, “You dropped your bag.”
Breaking eye contact, I look down and say, “Yes.”
I lean over to pick it up by the strap, but the opening is facing the ground and before I realize it, the contents have spilled. I sigh and begin to pick up assorted books, papers, and other accoutrements of academia when I realize what David is doing. My sketchbook has fallen open to the page that I was working on earlier today, and he has retrieved it from the steps to get a closer look.
Before I can snatch the book from his grasp, I see that he is smiling and he says, “Violet, this is great! It looks just like me.”
Embarrassed, I immediately seek to rectify this situation. How eerie would it be if I sat around drawing him without his knowledge?
“David, don’t be silly, that’s not you; I don’t just sit around drawing you all day. I was drawing a dream I’ve been having.”
His smile brightens and his voice takes on a note of teasing, “Oh, so now you’re dreaming about me?”
I’m frustrated, but I can’t help smiling at his playfulness. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been having that dream since before I met you. Now give… it… back!” As I say this, I lunge forward to grab the notebook from his hands, but he anticipates me and grabs me around the waist with one hand as I try to wrestle the book from his grasp. We are laughing and fighting good-naturedly, but I gradually become aware of his arm around my waist, of his chest pressed tightly against mine. It seems that David becomes conscious of this situation at the same time, because he stops smiling immediately, releases me from his arms, and gently places the book in my hand.
“Yeah, here you go… You’re right; I guess that doesn’t really look like me. Well, I’ll see you later.”
David turns and walks away, and for a moment I watch him go. When he is almost out of sight, I lower my gaze to the sketchbook in my hand. Same lips, same eyes, same tousled hair. Now that I think about it, I can certainly see the resemblance that David had seen, but David couldn’t be the man in the dream.
I hadn’t even known him when I dreamt it.
Five
I am hiding. I don’t know why I am hiding, or who I am hiding from, but I have the distinct feeling that something detrimental would happen were my position discovered. I am holding something, but it is too dark for me to see what it is. I rest the object on my thighs and note that it is very cool. Its texture is smooth, almost like stone but of an odd shape. The shape is geometric, with six faces. Each face is roughly the size of one of my hands. I turn the object in the darkness in an effort to discern what it is. Maybe if I can figure out what to do with this object, I can fix the situation I’ve apparently gotten myself into, whatever that might be.
I feel panicked. My heart beats so quickly and so powerfully that I feel it’s a hammer trying to pound its way out of my chest. I turn the object in my hands again and realize that it is broken. Tiny fractures on the faces tell me that this object was once in several pieces. As I continue to run my hand along its smooth surface, I feel something sharp. Startled, I jerk my hand away. A sharp edge. Tentatively, I return my fingers to the edge. Not sharp enough to cut. I move my fingers further and find a deep crater that extends almost to the center of the object. A piece is missing. This object is some kind of artifact that has been shattered and then reassembled, but one fragment is still missing.
Suddenly, I am aware that I am not alone. Someone is sitting within a few feet of me. I hear a scraping sound as this person repositions.
“Violet.”
I know that voice.
“Violet.”
A warm hand placed on mine.
“Violet, please. Don’t do this.”
Who is pleading with me? What am I going to do?
I squeeze the hand, and then push it away.
“I’m sorry. I have to.”
I feel an overwhelming sadness. I feel despair. I feel regret.
What have I done?
I feel pain. I feel warmth. The stickiness of blood.
Tears overflow from my eyes and run freely down my cheeks.
A light begins to emanate from the artifact. It begins as a subtle glow, but grows so rapidly that in mere moments it is just as blinding as the darkness.
I hear myself talking, but my voice is very quiet, as if I am a great distance away.
“I’m so sorry.�
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* * *
Today, I do not wake gradually. I pull myself from sleep so violently that by the time I realize that I am awake, I am sitting upright in my bed. The sheets are twisted tightly around me, and I stumble as I struggle to disentangle myself.
I cannot stop thinking about the dream. What had I done?
I sincerely hope that I do not look as haggard as I feel when I say, “What are you doing in here?”
