Between the devil and the deep blue sea
The red is just me taking notes. lol
The bottle crashed against the wood floor, sending shards in all directions, glinting by the firelight. Blood dripped from a cut on my palm. Red on white, this was gonna be a long night.
Grim was in the other room with Sunny, writing their way into jail, while I did the dishes. The smell of oil paints and turpentine permeated the frozen London night. There were six other people currently in an abandoned cottage that only housed two. The cold outside couldn't weave it's spindly fingers in here if it tried, the heat from the multitude of bodies... most of which engaged in many things illegal, caused the windows to sweat.
We, the people that occupy this room, these halls in this ancient building, are children of sculptors, actors, film makers, poets, novelists, and these days... outlaws. We are all orphaned, or abandoned. We are master thieves with hearts of gold, writers, actors, machinists stuck in our own minds, directors, musicians. These things are banned in the new world. These art forms that we practice we practice now in secret, by firelight. In an age of a dissolving stock market and overwhelming greed we, as well as our parents and predecessors, were forced underground decades ago. Record companies no longer exist in 2100, studios are empty skeletons, silver screen back lots hold nothing but the carcasses of old sets. We were outlawed because we were dangerous in our influence and they, the Grandee… the bank owners, the big corporation executives… were all too aware.
Somehow, were forced to make this work. Were not of legal age to be thrown out on the street yet so we live in orphanages. All of us are from St. Mary's for girls or St. Nicholas for boys respectively. We slog through our classes during the week and make our way to the English countryside by the time weekends crawl in. We scour the abandoned homes, and set up shop where we read and write and act and paint. It's our coveted bit of rebellion in this modern cold world, where we create our legacy. It is ours to bear into this world with pain and anxious, pacing wait. It ours to fuck up, it is ours to love and coddle, it is ours. It's all we have.
That morning we rushed to get dressed and be the first into the bathrooms. On most mondays we could be found scrubbing the paint from our hands while everyone else ate in the other wing.
"Isn't it sad that it would be entirely scandalous to find something as simple as paint on our hands?" Sunny complained.
"It is the way it is," I said.
Note: I want circumstances to show that she has a strong maternal sense. I want her to be sort of nonplussed by the censorship because she has her 'family' to worry about. Not because she doesn't care.
"Alright, well Im headed out, you coming?"
"I'll be there in a bit,"
I heard her heels click on the tile floor as she walked out. I perched on top the toilet in the far left stall, and avoided all responsibility for a moment. I traced the red river of a cut on my hand. It would scar no doubt, and waited. I waited for tears to come hot, and damp down my cheeks. Nothing came, just a lump in my throat that made it ache. I felt stuck, my skin crawled. I felt injustice in the way that only spoiled sixteen year olds feel injustice. I was born to a computer program developer father, and a ballerina mother that saved herself by marrying my dad. They died in the 2090 tram attack, I was six years old and immediately sent here. Unlike the others I was raised thinking anything was possible. I was raised with art. I've played piano since I was three. I was trained classically, but often played like a maniac when everything got all pent up as it usually does, like now. It's how I got the nickname Rocker. The frustration inside of me was about to burst, I wanted to hit, and break, and crash, and slam, and inflict all manner of onomatopoeia on the new world. If I couldn't get it out, I'd go insane. I was so glad that Grim and I had a planned distress signal… Three flashes of the premlight into the window of his classroom. Albeit risky, and crude, we had no other options, besides the ubiquitous pebles-at-the-window. We decided to make it a bit more 22nd Century.
The first friend I made here was Sunny (a play on her last name, Fairweather). After a self imposed nietzschean silence, she was the only one I would talk to, and she led me to Grim. When we were children we would meet on the far reaches of the concrete playground, about a half mile out from the school, shrouded in the trees. The nuns would sit on benches leaned directly on the East side of the building, and rarely move. They cared little what we did as long as we were cunning enough to keep it from the head masters. And one thing Grim never lacked was cunning, in every sense of the word. Grim still looks mostly the same as he did then. Tall, lanky, shoulder length blonde hair, wide blue eyes. He always has the biggest smile on his face, and eyes that sparkle, soaking up the big world. It's how he got the name Grim you know, a sort of childhood irony. He was, and is, everything I am not. I loved him instantly.
