“Brianna was swinging on a tire
swing. A tire swing hanging from the
limb of, I think, an elm. And she was
just giggling, the way little kids do, for no reason. At little kid things. And…and this is the weird part…I can remember
so vividly that the sky was this clear, deep, perfect blue, and I can remember
her laugh. I remember her laugh
exactly. And her eyes, because there was
no pain in them, for once, that day. But
no matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I try to remember, there are just
these…blank spots there. I mean…like, her hair, for instance. I know her hair was brown and that it was…I don’t know, long-ish, but…somehow, I try to remember how it was styled, or
whether it was tangled that day, and I just…there’s just this blank spot…”
“So…Jason showed me the town again, today. He keeps forgetting which parts he’s already
showed me. Or maybe he doesn’t care; he
seems so excited to show them to me again that maybe he just can’t resist. Nice guy, but he’s got the attention span of
a goldfish. It’s almost as if he rediscovers
the whole world every few seconds and falls in love with it all over
again. At first, I kinda thought he was
stupid. I mean, you know, the psychovore
hoodie and everything…he’s not what you’d call an intellectual. But he’s not dumb. He’s just…not critical. He’s the most totally
non-judgmental person I’ve ever met. He
just accepts everything and wants every single thing in the world to be his
friend. He wants it so much that
eventually ends up becoming true.
Everybody loves him.”
“The princess thoughts. They are our enemies. They come to us unbidden. They sneak up on us when we least expect
them, and they leap inside, demanding romantic rescue and sparkly shit. Once you get your body, you and I will be
allies against them. We shall squash the
princess thoughts, you and I. We shall
crush them beneath our heels like overripe grapes.”
“I don’t remember my sister’s
hair. I know certain things about it; I just don’t remember them. They tell me
that’s…just how it works, here.
Memories. That it’s always the
things you care about that you bring with you, but which details you retain, that’s almost random. Like, people remember all of these tiny
little factoids, but they’ll have forgotten really big important things that
provide the context that make those details important. Buck, for instance. I asked him the other day what he
remembered. And he talked about green
grass under a bright blue sky. ‘There’s
this huge grandstand, with green benches, and the paint peeling. And there’s all these colored folks, all
dressed up in their Sunday best, smiling and cheering for me. And I know I’ve made them happy.’ And I ask him, what did you do that made them
happy? And he gives me that grin of his,
and he says, ‘I have no idea.’ And then,
of course, he laughed about it. Because
that’s what he does. But I can’t. I can’t laugh about the fact that a sweet,
kind man like that doesn’t remember what made people love him.”
“Jason’s interested. I’m pretty sure. Which is…weird. I mean, look at me, and look at some of the girls
in this town. Look at Diana! Jesus.
Of course, ‘girls’ is a weird term to use. Everybody’s got a mid-twenties body, but some
of them have been here for over two centuries.
Diana’s what, eighty? I suppose
you can’t really call an eighty-year-old a ‘girl’. I think that may have something to do with
it. Even with all the women who’d want
him, I’m the only girl in town who’s actually close to his own age. And he’s…well, he’s attractive, in all the
most unsubtle, obvious ways. And he’s
sweet, and eager to please…a little over-eager, maybe. But…there’s something there, behind his eyes,
you know? Something that wants out. And I don’t quite trust it. I don’t remember why I don’t trust men, but I
don’t. Maybe that’s not fair, but that’s
who I am. There’s a lot of dudes here, and I just don’t need another one in my life
right now. What are you glowing at me
like that for? No! It’s not because he’s black! That has nothing to do with it! I’m…well, I’m pretty sure that’s got nothing
to do with it.. But I guess if it did, I guess if I was a racist
or something, I wouldn’t remember
that I was. Oh, goddamnit. Why’d you have to bring that up?”
“I asked Harriet, what do you remember? And she gives me that stare, and she just says,
’Freedom,’ and walks away. Harriet
is…she’s just this force of nature, and she’s awesome, and she’s a woman and
she hasn’t let this place beat her down.
And I want to know her, and talk to her…and I can’t. Because…she’s got those walls up, around her,
and only Buck gets let in. And
Rosemary’s busy trying to save everyone, and fix everything, and protect Ben,
and keep his worst instincts from running away with him. And even Ben might be OK, if he wasn’t so
obsessed with being such a B.A. all the time.
At least I have you. Someone I
can talk to, and trust.”
