Life (Abridged)
So I've been looking back through Lunar Reflections -- the novel I wrote during November -- and I'm realizing how so many pieces of it seem to be applicable now, just as much so as they were then. And of course, instead of doing my homework and being productive, I've found those portions of text which I feel are the best written and have decided to reproduce them here, because I'm interested in what others have to say about them. (I also have realized that some are confusing, and most are sad...but I still love the writing!) So they begin below, broken up into arbitrary sections for easier management.
Kae & her Father
But enough of tangents. I’m worried for father. He was just so…downtrodden, almost, seems the right word.
He came in this morning, sort of early, I guess, but I was awake. He mumbled something like “Good morning, Kae,” and sat down on my bed. “Look, I’m sorry you can’t do the exchange program you wanted to,” he said, and I could tell that he was genuinely sorry. I only had one small light on, and the shadows it cast made him look as old as he sounded, for a minute. “I know it’s a great opportunity. I’ll admit, I didn’t know if you were going to get in when you applied last year, and I’m so proud that you did.” He sighed. “But you have to understand. With your sister in college, and what with the way work’s going…” He trailed off.
“It’s okay,” I said, looking down and knowing that even if it wasn’t, it would have to be. “I understand.”
Father sighed. “I’m sorry about all of this, Kae,” he continued. “I want the best for you, and for your sister and brother, and I wish that we could let you go, but right now things aren’t looking good, and--”
“Really, it’s all right,” I cut him off, not wanting him to start thinking along those lines. “I’ll be all right, I promise. After all, if I’d gone to SS17A, I would’ve missed my friends anyway. Dara and Stel would kill me if I missed that much of the year. Actually, they’d kill me for doing anything fun if they weren’t invited to come along with.” Realizing that I was beginning to babble, I stopped.
Father smiled, reached over, and ruffled up my hair, which was already messy due to sleep. He hadn’t done that in so long. When I was a little kid, he used to do it all the time, and I’d get annoyed at him and tell him to stop because I didn’t want to have to fix my hair again, but now I wish that I had that same smiling, hair-rumpling father all the time.
So I hugged him, hard. I think he might have needed it; every now and then, even the strongest people need to be supported by someone else. Probably the strong ones need it more than others, because the work they take on is so much more than what everyone else can handle. I really do love my father. He is a good person, in so many ways. I think that he doesn’t see that. He’s helped raise me, Tatch, and Zoë while still holding a full-time job and helping to take care of his grandmother. He’s always supported us, even if it meant extra hours away from home. I don’t like to see him worried, because it only makes me worry when he’s preoccupied with something. But I am beginning to see that part of growing up might have something to do with being able to see more of other people’s worries, and knowing when to step up and help lessen them.
I wish there was more I could do for my father, but this morning, that hug was all that I had to give.
Aspirations
I wish that I could be more like Zoë, in that aspect, or even Stel. Zoë’s always known that science was her thing; I remember her coming home and talking about particle physics when I was eight years old and she was twelve. Her likes and dislikes within the realm of science changed a lot when she was younger, but she always knew the general field she wanted to go into. Now, she’s triple-majoring in nuclear physics, “In case we get into a war and someone needs to know how to deconstruct a nuclear weapon”; human biology, “In case I can’t take the nuke apart and we have to deal with the damage to our DNA strain”; and botany--“just for fun.” I think she’s crazy a lot of the time…but then again, I seem to remember a famous quote saying that it’s only the ones who look insane who are actually accomplishing things. The case probably holds true here. I have no doubt that my big sister will go far in life. She’s focused. Mother and Father have always told me that I should follow in her example, if not necessarily in her footsteps. I think they’re secretly rooting for me to become a mathematician, so that they can boast having children in the two most rapidly expanding, respectable fields of study.
But as much as I do well in Maths, I just don’t feel like I could make a career out of numbers and symbols. I want something more exciting. Something more necessary.
And I know mathematics is necessary…but it’s just not interesting. It’s something that anyone can do. As pathetic and impossible as it sounds…I’d like to do something that can change things. Really change the way people think or act or live. I just wish I knew how I could do something like that. In the end, I’m just me. I only have access to my own thoughts and experiences. And I’m only fifteen--that means that the sum total of my experiences is pretty negligible, in the long run. Even when I’m fifty, I don’t know if I’ll be able to change the world--Grandma’s a hundred and one, and she’s no earth-shaker.
Walking
I feel fine when I’m around my friends; when Dara tells some outrageous joke, or Stel recounts some odd tale she’s come across, I feel at home. When my friends are around, the world feels safe, and I’m able to forget about anything that might be bothering me and just laugh out loud along with them.
But they can’t always be here. There are things that I have to be able to face on my own. Running away from my family to spend time with my friends only widens the gap that I am all too aware exists between could and should, between fantasy and reality.
It’s a fine line, the one between selfishness and sacrifice. When does it become a problem that I enjoy spending time with my friends, and that I’m more comfortable with them than I am with my family? Likewise, when should I worry that I’m spending too much time trying to fix something that can only be mended through teamwork? As it is, I’m trying to walk the tightrope line, maintain a balance between my friends and my family. But my family’s increasingly becoming less secure to be around. Now, sometimes just being at home can be depressing, so I get out when I can. I take walks a lot more, now, just to get out and clear my head. I don’t even know where I’m going, most of the time; I just walk out the front door with nothing but the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet and just wander along the corridors and walkways until I have time to think about whatever’s on my mind. And then, once I’ve thought things through, I turn around and go back home--but only then.
The other day, Grandma was waiting for me when I got back. I’d been on one of my long walks--one of the ones where I questioned everything and answered nothing and came home disappointed.
“The next time you’re going to be out for so long, let me know ahead of time,” she said. “That way I’ll know not to worry.”
“Grandma,” I said, slightly exasperated that she was making such a deal out of it, “I’m fifteen. If I couldn’t take care of myself by now, what sort of person would I be?”
She nodded slightly, while still managing to fix me with an appraising stare. “I trust you,” she said. “I’m just worried that one of these days you’ll go out so far that your feet won’t be enough to lead you back. Then your heart will have to do the job. Take care that it will be able to, when the time comes.”
