November 9, 2010

• nanowrimo, day nine.

  Less than two hundred words shy and I have to throw in the towel because I'm exhausted.

  

  “What do you think she wants to talk to you about? It must be serious if she is coming all the way here,” I muse, my senses heightened with fear.

  “She wouldn’t tell me anything specific,” Lydia’s forehead wrinkles a bit. “Just that it was important and it involves our shelter.”

  “That’s…vague and disconcerting.” I scratch my cheek.

  “I’m trying not to worry, but Ms. Ward is not exactly the most reassuring personality I’ve had the pleasure of knowing,” Lydia sighs.

  “She struck me as very cold,” I admit.

  “Well, she is very businesslike about everything, like her brain is always making all sorts of calculations. But she does care about Outsiders, to be sure. She has spent her entire adult life dedicated to the creation and upkeep of the Network.” Lydia continually seeks out (and usually finds) the good in people.

  I am not so gracious.

  “She’d better care, especially if she’s one of us,” I scowl. “We’re not a science experiment, and we’re not freaks. We need someone who understands working on our behalf, keeping us safe.”

  “Safe from what, exactly?” Lydia half-smiles at my outburst.

  I look at her seriously, inspecting her too-calm exterior. “Safe from whatever has you completely freaked out right now.”

  Lydia’s smile fades, but the creases in her forehead smooth away as well. “So, what part of your childhood should we explore today?”

  I still feel unsettled, but I obediently reply, “I was thinking my sixth birthday. I want to remember what flavor the cake was.”

  “Well,” she ignores my sarcasm, “You tell me.”

  “It was chocolate, kind of dry but still good because when you’re six you don’t really think about whether or not chocolate cake is moist – it’s like soft spongy candy you’re allowed to eat the whole day – and the frosting was pink butter cream. It was covered in Barbie paraphernalia because that was the year that Nadia and I decided we were Barbie doll collectors. This was also the year that Nadia first spoke to anyone outside of our immediate family,” I smile.

  “Really? What did she say?” Lydia inquires casually, a tone I recognize as the one she uses to help draw my memories to the surface for recollection. I don’t know how she does it, but it certainly helps me.

  “She said, ‘Aunt Janet, can you please stop picturing my Daddy naked around me? It’s not as creepy when Mommy does it.”

  Lydia smiles, deepening her dimples and wrinkling the skin around her eyes.

  “My mother is horrified, she can’t even breathe. My father is choking on his bite of shrimp cocktail, my aunt Janet’s face is so red I don’t even recognize her, and my uncle Rick grabs his jacket and car keys and mutters, ‘I f---ing knew it,’ before striding right out of our front door.” I shake my head. “The irony is, my uncle never ever asked how Nadia knew Janet was picturing my dad in the nude, he just took it as confirmation that my mom’s sister really was a whore. And my dad had never been more than obligatorily polite to my aunt, because he was always so put off by how overtly flirtatious she was – especially toward him. My mom had always been the pure one. Needless to say, Mom and Janet haven’t spoken in 15 years, not even when uncle Rick divorced her sorry ass fourteen years ago.”

  “That’s actually kind of a sad story,” Lydia says. “I’m glad I can keep my thoughts pure around you guys.”

  “Just around us?” I joke. “All seriousness, Lydia, our family is better off. My aunt Janet has always been kind of…psycho. I don’t really miss her, or her really gross perfume she poured all over herself. Besides, I’m sure if Nadia hadn’t scared her off by now, my ruthless mouth would have.”

  “You just don’t have the hindrance of polite discretion,” Lydia offers. “Most of us would love to be that honest, but fear of rejection usually stops us in the end.”

  “I’m honestly – ha – surprised that I have any friends left at all,” I hook my hair behind my ear swiftly. “Most people are instantly put off by my wonderful superpower.”

  “Most people may be, but I respect you for talking at all.”

  “What do you mean?” I scrunch up my face.

