Upon Us

by Blakely Chorpenning

  "A year," he grumbled.

  "You gained a year of what?"

  "Not having to worry." He pointed towards the children. "Not having to see that little girl in the same hospital room as me, gasping for air." His finger shifted. "Not having to tell that boy's mother that we ran out of the epinephrine that has saved his life three times from something as little as a wasp sting."

  Lenna chimed in, "On average, eight out of ten villagers have been diagnosed with an ailment. Some are mediocre and require very little attention. Others, like Ren and Shells," she pointed to the little girl playing so animatedly with a blue baby doll, "need more lifesaving efforts than this greenhouse can accommodate."

  Listening to the undercurrent of stress in their tones, to the hours and days and countless moon cycles spent patching holes to keep this ark afloat, I felt…pity. How often had a clan damned a Privileged just for being born inside the great walls of a village? Privileged. The word felt sour in my mouth. How often I had wielded it like a weapon.

  Thinking of the tiny vile of blood Dr. Lowel had pocketed, I wondered just how much of her hypothesis could be fact and how much was driven by the fear of a dying light that is her people.

  Turning to Lenna, I asked, "Can I visit tomorrow?"

  "I would like that. I'll show you my ginseng. My pride and joy."

  "See you tomorrow."

  Ren and I walked outside, inhaling the soft breeze.

  "I didn't know."

  He turned to me. "Didn't know that we're freaks of nature because we've avoided natural selection?"

  Thinking over his words, I met his gaze. "Yes."

  "The clans would have done the same if it had been in their power." He sounded so sure.

  "Possibly. But they would only be in your predicament now."

  As we began down a different pathway, I could only assume we were going to his house. He hadn't said a word for a while.

  "What's wrong?" I walked beside him.

  "I'm sorry for leveraging your freedom for supplies."

  "Don't be. You did the right thing."

  He gawked at me. His stunned words lodged in his throat, refusing to manifest.

  "You did," I reiterate. "I would have done the same thing." Sliding the backpack from his shoulder and placing it on mine, I added, "Demand more. They'll give it to you."

  Ren nodded, deep in thought.

  After spending the rest of the walk in silence, listening to partial conversations of those moving past us, he turned and stopped on a concrete patio flush to the ground.

  "We're here." Shaking off his solemn mood, Ren warned, "It's pretty nice. Don't be jealous."

  He rarely passed up a chance to make a joke.

  Swinging the door open, he moved aside, allowing me to step inside first.

  The room was approximately twenty feet by twenty feet. It was larger than the perfectly spaced row houses we had passed on the way into the village. An iron fireplace sat in the middle of the room, the pipe disappearing through the middle of the ceiling. I loved the mingling smell of ash and fresh wood as the occasional breeze blew down the pipe into the closed stove. Metal pots sat across the top, acting as humidifiers, just like the water pots in the hospital.

  To the right, cabinets lined floor to ceiling, all the way to a small counter on the back wall. What could someone need so much space for? Oh, I remembered, he was a collector. My hand itched to open each cabinet, taking stock of the wonders inside. Instead, I ran my hand across the cabinet doors until the kitchen table and chairs blocked my path.

  Across from the grand spectacle of cabinet space was Ren's bed, along with a burnt brown couch. It was on the far wall, to the left of the kitchen counter and a thin door. I thought both were a waste of space. Often, furniture was overstated and irksome, filling otherwise useful space. But the crocheted blankets folded neatly at the end of his bed and across the back of the couch were inviting.

  "Did you collect those?"

  Eyeing the blanket across the couch, he nodded. The design alternated between hues of browns, oranges, and tans. "The one on my bed was made by my mom. Blue, for the ocean." The pattern on his mother's was tightly crocheted and uniformed, while the other had been stretched out over time.

  I scooted one of the two chairs out from the table and sat my backpack in it. "You like the ocean?"

  "I was born there."

  Unable to grasp his meaning, I asked, "In the water?"

  "Like a merman?" He chuckled.

  My face remained blank, as I had no idea what he was talking about.

