Unafraid

by Megan Lynch

  The morning after his tearoom mural was featured in the local newspaper accompanied by Bristol’s story (Samara had asked to be kept out of it), four more businesses in the area called the Olympic Village requesting he recreate his old protest images on their buildings, too. Bristol felt a burst of new energy in his blood, sparkling wildly, as he searched his mind and sketched.

  Mornings were usually for too much coffee and short walks around the building, but now he felt he had a purpose again, that he could do more than simply wait for his life to begin. He started to see these images in a new light as he drew them from his memory. Whatever they had done for other people, it came nowhere close to what they had done for him. While most of the other Unregistered he knew used too much drift and abused most people in their lives, including themselves, with a rage they didn’t fully understand, Bristol had learned to live as an Unregistered. Not just survive, but to live without resentment and with genuine love for his sister and mother. Because of this obsession with getting these pictures out on a page—or on a wall—Bristol had access to love.

  He turned the paper over and let his hands do the work without his mind in the way. Soon, there was another image on his paper: a man with a bony boy frame, facing away and brandishing a can of spray paint. The back of his hat didn’t hide his short neck. Bristol colored in the skin on his arms thickly with his pencil. Out of the can, a line of hearts spewed onto the page.

  “What’s that?”

  Bristol’s hand instinctively went to cover what he’d done, as he had for too many years trying to hide his work from Denver. He’d show her, eventually, when he was done, but she was never satisfied. When he realized it was Samara who was standing behind him, though, he inched the drawing closer to her.

  “I realized this is what’s been missing from my life. I thought I was lost because of all the changes—you know, the old camp, and this new camp. But it wasn’t that. It was because I’d gotten away from this.”

  “You’ve gotten away from your real love,” she said.

  It struck Bristol as an odd choice of words, so he hesitated before he agreed.

  “I’m really glad to hear that, Bristol, especially after the last time we talked. I’ve been feeling bad about what I said.”

  Bristol leapt to his feet. “Do you mean you’ve thought about my question?”

  “Not…thoroughly. But I’m trying.” She was speaking much faster than she usually did. “That’s not what I came over here to say.”

  From across the room, Taye flicked his yellow scarf over his shoulder and leaned into the door to open it to the outside. Now that he was standing beside her, Bristol noticed that Samara, too, was dressed for an outdoor walk. He seethed.

  “I came over here to tell you that I just got off the phone with the Scottish Museum of Contemporary Art. They want to talk to you. Can you meet with them this morning?”

  “I have to finish these. I’m supposed to start on a wall tomorrow downtown—”

  “It won’t take long. I think this could be really good for the cause.”

  Bristol looked at her and sighed. Why did he find it so hard to say no to her when she found it so easy to say it to him?

  “Okay.”

  She brightened. “Great! Get your coat and I’ll meet you by the front doors.”

  “You’re coming with me?”

  She grinned, hooking her thumbs inside the furry collar of her coat. “Where’d you think I was going?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jude lifted his feet and examined his new sneakers. Trainers, the aid worker had called them, but he was pretty sure she meant sneakers. They were the kind that might have gotten him bullied at his old school—bright red with yellow stripes—but that was a long time ago. Besides, it wasn’t like he had a choice. They took what was donated. JoJo, sitting beside Jude and still wearing the shoes they’d given him upon arrival—white canvas slip-ons a size or two too big—looked at him with his mouth open in an awe-tinged smile.

  “Now you can play football!” said JoJo.

  Jude wanted to tell him how much he hated sports, but instead he said, “Yeah. Maybe. Cork and I are going to go for a walk first, though.”

  “Can I come?”

  JoJo was making more requests like this every day. Jude knew the cool thing to do would be to blow him off, like Cork did with Henry. Henry! Jude could hear him saying. Get out of here. We’re not playing; we’re doing work for the Red Sea! But Jude couldn’t say those things to JoJo. He liked having JoJo as his roommate; he liked when he followed him around the Olympic Village. It was almost like having a little brother, but better because Jude’s parents weren’t around. He wouldn’t want any little brother of his going through the same experiences he’d been through with them; the meetings with the teachers and the doctor’s appointments and the disappointed, downcast looks. Always talking to someone else, never to him. Why isn’t he living up to his genetic potential?