I slid through bathroom window and out onto the side lawn. I felt a bit of guilt for Sunny who would have to cover for me, but it wasn't like I hadn't done it for her plenty of times. Sunny had some neat little secrets of her own. There was a space of about half a football field in between the respective schools. The grass was emerald green, even in the earliest stages of winters strangulation. No light escaped from the sky this morning, but it was clear and crisp, and the smell of precipitation on grass this early in the morning reminded me of camp. My feet touched ground and made a satisfying, but terrifyingly loud, crunch. The headmasters hall was across the lawn from me, basement floor. I said a little prayer asking God to please keep any and all priests in their quarters at this time. Counterintuitive maybe, but I was sure God could see my plight. Just then I heard the squeal of an opening window. These buildings were Victorian and the windows were hard to crank open, they often warranted assistance. I'd been caught. I bolted across the lawn, my shoes slipping in the cold dew. Whoever was trailing me could run faster than I could, no small feat. I felt a hand grip my shoulder and slid into the mushy soil.
"What the hell are you doing?" Grim said.
"Coming to get you! How did you get the window open alone? I thought you were in chapel still?"
"I have what is known as brute strength. And also it was left cracked a bit. Breaking the seal is the hardest part," He said, grinning, "And you're hair is fire signal red, hard to miss,"
"And you, dear, have the hair of a precious baby girl," I said.
"You are, if you are anything, original,"
I grabbed my shoulders in mock chill, "I feel quite vulnerable out in the open lawn, so risky,"
He stood up, and extended his hand, "Shall we?"
And we walked in silence to the back woods of our childhood. We swatted through overgrowth until we came to an open area.
"Still slightly uncomfortable, but cozy," he pointed out.
I nodded. We sat facing each other, legs bent and intertwined.
"Know whats weird?" I said.
"Whats weird Rock?"
"Secretive places always have to make me pee. Like a good hiding spot during hide and go seek, or when you made tents out of sheets and your bed when you were little. I always have to pee as soon as I'm nicely tucked in them," I said.
"I do that too, incredibly inconvenient," He paused, "Do you have to pee right now?"
"Kind of," I said.
"Me too, but I'll be a gentlemen and suffer with you, despite my ability as a boy to pee anywhere at any given time,"
"You are the definition of chivalrous Grim,"
He smiled. A bright Grim smile that can only be expressed through literary terms as 'inexpressible in literary terms'.
"So what's the trouble Rock?"
"Same old trouble, same old frustrations. I got sob storied into using the cab money for a new dress for Sunny. Well more for the Judge than for Sunny,"
And now was one of the unique times that Grims face became dark and stoic. He looked like a mirror image of me.
"He's appalling. He's married," He started.
"He's loaded. He's higher up. He makes big promises to insecure girls. He may be a predator, but it's not always the preys fault," I said, defending Sunny.
"I never said it was, I just can't believe we lost a trip to the cottage to a judge."
Judges were second in line to Senators and they were all the grandee, oppressors of our kind. This particular judge liked to promise the world to pretty, but beggared girls, and use them for show and recreation. This is nothing new in the long line of politicians. The grandee just didn't care who saw it, wives or no.
Just then we heard the kids break onto the playground, and it was time to get to class. My heart grew heavier as we trudged toward our respective buildings. The kids barely gave us a thought. Kids don't care about flame red hair or skinny, long haired boys. My hopes and dreams were held in suspension by the thieving hands of an orphan, hands intertwined in mine.
