-Worlds Apart- Ruination (7 page)

“Full, waxing gibbous, first quarter…” On and on she repeats, proving she has them memorized.

“Ok show off. Let’s move on.” I smile at her across the table. I pull out her skills lesson, “It says you’re supposed to work on trapping today.” She curls her top lip in a sort of snarl. Skills instruction’s never been her favorite but it’s mandatory. “You’re learning the twitch-up snare today.” She cocks her head, giving a disgusted look. “I hope you’re feeling better because we have to go outside to do this.”

I fold her in my arms, hugging her before we dress in our warm blues. We march towards the woods bordering our home. Emma snaps nearly every branch that litters the forest floor. 

“In case you were wondering, hunting isn’t your thing,” I mutter over my shoulder. “When you’re tracking and hunting you have to be quiet. Animals have a keen sense of smell
and
hearing. Each branch you break takes you a step further from reaching your prey.” 

“Ok.” She says, focused on my words.

I give her more instructions, “Look for signs of animal activity. It can be broken twigs, foot-prints, even flattened blades of grass showing where animals have bedded down. Once we find an animal trail we’ll begin construction.”

I look over my shoulder, her eyes scour the ground. We walk through the thick forest sweeping the land in a diagonal pattern. She lifts and lowers her feet gingerly, her eyes focus on the ground in the duel task of finding an animal trail and avoiding making noise. I haven’t heard a twig break since I told her miles ago.

“There!” She shrieks with excitement. Her eyes land on an animal trail. 

“What kind of animal is it?”

“Rabbit?” Her response sounds more like a question than an answer; obviously she isn’t confident. 

“You’re right.
Why
did you say rabbit?” I patiently wait several minutes for her to piece together her reasoning.

“The trail is low to the ground… The tall grass is unbroken and larger game would’ve broken the tall grass or even the twigs. Also look,” she points to the tracks, “two long prints in the back for the hind feet and two small in front. Definitely a rabbit.” She finishes with a smile.

“Exactly right. Okay Emma, now we need to cover our scent.” She shoots me a puzzled look. “We have to coat our hands and trapping materials in mud from a creek bed.” 

Her puzzled look turns into one of pure disbelief. I imagine the thought of voluntarily covering her skin in mud is absolutely preposterous to her, but she eventually agrees. We walk through the woods to the nearest creek. I stare at the mud, tracing my eyes around the swirling shades of brown. Squatting down I sink my hand into it, mixing the colors and lifting them to my arms. I’ve covered the right half of my arm when I feel a cold splat against my thigh. Emma’s hit me with a muddy projectile. My eyes turn to hers. She’s laughing, her dirty hands point at the matted mud she just threw at me. I reach deep into the brown, retrieving an overflowing handful. Cocking my arm back I aim and fire, throwing the projectile at her. It slaps her hard against her shoulder. This means war.

Her next mud rocket lands square against my jaw. Wiping the mud away I fling the excess back to the ground. I pause, deciding my next move. I could end it here, maybe tell her we’re wasting time. Or I could follow my automatic response and teach her a lesson. I grin in just the wrong way, giving my choice away. She tries to run but she’s no match for my long legs. I catch-up to her, tackling her. She emerges, face and front of her body covered in the thick brown filth. For a second I’m terrified she’s going to be furious, worried she can’t handle my retaliation. She stares at me shocked and then breaks into hysterical laughter, her body shakes as she folds over, grabbing her waist as she laughs. Her slick hands slide down the front of her thighs and she nearly falls face first again. Within ten minutes we’re layered with mud, laughing uncontrollably.

We head back to the rabbit trail, along the way I teach her which twigs to use for the snare. “Don’t use the green ones” I bend down snapping a green twig in half, exposing thick syrup. “The sap will adhere the materials together and once that happens your snare’s useless.” Emma nods as she absorbs my instructions. “We need two forked sticks, one long, one short,” I instruct.

Within five minutes she’s back with two textbook sticks. We crouch together as I show her how to position the forked sticks along the rabbit path. It takes Emma close to an hour to mimic my snare but eventually she’s mastered it.

“Let’s try it out” I say. She looks at me like I’ve grown three heads.