  Possibly realizing this, Ren offered, "I was born on a ship."

  "I thought all villagers were born inside the walls."

  "Most." He removed a carafe of water from one of the cabinets and poured two small glasses full. Handing one to me, he drank the other in one long sip. "Some barter their way inside." After a pause, he said, "Or get leveraged for supplies. Although, you're a first."

  I tried to sit on the couch. The cushions folded under my weight, leaving me flip-flopping for a decent position. "I'm not a villager," I managed to say between struggles.

  "The evidence is overwhelming." Ren suppressed his laughter.

  Forsaking the couch, I wiggled to the floor, gently stretching my leg. Ren grabbed a pillow and slid it under my calf, elevating the brace. I drank my water fast because the cup felt heavy in my hand. The bottom was a thick puck of glass. The entire sphere was shaped funny for my fingers, dipping inward in random spaces that didn't fit with my hand's natural positioning. Happy to be free of the monstrosity, I handed it to Ren. He left it on the countertop next to his.

  Something had been on my mind all afternoon.

  "I could have killed you," I blurted.

  He waved me off. "Everyone says that."

  Though he was trying to make light of it, it had sat heavy on my heart.

  "When I stabbed you… You could have bled out. Had it been deeper. A fingernail's length higher. Any variation would have likely been fatal." Pain slammed into the backs of my eyes, accompanied by throbbing in my temples. The idea of Ren being dead made me physically ill. I pinched my eyes shut, wishing away the wave of anxiety. "You could have collapsed in those woods -maybe in my home- and never gotten up." I searched his eyes for comprehension. For anything that could show me that he not only understood the gravity of my words, but was just as revolted by them as I was. When he didn't answer, I partially accused, "Do you even care?"

  "Of course," he fired back. "I spend every damn day caring. I spend hours rummaging through twenty-five-year-old garbage, hoping to find one thing that can make these people's lives better. I wake up breathing every day to show Shells that she can, too. I bring whatever to whomever to ensure the survival of this village." He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. As if the heat of a boiling day escaped his temper, he cooled down. "I can be reckless and obnoxious and dangerous, and still care."

  "I know you care about them. I see it. I'm asking if you care about yourself."

  "If I'm not my biggest fan, who will be?" Once his sarcasm receded, a heavier emotion sat abandoned between us.

  He hurried to wash the glasses in a small sink basin. Drying them, he placed them back in the cabinet, venturing to ask, "Are you hungry?"

  "Always."

  "Graham dropped pork spare ribs in the steam pit after breakfast."

  Steam pits have been used for centuries, even before the New Beginning. They're the best. I used them quite often. It's a deep hole, using steam from water and hot rocks, to slowly cook meats and vegetables. By the time the sun hangs heavy in the sky, a tender meal is waiting just under the surface.

  "He added carrots and corn in the adjacent pit."

  "Where are they?"

  Following him outside, we turned the corner to the back of his home, which unveiled a wonderfully landscaped area. Bright red dogwood trees grew in a wide, circular pattern. Their berries littered the ground. In the middle of the trees were two bare sticks standin
g vertical out of the soft earth.

  Ren pointed to the sticks. "Those are the pit markers."

  "The dogwoods are beautiful. Did you plant them?"

  "Every cluster of houses shares a private yard. We make sure every yard has a different type of tree or bush. Graham and our neighbors chose dogwood."

  Limping up to one, I rubbed the trunk. "Dried flowering dogwood bark is great for headaches."

  He agreed.

  Handing me the large basket, he picked up a shovel and began removing the dirt, dark stones, and grass from the pit. He quickly exhumed our portion of the food. The irresistible aroma of ribs and corn filled the air. Our basket was full in no time. Just as quickly, he covered the remaining food for his neighbors.

  "I'll take that." Ren grabbed the basket out of my hands so I could hobble back inside.

  It took a short time to unwrap and prepare the food on two white plates. I shucked the steaming corn while he readied the rest. Carrying the plates to the table, I managed to sit without spilling my acorn tea.