Chap. 2
Sunny sat in the bed pushed against mine in the 'suite' on the third floor. She was flipping hair bands across the room, trying land them on the ledge of the window. Sunny and I lived in Fallon Hall with two other girls, Jaz and Sarah. A large, three floor, brick building. It had been a hospital in the 19th century. There were rumors that it was haunted by bloodletting barbarians. When we were younger, this theory held water and we sat up at night, sweating undercover, being decidedly un-British and letting our emotions get the best of us. Then year six history came along and we learned that by the time Fallon was built, bloodletting was declared quackery. Everyone pretended they had never believed and life moved on. There were still tell-tale remnants of Fallons former life… Squeaky polished tile floors, wash basins in every room. There were halls with nothing but small and separate rooms, curtain tracks made semicircles around the ceilings of them. Then suddenly there would be an open sitting area that had been made into haphazard sleeping quarters for the unlucky. These 'suites' had no doors and sleeping quarters were at a first come, first serve basis. You had to be a diligent, early riser to get the coveted individual dorms. Sunny and I, we were in the 'suite' on the third floor. Despite the ragtag, cobbled together family that occupied it, it was a grand building. A gorgeous, curving staircase led up to the first floor from the ground floor with it's large and inviting common room. It was hard to imagine near death patients being wheeled in. Women about to burst with life being rushed into the 2nd floor maternity ward. The very likely prospect of risking their life to bring another into the world running through their heads. I was struck by the prosaic goings on in this place that once tethered life and death together on a string. Now it just housed foundlings grappling with the Earth shaking idea of rejection from the most lawless of boys. For nefarious was a compliment in this crowd of cast-offs.
Night fell on London and we were all in our rooms, lights out. I was still awake as usual. Sunny could sleep with a freight train roaring over our heads, and I, the opposite, could be awoken by a petal falling from a flower two kilometers away. I had the envy of an insomniac. Most of my nights consisted of prayer, rumination on all things pointless, trying to avoid rumination of the not-so-pointless, giving up, and staring at Sunny, Jaz, and Sarah in rapt jealousy. I thought of Grim, sound asleep, and peaceful. Sneaking out was not an easy operation, and therefor not often attempted… even by the sneakiest by which I mean, the company I kept. And besides it was one o'clock in the morning, and in five hours Sunny and I would have to wake early to head into town (from Lambeth a 30 frenum (change, bit in latin) cab ride) and buy her dress that will cost our weekend (The 45.00 Votum each, four people donating their allowance) and make for a very grumpy Grim. I resigned myself to the positive, and nestled into the warm cocoon of the dark room.
I woke with an alarm blaring in my head, my feet almost numb from having made their way out of the covers in a fitful sleep. Sarah was up, and had gotten to the shower before me. Sunny, of course, slept through the alarm. I pushed her awake. And went on a search for one of the rogue hair bands by the window.
"Its dress day!" Sunny said. Hands outstretched, "I feel a bit nauseous about the whole bit honestly,"
"You are not alone," I smiled.
"The ball, not the shopping,"
"Oh, yes. Well it should be beautiful." And I stayed silent. Despite her faults, I understood why Sunny would go along with being paraded about by Judge Simon. Survival was a crude human instinct that will be the last of all of our anthropological virtues to die. It is the nature of the beast. Most especially when that beast had been as abounded, and contused as our lot.