I’m speaking to my father. He is standing in the doorway of my bedroom, no doubt drawn by my cries. I know that I’m being short with him, but I am frustrated with my memory. What is my brain trying to tell me with these dreams?
“I heard you call out, V. Are you remembering? Is that what your dream was about?”
“No, I’m not remembering! Stop asking me if I remember! Don’t you think I would tell you if I did? Don’t you think I’d be happy to actually remember who you are, instead of knowing that you’re my father because you told me so? Don’t you think I wish I could remember my mother? I can’t remember. I don’t think I ever will, so just leave me alone. You’re not the one who has to live with this. I do. Let’s not forget, I’m the one who was injured. I’m the one who lost everything. You walked away from that accident without a scratch.”
My father could not look more hurt if I had slapped him across the face. I shouldn’t have said any of that, but it’s true, and I’m too angry right now to regret speaking to him that way.
When he speaks, his voice is small and quiet.
“Violet, if you would tell me what these dreams are about, maybe we could figure it out together. I’m not trying to push you; I just don’t want you to give up.”
My father stands, waiting for me to respond, to give him some kind of sign that I want to keep trying, but I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of wishing. I do not look up.
Before he turns to walk away, he says, “You’re wrong, you know. You’re not the only one who lost everything you had. So did I. When we had that accident, I lost Violet. I lost my daughter. And I want her back. So I won’t stop trying to help you remember. I’ll never stop.”
I watch his back as he walks away. Perhaps a second opinion could help me to decipher what these dreams mean. Maybe these dreams are the key to unlocking my memories. I know they’re there somewhere; I just have to find them.
Sheepishly, I walk into my father’s study. He is sitting at his desk piddling with one of the many hobbies he has adopted since his retirement: survivalist research. Right now, he’s classifying plants. He is fascinated by the legends of those who have escaped into the vast wilderness beyond Eligo. For most people, this hobby would be a lot of work, but not for my father. He misses his days in the Claro; I can tell.
He looks at me over the top of his magnifying glasses and waits for me to speak. I suppose this is payback for my harsh outburst earlier. We have a staring contest for what seems like an eternity, and then I begin to speak. I tell my father about all of the dreams I’ve been having since I awoke and we relocated to Eligo. I tell him that the dreams are all different, but they seem linked in my mind, as if they refer to the same situation. I believe that my brain is using the dreams to tell me the same thing, only telling me in different ways so I’ll understand. I even show my father the sketchbook that I keep to record what I can remember about the dream. Finally, I tell him the details that I can remember of the dream I had last night. When I begin to describe the artifact, my father’s face registers something unfamiliar. He seems confused and uneasy.
“All right, now I’ve told you everything. What are your thoughts? Do you agree that perhaps these dreams are somehow related to my lost memories?”
“Well, Violet, it’s difficult to tell with these types of things. These dreams might have nothing at all to do with your memories. Perhaps they’re just synapses firing and producing random images.”
My excitement at sharing something with my father begins to dissipate.
“What? You’re the one who said these dreams might be important, and now that I’ve got my hopes up, you’re saying that they’re probably nothing?”
My father shifts uneasily in his chair, and I am reminded of his similar behavior when he told me about Earth.
“I’m sorry, V. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. I thought that I could help you decipher the dreams, but now that you’ve described them to me, I just don’t think anything in them is pertinent.”
My father returns his attention to the plant samples on his desk.
“Well, maybe the dreams could relate back to the accident itself. What happened, again?”
“Violet, you know what happened.”
“Yes, I just want you to tell me again.”
“I really don’t think that this line of thinking is productive, Violet. I don’t think we should discuss it anymore.”
He looks down again. I’ve been dismissed.
