Habitat, page 3
part #1 of The End Series
“Well, there’s your problem right there, honey. God don’t make no mistakes. He meant for you to look just the way you do. Can you imagine how boring life would be if everyone looked alike? Besides, when I was your age and worrying about my weight, my mama told me nothing but a dog wants a bone. You remember that. Now, I’m gonna bring y’all toasted pimento cheese sandwiches. Bobby, from over at the dairy, brought me a block of cheddar. I made up a batch fresh this morning. It’s so doggone good it’ll make you slap your granny. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll put pickles on top, and they can be your vegetables.” She walked away before I could say no. “Phil! Order up if you ain’t too busy looking at yourself in the mirror, Casanova. Honey, let me tell you, Sylvia ain’t interested in dating you, why she’d just as soon…”
Her voice faded out as she hurried back to the kitchen, talking non-stop. I loved Mrs. McCoy. You couldn’t help but smile and laugh when you were around her.
The Fountain was a soda shop right out of the 1940s where kids sat at a bar and ordered drinks called floats and egg creams. Those items weren’t on the menu but sounded delicious. I longed to know how soft drinks tasted and why they were called soft. I saw pictures of diners that existed over a hundred years earlier. For a school project, I did a compare and contrast report on the 2040s and the 1940s.
I looked at Ana. In the few moments it had taken me to talk with Mrs. McCoy, tears pooled in her eyes. I’ve never been one to stick my head in the sand, so I said, “Why are you upset, Ana?” She took her napkin and covered her face.
“My session was intense,” she said, with the napkin still in place to hide her emotion. “The headaches are worse, and I…I can’t get a grip. Dr. Webster tried sleep therapy.”
I had sleep therapy one time, and it didn’t help me to remember or forget anything, so my doctor never tried it again. Doctors, before The End, used hypnotherapy, a style of treatment. Our doctors told us it helped with the release of memories from that time. Oddly, Ana carried more memories with her, even though we were the same age. She convinced herself she remembered birth parents and a brother that was most likely wishful thinking than an actual possibility. Therapists told us not to discuss our memories, but Ana and I did. Dr. Adler called it dangerous but said I should listen to her if she talked. “The best way to help your friend,” she told me once, “is to relay any memory she might tell you.” Each doctor at the Orchard worked together and compared notes. Although not each therapist had been a doctor before, survivors with medical, psychological, or social work experience were trained.
“First,” I said to Ana, in my best Mr. Hap accent, “I’m gonna need you to take that napkin off your face, okay? This ain’t no round of peek-a-boo.” She tried to stifle a laugh. “Second, I’m gonna need you to perk up cause if you don’t, I’m gonna be forced to eat your sandwich. You’ve seen my butt. It’s that giant thing that follows me around all day.” She couldn’t hold back the laughter and let the napkin fall back into her lap. “Thank ya, sister.” This was a temporary fix, but at least her mood lightened.
“I’m sorry, Ellis. At one time, after therapy, I always felt clearer, but now I’m worse than before going,” she said. “The doctor tells me I might progress quicker if I attend more sessions per week.”
“Ana, everyone goes through down periods. You’re normal.”
“That’s what you think?” she asked. Her nose wrinkled again. “You believe I’m depressed?”
“I…I didn’t mean it in an ugly way,” I stammered. “It’s common to get—”
“Ellis, I’m not sad,” she said, “I’m angry. But who should I be angry with?”
Her hands balled into fists. I reached out to touch her. At once, she relaxed. “Look, I’m your friend and want to help. I’ll always be here for you.”
“I wish I were sad, and I could mourn whatever family or life I’ve lost. But who were they? They are faceless and nameless. I’m not sad. I’m angry, and I don’t know who to be angry with, so I’m angry at everyone and everything.” She took a deep breath and a sip of water. “Who started the war, Ellis? Who pressed the button? Should I be mad at the person who rescued me? If I’d died, I wouldn’t be suffering now.”