Before long we were all dressed and in a black cab headed for central London. Buildings that spanned the timeline of our country loomed overhead. We passed Lambeth Castle, once home to the archbishop of Canterbury and now taken over by the Mr. Simon himself. For years unfathomable it had been a holy place of residence, and now it was mired in the most unholiest of lives. I tried to imagine Sunny occupying the castle, Judge Simon's two children trailing her out the front door as they headed for the Rhyne to see papa in action. The Rhyne is the main Judicial building. It stands near to Parliament, the grand old building with its golden spires sits stoically next to a building made entirely of screens. The screens alternate between advertisements and holographical projections of Candidates, and Judges, and Senators. England is made up of five provinces at the present moment, though through money and brute power they are subject to change. Judges run provinces, Two Senators, usually a husband and wife, oversee them and 'control power distribution'. We live in the Civitas provence. It's been held in a steady stronghold my entire life by first Judge Simon Sr. and now by the Judge Simon you have come to know. The provinces and the areas they encompass are as follows…
Five Provinces
1. Civitas (City)- London, Surrey and Kent (Simon family)
2. Externus (Outer)- W. Sussex, E. Sussex, Hampshire, Berkshire, Oxforshire, Buckinghamshire, Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire, Norfolk, Suffolk Essex, and Hertforshire. (Hunter family)
3. Solum (Foundation)-From Gloucestershire, around the Externus border down to the Southernmost tip of England. Also, Isle of Wighte. (Hendricks family)
4. Viscus (Heart, bowels)-From Hereford and Worcester to Cheshire to Lincolnshire. (Rayburn family)
5. Caelum (Heaven)-From Merceyside, along the Viscus border, up to Northumberland. (Roe family)
The Simons own various textile, and precious gem distribution companies internationally. They also own the store we are about to enter, InterMerch. Intermerch had been an architectural innovation when it came out. They had kept the outer facade of the Tower of London, but nearly ripped all of it's guts out, replacing it with hi-tech candy. It had been the death place of two of Henry the VIII's wives, and numerous others. The crown jewels used to be held in this castle, and now there are plastic cases full of fake imitations and glittering higher end rocks. At the checkout counter, there was even an imitation of the Imperial Crown of India. The Koh-i-Noor diamond splattered shards of rainbows across the counter. Since the royal family had all been tossed out as the figure heads of England, the crown know belongs to the sitting Senators. Once Sunny and I were squared away in a dressing room, with two of the largest dresses I'd ever laid eyes on, I wondered aloud where it was held.
"Rock!" Sunny said, in a shouted whisper.
"What? It's an innocent question, it's not like Im asking you to sex it out of the good Judge himself so I can pull off the greatest heist known to man,"
She rolled her eyes, and pulled a large, puff of purple over her head. I zipped up the back, and we evaluated.
"I look like I'm going to a Bat Mitvah," Sunny said.
"You do look a bit… jailbait- esque,"
She smiled, "I do find it so difficult to hide the truth,"
The dress was removed, and left in a heap on the floor. It was really starting to bother me that the more Sunny was with the Judge, the more she got used to people cleaning up after her. I quickly moved to hang the dress in it' s proper place before the attendant came in.
"If it's all in one piece, I would bet that it's in Northumberland. Tyne Bank, with the Roe's. It seems a bit obvious, but it's the most secure place I can think of besides Lambeth house, And I seriously doubt Edgar would ever put himself in the position to ever help the Roe's. Having something that valuable in your house… he'd be asking for it," Sunny whispered.
"All the way up north, what a shame," I tsked.
Another eye roll and we were off to the dressing room again. This time with three new options.
"That seems like such a small bit of fabric to constitute and entire dress," Sunny smirked.
"On with it!" I said. She slipped the satin dress on. All we could manage for a moment, was astonishment.
I reached for a positive remark, "Well… you do look older,"
"I look a bit like a street walker," She said.
"I would agree that things could be classier," I said. It took a bit of wriggling, and gymnastic finesse, to get out of LBD option one. The second option went on with a bit more ease.
Sunny's eyes widened with unadulterated love.
"It's beautiful!" she said. And it was.
"You look so grown up,"
"Thats the idea," she smiled.
The dress had a low, but not to low, wide neck line, and medium sized satin straps. It hugged her curves, and cut just just above the knee. She looked like the pictures she'd shown me of her mother. The first wife of a politician. She looked savoir-faire.
I looked for the price tag out of both envy, and curiosity. It was 160 Votum (Currency, promise to God in latin). I nearly had a heart attack. Such big money, for such a small piece of fabric.