Fuming, I return to my bedroom. I’ve got to talk to David. At this point, I feel like David is more honest with me than my own father. I arrange to meet David in a meadow near my house. I shower, change my clothes, change my clothes again, and then set off to meet him. I feel ridiculous about having changed my clothes again. Since when do I concern myself with whether or not David likes what I’ve chosen to wear? Ever since our confrontation outside of Nineteen, our friendship has become somewhat complicated. As I walk, I wonder, Do I care about David? Well, I certainly value his friendship, but lately, there’s been something else. I find myself wishing to be around him. I do silly things like change my clothes and fix my hair when I know he’ll be around. Perhaps I’ve begun to have feelings for David in a way I hadn’t thought about before. I know that David enjoys my company, but I doubt that he changes the way he looks for me. I doubt he thinks about me when I’m not around. As I have this thought, I feel a pang in my chest.
By the time I reach the meadow, David is already there. His dark form is silhouetted against the brightness of our moons, and I am once again struck by him. No, certainly someone like him would never care for someone like me. It would serve me to simply remove those thoughts from my mind, but every time I look at him, I remember how it felt when he touched me.
Hearing my approach, David turns to greet me. He smiles and begins to walk toward me. When we have closed the gap, he motions to our surroundings and says, “How advantageous, that we’ve both come to the same clearing in the same meadow on the same night. Guess it was meant to be.” He winks. Though I’d love to joke around with him all night, I’m here on a mission.
“David, I need your help.”
His expression turns serious. “What’s wrong, Violet? Are you all right?”
“Yes, it’s just that… Well, I guess I’m going to need you to use those spectacular computer skills you’re always talking about.”
He tilts his head and looks at me skeptically. “Violet, what’s this about? What do you want me to do?”
I’ve prepared myself for the shock on his face when I say, “I need you to investigate my father.”
David is apprehensive to say the least. “You might learn some things that you wish you hadn’t. You won’t be able to un-see it, Violet. It will never be the same.”
I know that this is true; I often wish that I didn’t know the truth about what happened on Earth. I can’t feel that anyone on Cerno deserves what we have because of the methods our ancestors used to get it. Despite these feelings, I cannot rest until I know the truth about what happened to me. David senses my determination and relents.
“If you want me to investigate your accident, I need you to tell me everything you know about it. I know you told me it was an accident involving a vehicle. What else?”
I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts. I’ve made my father tell me how it happened so many times that I can recite it as if I actually remember.
“It was early in the seasons, just before I saw my seventh rotation. My father had taken me to Eligo to show me my mother’s favorite place. She died
when I was young. On the way back to Summus, he was startled by an animal in the road, and turned the wheel sharply. Our vehicle turned over several times. My father was unharmed, but I had sustained a severe head injury. I slept, comatose, for almost two full rotations. Everyone lost hope. They told my father that it was time that he began to mourn me, but he would not give up. Then one day, without any signal, I awoke. That is where my memories begin. I remember that when I opened my eyes, my father was leaning over me, though I did not know who he was. I did not remember anything, not even my own name. The dreams began that night, and I have seldom passed a night without one since.”
When I finish speaking, David is silent for several moments. I can almost see him thinking. I remain silent, too. This must be his decision. I cannot make it for him. He does not owe me anything, and if he refused, I could not hold it against him.
“Violet, are you sure you want me to do this?”
I formulate my words carefully as I respond to David. “I feel that my father is hiding something pertaining to my accident. I have attempted to discuss it with him, but I can tell he is being evasive. I have no choice but to find the information without his help. Will you help me?”
David nods his head in assent and says, “Meet me here tomorrow night. If I haven’t found it by then, it doesn’t exist.”
Six
Since I asked David to investigate my father, I’ve been able to think of nothing else. The time seems to crawl by, and I am left to pass the hours with my thoughts. What kind of person enlists a friend to investigate her own father? I tell myself that he left me no other option. He is hiding something from me, and I must find out what it is. Then again, he probably has his reasons for what he has done. Everything I know about him tells me that he always has my best interests at heart. He never does anything without thinking of me. He passed two rotations in a chair at my bedside waiting for me to wake up, never losing hope. He still has not given up on recovering my memories. He moved us to Eligo so I could live a more fulfilled life. Why am I questioning him now? What do I suspect him of?