“But that’s against the law. We aren’t hunters…we’d be poaching.” She says.

“I know silly, I meant we’d set it off ourselves.” Game’s only for the hunters, everyone knows that.

I lay on my belly in front of the noose. I know where the snare is but we’ve concealed it so well that I have a difficult time finding it. I run a thick branch through the noose and just as it would with a rabbit, the snares triggered. The branch goes flying into the air. It dangles, swinging like a pendulum. For a moment my mind morphs it into a rabbit and I recognize that our snares are effective and deadly. I hear Emma hooting and hollering behind me. She leaps in the air doing some silly celebratory dance. I teeter on my heels for a few seconds, laughing at her display.

“Alright, alright. Let’s head back, third line’s coming and we both missed the first two.” 

She stops her little jig. Freezing momentarily the same way a wild animal does when you first stumble across it. I lunge for her and just like a startled creature, she takes off. We race home to clean our mud-coated bodies. We weave and dance between the trees as we chase each other. It carries me back to times with Garrett. Days spent chasing each other by our streambed. It usually started innocently, a simple game of describing clouds would morph into a foot race in no time. I’d see a rabbit while he’d see a groundhog, before we knew it we’d be arguing and ultimately end up chasing each other around.

I run now with Emma in front of me, twisting her way through the brush, her hair swinging all the way to our front door, right up to the bath.

The dried mud forms crevices along the length of our skin. We look like scaled brown beasts as we stand in the bath. Flakes of mud drop to the tub from our furious scrubbing. We dress, giggling as we leave the house and our tub coated in a layer of filth. 

We walk to the pavilion where all meals are prepared and delivered. It’s a large faded grey and blue rotunda just a short jog from home. Each sub has their own pavilion where three meals a day are provided. The food’s always simple but its filling and nutritional. Central designs a balanced diet plan so nobody has to worry whether they’ll eat, or be distracted with preparing food like they did pre-divide. When I was young I’d imagine eating the way they did pre-divide. If I focused all my energy I could smell the food cooking, the smell of hot meats and vegetables drifted through the house, permeating. My ears would perk-up as I’d hear pots and pans scraping and Mama shuffling. I always pictured Mama there, making dinner and singing to herself. She was already dead but she was still in my imagination. She’d sit with us, we’d eat together in our own home, like a real family.

Four lines run through the left hemisphere of the pavilion where we eat. There’s a line for citizens five and younger where swarms of children in grey grab at food haphazardly. Then there’s our line for the school aged citizens six to sixteen, all of us wearing blue. 

I glance to my right toward the third line looking for Papa. My eyes trace the trail of green uniforms until I find his worn face. Sensing eyes on him he lifts his head, meeting my stare. He signals to a table in the corner, I nod. The hunters must’ve taken down deer for tonight’s meal. The retirees in black dish the venison onto our plates in appropriate proportions. I smile and nod as I go down the line collecting dinner.

Emma and I take our seats next to Papa. His worn face reminds me of the mud we rinsed from our skin earlier, the wrinkles wind through his face like the crevices the mud made just before it flaked off. 

“How was education today?” His voice is tired.

“I couldn’t go. I was sick.” Emma sounds guilty. She shouldn’t, I can vouch for her.

“Hmm.” Papa mutters.

“I got her lessons. We covered them all.” I smile at Emma. “She learned about the moon cycles and trapping.” Papas eyes light and for a moment he looks years younger.

“Oh yeah? Which trap?”

Emma launches into a detailed description of the twitch-up snare. I chuckle. She actually sounds like she enjoyed it. The way she describes everything it’s like I’m actually back in the forest searching for the rabbit path and fastening the noose. 

Part of the reason she’s so animated is because of me. She learned these things from me. A jolt of excitement rushes to my stomach. I could do this; I could be an educator if I make it to Central. If Emma can learn and love it then I can teach anyone. My mind wanders as I see myself standing in front of dozens of eager children, I’m dressed in pressed and perfect white. I’ve made the leap and am an educator.

Eventually my mind makes its way back to the present and I see Papa and Emma both laughing. Small tears collect at the edges of their eyes and I laugh too. I’ll miss them when I make it to Central. I can’t think of missing them though, it hurts too much.  Instead I hold onto the mental images of me in my pressed white uniform. 