The woman in the checkout queue looked at us as if we were lepers. She asked if we truly intended to buy such a garment. Sunny produced our combined money with a flourish, and a smile. I must say, money does indeed talk. And if it were speaking for Sunny, it would most definitely be saying bug off. As we sat down in the waiting cab, I couldn't help but feel a bit dejected. Even with Sunny's giddiness, I was sad and worried and I hate being sad and worried. I am a worry wart by nature, but rarely do things get me down, and seeing her spend the equivalent of three weekends of money in one stop did the trick. We had 20v left though, and there wasn't much I could do with it, so I suggested new shoes, and off we went.
By the time we had slipped back into Fallon hall, it was storming outside. Late night escapades, or the planning thereof had commenced. It was lights out, so the small, iridescent beams of permlights could be seen darting across the rooms at odd intervals. The academicians were all submitting their homework early, via Comminicare. The government funded, and thereby monitored, communication system. Their faces were lit up with the glow of the free standing holographic screens. Their fingers fluttered quickly on the keyboard projected on the ground in front of them. To their sides were two small cylinders, called Kylindros. One that projected the image of the screen, the other projected the image of the keyboard.
"Sunny! The dress, lets see it!" Jazz said, whipping the covers from the bed, and covering the windows so she could seal the beams of light from prying eyes. Everyone had gathered in the common room.
Sunny stepped out sheepishly, "Do you like it? Does it look like I'm trying too too hard?" She was glowing.
"No!" Said Sarah, and the room murmured agreement. Sunny giggled… genuinely giggled, and spun, and proceeded to parade herself across the room. All those nights in the country she spent toiling away with Grim, being the playwright and avoiding the stage, suddenly seemed long gone.
Chp.3
Father Amissus sat down, and his knees creaked under his thin frame. He had been lecturing us for a little under an hour about mitochondria, and cell walls. The room had been so still, that when he moved to sit back down, the motion sensing lights flicked back to life.
"End-O-plasmic retic-ulum," he sing- singed, pointing to the projection in front of us. The model shifted to display the green zig zags inside the cell, the projection flickered as the old bulb nearly gave way,
"These bulbs! How are we supposed to teach our nations future without the appropriate tools?'" he said.
"We aren't this nations children. Were it's bastards," Sarah said.
"I'll have no talk of that. Were all of great worth in Gods eyes dear. Now, to the endoplasmic reticulum."
He proceeded to sing the words and have us sing them back to him. He seems to think this will help us remember. The light of the projector flickered out as we repeated the words 'end-O-plasmic ritic-ulum'. He gave a great sigh,
"Books were far more dependable. And cheap for that matter," he said.
"Change of pace!" He said, laying his pointer down.
"I would like to know something. How many of you remember a world before the advent of Communicare? How many of you still dive into a good paper and ink book?"
A smattering of hands raised across the room.
"Do you feel like anything is lost by reading on these holograms? Do you feel a disconnect? If not, why do you prefer ComCare?"
A small, blonde, first year spoke up, " I like both, but I prefer ink and paper. Maybe it's the romance or the history,"
"Because we don't have a huge history. I like them because it something our parents, our grandparents, and generations and generations before them did. Something small that we might have in common," Sunny added.
"And they can't freeze up, or burn out on you… or to be honest, be monitored," The freshman finished.
"Anyone strictly ComCare?" Said Father Amissus.
Sarah raised her hand, "I am. I just feel it's a bother to have books. Why go through all the time of finding a seller, then lug it across town with you? Some of them are hundreds of pages long!"
"But to feel them. To physically feel the words. To draw on them when you want… and the smell, the artwork" Sunny said.
"They smell like a basement damp," Said Sarah.
"They smelled like they've been somewhere besides a Kylindros factory. And ComCare kills the author. Im sure it's their whole reason for inventing the whole thing anyway," Sunny said, " All along they're saying they're giving you free communication. Free communication my arse! They're about profit, and ruling with an iron fist, not community!"
"Well, doesn't Judge Simon own Kylindros factories? I believe he even funds CommuniCare!" Sarah said.
I could see the sting in Sunnys eyes. She knew she had set herself up.
"Interesting debate," Father Amissus thankfully cut the tension, " Next time. I'll try to stay on topic. Seeing as Miss. Fairweather, and Miss. Sontag can't seem to have a mature debate."