I’m not sure I fully understand what she meant by that…but nonetheless, I have a despairing feeling that Grandma Annie may be right.
Friendly Jealousy
I honestly think that, if Stel plays her cards right, she can win this thing. If she does, I’d be so happy for her, and I know her family would be, too. As an only child, she gets all of her parents’ attention. On the one hand, I think that wouldn’t be too bad--plus I wouldn’t have to deal with a younger brother who frequently picks the e-lock on my room and generally makes a mess of my stuff-but on the other hand, it means that her parents are able to focus solely on her. All of their expectations ride on her--there’s no one else in the family for them to expect things of.
So I guess maybe her parents push her in school a little more (okay, who am I kidding, a lot more) than mine do. But it’s not like Stel doesn’t live up to their expectations. She’s truly brilliant; her grades are always the top of our class. I honestly doubt she’s ever done anything to make her mother or father disappointed in her--I just can’t imagine that happening. I honestly cannot see her failing at anything; there is this aura of determined success around her that is part of what makes me so sure she will win this Student Body election, now that she’s decided to run. I know other people see in her what I do: an undeniably bright, talented, and hardworking girl who, no matter what she decides to do with her life, will go far. She might not be a scientist--she won’t contribute by finding the next cure to cancer, or anything--but I have a feeling that she will do something big and life changing just the same.
If she weren’t one of my best friends, and if I hadn’t known her now for two years, I would be insanely, incoherently, unutterably jealous.
Eavesdropping
So it’s been a while since I’ve had time to worry about what goes on at my home, but for an instant or two some of the tensions flared up again. Father was really quiet and brooding tonight. I heard him talking with mother in the kitchen after we all ate dinner. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop…but I sort of overheard their conversation.
“Are you sure you’re all right, James?” mother asked as soon as she thought no one could hear. I heard her walk over to him, and in my mind I saw her place a hand on his shoulder in the comforting gesture she uses most frequently when he’s being bothered by something.
Father sighed, one of those deep sighs that you think can only come from people who are desperately old and don’t have anything left for them in life. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice more open and honest than I have ever heard him--but also infinitely more worrisome. “I don’t even know if I know what ‘all right’ is any more. I have never had a chance to just sit back, relax, and feel all right.”
Mother sighed in empathy, and there was a moment of silence in which I imagined her sympathetically wrapping her arms around my father and trying to lend him what emotional support she had to give. There was a period of silence…but not the sort of silence where everything’s all right; not the sort of silence that you find after a happy ending. This silence was tense, through no actions of my parents. It was simply difficult; it was something they hadn’t counted on having to go through, but suddenly got thrown into the midst of.
Father spoke again, after a while. “I’m worried about the children,” he said. “If I’m out of this job, it means that it will be harder for us to get them through college. And the really good universities cost a lot of money…money that we won’t have. Kae and Tatch should at least have the option to go to a good school, like their sister.”
“I can always look for a better job,” mother said, trying not to sound too worried for father’s sake. Nonetheless, her tone was not entirely certain.
“I know you could,” he replied, sighing. “But I don’t want to have to put you through this. You’ve done so much more for me and my family than I have ever had the ability to do for you. You loved me unconditionally and my family practically disowned us. My parents died and you took in my grandmother. You’re the one who cares for Grandma Annie; she always loved you just as much as me, if not more. But there’s nothing like that for me to do in return. It seems like I’m always the one who needs saving, and you’re always my valiant lady.” In my mind’s eye, father looked imploringly at mother, hoping for an answer that would help him make sense out of his tangled world. “Isn’t it supposed to work the other way around?”
Mother made a small noise, then hugged him tighter. “James, I didn’t marry you because I expected you to wait on me hand and foot,” she said. “If you’ll remember the wedding vows--the part about ‘for richer or for poorer’--I mean that as much now as I did twenty-five years ago. So don’t get down about this.” Peeking around the corner, I saw that she stood on her toes to kiss father’s cheek. It was a gesture so simple, pure in its optimism and unrestrained love. “Whatever happens…we promised a long time ago that we’d face it together. That promise still stands.”
“I love you,” father said, and he kissed her. “You’re right. We can do this.”
The thing that keeps me still just a little worried is that, when he said that, he didn’t sound all that certain.
Winners and Losers
My parents are probably one of the reasons why I take honors classes, and go through all the higher level exams and the stress involved therein. It’s not like they make me--they’ve never told me that I had to do anything of the sort. But the way I’ve been raised has imprinted in me the idea that I have to be good at things. That I have to be better than good; that I have to be great, even. These are all of the things that living with my mother and father and older sister have told me.
I suppose Zoë plays a big part in it, too. She was always intelligent. She always knew what she was doing in her life. And I grew up hearing her talking about what she was going to do with her life; she was always so certain about everything. Growing up and seeing that certainty meant that I always felt that I had to be just as certain in anything related to school.
I don’t know how Tatch didn’t catch the “trying disease” like me and Zoë did. But Tatch’s idea of good grades involves no F’s and minimal teacher comments. He’s happy if he gets through the year without having a teacher conference with mother and father and a really angry teacher.
Honestly, I don’t understand the way these things are passed on down through the generations--or rather, how they aren’t passed on, in this occasion concerning Tatch.
But really, I’m so different from mother and father, and Zoë and Tatch. They all know what they’re doing. At my age, Zoë and mother and father all knew what they wanted to do. But now, I am my age, and I have no idea what I intend on doing with my life. There are so many things I can do...but I really don’t see myself in any of those occupations. I understand that they are possibilities, but they seem so impossibly far removed from the present to have any sort of immediacy about them.
That’s the way the future usually is, though--vague, fuzzy, insubstantial. I think it’s slightly important that there is no way for us to know of our own futures ahead of time. I mean…what of Romeo and Juliet? Had they known their futures, what play would there have been in that? They did die--their fate was sorrowful--but if they had known their futures, would their love have been so strong?
What would we all do differently if we knew our fates ahead of time? It’s like the old question, asked to make you think about your life and what you’re doing with it: What would you do today if you knew you were going to die tomorrow?
