Moving

“It’s not just cold it’s dry too. In the summer it’s nice but in the winter when I sleep my tongue cracks. Right down the middle in the front. And when I wake up and I can sense it and I try to fold my tongue in on itself to feel the little gap. And there’s a weird taste in my throat, part of it is I’m dehydrated but it’s like I didn’t brush my teeth the night before even if I did. And not just my tongue but my thighs, they get so dry they crack. I get these chalky white lines and when I’m wearing pants it itches. So I scratch it and scratch it and when I take my pants off the skin is all red and irritated,” as she spoke she stuck out her tongue and pantomimed rubbing her hands over her thighs, she had a habit of speaking with her hands too much, like I was hard of hearing, or like I only knew a little English and her gesticulations were helping me understand.

I didn’t say anything because I wanted her to convince me. I wanted her to know that I wanted her to come but I wanted her to come because she wanted to come not because I was going. If I said something now it would be selfish. To allow the dry air alone to be enough of an excuse to move an incomprehensible distance away, to forget about all Earthly people and places and things, then she would think that I was selfish. If instead I waited for her to explain more, which I knew she would, that would show that I didn’t want her to come for my sake alone. Although, she probably wanted to forget about this place as much as I did.

“Listen, I’ve thought about it a lot, I’ve thought about it for years, since I was your age and it’s not for any one reason. Not because of you, not because of your grandmother, not because of the weather, it’s all of it. I need something new, some excitement in my life, I need to be uncomfortable, to challenge myself. You know honey, I’ve been drifting along for a while now, not paying attention to who I am or where I’m going. But do you remember on New Years when Sam’s father was talking about everything he’d done last year? You remember that far away look you had in your eyes?”

“I guess so,” I said, not convinced that I had a faraway look in my eyes at the time, but I did remember Sam’s father talking about how his insurance company had paid out nearly 23 or 25 trillion dollars in insurance to the inhabitants of some moon of a distant gas giant. The chance of collisions on any celestial body were so low, the disaster insurance always seemed like a scam, and on more than one occasion people had purchased some similar insurance only to be told that the approaching asteroid was the wrong size or that their distance from the nearest station at the time of impact would be out of the coverage zone. But his company had the highest disaster insurance rating of any in the galaxy. After their payout and transportation assistance of the colonizers, they were sure to see a huge uptick in sales even with the heightened rates. He was lamenting that although it was going to be a busy year signing up new clients, he would likely retire a few years earlier thanks to the bonus.

“Well I saw the look, maybe you didn’t know you had it but you did. I saw the look and I knew it because that’s exactly how I feel honey. I feel like things have just been happening without my go ahead. Like I don’t matter. Everyone else is happy and making money, and I’ve just been at home wondering what I’ll do while you’re in school a million miles away. But that was when it came to me. That night I went home and I was a little drunk remember, but that night I went home and I wrote in my journal. This year I’m going to make a transition. I’m going to take an active role in my happiness. So that’s it. I’m going, I’m going because I want to go and because that’s what’s good for me,” she nodded as if approving of her own decision and smiled at me. She really does love me, but I hate having to rely on her.

“Okay, well as long as you’re not doing it for me.”

She shook her head and hugged me.

--

Before I left there were a few people I needed to say good-bye to. I went to Sam’s house and was let in by the maid. In the living room his mother was half sitting half laying on an uncomfortable looking chair holding a book up in front of her face. It was such an unnatural pose I thought it must be something she had seen in a magazine. She couldn’t possibly hold the book like that for long. I watched her for a few seconds and then she noticed me and sat up straight, put the open book down on the table so that gravity would keep the page for her, and looked at me with her hands on her lap like she was about to give me a sales pitch. The book cover had a white circle with three pairs of legs extending up and out of the circle so you couldn’t see their bodies, I wondered if they even had bodies. I guess you’d have to read the book to find out.

“Well, well, well, what a pleasant surprise,” she tilted her head slightly and gave me a curt smile like she knew something I didn’t. “Sam is not here unfortunately.”

She always spoke like this. Wasting time, using clichés like well well well and pleasant surprise. But the worst part was that she knew what I was going to ask and she still made me ask it.

“When will she be back?” I tried to sound polite.

“Oh probably not for a while, maybe ten days or two weeks,” she looked up and to the left, searching for a more exact answer on the bookshelves.

“Do you know where she is?”

“Yes… I do,” she answered slowly. I guessed that she wanted more of an explanation before saying anything more.

“Sorry to ask but it’s because I’m going away to study and I probably won’t see again. I wanted to speak with her and say good-bye in person.”

“Hmm, well, I’m not sure she would want me to tell you. Seeing as how she didn’t tell you in the first place. But had she known you were going away perhaps she would have told you,” if she was wearing glasses she would have taken them off and begun chewing on the temple tips. I gave her a minute to think about it while I waited silently.

“Oh, I suppose it’s alright to tell you then. She’s in the hospital. Nothing serious just a problem with her ears. Seems they’re humming constantly,” she winced with sympathy. “Something to do with a maladjustment to the atmosphere or readjustment after her last trip. She has to get shots behind her ears and they’re giving her some kind of IV drip. She won’t be allowed to leave the hospital and she isn’t allowed any visitors either.” her lips closed tightly and her eyes crinkled apologetically. “Sorry.”

