Ayah and his Lyra

The night is clear, not a trace of a cloud could be seen. A mellow breeze tousles my hair. It is refreshing as it dances gently across my body. While the night has cooled significantly from the heat of the summer day, it is still overly warm. The tall grass rustles on the perimeter of the pond; the crickets chirp, accompanied by an occasional ribbit from a frog. It is as if the night has composed a natural soundtrack for us to bask in. I lay here beside my Ayah on an old down comforter, matching him in almost every way. Our skin, though mine is slightly lighter, is tan in color with traces of rose beneath the flesh of our cheeks. Our hair is the same shade of glossy black. Our noses both petite, button-like. Our lips too are the same, always pouty owing to their slightly downward-turned shape. We look so much alike, except for in the eyes, Ayah’s eyes are small, narrow and framed by short dark lashes, they are such a deep shade of brown they appear almost black. My eyes on the other hand are large, round, and framed with long curly dark lashes; they are light brown around the pupil, and they bleed into a deep blue. They are my Daddy’s eyes.

  Ayah and Daddy once explained to me that historically only a gen-male and a gen-female could create offspring together. In those days it would not have been possible to be the genetic offspring of two same-gen individuals, but any pairing of gen-male and gen-female could create an offspring together. They were not required to obtain authorization or to prove competency before creating life. Now parents to be must apply for and complete the required courses. They are only chosen to create a new life after passing both written and practical exams. They told me how before, genetically born females grew the offspring in their bellies, and they tried to explain the birthing process, which made me grateful for the advancements that allowed for a safer and less barbaric way for offspring to be created.

Ayah and I are alike in other ways too, most notably our shared love of music and the stars. Tonight, as we lay here, our hands are cradled beneath our heads, fingers intertwined. Our bare feet sway gently in time to the night’s melody. We lay here together looking up at the night sky, searching for a familiar star, something we have done often throughout my lifetime.

  “There!” I say pointing towards the familiar grouping of stars. “I’m right there, Ayah!” He usually spots Lyra first, as if his eyes are magnetically drawn to Vega, one of the brightest stars in the sky that sits in the upper corner of the constellation Lyra.

“Ya, Lyra manis saya, ada anda,” his voice is soft with a hint of sadness.

Ayah’s accent from his home country is mostly unnoticeable, faded after spending so many years away, but it slips out occasionally, especially when he speaks to me in his native Bahasa Indonesia. Yes, my sweet Lyra, there you are, a phrase he says often, usually accompanied by a soft chuckle. Tonight, it is barely audible as if he cannot bear to speak the words aloud.

“Ayah?” I turned my eyes away from the stars to look at him. His eyes are closed. He wasn’t looking for Vega tonight.

 “Ayah, what’s wrong?”

He inhales deeply. He doesn’t respond. His eyes remain closed. 

“Ayah, please? You’re scaring me.”

He hesitates for a brief moment, but I can see he is trying to formulate his words. “My sweet Lyra, I don’t want you to be scared, I just…” He stops speaking as he turns to look at me for the first time and I can see the moisture as the moonlight reflects off the tears in his eyes. 

I had only ever seen Ayah cry once before, the day we received the news that Daddy had been killed. The World Edification was in the early stage, and all of Earth’s citizens were required to come to the High Commission consulate to register. Ayah and Daddy felt it was best for only one of them to report to the High Commission while the other stayed home with me. The Recalcitrant Forces had been persistently causing chaos, so driven by fear they refused to accept the peace and harmony being offered by the High Commission. The wanted me safe at home.

Though it’s been six months, I can still remember it as clearly as if it happened yesterday.

I was sitting in Daddy’s chair, my feet crossed beneath my knees, Ayah was in his chair, beside me, as we watched one of our favorite old movies. There was a knock at the door, I looked over to Ayah, confused. As far as I knew, we were not expecting any visitors. It hadn’t been considered appropriate to show up at someone else’s home uninvited since the early part of the century. Ayah stopped the movie and rose to check it out.  

As he passed me, he paused and spoke softly, he cupped his hand to my cheek, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head Lyra, manis saya, there is nothing we cannot overcome as long as we are together.”

These were the words our family lived by.

An anxious person by nature, a trait inherited from Daddy, I couldn’t help but worry a little. Also, like Daddy, I had always found solace in Ayah’s words, in his touch. There had never been a worry too big he couldn’t alleviate for either of us. With him and Daddy by my side, protecting me, there was nothing that I couldn’t face. While I was comforted by his familiar touch, his palm so soft, silk-like, a stark contrast to the roughness of his calloused fingers, the result of years spent playing the harp, I was still overcome with a sense of foreboding that I couldn’t place.