  “I mean, a lot of people with your gift would just go into hiding to keep from causing any unwanted awkwardness,” Lydia points out.

  “That sounds like the smarter option,” I laugh.

  “More like the coward’s way out,” Lydia pokes me in the shoulder. “You are so much stronger and more honorable than you give yourself credit for. I, for one, am very proud of how much you’ve grown in less than a year here.”

  “Thank you,” I say shyly. “I know you’re right.”

  “And it would serve you well to remember that fact,” Lydia gently chastises. “You are dear to my heart, and I want to se you become the whole person you can while you are under this roof. Work as hard as you can while you have the time and a safe place to fall. Those who are less than understanding will be found all over God’s earth. You have to find those who are worth keeping, and hold on with both hands.”

  I realize as we are walking back through the trees toward the huge boarding house that it is unseasonably warm out for November. Granted, I am used to the chill in the air of the battlefields of Pennsylvania, but I suddenly long for my breath to be stolen and my cheeks to be kissed by cold winds.

  “I will keep that in mind,  for your sake and mine,” I tell her, kicking a dead, brown leaf out of my path.

  “Good. Speaking of people who are worth it… have you spoken to our newest roomie yet?” Lydia’s eyes take on the light of a teenager who has a juicy secret.

  “Do you mean Lucas?” I ask, scrunching up my eyebrows.

  “Of course I mean Lucas,” Lydia smirks. “We don’t have any other new roomies.”

  “Oh. Well, then, yes. I have spoken with him, briefly.” I shrug.

  “He is a very nice young man. I am quite impressed by him.” Lydia’s upbringing in a wealthy family, high in society, often comes out in her prim and proper use of the English language when she speaks, which always makes me smile.

  “He is very nice,” I nod my head in agreement. “Handsome, too.”

  “Is he?” Lydia says with a squeak in her voice and a smirk still in place. “I hadn’t really noticed.”

  “Sure you hadn’t. I mean, yeah, he’s basically gorgeous. But he’s a prophet, which is really dangerous.” I shudder.

  “Why are prophets dangerous?” Lydia raises a curious eyebrow.

  I give her a look. “Because, unless their prophecies play out as proof of their words, there’s no way of knowing what they’re saying is true and no way of really trusting them.”

  “You’re referring to Jazmin Santos,” Lydia’s voice takes on an understanding tone.

  I shake my head in disgust. “She was such a skillful liar. I don’t know why I didn’t trust my senses about that. Either way, she didn’t get away with much, and for that I can be grateful.”

  “It’s not your fault you’re kind of naïve,” Lydia smiles. “It’s a good thing – it helps you keep your innocence. It also is part of your gift. So be grateful.”

  I pout a little bit. “I’m not grateful. I hate it. I wish I could just be all jaded and cynical like everyone else.”

  “I know you do, sweetheart,” Lydia pinches my cheek. “But you wouldn’t be your amazing self if you were.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I roll my eyes. “You’re just saying that because you’re practically my mother.”

  “I am not,” Lydia frowns. “Your mother is a wonderful woman. She just couldn’t help you grow like I can. She doesn’t understand how you think like the people who live here, because she can only sympathize – not empathize. Seriously, talk to some of the elders – they’ve got horror stories to share. But your mom is a devoid, and you can’t help that any more than she can.”

  “I wonder why Nadia and I are so special, then? As far as I know, my dad is a devoid, too, yet we are Outsiders. How does that even happen?”

  “You know as well as I do that there is no explanation for Outsiders, Georgia,” Lydia bites her cheek. “Scientists have been trying to figure us out in secret for decades. But we aren’t X-Men, there is no mutated gene in us that gives us abilities.”

  “I know,” I sigh, “we just use a higher percentage of our brain. But no one knows how or why it happens. I wish there was just a super simple explanation. Like, I could carry my Mutant card and think of myself as a superhero. Instead, I’m a weirdo who can’t forget anything.”

   

  • 11:30 pm
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