We walked out of the room, and into the lunch hall. It was a massive room, used to house the triage centre so many years before. Floor to ceilings windows made it echo with the pattering of the rain. Today, we were having turkey sandwiches with sweet potato casserole. I was surprised to see Sunny grab the sandwich. She had very strong feelings about animal rights, and I hadn't seen her touch meat in ages.
"I might as well. I seem to have abandoned every other principle," She said.
"Oh, don't pity yourself. You can change it, it's not a sentence," I said, and headed off to the table by the last window.
We sat and ate. Sunny eventually put the turkey aside and ate the mayonnaise, lettuce and bread plain.
"I do love him," she said.
"I've no doubt," I didn't look her in the eye.
"Rock, I do. This isn't some coup for money,"
"I know this is going to sound Shakespearian-esque cliche, but how exactly can you love someone who represents everything you detest?"
"It's the things he says. The way he cares about what I have to say, and he's so much more wise. You should hear the way he talks," She eyed the windows wistfully. I could chuck this tray at her.
"The way he moans?"
"Low, Rocker. Even for you," and she picked up her food, and left.
I sat, self righteously solitary , in the lunch hall for the rest of the period. While it is true that I have a brazen mouth, I wouldn't call it harsh. I was, however, a bit worried about how the night was going to turn out with both Sarah and I mad at Sunny. So I casually walked out of the lunch hall with bad intentions.
As everyone made for their respective classrooms, I slipped into an open period class. A few kids lined up at the front desk to rent out some Kylindros.
"Sister Anne," I said.
"Yes, Felicity?" She said, not looking up from her check-out log. The use of my real name makes my palms sweat. Authority isn't always kind to us.
"I was just wondering if you might have some Asprin? My head is splitting," I said. Trying my best to look fragile.
"I've got some in my bag," she said, getting up.
"You tend to Charlie here," I said, easing her back into her chair, "I'm a big girl,"
She gave me a warm smile. I stepped behind her, and filched the permlight from her bag. I wasn't stealing from a nun, mind you. I was quietly borrowing. I had every intention of returning it.
"Thank you Sister Anne,"
"I hope you feel better Felicity," she smiled.
I trudged in what I hope was a slightly disoriented way, into the bathroom.
This time, I was on the second floor. While not that high, it was high enough for me to do my best ballerinas leap to the ground. I landed with a thud. A reminder of how ungraceful I truly am. I clicked the permlight three times into the window of the first floor of St. Nicks, then ran like the wind, hood up so as disguise my hair, into the woods. My ribs ached as I waited for Grim to feign an excuse to leave the room, and jump out the nearest window. I heard the familiar crunching of twigs and leaves. No matter how many times we've done this, my heart always starts to pound. I don't feel safe until I see his outline.
"Grim," I whisper.
"Fee?"
"Fuck you, real names are illicit. Jackson Hart," I hissed.
He smiled at me, held my head his hands, and kissed me.
"That doesn't melt away any anger I might have towards you're using my real name, I'll have you know," I said.
"I know," he smiled.
"Why are you more chipper than usual?" I asked.
"Well, my dear, I think the weekend trip is back on," he said.
"But, my love, we have no money,"
"Always the sarcasm. You fail to realize my expert thieving skills," He grinned, "And also, Mickeys secret genius,"
Mickey has been Grims friend since time immemorial. Mickey has Aspergers, and is usually written off as odd, and stupid. Odd? Yes, but aren't we all? Stupid… they couldn't be more wrong.
"What is it?" I sighed.
"I know you hate missing out on scheming but we had no choice. We believe Mickey has found the story to the Judges key,"
Keys were cards that held a password. This password could be one word, but most held a sentence that had to be encrypted into every key verbatim. A story, usually scandalous, or something kept within the family.
"Im a bit worried about asking what you think it is," I said.
"Well, we think it's about what he likes in bed. He's got a bit of Bowie in him apparently," Grim smirked.