  Actually, Jude and Cork had official business to attend to, but he knew if he revealed this to JoJo, it would just strengthen his pleas. “Not right now,” he said. “But later this afternoon, we can go to the park together.”

  JoJo smiled with every one of his teeth.

  Jude met Cork at the front door and the two of them once again headed for the house with the burnt stump in the courtyard and did the rhythmic knock on the door. Daniel answered at once.

  “Ready?” he asked the boys with a smile. “I’ve got some tea here for us.”

  They stepped inside and they began their daily briefing; which leaders were facing pressure from which sides, what did public opinion polls show about attitudes toward refugees. What Jude was most interested in hearing about was what the United States was doing, but since they had closed their borders and installed tighter security on their technology, they really only knew what Metrics released. That information was, as Daniel put it, “As worthless as tits on a nun.” Jude didn’t know what tits were, but he knew about nuns from the night he was arrested, and realized he was supposed to laugh at this. He laughed.

  “That about does it for today.” Daniel propped his feet on an empty chair across from him. “Any questions?”

  “Yes,” said Cork, “but not about the Red Sea.”

  “What, then?”

  “What’s that?” Cork pointed to something that looked like a red plastic dish tucked away behind a cupboard.

  “This?” Daniel walked over, took the disc, and held it up to them. Jude looked at Cork. Cork nodded. “Well…God forbid I let you go today without playing your first game of Frisbee.”

  Frisbee actually turned out to be fun. Though Jude was no better at hand-eye coordination than he’d ever been, Daniel and Cork just laughed good-naturedly at his attempts to catch, and Cork was having just as much trouble throwing it as he was. After about twenty minutes, once Jude was warm from effort even in the frosty air, Daniel went into make a phone call.

  “You boys keep playing, though.”

  “How long can we stay?” asked Cork.

  Daniel made a hand gesture as if to say, “As long as you want!” and disappeared inside.

  Jude took the Frisbee and tried to make it fly in Cork’s direction, but it hit the side of the house instead. Cork threw it back to him, and Jude grabbed at the air, just missing it.

  “I’ll get it!” said Jude. “Try again!”

  Cork did try again. Jude missed again.

  “Is it harder?” Cork asked. “With one hand?”

  Jude paused. “I don’t think so. I didn’t play like this before, back home, so I don’t know what it’s like with two.”

  Cork tilted his head to the side. “Hey, are you ever going to tell me—”

  “What happened?” Jude tossed the Frisbee again. This time it gently glided into Cork’s hand. “I didn’t know you wanted to know.”

  “You’re my only amputee friend. Why wouldn’t I want to know?”

  There was that word again. Friend. It didn’t seem as
scary as it used to, but still he proceeded with caution. “I…cut it off.”

  Cork’s eyes bulged. “You cut it off?”

  “It was a choice—my hand or my life. I was in prison, but I hadn’t done anything. I thought I was getting out. But I overheard them talking…they were going to kill me instead. Miss Shepherd heard it too, and she helped me out. But they caught us, and my chip was still implanted deep in my hand.”

  “So you cut it off? With what?”

  “A kitchen knife.”

  “Holy moly.”

  “What?”

  “You’re just…” Cork’s voice trailed off. Jude cringed. So much for friendship. Jude knew what he was, once again, in Cork’s eyes. A weirdo. Someone to be avoided, mocked, and bullied. He wasn’t prepared for the next phrase.

  “You’re just amazing!”

  Jude swelled and caught the Frisbee as it came cutting through the yard.

  They went on like that for a little while, not talking, just volleying back and forth, slowing getting better at their new game. Jude wondered what he’d be if he’d grown up in another country, or another time. Playing a game with a friend. Would it be normal, or would it still be special? He’d probably have a lot more experience at it, and at this feeling in general. Lightness. Happiness. Metrics sure did mess up a lot of things for people.

  Jude had forgotten his notebook back at Daniel’s, so he went back before dinner. This time, Daniel noticed his shoes.

  “Nice trainers. Are they new?”

  “To me, yes. They gave them to me this morning. They say next they’re going to try to find a new pair of glasses for me.”