I froze. I didn’t want to make it worse, so I said nothing. With perfect timing, our food was delivered. We ate, without talking, except for Mrs. McCoy chiming in a few times. Ana looked out at the park. There was nothing to see, so I figured she was deep in thought. We finished the last of the milkshakes in calm silence except for the enormous burp I forced out to get a laugh from her. It worked. We said goodbye to Mrs. McCoy and Phil and walked to our bikes.
We rode part of the way home together. I lived in the Lakeside neighborhood, and Ana lived in the Parkview neighborhood closer to downtown. The Town Place neighborhood was behind the Orchard. These were apartments for singles and families without children. My dad compared them to something called brownstones, famous in New York City neighborhoods. Mountain Springs neighborhood was at the base of our largest mountain. Brook Haven was an assisted living home for our seniors. It was near the hospital and overlooked a little meadow with a stream. The Meadows was the neighborhood farthest from town. It shared the same area with Horizon Farm, where we raised animals and grew foods. The government thought of everything. They left behind instruction manuals for every aspect of survival.
“Are you mad at me, Ellis?” Ana asked.
“You’re extra nuts today, aren’t you?” I said. “Tomorrow, it’s my turn. Just so you know…” We laughed.
I had become lost in my thoughts when I should’ve been thinking of ways to console my pal. We’d been best friends forever. I remembered the second day of kindergarten. I tried going the first day, but I cried so much my dad brought me back home. (But not before taking me for ice cream.) The next day, I cried again, but this time, Dad left me after being coaxed by the mean assistant teacher. I still hated her. Horrible, old witch. I was still crying when the sweet teacher took me by the hand and walked with me to where Ana was playing. She was smaller than I was and had golden blonde pigtails that hung in corkscrew curls. The teacher bent down to me and said, “Ellis, I want you to meet Ana. Ana likes to search for treasure in this sandbox. Can you help her discover what goodies might still be hidden?” Ana reached out to me, her hands covered in sand. I reached out expecting her to give me a treasure, but instead, she took my hand and pulled me closer to the sandbox. We dug holes, searching as a team. Although I was too young to realize, I had already found something more valuable than treasure.
Even now, we experienced times where one of us was reaching out to the other. Life would have been so much easier if a dig in the sandbox solved our problems. Ana suffered so much, and I wanted to help. I should’ve had the answers as a future therapist.
At the cut-off for her street, we said goodbye, and I continued home. Why did she have more intense memories to release? Just like me, she was a baby when The End occurred. I’d always felt sorry for her. Her adoptive dad died when she was four years old, and her mom raised her without talking about him. A long time ago, I asked her what happened, but she only would say that he was sick. Although Ana’s mother was widowed at a young age, she never remarried. If I’d lost my dad, I don’t think I’d have survived. If permitted, I would’ve wanted Ana for my sister. One adoption per family was the limit. Singles weren’t eligible to receive a child—a choice Mom and Dad considered unwise. People rushed to get married so they’d qualify to adopt an orphan of the war.
I looked ahead and saw my house. I breathed a sigh, thinking how lucky I was to have a stable, normal family.
CHAPTER 3
It must not have been easy for everyone to lose their families. During The Beginning, the orphaned children were given away to any survivors who agreed to marry first. Officials were eager to have everyone settled into normal lifestyles and placed children with those couples as soon as possible. Many adults rushed into loveless marriages to escape grief. Fear of lonesomeness fueled a need for the family unit. Men replaced dead wives. Women replaced dead husbands. Couples replaced dead children. Not every circumstance was satisfactory. The cases that failed needed correction. Secretly, many of us wished for something far different.
—Greta Bauer, Horizon adoptive mother
Personal Statement Transcript
February 2038
HOME
I ZOOMED INTO the garage and parked my bike alongside the solar-powered cart. Only a few officials drove cars. Each home received one cart, but if you saved your Credits, you could buy another. Our garage was immaculate. Dad arranged his tools and supplies in rows because he liked working on renovation projects to help neighbors when he had time off from work.
“Hi, Ell,” called my dad from under the cart. He finished tightening a bolt on the door. “Good day?”