“Harry’s not so bad, I guess. Have you met Harry? The guy who spends all his time making those
hats? Nice enough, for a guy, talks too much, but I
guess they all do. Anyway, Harry’s not
so bad as some of them, because Harry remembers his wife. And he’s still completely, head-over-heels in
love with her. He remembers exactly, and
I mean exactly, what she looked like
on their first date. And on the day they
were married. And on all of these
occasions, later on, throughout their lives.
Down to the last detail, and dozens of occasions, up until they were
both very, very old. And he’s still in
love with her, but he doesn’t remember
her name. Whatever did this to us…I
mean, it’s almost too cruel to just
be random, the way they left us…left us just enough pieces to see the shadows
of something bigger. And to know we’re
missing it. Enough that we’re just
barely functional, but not enough to get ahead…and enough to know there’s
more. That it’s just right there, out of
reach.”
“I’ve been thinking about Ammerman. He’s…interesting. No, don’t look like that. Not a princess thought! Not guilty!
I didn’t mean romantically
interesting. What I mean is that he’s
the only man in this town who doesn’t insist on treating me like a China
doll. I’m not the biggest fan of his
coterie. Dion, and Little Bill, and
Ramesh and the others. A couple of
them…well, they’re more annoying than an actual problem. I spent the first
two weeks here with my heartlight as the only visible part of me, so I’m used
to having men staring at my chest.
See…here’s the thing about Ammerman.
He’s…repulsive, right? I mean,
the way he looks, the way he talks, the way he carries himself. He’s creepy, selfish, obnoxious, uncouth, and
arrogant. He’s the worst possible person
to represent his views. But…for all
that…I’m not sure that he’s wrong. You’d have to talk to him, I guess, to really
understand. But…I don’t think he’s
wrong. About how this town―about how Ben, to be honest―imposes itself upon
its citizens in the hundred subtle little ways it does. I don’t know if Ammerman likes people, in
general, any more than they like him…but, in his own way, I think he respects people at least as much as Ben
does. Possibly more. And maybe if I’m with him…maybe people will
pay a little more attention, you know?
To what he’s saying, instead of to how he says it. And then, of course, there’s the fact that
everybody hates him. Almost
everybody. Ben’s got all those admirers
and followers, and John’s got practically nobody. If there’s a sort of cold war going on
between them, then almost everybody’s on Ben’s side. And I don’t like bandwagons. I don’t like herds. They weird me out. If everyone’s on the same side, then what
happens when that side turns out to be wrong?”
“Remember how I told you about
being afraid that I might counterfeit myself?
I’ve been feeling that way about memories, lately. What happens when you want to remember
something so badly that you talk yourself into filling in the blanks? What happens when you start wanting memories
so much that you just start making them up out of whole cloth, and thinking
they’re real? So even what little you
have of the person you used to be gets…contaminated. You make up a story about who you were. And then the person you really are is gone
for good―lost in that fog we went through when we left Earth. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand just…sitting here, with Brianna
drifting away from me, one little piece at a time, getting replaced bit by bit
with a version that’s just a little off, a little different. Knowing that someday, the real her will be
gone, and that I’ll be the one responsible for it. That I’ll have cheated, that I’ll have traded
her away, one piece at a time, replaced her with some cheap, patchwork
fake. Because…because I didn’t love her
enough. Not enough to remember the real
her. Not enough to have brought her with
me. Is that what it’s like for you? Do you have, just, almost all the pieces, but…I
wish you could tell me. About…all the
things that mattered to you. About all
the things you remember.”
“Everybody wants to be my
friend. And everybody’s telling me, ‘oh,
come work here, we have so much fun.’
And John’s all, “Raaaar, hard work, yer fingers’ll fall off, freedom
means sacrifice, ol’ dog new tricks, blood, pain, tears, raaaar, ptui. I sang one stupid song, and suddenly I’m the
belle of the ball. A damned China
doll. It’s not right. It’s too easy. But John…John seems to think that maybe
there’s something more to me than people see right now. That maybe there’s more to me that a
song. Everybody else wants me for what
they think I am, but John wants me
around for what he thinks I can be. And I don’t think he’s wrong. I think maybe there’s more to me than…than I
got a chance to show, maybe, back on Earth.
And I want a chance to be that person.
Maybe it’s like he said at the meeting―maybe it’s not about being up on
a pedestal? Maybe I don’t need admirers.
Maybe what I need is a push. Maybe he
can give me that. On the other hand…he
is really, really repulsive. I mean, ick.”
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