"I can't decide if I forgive Sunny or not. I cant stop picturing him in bed. Oh God," I said, "And, has Mickey figured out how to break the encoding, or whatever it is he does?"
"We think so. We can't possibly know until we try though," Grim said.
Petty thievery was common in our circle. Breaking and entering abandoned houses even, but breaking into a private residence? Not all that common. I had to admit that I didn't feel all too hesitant about the moral aspects of robbing a Judge. But it was the law breaking, and jail time serving that set me back.
"No, Grim. I just don't think I can. Where would they place Mickey if we went to jail? What would they do with him if he got caught? What would Sunny do?" I asked.
"Do you realize what we could do with the money we got from just one his precious little jewels? We could buy a school, teach art in secret, put out your music underground. We could buy Mick the special education he needs. Hell, if they discover what he can do, we'll never have to steal again! They'd just have to give him a chance," Grim said
"And what if they use him? What if they discover what he can do, and pay him shit money for his unique talents. He would take what he could get, and who would listen to us if we demanded more?" I said.
Grim fell quiet. His lips pursed in concentration.
"I suppose your'e right,"
"What?" I asked. My face in mock surprise.
"You are correct dear," he rolled his eyes.
He stood up, and held out his hand, "Lets walk?" he said
We walked, and thrashed through the woods until we got to the man-made ravine that ran along the back side of the schools. Sheets of rock were laid in a staircase formation so as to make a waterfall. It had just rained, so it was running quit nicely. Smooth and easy.
I sudden, dull, ache hit me in the chest. Im usually pretty good at holding these things off, but today, the gaping hole of absence fell through. It seemed to take my breath away.
"God, I want to go home," I said. "It's so hard to believe that I can't go to it sometimes. It seems so impossible that something I took for granted as normal, is so far out of reach now,"
Grim wrapped his arms around me. I buried my face in his shoulder. Tears tugging, but not falling.
"We'll make our own proper home. With little red haired, rambunctious babies. They'll love their aunt Sunny and uncle Mickey. They'll learn from the craziest theatre kids, and musicians. All the best Rock, I promise," he said
"I want a proper piano," I said
"A proper piano it is." He said, his smile beaming.
Things unmentionable happen often down my that ravine. It is one of the few unmonitored places we have. But birth control in any form isn't available to us. Both because we're the poor, and because we're held in a catholic orphanage. Grim and I aren't stupid. Those red headed beauties, with their daddies wide blue eyes, would have to wait.
We walked back to our respective buildings. I returned Sister Anne's Permlight, and then headed back to the suite. When I got in, the sun was going down casting an orange glow over the room. Sunny lay asleep, her head halfway under a pillow to buffer the sound of everyone else. I felt a pang guilt for abandoning her when she needed me. Some relationships, you should never question. What Sunny was doing was hurting herself, she'd never hurt me. And let's face it, I shouldn't be the one to condemn anyone here. I just made a bad moral call, saved only by a weak technicality, by spiriting away a nuns permlight. So I laid down on the bed next to her.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry Im a shit friend, and I say things I don't mean. I just get mad and words spew out of my mouth," I whispered in her ear.
She pulled the pillow away and looked me in the eye,
"I care very much about what you have to say. You may not think it, but I listen to everything you say, even if I don't DO everything you say," She said.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a shrew. I say it because I care too,"
"Were sick, " she laughed, " 'I care about you Rock,', 'Oh Sunny, I do care about you too'" She said.
"Scoot over woman," I said.
"Oh, is it that kind of caring now?"
"Oh, let's spoon!" I said.
"Or you could not hog my bit of bed," she laughed.
And we fell asleep with permlights, and CommCare projections dancing around us. The sound of small, quiet laughter, sighs of cramming frustration, and cars zipping by with their headlight beams rolling across our faces. For the first time since I moved here, I slept without medical aid. I felt at home. And I didn't know wether to feel grateful, or keep fighting the feeling of complacency.
"Because were a disposable world. What you leave is rarely what you come home to."
