No Dotted Lines

    “Is it true, Ms. Arceneaux?” D.J. asked waiting patiently for me to return the stack of books he had gathered back to him. I sensed worry registering with emphasis in his higher inflection of, “true,” but I had no idea what was true, anymore? I had no magic affirmations to offer this child who just wanted to prepare for whatever was coming next. “Are they really going to close the schools?” he asked, in a tone that conveyed he was seeking more assurance than a definitive answer. The scanner chirped contentedly with each new textbook, five in total, to match the next set of classes he would need throughout the new trimester. A trimester where he had only seen his latest teachers a mere four days. Hardly enough time for the 150 adults scattered and spread over two acres of land occupying rooms meant to house 20-25 students that were now housing close to double that number. How could they memorize and identify the bodies of approximately 175 names across their classes, build rapport and buy-in with each kid, and know their troubles on site and at home? 

Selfishly attempting to process and aggregate the myriad of scenarios and implications for myself and what all this would mean for someone on my side of the desk, I was confused and unsure how to answer.  Ivy League universities, as well as State schools across the country were moving classes online and evacuating their campuses. The CDC’s latest recommendations limiting the gathering of groups to no larger than ten, but our largest daycare centers, pre, elementary and high schools, were the exception?  None of it made any sense, so I gave my sorry best, 

“I think so, D. J.” I answered. “We’ll know something soon,” I said with a pleasant, practiced smile. Still wrapped up in my own doubts for what lay ahead, I had done absolutely nothing to assuage his. With a heavy sigh, he carefully tucked each of his books into his backpack, slung the weight over one shoulder, and walked away slowly, hoodie up, head down. 

I can’t share what I don’t know for sure. All I had was speculation and a gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach that this was going to be what I had trained for, but no decisions had yet been made. My phone was silent. News of school closures had been rumored for weeks, but who knew hype from truth? What were the facts, and where were our fears taking us? Could there, would there be an order from on high to close down the district? I certainly hoped so. I needed time.

At first, my crew and I thought the run on toilet paper was ridiculous. We laughed and created our own memes to add on social media. Growing toilet paper from a seedling, selfies from Costco, but then things ceased being funny when critical items began disappearing.  

This attack has proven that it knows no borders. It knows no walls, regardless of how great or impenetrable they are purported to be. There are no dotted lines, no barriers of wealth, class, ability or lack thereof, separating or protecting us from ourselves. This enemy agent is operating on a global perspective.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing Dianne? This is absolutely incredible!” Michelle, the captain of the all -female crew says calmly as she adjusts her instruments and panels to see that they are locked onto a path for Mars before training her gaze back to look at what they’ve left behind. “It’s so surreal,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, but without apology. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” 

“Like what?” Dianne, the Lieutenant in Charge of Education says, ending in a yawn. 

“Earth? Our planet, suspended in space? We are seeing the globe. Not many people get to do this, ever.” Michelle answers, as an uncomfortable air sets over the crew.

“These are the unseen physics and science that we get to live! Sorry! Sorry!” Michelle quickly mutters, blushing and uncomfortable in stating their obvious reality. She outscored, outperformed every cisgender male in her classes, but she still had a good deal to study and practice around emotional intelligence.

Each of them has been handpicked for this mission, excelling in their respected area of expertise for flight navigation and space travel, each, bringing a unique approach to the final mission, and most importantly, each one a skilled teacher. 

“I can’t believe we are actually on this assignment, Commander Arceneaux,” Dianne says.

“We’ve trained and prepared for this, Dianne. You saw the chaos that was happening back home. We lost control, and we blew our chance to get back and return to a better place. We have trained and prepared for this our entire lives. You knew this could happen. You can handle it.” Arceneaux answers matter-of-factly, and without judgement as she adjusts her cameras and scans the monitors of the thousands of sedated children nestled comfortably in their own protective pods down in her payload. The Rebuilders. Each country was allowed 27 delegates to board this first ship. Perhaps there will be more coming in the future, there are other ships that are ready, but each country has been secretive and fearful of each. There was very little joint effort or cooperation. When things reached critical levels, this ship, The Renaissance, was deemed the best global shot at reaching the closest star. The adults accompanying them were not much older, the average age of the flight crew was 25 and 7 months, the same as the teachers on board. 

They return to staring at the globe. No one wants to be the first to speak. Staring at the life-size version of the globe, they all are silently thankful they don’t know, they will never know the final outcome for the planet they are leaving behind. Their focus is on this mission that has been decades in the making. Movies are always beguiling predicators of the future. Their purpose is to save and create a better world than we knew before, and begin again.