Well…I would not do English homework. I wouldn’t yell at people or get into fights; I wouldn’t spend time stressing, or crying. I would spend time with my friends. I would spend time with my family, if they promised for that one day to forget that they were stressed or worried about anything. I would drink lots of coffee, stay up late, sing and dance, laugh and live and love.
Oh, how I envy those people who are able to live daily as though they were dying; those people who are able to do whatever they feel like are the ones who are truly free. I wish that I could do everything that I wanted to do. Doesn’t everyone believe that they should be allowed to follow their heart?
And yet…I know we can’t do everything we want to do all the time. A teacher I had once tried to explain it by saying, “You have all liberty to do anything, up to the point where you infringe upon someone else’s liberty. Once you do that…you are on your own. The law won’t protect you any more.”
So…I can’t do everything I want to do all of the time. I can’t do anything that endangers anyone else. But I don’t think I’ve ever been in a situation where my happiness would mean someone else’s injury.
Well…I suppose that it would make me happy to have Stel win this election. And it would make Jerry disappointed, and I suppose that disappointment is a form of injury. So maybe, every time someone wins something…there’s someone else out there who loses it. I mean, I know that someone always has to lose in order for someone else to win, but I’ve never really been on the losing side of anything important.
I don’t want to have to lose something. I don’t want to have to lose anything. I don’t want to feel defeat. I have felt desperation at times; I have felt cynicism and possibly depression. But defeat? Defeat would be a new and unwelcome flavor. I don’t want to have to lose at something--really and heartily and fully and truthfully lose.
Well…I guess I’ll just have to wait until Monday morning to find out.
Tears
It’s been a long time since I’ve cried.
Now normally I wouldn’t even be thinking of such a subject. It’s true that it’s been a long time since I’ve cried--but it’s not like I’ve had anything sob-worthy in my life lately. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I cried. I somehow think that it must have been when I was really young, and really vulnerable. Possibly the last tears I shed were over something as simple as a scraped knee, or a bruised elbow. Maybe they were the tantrum tears of a little girl who didn’t understand why she couldn’t do everything she wanted to do whenever she wanted to do it.
All of those are valid reasons to cry. All of those reasons have been cried before, I’m sure, and will be cried again on into the endlessly frightening future.
I’m crying now as I write this, and I don’t know why. Well, I know why, but it just doesn’t make too much sense to me. It’s like the tears aren’t even real--like if I pretend not to feel them, they’ll go away. I get the feeling that if I went and started my homework now and just tried to ignore the fact that I was just sobbing, then maybe I’d be able to forget.
But that doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen. Even if I was able to forget…it doesn’t mean that I wasn’t sitting here alone in my room, lying on my bed, and having a hard time writing because occasionally my whole body will shake with a dry sob, though it is quickly suppressed. I don’t even have to think about it--by reflex I halt my tears before they have a chance to be shed. So all that’s left is the shiver and the whimper of sound that says that I am totally and pathetically out of my depth in life, and that I really should have just stayed in the shallow end for a bit longer before venturing out to face the sharks.
It’s not just one thing causing my almost-tears; it’s everything. I’m crying for father, I’m crying because school is harder than it should be, I’m crying because I just can’t cope with the disasters of this world around me, I’m crying because I’m afraid, I’m crying because I’m crying and because I just don’t remember the last time there was something big and bad and mean enough out there in the world to make me really cry, unless you count the asphalt which scraped at my skin or the mean words that tore at a childish soul. But here I am breathing in and out with no regularity as my attempts to cry drown out more important functions such as respiration and it’s like I’m drowning in this pit of nothing, where I can’t accomplish anything except for sitting here and pitying myself and hating the world and feeling oh so sorry for the rest of the people who have had to cry tears like this, because life shouldn’t be this hard, people honestly shouldn’t have to cry these tears, I shouldn’t have to cry these tears but even if I have to why should other people have to suffer this much I mean how many people can really function with all of this going on inside and I hate it and I just want to quit and it’s just really not fair!
And as I sit here and breathe in and out, in and out with a rhythm that grows more constant as my tears subside, I realize that I really just needed to get all of that off of my chest… When I started writing this, I thought that it would turn out as a long and unsatisfying rant, which would ultimately do nothing except to remind me of my own inequities. I was worried that thinking about my problems would make them somehow more real. I’ve been spending so much time trying not to think about all of the things happening to me, as if by ignoring them I could forget them and they’d just go away. But now I am beginning to see that maybe this writing is good for me. It lets me get so many things out into the open, while at the same time not forcing me to share them with anyone who would possibly react in a negative way to some of the things I’ve said or done. I know my friends and family would maybe be scared by some of the things I’ve written in here, just because they probably don’t sound too much like me. They sound like a completely different person; in fact, I doubt that my family would recognize the writing as mine if the obvious contextual clues were omitted. It would be all too easy for any of them to see this as someone else’s story. It would be all too easy for any of them to make this something far from home, despite its closeness in reality. But maybe talking it out makes it easier to deal with, really, at least for me.
I don’t think that school has been stressing me out more lately than it was a week or two ago; if anything, I’m starting to settle into a routine of work, work, and more work, punctuated by brief periods spent eating and sleeping. It doesn’t feel too hard. But whether or not I realize it, it must be difficult to live under such constant pressure, from all sides and not just from academics. Home life is tense, too; I don’t know what we as a family are going to do about father being laid off and now without a job. All of this, somehow, has been stewing inside of me, to the point where the lid just came off and…well, this happened. This emotional outburst, completely uncharacteristic, utterly despairing, hopeless.
The sobs are beginning to subside now--the occasional shudders of emotion are fewer and further between than they where when I began to write this. Now, I feel I have reached the state that is utterly beyond hysterical tears, for all of those which I had in reserve have been cried and there is nothing left for me but to take a deep breath, dry my eyes, and move on to wander out into the wide world of dreams with naught but exhaustion as my shield…
Growing Pains
I don’t know. This year just seems to be bringing out and magnifying some of the worst of my problems. I don’t know how quite to cope with it. It’s a new experience. One I’d obviously hope not to repeat next year, or next week. I don’t even think that I want tomorrow to be a repeat of today or yesterday. It’s not that this week has been actively bad…it’s just (as usual) forced me to think about things that I am generally not requited to contemplate. Lately, I feel that I am losing whatever was left of my innocence. The sad thing is--I don’t know what I’m gaining in return, except for maybe pain…
School vs. Life
I’ve realized lately that most of the conflicts in my life, whether or not they are school related, happen to a constant background symphony of the ongoing conflict between school and life--between education and gratification. And that conflict will be there until the need to learn or the need to be happy goes away. I think that people always need to learn (thanks to my parents), and obviously I’ll always want to feel good...so this looks like it will be a problem for as long as I live.
