The Earth Dwellers

I stroll down the hall, admiring each painting, until I reach my destination. A blue door that used to be white. A smile spreads across my face as I lift my fist to knock.

The door opens just as I try to crack my knuckles against it, and I almost punch Lin in the face.

“Is that how you treat all your old friends?” she asks, gri

“Only my favorites,” I say.

I give her a hug, favoring my injured arm, and she accepts it, but pulls away quickly. Hugging’s not really her thing. “C’mon in,” she says. “It’s about time you visited.”

“Sorry,” I say, stepping inside the narrow apartment, now splashed with yellow walls and a red countertop. “Life of a councilmember’s girlfriend. Hey, I like the new décor.”

“Hey, kid,” Avery says, looking up from where he’s hunched over the small table. It’s painted red, too. “You like the colors? They are my creations. I’ve become something of a paint mixer since you took down Lecter. Well, at least after I got out of prison.”

I cringe. “Sorry you had to go through that,” I say. “You too, Lin.” One of the first things I did after Tristan told me the war had been won, was to go to the jail and release all the prisoners, including my two friends and the old man who’s apartment I borrowed while he was imprisoned. Lin’s still got a jagged scar just below her eye from being tortured, and Avery’s nose is a little crooked, having been broken.

Lin grins, like the memory is one of her favorites. “No biggie,” she says. “There aren’t many people who’ve got ‘Was tortured for information but didn’t tell them a damn thing’ on their list of life accomplishments.”

I laugh because only she’d be able to put such a positive spin on a horrific experience, wearing it like a badge of honor.

“You feel the same way, Avery?” I ask.

“She’s one of a kind,” is all he says, but there’s pride in his voice. “You’re just in time for some food.”

I groan. “Is it green, brown, and yellow rectangles?”

“Blech,” Lin says, “I hope I never see rectangle-shaped food again.”

Avery hands me a plate. “No, I call this earth dweller/fire country fusion cuisine. Or to the layman, eggs and prickler.”

I stare at the fluffy white-and-yellow, green-flecked clouds on my plate. It doesn’t look half bad. I take a tentative bite. “Mmm,” I murmur. “This is awesome.”

“Glad you like it,” Avery says. “I’ve managed to transform this minimalist place into a half-decent kitchen. Apparently cooking and painting are more my skillset than street cleaning.”

“He painted the hallway, too,” Lin says, talking with her mouth full.

“You’re kidding me?” I say. “It’s breathtaking. You’ve got real talent.”

Avery shrugs. “Who knew? I’ve been asked to do some other walls around the city.”

I take another bite of deliciousness and sigh. I’m not sure what I’m good at other than punching, kicking, and assassinating maniacal dictators, but I can’t wait to find out.

~~~

The sun is past its peak when I leave Avery and Lin’s place with a promise to see them more often. “And bring Tristan with you next time,” Lin says on my way out the door.

I stroll through the city, which is still shockingly clean and litter-free. Lecter didn’t do much right, but keeping the city free of trash was one thing I agreed with.

Left turn, right turn, another left: the new park comes into view. Children are ru

My mother’s sitting nearby, alone, away from the other parents, her broken arm in a sling. I’m not sure whether everything she’s experienced in her lifetime will ever allow her to fit in with everyone else, but that’s something I love about her.

She gives me a raised-eyebrow smirk when I plop down beside her. “Did you get to see Lin?” she asks.

I nod. “She asked about you like twenty-four thousand times,” I say. “I’m pretty sure she wants to be you.”

“She’s a strong girl,” she says without so much as blushing at the compliment. That’s another thing I love about my mother: she knows she’s strong and she’s not afraid of that fact. “You are too,” she adds, and I do blush, warmth creeping into my cheeks. I guess being like my mother is still too new for me to fully understand it.

“Elsey looks happy,” I say, watching her legs—which seem to grow longer each day—easily carry her away from the boy who’s “it,” until he gives up in search of slower prey.

“She’s never let the world scar her the way other people do,” she says. She’s right, which is what makes my sister so special, because even though she wears a terribly real physical scar from the atrocities of life, inside she’s pure and unmarked. Am I scarred? Is my mother? Will any of us ever be as pure as Elsey again? I hope so.

Elsey runs over, out of breath, giggling. She practically falls into my lap, even though she’s getting far too big to do that. “I was only ‘it’ once, and that was because I let someone tag me,” she says.

I laugh and push her off. “You’re sweaty, you little bragger.”

“Mother says sweat is a good thing. That it’s what makes the world a better place.”

I glance at my mother, who tries to hide her smile. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want your sweat on me,” I say.

As I watch Elsey brush a moist strand of hair away from her face and charge off to rejoin the game, I feel an unexpected swell of emotion in my chest. Is this……real? Can life go on like none of the awfulness ever happened?

The answer comes to me as I watch Elsey let herself get tagged again. In a move that reminds me so much of myself, she immediately hones in on the tallest, fastest boy, chasing him across the lawn.

No, the world will not go on in denial about its past. And it shouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean we have to be afraid of the past, so long as we remember it and learn from it, united in our belief that humans are inherently good and that the evil is the exception, not the rule. Always hope and strive for a better future.

Elsey gains a step on the boy, then another. She’s so close, her fingers swiping and missing his back by the tiniest margin. She springs forward, diving to try to make the tag, but a brown blur rushes in from the side, catching her before her fingers can find their mark.

Roc does an exuberant and overzealous celebration lap around the park, slinging Elsey—who’s giggling and protesting—over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Tawni shakes her head at Roc’s antics and makes her way over to us. Her white-blond hair practically sings under the reflected rays of the sun. I stand and hug her, holding her longer than normal. “I missed you too,” she says, understanding me the way she always has.

Behind her is Tristan, his arm around his mother, talking and laughing, his mouth closing only when he sees me and the way I’m looking at him:

With fire and ice and water and storms in my eyes. With the red sky and the yellow-white sand and the green grass. With gray rocks and dim lighting and painted walls. With life and love and memories.

Does he stop laughing because he sees all that in my gaze?

When he smiles I know that he does.

Because I see it in his eyes too.

A million memories and the future.

He hugs me and I’m home.

He kisses me and I’m never alone.

Whether our mothers had any idea what they were really doing when they stuck those chips in our necks, we may never know, but it doesn’t matter now. Because we were always meant to be together and I can’t imagine a life apart.

I’m his rock and he’s mine.