“Okay, I guess.” I knew he’d question me further. For obvious reasons, I wanted to unburden myself. Dad would worry why I lied to Dr. Adler, but I needed to talk, and I wanted to be coerced into doing it.
“Well, I’m all ears, and both belong to you.” Dad understood the entire psychology behind my response. Laying aside the tools, he sat on the brick steps leading from the garage to the inside of our house, smiling and waiting. This was Dad. His stare told me nothing else took precedence over whatever I wanted to say.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I lied to Dr. Adler.”
My dad didn’t change his expression. “Let’s discuss why.”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never lied during release. Dr. Adler has always been a friend, but I didn’t want to tell her the bad dream I had when I slept over at Ana’s house.”
“Well, I’m no doctor,” he said, “but I might have an idea.”
“Dad, be serious.” He was a doctor who had worked at the largest hospital in New York before The End, and he was a doctor now. His old joke made little sense to me but was funny because he was king of the nerds.
“Come, sit,” he said, still chuckling. He moved over, allowing me space on the step. “Something in your dream made you uncomfortable. By choosing to keep silent, you are not experiencing the details again. Therefore, deliberate avoidance of the discussion indicates concerns that should be explored.”
“Non-doctor-talk, please.”
“Sorry. You should talk about the dream because you didn’t want to talk about it. Remember, a dream is only a dream. It is not flesh and blood—it can’t hurt or kill you. Don’t let it take control of you. You must control it.” He put his arm around me and squeezed. “I love you, Junior.” I love my pet name. “It is admirable you take your therapy seriously; I hope you’ll discuss the dream, with me or the doctor. Only then, can you move forward.”
“Thanks, Pop. You’re right; I can always count on you. Tonight, I’ll write what I remember from the dream so I can discuss it with the doctor.” I stood up and looked at him. He was warm and kind looking. I wondered if others saw what I did. I noticed a little gray had sprouted in his dark hair, and I realized he was getting older. Stop—definitely, can’t go there tonight. The thought of losing my dad was something I couldn’t survive. I stood and rested my hand on the doorknob.
“Dad?” He turned to face me. “How fast do seniors get sick from those illnesses affecting the mind?”
He looked at me with a bewildered expression. “Am I the senior in this scenario?”
“No, Dad, I’m serious. I chatted with Mr. Hap today before my release. He became confused retelling one of his old stories. It was as if his memories were of someone else’s life.”
“Ell, honey, you shouldn’t encourage Mr. Parsons to reminisce about his past. Remember the rules. Memories are difficult for many people, and for others, they are dangerous.”
“But I didn’t ask him to tell the stories this time. What he said contradicted what he’d told me before today. I don’t want him to be in trouble, but I thought he might be sick. Don’t you have medicines to help that kind of thing?”
“I know you didn’t mean any harm. Why don’t I talk with him to consider whether he’s having some issues? Before The End, I sometimes helped seniors with an illness called Alzheimer’s. If he shows signs of it, I’ll ask him to come for a check-up, and I can learn more about his condition.”
“Thanks, Dad. He’s my friend—I want him to be okay.”
“I’ll take care of him,” he said. “I’ll make a reason to stop and look in on him. Try not to worry.”
My Dad was a problem solver. He could find a solution for anything, and I relied on him. I could go to him with a problem, and he had the fix. I never had to worry. How amazing was that? I leaned over and gave him a real hug.
My mother was preparing dinner when I walked into the kitchen.
“Hello, Ellis. Wait,” she said, mid-chop of a carrot. I stopped.
“You shouldn’t have taken the cookies without asking first. Plus, they will ruin your appetite for dinner.”
“The cookies were for Mr. Hap. He told me to thank you.”
“Mr. Parsons,” she corrected. “I assume you ate at the Fountain with Ana?”