Are other people like this? Do they have the same problems that I have? In the end, is their suffering like my suffering? I know that if you wound us, we will all still bleed...but is not it possible that some will bleed more heavily than others?
Young Again?
I’m starting to worry more and more about Father. First he lost his job, then he finds out that his oldest daughter has gone off and gotten married without his consent? I imagine that would be enough to drive any man mad; the most horrendous of reactions would be expected.
But that’s the reason I’m worried--he’s not reacting at all. Every time I see him, he just looks at me with a face like stone, and it’s hard to tell if there’s anything going on behind his eyes at all, even if you stand and look into them for a long time.
He’s been getting home late the past week. Almost as late as when he was employed. He leaves each morning around the same time I leave for school, in order to go out and “search for jobs,” as he puts it. But for all that I know it must be killing him to have to essentially spend his day following up on want ads, he’s not showing it--and I think that’s almost worse than if it was. It’s like…well, not like apathy. It’s more like regret and dejection that I see when I look at him and the way he walks and speaks. I’ve always thought of my father as a powerful man, capable of doing many things. I’ve always seen him as intelligent and able. But it’s like he’s stopped seeing himself as those things…and so, gradually, I’ve stopped seeing him like that, too. That’s a sad declaration, but I’m coming to find that the truth is not always happy.
But lately it’s been worse. I don’t like it that he’s always out of the house. I put up with it before, when he was never here because he was working. But it’s different. Now, he’s not here because he’s not working--at least, he’s not getting any money other than the unemployment checks.
Today, mother came into my room to ask if I had any dirty laundry that needed washing, and she was looking so forlorn and worried and just plain worn out. I didn’t want to make her any worse, but at the same time I needed to know, so I asked her if we’d be able to get by on just her salary until father found a job.
She turned and looked at me (she’d been almost out the room when I asked) and from the look on her face I thought she might be thinking about whether to reassure me or tell me the full truth of the situation.
Thankfully, though not encouragingly, she opted for the truth. “I don’t know for sure,” she said, “but if James can’t get a new job soon…things will get harder.” She sighed. “And depending on what’s happening with Zoë…her tuition is a large part of what we have to pay for…” She shook her head, then said with a firmer resolve, “Never mind that. If your sister needs our support to get her through school, she’ll get it. But it also costs a lot to live here, on Luna. Utilities--power, water, even food--they all cost more here, because there aren’t as many options. The lunar government is in charge of food production, and they regulate prices. And they’ve got their hands in the power and water companies as well, telling them how to adjust to supply and demand. All of the things that you consider simple--they really cost a lot. And we can’t leave…” She lapsed into silence, and from the look on her face I could tell that she was waiting to see if I was scared.
I was. But it would take more than mother’s worried face to make me admit to it.
I nodded, attempting casual serious. “Thank you for answering my question,” I said. Thank you for telling me the truth, and not those child-proof stories, I thought. Thank you for respecting me as a part of this family.
Mother visibly let out a breath. “Thank you for understanding,” she said. It was as though a weight had been visibly lifted from her shoulders.
I have never seen mother look that vulnerable. I got up from where I’d been sitting in front of my computer, walked across the room to where she was standing by the door, and gave her a hug. “I love you, mommy,” I whispered.
I don’t think that she knows how worried this makes me. I don’t want her to know. But for that split second I let a bit of it out. It wasn’t much more than a slip, calling her “mommy.” I haven’t called either of my parents by names like that since I was very young. I don’t think she noticed.
But there are things about what she said that give me cause to worry. Most of them are small things, but I’ve lived with my mother for as long as I’ve been alive, and in all of those fifteen years I don’t think she’s ever referred to my father by his first name unless she was talking directly to him. It’s always “your father says” or “your father was wondering” or “your father and I thought it would be nice.” It’s never been “If James can’t get a new job soon…” And that worries me. It seems a small slip--comparable to me calling mother “mommy”--but the small problems are sometimes the most persistent. Calling him “father” around me and Tatch and even Zoë, when she was still here--it’s always been mother’s way of reminding herself that we’re still kids. But now, as she talks to me of “James” instead of “father”…it’s like she’s admitting that I’m grown up. Admitting that, due to unforeseen circumstances, she suddenly is required to treat me like an adult.
When I was younger, I always wanted to be grown up. Now…I’m not so sure. Now, I think I want to once again be young.
Poem.
The impossible sky looks down at me;
The stars are fierce, and the night is cold.
Beneath my feet is a powdery dust
so soft that I think that maybe if I reached down
and felt it, it would all come to
pieces
between my fingers. The light
is not there, but somehow still I can see
off into the far distance of space and nothing.
It’s a long way down from here to there,
down to the lonely planet
which spins in circles as it works to
slowly recover from the decades of
war-and-pain
which it suffered at the hands of the angry and human,
though years ago and so
far
away
from all it has known and loved. Maybe
the problem is that we all have
distances within us, between what we have and what we
want; between who we are and who we
could (?) be. (Between should and will; between
right and wrong; between light and dark and warm and cold…)
The frozen moon spins around its
once-fair sister, who now holds title only to
fallenness from grace.
The stars in front of me whirl and call, and I
stretch out a hand, but it
draws right through them, as though they are
greased diamonds which my touch
cannot effect. In such space, where two things may not
touch,
what is the use
(or is there a use) for
anything more than the void?
I am realizing that some of these are actually really long...I'm not even sure why I've posted this, but it seemed like a good idea at the time and I think it's done well to relieve some stress, at least. But now I go off to Vargish homework and speechwriting...