--

During this gap year I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want. I thought about where I’ve been and how my time on Earth has affected me. When I would contemplate my past, my school life, there was always one teacher my mind would be drawn to. Most of the teachers felt so removed from reality. They existed in their own adult world that only interacted with ours for those brief 40 minute periods between bells. But in 10^th grade I had Mr. Reyes and he changed my idea of what a teacher could be. He had such passion for stories and poems he couldn’t help but get excited when he was talking, the stories and characters would always remind him of things that had happened to him. A whole class would fly by readings poems and listening to his stories. One day we were reading a poem and a part of it reminded me of my parents.

Is it worth a tear, is it worth an hour,

To think of things that are well outworn?

Of fruitless husk and fugitive flower,

      The dream foregone and the deed forborne?

I wasn’t expecting the poem to make me feel so emotional and I was surprised when I blinked my eyes and a tear nearly snuck out.

The receptionist was the same woman who had been working there last year when I was still a student. She smiled warmly and asked what she could help me with. When I told her I wanted to see Mr. Reyes she frowned and said “He doesn’t work her anymore. Left last year the same as you. I think he got a job at some nice school in the city,” she seemed busy and had already gone back to something at her desk before she finished her explanation. I decided to let it go, thanked her and left.

I wasn’t sure what I would have said to him, I guess that I enjoyed his class and that the poems we’d read made me think a lot.

--

The day before I left I went to see my father. I hadn’t seen him since primary school. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him. At the time I knew I didn’t hate him, but I also didn’t think I would miss him. My mother had been subtly hinting all week that I should go and see him though, and I thought who knows, maybe he’ll tell me something interesting like I’m not really his daughter or I am heir to a noble title. There was nothing to lose by going though, so I did.

My father’s score on the job placement analysis had forced him into the lowest grade of work. He could only be entrusted with the most simple manual labor. He had worked for a moving company and then was a janitor I think. The standardized placement had granted him the same benefits as any other citizen but still he hated the work. Manual labor was fine, but the way people looked at him made his heartbeat sound in his ears and when people didn’t look at him it was even worse.

When I was a little girl I remember waking up late one night when he came home drunk and walked into a table knocking everything off it. Mom went running downstairs to scold him and as she did he knelt in front of her and slapped himself in the face. He kept apologizing and slapping himself. Her anger quickly turned into despair as she shook her head in impotent frustration.

A few years later, after he had moved out, I was riding my bike to school with some friends and saw him. He was walking down the street towards me, he was stumbling and his eyes were red, but he saw me to and he looked like he was about to wave. We made eye contact and when he saw my smile fade he stopped dead in his tracks like I had shot him. He stopped walking and looked away. When the light changed my friends and I rode on.

I knocked on his door. Footsteps shuffled towards it from inside and it was unlocked and opened. He was older than I expected, his hair thin and coarse like a dog who could no longer clean itself. He smelled like he hadn’t showered in some time and he looked thin and weak, shrunken and shriveled. His eyes still held a light though and when he looked at me he couldn’t breath for a moment. He put his hand over his mouth and just said “Wow.” Then he took a step back into the room. “Wow, it’s good to see you. Really good to see you,” his voice was raspy like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in a while.

“It’s good to see you too dad. How have you been,” I came into the room because I think he wanted me to but was too self conscious about how it looked and smelled to ask me.

He began sweeping paper plates and plastic utensils into a small red trashcan beside the coffee table that separated us. He sat on the couch across from me, it had pillows and a blanket on one end and he sat on the other. “What brings you out here? God I wish I knew you were coming, I would have cleaned up, I would have showered. I could have met you somewhere else. Do you want to go get something to eat?”

“No, that’s okay. I’m just here because, I haven’t seen you in a while, and I’m going away, for university. So I wanted to say good-bye before I left, because, I might not have the chance to see you again, for a while,” it was difficult to make eye contact and when I was talking I kept pausing to allow the lump in my throat to pass before I continued. I wondered if it was obvious. After a few seconds of silence I looked back up at him.

He wanted to say something, probably a lot of things, but couldn’t put his thoughts into words. He coughed twice trying to clear his throat, “That’s great,” his voice was wavering but he smiled and nodded to make sure I knew he was being sincere. “I’m so proud of you.”

--

I had packed all my things. My mother and I were waiting outside our apartment for a car to come pick us up. “Your ID?” she asked. I nodded. “Your phone?” I nodded again this time with my eyes closed. “Your slippers? Because the slippers they give you on the flight are no good.” I nodded again and let my head slump forward as if any more nodding might cause it to fall off. “Okay, okay, well I know I’m soooo annoying but if I don’t do this you always forget something.”

I wanted to argue but wasn’t really in the mood. I looked back up at the building I had lived in for so many years. It’s sleek glass shining in the sun. When I was a little girl I thought it was so amazing, the biggest building I had ever seen. I remember standing at it’s base and looking up. I nearly fell over backwards it was so disorienting. I felt like the building was leaning out over me and was going to collapse and crush me. Now it looked clueless. Thousands of eyes fixed in a vacant lifeless expression, not seeing anything.

“You might come back one day, maybe you’ll start to miss this place. And you’ll think, wow I had it so good and I didn’t even know it,” she smiled and nodded at me raising her eyebrows like she had just said something profound that was worth thinking about. But I knew that even if I came back, so much time will have passed, this building, everything will have changed. My friends will be gone, all my old teachers will be gone, even my father.

“I’m not going to miss it, I just don’t want to forget.”