Ayah’s harp, his lyre, my other namesake, what I wouldn’t give to hear him play his harp right now, it was so easy to get lost in that mellifluous sound, impossible not to feel at peace.   

After a quiet exchange that I couldn’t quite hear, Ayah escorted the group into the living room. As soon as I saw them, the little comfort Ayah had provided had dissipated. I was struck with an overwhelming sense of fear. Seeing the stiff set of Ayah’s shoulders confirmed that feeling was not invalid. 

The High Commission would only be here if something terrible had happened.

Daddy.

The High Commission was so similar in looks to the citizens of Earth that they could easily blend in among us, a benefit that allowed them to build a significant presence on Earth prior to the start of the Edification. Now that they had made their presence known, and stopped cloaking their differences with makeup and clothing, they were easy to spot. Their hair and eye colors varied much like ours, except they naturally came in colors that the citizens of Earth could only achieve with contacts and dyes. Their skin too was as varying in hue, but it had a translucent glow, the veins completely visible, redder than the blue that seeps through our more opaque skin. Their bones, slightly visible, had a grayish tint owing to their metalloid composition. They were tall, on average six to twelve inches taller than that of the citizen of Earth; and they were lean and muscular, with angular features that appeared to be carved in stone.  

“Mr. Mentari Taylor-Lubis, Miss. LyraCeleste Taylor-Lubis,” it was one of the two male delegates who spoke, “On behalf of the head of the office of the High Commission, the Great Sovereign Beings themselves, I regret to inform you of the tragic passing of Mr. Dylan Taylor-Lubis. While our goal is, and always has been, for everything to remain peaceful throughout the Edification, we understand that violence may be a byproduct of our presence, for this, we are truly sorry.”

My eyes stung; a lump grew in my throat. The delegate continued to speak to Ayah about what had happened to daddy, but I could not bear to hear anymore. I sat quietly in Daddy’s chair, rocking back and forth as I hugged my knees tightly to my chest. How I wish it was Daddy’s arms that were wrapped around me right now. I tried to think of something else, anything else. Something that would stop the words the delegate spoke from imprinting in my mind. I thought about happy times with Ayah and Daddy. Then it hit me. Never again would I hear his laugh or see his face. Never again would I sit in this chair with him and feel the comfort and safety that his embrace provided as we listened to Ayah play one of his instruments. Never again would I dance with him in the kitchen as we cooked together. Never again would I be able to tell him I love him. Never again would I hear his voice saying that he loves me.

I was overcome with sadness for everything that I would never again experience with Daddy. And Ayah! Daddy was Ayah’s first love, his best friend, his partner in all things. Daddy and I are everything to Ayah, just as Ayah and I are everything to Daddy. They are a pair. We are a family. I could not imagine how we would possibly survive without Daddy.

I choked back a sob as my heart ached for Ayah, and for me.

I looked over at Ayah, he had remained silent while the delegate recounted the events. Though silent, the evidence of his heartache was present in the trails left behind by the tears as they traveled down his cheeks and fell uncaught to the floor.

I couldn’t take the sight of his pain, not at that moment when I myself was about to crumble. I had to look away. I had to pull myself together if I was going to be strong enough to comfort Ayah. I turned my attention to the only female in the group, for some reason I was drawn to her. She was smaller in stature and something in the way she carried herself was also different. While the males stood poised, their faces straight forward, heads held high conveying a sense of pride, the female’s head was slightly bowed, her gaze never lifting from the floor. She seemed reserved, solemn. More…human-like than the others.   

“Please know,” the speaker continued, “that your husband, your father, died a hero. The bullet that took his life was meant for one of our registrars,” the delegate gestured towards the female, “who stands here before you, alive, because of his sacrifice. For generations to come, your family will be honored and held in the utmost esteem.”

The other male shuffled around for something in a bag.

The speaker went on. “For the time being, we will leave you to grieve in private. We will be in touch to discuss what this means for your family’s future moving forward.”

“If you have any questions,” it was the other male that had been looking in the bag, who spoke now as he offered a small device to Ayah. It was a piece of tech, the same that they used in the High Commission to communicate with each other, “please do not hesitate to contact us.”

Ayah accepted the device and the male delegates turned to leave. The female remained behind. Once the males had left the room, she lifted her head for the first time looking first to Ayah, and then to me. Her voice was soft but steady, “I cannot express how truly sorry I am that I am the cause for your loss and your sorrow. I am truly grateful to be alive, and I will now and forevermore be in your debt.” There was sadness in her eyes, but there were no tears. She turned back to Ayah, “if you can ever find it in your hearts to forgive me for causing you so much pain, I will be here for your family in any way that I can.”  