If you'd like to comment on any of the excerpts, feel free to do so. These passages are my favorite ones from the "novel" I wrote this November...but that doesn't mean they're perfect. I love feedback! (insert smiley face here) And, in case I didn't mention above, these are only snippets of my novel, given arbitrary titles by me in order to organize them better. The actual novel is told through the first-person journal entries of Kae Jessman, a 15-year-old girl living in a lunar colony in the future (in case anyone wanted to remember).
Kae & her Father
But enough of tangents. I’m worried for father. He was just so…downtrodden, almost, seems the right word.
He came in this morning, sort of early, I guess, but I was awake. He mumbled something like “Good morning, Kae,” and sat down on my bed. “Look, I’m sorry you can’t do the exchange program you wanted to,” he said, and I could tell that he was genuinely sorry. I only had one small light on, and the shadows it cast made him look as old as he sounded, for a minute. “I know it’s a great opportunity. I’ll admit, I didn’t know if you were going to get in when you applied last year, and I’m so proud that you did.” He sighed. “But you have to understand. With your sister in college, and what with the way work’s going…” He trailed off.
“It’s okay,” I said, looking down and knowing that even if it wasn’t, it would have to be. “I understand.”
Father sighed. “I’m sorry about all of this, Kae,” he continued. “I want the best for you, and for your sister and brother, and I wish that we could let you go, but right now things aren’t looking good, and--”
“Really, it’s all right,” I cut him off, not wanting him to start thinking along those lines. “I’ll be all right, I promise. After all, if I’d gone to SS17A, I would’ve missed my friends anyway. Dara and Stel would kill me if I missed that much of the year. Actually, they’d kill me for doing anything fun if they weren’t invited to come along with.” Realizing that I was beginning to babble, I stopped.
Father smiled, reached over, and ruffled up my hair, which was already messy due to sleep. He hadn’t done that in so long. When I was a little kid, he used to do it all the time, and I’d get annoyed at him and tell him to stop because I didn’t want to have to fix my hair again, but now I wish that I had that same smiling, hair-rumpling father all the time.
So I hugged him, hard. I think he might have needed it; every now and then, even the strongest people need to be supported by someone else. Probably the strong ones need it more than others, because the work they take on is so much more than what everyone else can handle. I really do love my father. He is a good person, in so many ways. I think that he doesn’t see that. He’s helped raise me, Tatch, and Zoë while still holding a full-time job and helping to take care of his grandmother. He’s always supported us, even if it meant extra hours away from home. I don’t like to see him worried, because it only makes me worry when he’s preoccupied with something. But I am beginning to see that part of growing up might have something to do with being able to see more of other people’s worries, and knowing when to step up and help lessen them.
I wish there was more I could do for my father, but this morning, that hug was all that I had to give.
Aspirations
I wish that I could be more like Zoë, in that aspect, or even Stel. Zoë’s always known that science was her thing; I remember her coming home and talking about particle physics when I was eight years old and she was twelve. Her likes and dislikes within the realm of science changed a lot when she was younger, but she always knew the general field she wanted to go into. Now, she’s triple-majoring in nuclear physics, “In case we get into a war and someone needs to know how to deconstruct a nuclear weapon”; human biology, “In case I can’t take the nuke apart and we have to deal with the damage to our DNA strain”; and botany--“just for fun.” I think she’s crazy a lot of the time…but then again, I seem to remember a famous quote saying that it’s only the ones who look insane who are actually accomplishing things. The case probably holds true here. I have no doubt that my big sister will go far in life. She’s focused. Mother and Father have always told me that I should follow in her example, if not necessarily in her footsteps. I think they’re secretly rooting for me to become a mathematician, so that they can boast having children in the two most rapidly expanding, respectable fields of study.
But as much as I do well in Maths, I just don’t feel like I could make a career out of numbers and symbols. I want something more exciting. Something more necessary.
And I know mathematics is necessary…but it’s just not interesting. It’s something that anyone can do. As pathetic and impossible as it sounds…I’d like to do something that can change things. Really change the way people think or act or live. I just wish I knew how I could do something like that. In the end, I’m just me. I only have access to my own thoughts and experiences. And I’m only fifteen--that means that the sum total of my experiences is pretty negligible, in the long run. Even when I’m fifty, I don’t know if I’ll be able to change the world--Grandma’s a hundred and one, and she’s no earth-shaker.
Walking
I feel fine when I’m around my friends; when Dara tells some outrageous joke, or Stel recounts some odd tale she’s come across, I feel at home. When my friends are around, the world feels safe, and I’m able to forget about anything that might be bothering me and just laugh out loud along with them.
But they can’t always be here. There are things that I have to be able to face on my own. Running away from my family to spend time with my friends only widens the gap that I am all too aware exists between could and should, between fantasy and reality.
It’s a fine line, the one between selfishness and sacrifice. When does it become a problem that I enjoy spending time with my friends, and that I’m more comfortable with them than I am with my family? Likewise, when should I worry that I’m spending too much time trying to fix something that can only be mended through teamwork? As it is, I’m trying to walk the tightrope line, maintain a balance between my friends and my family. But my family’s increasingly becoming less secure to be around. Now, sometimes just being at home can be depressing, so I get out when I can. I take walks a lot more, now, just to get out and clear my head. I don’t even know where I’m going, most of the time; I just walk out the front door with nothing but the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet and just wander along the corridors and walkways until I have time to think about whatever’s on my mind. And then, once I’ve thought things through, I turn around and go back home--but only then.
The other day, Grandma was waiting for me when I got back. I’d been on one of my long walks--one of the ones where I questioned everything and answered nothing and came home disappointed.
“The next time you’re going to be out for so long, let me know ahead of time,” she said. “That way I’ll know not to worry.”
“Grandma,” I said, slightly exasperated that she was making such a deal out of it, “I’m fifteen. If I couldn’t take care of myself by now, what sort of person would I be?”
She nodded slightly, while still managing to fix me with an appraising stare. “I trust you,” she said. “I’m just worried that one of these days you’ll go out so far that your feet won’t be enough to lead you back. Then your heart will have to do the job. Take care that it will be able to, when the time comes.”
I’m not sure I fully understand what she meant by that…but nonetheless, I have a despairing feeling that Grandma Annie may be right.