  "Close your eyes," he requested. When I crinkled my nose, he said, "Just do it. I have a surprise."

  I closed my eyes, listening to him rustle around in one of his many cabinets. My mouth was watering and I wasn't sure how long I could wait before pouncing on my food.

  "Okay."

  Relieved, I opened my eyes. "What the hell is that?" It was like nothing I had ever seen before. Not even in my nightmares.

  Chapter Ten

  "Mummies."

  The book was large, crammed with photographs of strange objects and dried bodies in various stages of decomposition and wrapping, I noticed as I flipped through. The pages themselves were worn around the edges. I wondered how many evenings Ren had sat on his sofa, flipping pages, rereading each sentence I now held in my hands.

  "Everyone should know what a mummy is." He sat down to eat while I tried to close my mouth.

  "Should they?" I joked, flipping each page from front to back.

  "Do you want me to read some of it while you eat?"

  He was trying to be polite. I'm sure he assumed that I couldn't read. Of course, I could. Almost everyone could. For some, it was their only form of entertainment, socialization, and communication. To find an unspoiled book was a greater gift than fresh rain if you hadn't come across another human being in a while.

  It was a lifeline.

  Without answering his question directly, I began to read, "'A person or animal may be preserved by natural causes or mummification techniques. The natural process may take months to complete, while man-made techniques may take as little as seventy days.'" Flipping a few pages ahead while reading quietly to myself, I finally looked up. "This is very interesting. I've always wondered where people go when they're gone, but honestly, I've given little thought to their bodies left behind."

  "I have something else." Ren fervently jumped up, opening yet another cabinet to root through before returning to the table. He was moving pretty well considering his wounds, making me extremely happy. A plump red bird perched on a branch sat in the palm of his hand. He placed it in the middle of the table. "I found this in an abandoned barn with a shelf full of others. It's a less sophisticated form of mummification called taxidermy. It was popular before the world ended."

  Resting my chin on the top of my wrist, I found myself at eye level with the flightless bird sitting on the table, though it had no real eyes. They were glass. It would never fly. It would never see. It belonged back to nature, not in a macabre pose mimicking a life it no longer led.

  "What do you think of it?" I asked, still staring.

  "Well," he began, "When I first brought it home, I kept it out on the table. I thought the color variations in his wings were beautiful. After a few days, I realized I was waiting for it to fly or chirp or die of starvation. That's when I put it in the cabinet. It breaks the law of nature."

  "Exactly," I agreed.

  "But it's a great teaching tool. Many of the children have asked to see it after bird-watching with one of our teachers. They can feel the feathers and gather the size of it in their hands without harming a real bird." I sat up as he fiddled with the bird, popping it free from the branch. "See?"

  He plopped it into my cupped, awaiting hands. It was lighter than a real bird. But he was right, it was a treat to touch real feathers that were still attached in the way they were grown. My finger slowly traced his little beak and feet. Did they feel different from a live bird? I wasn't sure, having never caught one to find out. There was something about a bird flying free that had always kept me from turning one into a meal.

  Ren placed the little bird back onto the branch and whisked it away into the cabinet. Neither of us wanted to look at it much longer.

  Turning my attention back to the book, I took a bite of food before asking, "If animals are kept like mummies to learn from, why are humans mummified? We know what we are."

  There was no singular answer. Or an easy one. That, I was sure of.

  It took a few minutes for Ren to think. "Maybe we need a reminder sometimes," he decided.

  "Mm," I agreed, thinking of the red bird again. Would I be like that bird if I stayed in the village? Something for the doctor to poke at, test, and lock away? My wings would be clipped. I'd have no purpose other than what someone else assigned me. A real fear darted from my toes to my neck, shocking my heart in the process.

  Noticing my change in mood, Ren apologized. "I didn't mean to make you sad."

  "It's not that." After swallowing another bite of meat, I said, "It made me think, and that's a good thing." I didn't say how it made me think that being here was completely wrong and against my nature. Because, when I had stood in the greenhouse, I wondered if there was a place for me in Ren's world, even temporarily. But staring into the nonexistent eyes of the red bird… We were both out of our element.