Soon our laughter slows as fatigue sets in. The sun’s dropping fast, painting the sky in pinks and oranges as it sets. The colors are dull and beautiful as they cover the western skyline, but the hues are also a warning for Emma and me. Soon curfew will come. Papa’s the first to push away from the table. We follow. We walk with the sun setting behind us. Twice I notice Emma look over her shoulders to appreciate the colors. 

Walking through the door I see the exhaustion conquer Emma. I rinse the tub one last time, banishing the mud that coated its white floor. Emma and I crawl into bed, she slides her hand in mine. I’m happy I had my day with her but I’m also aware of a void that hollows me.

I haven’t seen Garrett all day and it’s like a part of me is missing. I don’t think I’ll feel whole until I see him tomorrow. How unfair is it that I’ve kept my composure for all these years and am now falling to pieces so close to the leap. I’ve watched day in and day out as the other girls in our year try to win him over, never once was I jealous or even thought of sharing their same affections, not until now. Maybe it’s the leap that’s making me crazy, or maybe it’s the hormones Gwen talked about. All I know is he consumes my thoughts like a rolling fog, he’s all I think about. I lay in bed trying to wrap my cloudy head around my emotions. It seems less than coincidental that I’ve fallen for him this close to the leap, but I think I have.

Chapter 13

I wake just before first light, Emma’s hands still in mine. My body’s stiff from my heavy sleep. It’s miraculous that I even slept considering my test’s only two days away. It’s my last day to train with Garrett. This realization makes my stomach spiral. 

I tug at the corner of the blanket covering us and slide stealthily off the bed. My toes touch down and involuntarily retract, trying to escape the frigid floor. I set my feet down again, this time prepared for the cold as I tiptoe toward the bathroom. Emma’s still asleep when I exit dressed in my warm blue uniform. I’m leaving my hair free today, hopefully it shields my ears from the December winds. 

“Have a good day.” I whisper, kissing her pink cheek. She stirs but goes back to sleep.

I stand at the front window and stare into the grey landscape, staring and waiting for first light. Hurry up, hurry up, I keep repeating. My mind fights an internal battle.

‘I should go now, its close enough. Nobody will see.’

‘Maybe he’s already there waiting for me.’

‘No, you can’t go, you’ll get caught. He isn’t there yet anyway, it’s too early.’

I keep echoing the circular thoughts until finally the first pink and gold rays break the eastern trees. Without pausing I lunge for the door and sprint toward our hill.

The air’s cold and my breath materializes in a hazed cloud as I exhale. For once I don’t feel the cold, my body’s too preoccupied with the crushing desire to be near him. I run through the streets along the same path I’ve taken a thousand times before, but now with each step I feel my need growing stronger. It’s like a magnet’s pulling me toward him.

I reach the fallen tree and cover its length in three leaps instead of the usual five. I land on the jagged path I’ve beaten down and bound rock to rock until I see the water breaking through the wilted trees. I tell myself he’s not going to be here, it’s too early. I crash through the wooded tree line onto our frosted hillside.

I see him, his strong and oversized body sits soundly on the lowest branch of our live oak. My heart lands in my throat
.
I restrain my urge to run directly to him, I slow my steps and my erratic breathing. My pounding heart’s so strong I’m certain he can hear it from across the field. I slow my approach as I try mastering my breath.
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out,
I repeat until I finally get control.

Garrett turns to me, his deep brown eyes stare straight into mine and I lose it. I run toward him, my eyes fixed to his, watching him stand to meet me. I leap into his arms.

“Whoa.” He says, as my weight knocks him off balance.

“I’m sorry, I just…” He pulls back to look at me.

“Are you blushing?” He asks. I instinctively fix my hair.

“I’m just warm from my run.”

“Nessa Hollins is warm in the middle of December?”

“Maybe I am. I don’t know. I just…” I trail off. “Hey wait. What are
you
doing here so early?” His face flushes as he runs his hand through his hair. “Now you’re blushing!” I shout. “When did you get here?” I ask.

He shifts before he answers. “I stayed here last night.”