Friendly Jealousy
I honestly think that, if Stel plays her cards right, she can win this thing. If she does, I’d be so happy for her, and I know her family would be, too. As an only child, she gets all of her parents’ attention. On the one hand, I think that wouldn’t be too bad--plus I wouldn’t have to deal with a younger brother who frequently picks the e-lock on my room and generally makes a mess of my stuff-but on the other hand, it means that her parents are able to focus solely on her. All of their expectations ride on her--there’s no one else in the family for them to expect things of.
So I guess maybe her parents push her in school a little more (okay, who am I kidding, a lot more) than mine do. But it’s not like Stel doesn’t live up to their expectations. She’s truly brilliant; her grades are always the top of our class. I honestly doubt she’s ever done anything to make her mother or father disappointed in her--I just can’t imagine that happening. I honestly cannot see her failing at anything; there is this aura of determined success around her that is part of what makes me so sure she will win this Student Body election, now that she’s decided to run. I know other people see in her what I do: an undeniably bright, talented, and hardworking girl who, no matter what she decides to do with her life, will go far. She might not be a scientist--she won’t contribute by finding the next cure to cancer, or anything--but I have a feeling that she will do something big and life changing just the same.
If she weren’t one of my best friends, and if I hadn’t known her now for two years, I would be insanely, incoherently, unutterably jealous.
Eavesdropping
So it’s been a while since I’ve had time to worry about what goes on at my home, but for an instant or two some of the tensions flared up again. Father was really quiet and brooding tonight. I heard him talking with mother in the kitchen after we all ate dinner. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop…but I sort of overheard their conversation.
“Are you sure you’re all right, James?” mother asked as soon as she thought no one could hear. I heard her walk over to him, and in my mind I saw her place a hand on his shoulder in the comforting gesture she uses most frequently when he’s being bothered by something.
Father sighed, one of those deep sighs that you think can only come from people who are desperately old and don’t have anything left for them in life. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice more open and honest than I have ever heard him--but also infinitely more worrisome. “I don’t even know if I know what ‘all right’ is any more. I have never had a chance to just sit back, relax, and feel all right.”
Mother sighed in empathy, and there was a moment of silence in which I imagined her sympathetically wrapping her arms around my father and trying to lend him what emotional support she had to give. There was a period of silence…but not the sort of silence where everything’s all right; not the sort of silence that you find after a happy ending. This silence was tense, through no actions of my parents. It was simply difficult; it was something they hadn’t counted on having to go through, but suddenly got thrown into the midst of.
Father spoke again, after a while. “I’m worried about the children,” he said. “If I’m out of this job, it means that it will be harder for us to get them through college. And the really good universities cost a lot of money…money that we won’t have. Kae and Tatch should at least have the option to go to a good school, like their sister.”
“I can always look for a better job,” mother said, trying not to sound too worried for father’s sake. Nonetheless, her tone was not entirely certain.
“I know you could,” he replied, sighing. “But I don’t want to have to put you through this. You’ve done so much more for me and my family than I have ever had the ability to do for you. You loved me unconditionally and my family practically disowned us. My parents died and you took in my grandmother. You’re the one who cares for Grandma Annie; she always loved you just as much as me, if not more. But there’s nothing like that for me to do in return. It seems like I’m always the one who needs saving, and you’re always my valiant lady.” In my mind’s eye, father looked imploringly at mother, hoping for an answer that would help him make sense out of his tangled world. “Isn’t it supposed to work the other way around?”
Mother made a small noise, then hugged him tighter. “James, I didn’t marry you because I expected you to wait on me hand and foot,” she said. “If you’ll remember the wedding vows--the part about ‘for richer or for poorer’--I mean that as much now as I did twenty-five years ago. So don’t get down about this.” Peeking around the corner, I saw that she stood on her toes to kiss father’s cheek. It was a gesture so simple, pure in its optimism and unrestrained love. “Whatever happens…we promised a long time ago that we’d face it together. That promise still stands.”
“I love you,” father said, and he kissed her. “You’re right. We can do this.”
The thing that keeps me still just a little worried is that, when he said that, he didn’t sound all that certain.
Winners and Losers
My parents are probably one of the reasons why I take honors classes, and go through all the higher level exams and the stress involved therein. It’s not like they make me--they’ve never told me that I had to do anything of the sort. But the way I’ve been raised has imprinted in me the idea that I have to be good at things. That I have to be better than good; that I have to be great, even. These are all of the things that living with my mother and father and older sister have told me.
I suppose Zoë plays a big part in it, too. She was always intelligent. She always knew what she was doing in her life. And I grew up hearing her talking about what she was going to do with her life; she was always so certain about everything. Growing up and seeing that certainty meant that I always felt that I had to be just as certain in anything related to school.
I don’t know how Tatch didn’t catch the “trying disease” like me and Zoë did. But Tatch’s idea of good grades involves no F’s and minimal teacher comments. He’s happy if he gets through the year without having a teacher conference with mother and father and a really angry teacher.
Honestly, I don’t understand the way these things are passed on down through the generations--or rather, how they aren’t passed on, in this occasion concerning Tatch.
But really, I’m so different from mother and father, and Zoë and Tatch. They all know what they’re doing. At my age, Zoë and mother and father all knew what they wanted to do. But now, I am my age, and I have no idea what I intend on doing with my life. There are so many things I can do...but I really don’t see myself in any of those occupations. I understand that they are possibilities, but they seem so impossibly far removed from the present to have any sort of immediacy about them.
That’s the way the future usually is, though--vague, fuzzy, insubstantial. I think it’s slightly important that there is no way for us to know of our own futures ahead of time. I mean…what of Romeo and Juliet? Had they known their futures, what play would there have been in that? They did die--their fate was sorrowful--but if they had known their futures, would their love have been so strong?
What would we all do differently if we knew our fates ahead of time? It’s like the old question, asked to make you think about your life and what you’re doing with it: What would you do today if you knew you were going to die tomorrow?
Well…I would not do English homework. I wouldn’t yell at people or get into fights; I wouldn’t spend time stressing, or crying. I would spend time with my friends. I would spend time with my family, if they promised for that one day to forget that they were stressed or worried about anything. I would drink lots of coffee, stay up late, sing and dance, laugh and live and love.