  Ren put the book away and we ate the rest of our dinner. I finished most of mine before I felt full. He gladly finished my leftovers.

  After the dishes were washed and put away, he pulled a large jar out and set it between us. "I promised a few people some buttons."

  The jar was as tall as both of my hands stacked on top of one another, brimming with buttons. There were so many colors and shapes. Sapphire buttons captured the light from the window. Claret buttons drew from the richness of the shadows. And everything in between reminded me of the world between sky and clay.

  I couldn't contain my giddiness at seeing so many beautiful buttons. They were among my favorite things.

  "Why don't you store them in more organized containers?"

  "I thought I was. Buttons with buttons." Amused, he added, "They're all buttons."

  Crinkling my brow, I tried not to look offended. "But there are so many different types."

  Marching over with a stack of glass jars from yet another cabinet, he said, "Have at it."

  As I reached to open the first jar, I realized too late that Ren had the same idea. Our hands touched, mine falling on top of his. It was nice to feel his warmth. I wanted to take his hand in mine but I was too slow. Too preoccupied with the many reasons why I shouldn't. He slid his hand away gingerly, and I immediately opened the containers. Placing everything on the floor, I set to the task, first removing the knee brace. Sitting beside the items, I began doling out different buttons into the jars, based first on shape, then on the number of buttonholes.

  "Do you want to sit on the couch?"

  Possibly too candid, I snarked, "Never again," unable to take my eyes off the work in front of me.

  Ren chuckled loudly. It was startling, but I was getting used to his untamed behavior. I no longer jumped or froze every time he was too loud or too brash.

  He started a small fire in the stove and sat on the floor to my right, his back against the abominable couch. I was a foot away, one leg crossed while my healing leg strayed at an angle. We stayed this way until the sun set, me sorting, Ren talking. When the sun hung low, he turned on an oil lamp. The li
ght radiated over the hundreds of shiny buttons, perfectly encapsulating our private world.

  There was a large pile of leftovers too unique for any of the jars.

  "What makes these special and those organized?" He ran his hand over them, purposely brushing the tops of my knuckles as he did so. I stilled under his caress, enjoying the brief thrill. Memorizing the light zigzag pattern his fingers traced, I instantly hated as well as cherished the beckoning call his touch awoke amid the malaise of loneliness and obligation.

  "I don't know." I picked one of the buttons up. It was beveled and speckled, swirled green and pink. "It's just something I don't expect to see."

  "The lure of the unexpected captures us all," he said. His gaze was practically palpable along my skin.

  Holding up one finger in a motion to silence him, I made use of the discarded buttons. It didn't take long to turn a hundred unmatchable pieces into one cohesive vision.

  As I leaned back, Ren was able to see what I had created. The swirled buttons acted as seashells. The blues and greens were the sky and water, though I added pink and red buttons into both because a sunset never goes unnoticed at the beach. I had shoved and arranged each one, building a picture of a boat floating in the background of a smooth beach.

  "It's not quite a ship, but it looks more like a boat than a duck," I quipped. When no response came, I turned my head, ready to ask if I had offended him in some way. Maybe he thought I was mocking his story from earlier.

  Ren abruptly caught my cheeks in his hands, drawing me in for a lengthy kiss when I didn't resist. It wasn't the kind of kiss I expected. He poured anticipation and confidence together with loss and dread, blending it like a warm stew on a frigid night when all you long for is that feeling of looking up from your rooted world and spotting a shooting star. His arm slid around my waist, crushing me to his chest, kissing me like I was the last shooting star in a heaven of darkness. I wrapped my arms around him, my hands sliding between his thin shirt and soft bare skin. Ren's lips ate at mine, seeking shelter from a lifetime of self-contempt and disappointment. As I traced smooth plateaus of scar tissue along his shoulder blades, relishing his adoration, I sensed before I felt his withdrawal.