“Nope,” I said, to vex her with improper English. “I need to journal for my release homework,” I said, walking away. Once in my room, I kicked my sneakers off and threw myself onto the white bed comforter, snuggling into its cool, welcoming embrace. My dataport lay on the desk. I held my hand out to grab it. If…I…could…just…reach it—nope. Okay, journal later. I wanted to lay here and take time for myself today that didn’t include school, studying, daily chores, release therapy, or cookie theft. Within minutes, I drifted off to sleep, and the dream returned.
I’m outside Horizon and not alone. An ally, in the form of a shadow, is with me, but I don’t feel entirely safe. I want to stay with my family, but I feel compelled to go with him. He tells me my mother has gone. I ask about my dad, and there is silence and emptiness. I hear a comforting voice calling me. It’s pulling me away from the only home I can remember. If I stay, people will hate me, and if I leave, others will hate me. I run. My legs seem to work despite my psychological resistance. I’m not controlling where I’m going. I am so scared. Where is Dad? My companion pulls me. “Let it go,” he says. “Nothing was ever real.”
CHAPTER 4
Today, we mourn for Nurahatum. Yesterday, scientists confirmed the SHLE385 asteroid impacted our home planet. This asteroid was larger than any previously recorded in history. Scientists believe the collision resulted in the total annihilation of the planet and every life form, including the remaining Atum not yet transported to Earth.
Evacuations began when I was less than two years old. In school, we have studied the history of the exodus to planet Earth that began over twelve years ago. I am too young to remember Nurahatum, but I join with all Atum as we grieve for our lost citizens.
When scientists discovered we had less than thirty years before the collision, they researched the possibilities for other settlements. Two planets provided suitable solutions for our new home. Our people had a relationship with Earth for five thousand years. The human study had been extensive. Since Earth was our closest neighbor, and we were familiar with its history and cultures, our government thought it the best chance for our survival. We needed a new planet, and Earth was on the brink of eradication. Scientists concluded the planet would soon be destroyed because of its many wars. The proposal to help Earth would save both our civilizations. Scientists and researchers formulated a plan.
—Brauchm Chaulchgluer
The Children’s Planetary Memorial Documents
HUMAN STUDIES 101
OUR PROFESSOR SHOCKED us when he read the notice.
“I have extraordinary news. The Habitat project has chosen this class to visit, observe, and research.” Most everyone cheered.
“Quiet, please. Habitat researchers have never bestowed this honor upon persons outside the project; therefore, we must obey a strict set of rules. This is not an opportunity to get out of class. You must use this experience to educate yourselves further in the differentiation of human behavior. Now, because the facility operates as a controlled community, we will learn and follow procedures. We will not make mistakes. Listen and understand. Since the war in 2032, researchers have conducted studies without the surviving humans’ knowledge. What an amazing achievement that in twenty years, no incident has occurred. Therefore, we will not merrily romp about treating this opportunity as if it were a field trip to Disney World.”
Several people laughed; I did not. He meant for us to understand the enormity of this prospect.
“So,” Professor Daulchmanu said with an exaggerated pause, “the humans are unaware they are living in a city-sized observatory, and when we are finished with our studies, they will still be unaware. Do I make myself understood?”
No one made a sound.
“Excellent. We understand one another with perfect clarity. The year 2052 will not be the year my research students jeopardized the Habitat project.”
“Now, open the guidebook being handed to you. Read every word and afterward, read it again. We must adhere to these rules.
“The majority of species act and react differently when being observed. We have studied humans for thousands of years but never so thoroughly in an authentic, natural, daily environment. The Habitat provides that environment for study purposes. Researchers understand the enormous responsibility to protect humans and help them flourish in their newly created world. So, let us start at the beginning. Shall we? I want you to turn to page three. Bram, will you please read aloud for the class?”
“Yes, Professor,” I said, hating the thought of being in the spotlight. “In accordance with the Requirements for the Ethical Treatment of Humans, researchers and caregivers must adhere to very specific guidelines. The following conditions must be provided. 1) Medical and psychological care, 2) Food and other sustenance, 3) Housing and safety, 4) Absence of project knowledge, 5) Adequate simulations of positive human life experiences, and 6) Hope.”