Oh, how I envy those people who are able to live daily as though they were dying; those people who are able to do whatever they feel like are the ones who are truly free. I wish that I could do everything that I wanted to do. Doesn’t everyone believe that they should be allowed to follow their heart?
And yet…I know we can’t do everything we want to do all the time. A teacher I had once tried to explain it by saying, “You have all liberty to do anything, up to the point where you infringe upon someone else’s liberty. Once you do that…you are on your own. The law won’t protect you any more.”
So…I can’t do everything I want to do all of the time. I can’t do anything that endangers anyone else. But I don’t think I’ve ever been in a situation where my happiness would mean someone else’s injury.
Well…I suppose that it would make me happy to have Stel win this election. And it would make Jerry disappointed, and I suppose that disappointment is a form of injury. So maybe, every time someone wins something…there’s someone else out there who loses it. I mean, I know that someone always has to lose in order for someone else to win, but I’ve never really been on the losing side of anything important.
I don’t want to have to lose something. I don’t want to have to lose anything. I don’t want to feel defeat. I have felt desperation at times; I have felt cynicism and possibly depression. But defeat? Defeat would be a new and unwelcome flavor. I don’t want to have to lose at something--really and heartily and fully and truthfully lose.
Well…I guess I’ll just have to wait until Monday morning to find out.
Tears
It’s been a long time since I’ve cried.
Now normally I wouldn’t even be thinking of such a subject. It’s true that it’s been a long time since I’ve cried--but it’s not like I’ve had anything sob-worthy in my life lately. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I cried. I somehow think that it must have been when I was really young, and really vulnerable. Possibly the last tears I shed were over something as simple as a scraped knee, or a bruised elbow. Maybe they were the tantrum tears of a little girl who didn’t understand why she couldn’t do everything she wanted to do whenever she wanted to do it.
All of those are valid reasons to cry. All of those reasons have been cried before, I’m sure, and will be cried again on into the endlessly frightening future.
I’m crying now as I write this, and I don’t know why. Well, I know why, but it just doesn’t make too much sense to me. It’s like the tears aren’t even real--like if I pretend not to feel them, they’ll go away. I get the feeling that if I went and started my homework now and just tried to ignore the fact that I was just sobbing, then maybe I’d be able to forget.
But that doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen. Even if I was able to forget…it doesn’t mean that I wasn’t sitting here alone in my room, lying on my bed, and having a hard time writing because occasionally my whole body will shake with a dry sob, though it is quickly suppressed. I don’t even have to think about it--by reflex I halt my tears before they have a chance to be shed. So all that’s left is the shiver and the whimper of sound that says that I am totally and pathetically out of my depth in life, and that I really should have just stayed in the shallow end for a bit longer before venturing out to face the sharks.
It’s not just one thing causing my almost-tears; it’s everything. I’m crying for father, I’m crying because school is harder than it should be, I’m crying because I just can’t cope with the disasters of this world around me, I’m crying because I’m afraid, I’m crying because I’m crying and because I just don’t remember the last time there was something big and bad and mean enough out there in the world to make me really cry, unless you count the asphalt which scraped at my skin or the mean words that tore at a childish soul. But here I am breathing in and out with no regularity as my attempts to cry drown out more important functions such as respiration and it’s like I’m drowning in this pit of nothing, where I can’t accomplish anything except for sitting here and pitying myself and hating the world and feeling oh so sorry for the rest of the people who have had to cry tears like this, because life shouldn’t be this hard, people honestly shouldn’t have to cry these tears, I shouldn’t have to cry these tears but even if I have to why should other people have to suffer this much I mean how many people can really function with all of this going on inside and I hate it and I just want to quit and it’s just really not fair!
And as I sit here and breathe in and out, in and out with a rhythm that grows more constant as my tears subside, I realize that I really just needed to get all of that off of my chest… When I started writing this, I thought that it would turn out as a long and unsatisfying rant, which would ultimately do nothing except to remind me of my own inequities. I was worried that thinking about my problems would make them somehow more real. I’ve been spending so much time trying not to think about all of the things happening to me, as if by ignoring them I could forget them and they’d just go away. But now I am beginning to see that maybe this writing is good for me. It lets me get so many things out into the open, while at the same time not forcing me to share them with anyone who would possibly react in a negative way to some of the things I’ve said or done. I know my friends and family would maybe be scared by some of the things I’ve written in here, just because they probably don’t sound too much like me. They sound like a completely different person; in fact, I doubt that my family would recognize the writing as mine if the obvious contextual clues were omitted. It would be all too easy for any of them to see this as someone else’s story. It would be all too easy for any of them to make this something far from home, despite its closeness in reality. But maybe talking it out makes it easier to deal with, really, at least for me.
I don’t think that school has been stressing me out more lately than it was a week or two ago; if anything, I’m starting to settle into a routine of work, work, and more work, punctuated by brief periods spent eating and sleeping. It doesn’t feel too hard. But whether or not I realize it, it must be difficult to live under such constant pressure, from all sides and not just from academics. Home life is tense, too; I don’t know what we as a family are going to do about father being laid off and now without a job. All of this, somehow, has been stewing inside of me, to the point where the lid just came off and…well, this happened. This emotional outburst, completely uncharacteristic, utterly despairing, hopeless.
The sobs are beginning to subside now--the occasional shudders of emotion are fewer and further between than they where when I began to write this. Now, I feel I have reached the state that is utterly beyond hysterical tears, for all of those which I had in reserve have been cried and there is nothing left for me but to take a deep breath, dry my eyes, and move on to wander out into the wide world of dreams with naught but exhaustion as my shield…
Growing Pains
I don’t know. This year just seems to be bringing out and magnifying some of the worst of my problems. I don’t know how quite to cope with it. It’s a new experience. One I’d obviously hope not to repeat next year, or next week. I don’t even think that I want tomorrow to be a repeat of today or yesterday. It’s not that this week has been actively bad…it’s just (as usual) forced me to think about things that I am generally not requited to contemplate. Lately, I feel that I am losing whatever was left of my innocence. The sad thing is--I don’t know what I’m gaining in return, except for maybe pain…
School vs. Life
I’ve realized lately that most of the conflicts in my life, whether or not they are school related, happen to a constant background symphony of the ongoing conflict between school and life--between education and gratification. And that conflict will be there until the need to learn or the need to be happy goes away. I think that people always need to learn (thanks to my parents), and obviously I’ll always want to feel good...so this looks like it will be a problem for as long as I live.