I wanted to hate her for being the reason my Daddy was never coming home, but I couldn’t. Daddy was a selfless being, he would want me to forgive her. I couldn’t speak. I knew if I even attempted to, the tears that I was trying so desperately to keep at bay would make their escape. Instead, I gave her a small nod.

She nodded back and she turned to follow the males.

Ayah lifted his palms, open-faced, gesturing toward the entryway. “Please, allow me to show you out.”

“Thank you, that is very kind of you.” Together they left the room.

I took advantage of the momentary solitude to compose myself. I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as possible to expel the little bit of moisture that was present. I wiped it away quickly as Ayah returned, all traces of his tears gone.

I rose from Daddy’s chair and Ayah came to me, pulling me into his chest.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head Lyra, manis saya, for there is nothing we cannot overcome as long as we are together.”

I hugged him back tightly.

Ayah’s voice brought me back to the present.

    “Do you understand, Lyra?” He was watching me, waiting for a response I wasn’t able to provide, so caught up in the memory of the day Daddy was taken from us, I had not realized that Ayah had started talking again. 

“I’m sorry, Ayah,” I lowered my gaze, ashamed that I had not heard him, “I allowed my mind to wander a little”

“Ah, my sweet Lyra, your wonderful mind, always wandering like an astronaut in the stars. Don’t feel shame.” He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “As I was saying, the High Commission reached out this afternoon. We have been granted passage to relocate to IS-51, it is a great honor that so few of Earth’s citizens will ever be granted.”

  IS-51 is the origin base for the High Commission, it requires being in cryogenic pods to complete the 100-year journey. The pods, similar in composition to the synthetic wombs that new life is created in on Earth, were slightly different, not quite the same. Where the wombs utilize warmth to grow life, these pods worked in the reverse, using cold to pause life; freezing the inhabitant inside until the journey is complete.

“I don’t understand, Ayah.”

This didn’t make sense. If we were going to relocate to IS-51, a true honor and privilege, why is Ayah so sad?

“If—”   

“Lyra,” Ayah interrupted me, something he never does. “I am not able to make this journey with you.” 

Wait.

What?

Why?

Unable to comprehend what Ayah was trying to tell me, I sat up and shook my head, trying to piece together his words.

“Ayah…I…you aren’t making any sense…I don’t…”

Ayah sat up and pulled me into his lap. He held me tightly cradled to his chest rocking me as he stroked my hair whispering words of comfort the way he always did when I would have nightmares as a child. His shirt rapidly becoming damp as his tears splashed down on his chest, joining the tears I hadn’t realize had begun pouring from my own eyes.

Ayah held me, there beneath the stars until there were no tears left for either of us to cry.

“Lyra,” He began to speak gently, “I was born. I was not created in a pod. In Indonesia, life was still being created the natural way until very recently. In order to survive cryogenic freezing and inhabit IS-51, a human had to have been created in a synthetic pod. Since I was not, I am not eligible to relocate with you.”

Everything was starting to make sense now. I knew that things were different where Ayah grew up, but I didn’t understand just how different until now.

“I won’t go, Ayah. I will stay with you, there is nothing we cannot overcome as long as we are together.” I knew in my heart the words I spoke were not true, but I could not handle the thought of leaving him. When the High Commission offers you an opportunity, it is not something you can reject.

“Ya, Lyra manis saya, I know you would stay with me forever if you could, but we both know that is not possible.”

“But, Ayah…” I stopped. This was already so painful and fighting against it would not change what would be, it would only make it harder for both of us.

I turned my eyes to the stars that Ayah and I loved so much.

After what seemed like an eternity, I broke the silence.

“There,” I say, pointing towards the familiar group of stars. The word is barely audible around the lump in my throat.

Ayah turns his eyes and looks to the stars with me.

“I will be right there, Ayah. I will always be there, in the stars looking down on you. With you.”

Ayah kisses the top of my head.

“Ya, Lyra manis saya,” his words are barely a whisper, “di sana kamu akan,” there you will be.

He brings my hand to his heart.

“And you will be here too, with Daddy.”

He places his hand on my heart.

“And when you get there, long after I have been put back to the Earth, reunited with Daddy, we will be right here, together.”

He wraps both his arms around me and holds on tightly.

“Always remember, there is nothing we cannot overcome as long as we are together.”

Together.

We sit here together.

Ayah and his Lyra watching the stars as the night continues to play its song around us.