Are other people like this? Do they have the same problems that I have? In the end, is their suffering like my suffering? I know that if you wound us, we will all still bleed...but is not it possible that some will bleed more heavily than others?
Young Again?
I’m starting to worry more and more about Father. First he lost his job, then he finds out that his oldest daughter has gone off and gotten married without his consent? I imagine that would be enough to drive any man mad; the most horrendous of reactions would be expected.
But that’s the reason I’m worried--he’s not reacting at all. Every time I see him, he just looks at me with a face like stone, and it’s hard to tell if there’s anything going on behind his eyes at all, even if you stand and look into them for a long time.
He’s been getting home late the past week. Almost as late as when he was employed. He leaves each morning around the same time I leave for school, in order to go out and “search for jobs,” as he puts it. But for all that I know it must be killing him to have to essentially spend his day following up on want ads, he’s not showing it--and I think that’s almost worse than if it was. It’s like…well, not like apathy. It’s more like regret and dejection that I see when I look at him and the way he walks and speaks. I’ve always thought of my father as a powerful man, capable of doing many things. I’ve always seen him as intelligent and able. But it’s like he’s stopped seeing himself as those things…and so, gradually, I’ve stopped seeing him like that, too. That’s a sad declaration, but I’m coming to find that the truth is not always happy.
But lately it’s been worse. I don’t like it that he’s always out of the house. I put up with it before, when he was never here because he was working. But it’s different. Now, he’s not here because he’s not working--at least, he’s not getting any money other than the unemployment checks.
Today, mother came into my room to ask if I had any dirty laundry that needed washing, and she was looking so forlorn and worried and just plain worn out. I didn’t want to make her any worse, but at the same time I needed to know, so I asked her if we’d be able to get by on just her salary until father found a job.
She turned and looked at me (she’d been almost out the room when I asked) and from the look on her face I thought she might be thinking about whether to reassure me or tell me the full truth of the situation.
Thankfully, though not encouragingly, she opted for the truth. “I don’t know for sure,” she said, “but if James can’t get a new job soon…things will get harder.” She sighed. “And depending on what’s happening with Zoë…her tuition is a large part of what we have to pay for…” She shook her head, then said with a firmer resolve, “Never mind that. If your sister needs our support to get her through school, she’ll get it. But it also costs a lot to live here, on Luna. Utilities--power, water, even food--they all cost more here, because there aren’t as many options. The lunar government is in charge of food production, and they regulate prices. And they’ve got their hands in the power and water companies as well, telling them how to adjust to supply and demand. All of the things that you consider simple--they really cost a lot. And we can’t leave…” She lapsed into silence, and from the look on her face I could tell that she was waiting to see if I was scared.
I was. But it would take more than mother’s worried face to make me admit to it.
I nodded, attempting casual serious. “Thank you for answering my question,” I said. Thank you for telling me the truth, and not those child-proof stories, I thought. Thank you for respecting me as a part of this family.
Mother visibly let out a breath. “Thank you for understanding,” she said. It was as though a weight had been visibly lifted from her shoulders.
I have never seen mother look that vulnerable. I got up from where I’d been sitting in front of my computer, walked across the room to where she was standing by the door, and gave her a hug. “I love you, mommy,” I whispered.
I don’t think that she knows how worried this makes me. I don’t want her to know. But for that split second I let a bit of it out. It wasn’t much more than a slip, calling her “mommy.” I haven’t called either of my parents by names like that since I was very young. I don’t think she noticed.
But there are things about what she said that give me cause to worry. Most of them are small things, but I’ve lived with my mother for as long as I’ve been alive, and in all of those fifteen years I don’t think she’s ever referred to my father by his first name unless she was talking directly to him. It’s always “your father says” or “your father was wondering” or “your father and I thought it would be nice.” It’s never been “If James can’t get a new job soon…” And that worries me. It seems a small slip--comparable to me calling mother “mommy”--but the small problems are sometimes the most persistent. Calling him “father” around me and Tatch and even Zoë, when she was still here--it’s always been mother’s way of reminding herself that we’re still kids. But now, as she talks to me of “James” instead of “father”…it’s like she’s admitting that I’m grown up. Admitting that, due to unforeseen circumstances, she suddenly is required to treat me like an adult.
When I was younger, I always wanted to be grown up. Now…I’m not so sure. Now, I think I want to once again be young.
Poem.
The impossible sky looks down at me;
The stars are fierce, and the night is cold.
Beneath my feet is a powdery dust
so soft that I think that maybe if I reached down
and felt it, it would all come to
pieces
between my fingers. The light
is not there, but somehow still I can see
off into the far distance of space and nothing.
It’s a long way down from here to there,
down to the lonely planet
which spins in circles as it works to
slowly recover from the decades of
war-and-pain
which it suffered at the hands of the angry and human,
though years ago and so
far
away
from all it has known and loved. Maybe
the problem is that we all have
distances within us, between what we have and what we
want; between who we are and who we
could (?) be. (Between should and will; between
right and wrong; between light and dark and warm and cold…)
The frozen moon spins around its
once-fair sister, who now holds title only to
fallenness from grace.
The stars in front of me whirl and call, and I
stretch out a hand, but it
draws right through them, as though they are
greased diamonds which my touch
cannot effect. In such space, where two things may not
touch,
what is the use
(or is there a use) for
anything more than the void?
I am realizing that some of these are actually really long...I'm not even sure why I've posted this, but it seemed like a good idea at the time and I think it's done well to relieve some stress, at least. But now I go off to Vargish homework and speechwriting...
If you'd like to comment on any of the excerpts, feel free to do so. These passages are my favorite ones from the "novel" I wrote this November...but that doesn't mean they're perfect. I love feedback! (insert smiley face here) And, in case I didn't mention above, these are only snippets of my novel, given arbitrary titles by me in order to organize them better. The actual novel is told through the first-person journal entries of Kae Jessman, a 15-year-old girl living in a lunar colony in the future (in case anyone wanted to remember).