  “Yeah,” said Daniel, lifting his eyebrows. “I can see a little crack.”

  “That was from where I fell looking for Samara and Denver before the airship left. I didn’t even notice it for a few days after that. It would have been nice if I’d gotten them today, but these shoes are…” He paused, knowing he should appear grateful. “Nice.”

  “Why d’ya need glasses today if you didn’t even notice the crack?”

  “Well, I used to get presents every year on my birthday. From my parents.”

  Daniel’s jaw softened and his eyes narrowed in on Jude. “It’s your birthday?”

  “I’m twelve today.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t be with your parents.”

  “It’s okay. Actually, it wasn’t so great living with them. They just always got me presents every year and left them in my room. They didn’t even want to be there to open them with me. And it’s kind of fitting that I get these shoes today, because well…they’re nice but they’re not my style. And that’s how it goes on this day—I get things that look like they were meant for someone else.”

  “Let me see those glasses.” Daniel reached across the table.

  Jude handed them over. Daniel turned them over in his hand. “Can you see without them?” he asked.

  “Yes. Just not optimally.”

  Daniel smiled. Jude cringed and knew he had done that thing again; before prison, he’d never interacted with any lower tiers and found out quickly that they didn’t speak quite like he did. He imagined it might be the same here, but without the official labels of the tier system.

  “Let’s go,” said Daniel. “I’m off today. We’ll drop those off with the rest of the gang up there at Olympic Village, then we’ll go to the eye doctor. I’ll treat you to a new pair myself.”

  His smile felt a little more vulnerable somehow without his glasses on his face to provide some sort of barrier between him and the world, but he smiled anyway. “Okay.”

  Shortly before they arrived at the optometrists’ office, Jude remembered something. “I don’t have health insurance here.”

  “Have what?”

  “Health insurance. I don’t have any way to pay for the exam. And the lenses will probably be really expensive.” Jude shrunk, wishing he’d thought of this before now.

  “I don’t think you’re completely covered under the National Health Service, but it shouldn’t be too expensive. Once you grow up and become a permanent resident, you’ll just pay your taxes and get your healthcare free when you need it.”

  For all the back-patting they did at Metrics for being the greatest society the world had ever seen, there were sure lots of things they hadn’t thought about. Since he’d learned about it last year, Jude had wondered how lower tiers paid for health insurance for their parents between the ages of 65-75, when the rate was ten times higher than it was at any other age.

  Scotland seemed, at times, to be completely different from the United States, yet when they stepped into the shop, familiarity washed over Jude. He was surrounded, as he was every year, by walls filled with frames and pictures of models in glasses—though these people had multi-colored faces, not just the new-race skin tone—looking happy and trendy in their new glasses. Even the smell was the same as it was in optometry clinics in America. The scent of carpet cleaner and glass spray made the room seem assuredly clean. Daniel cleared his throat and headed for the front desk. “Right,” he said. “Is anyone available for an eye exam today? My little friend needs a new pair of glasses. Today’s his birthday.” Daniel said the last part just above a whisper, as if not quite sure it was the truth.

  “Are you the father?” the woman asked.

  “I’m from America,” said Jude, and several heads turned his direction. Now he knew why Daniel had lowered his voice.

  The woman’s face was kind. “We’ll see what we can do. We normally don’t take walk-ins, but since it’s your birthday…”

  Jude had a feeling that wasn’t the reason why she was making an exception, but he went along with it. Soon, he was sitting in a chair looking at letters of various sizes through different lenses.

  “Read the bottom line, please,” said the doctor when he’d gone through all the others.

  “D, E, F, P, O, T, E, C.”

  The doctor took away the frames and slid back. “How long have you been wearing glasses, young man?”

  “Since I can remember. I think I got my first pair when I was three.”

  “And you’ve had an eye exam every year?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very strange,” the doctor muttered, and turned to Daniel. “There’s nothing wrong with his eyes. He has perfect vision. I’m not even sure these are prescription lenses.” He took Jude’s old blue frames and held them up to the light. “They may just be glass.”

  “I don’t need to wear glasses?”

  “You don’t.”

  Jude felt oddly embarrassed, as if he should have somehow known this before now. “I’m sorry I wasted your time,” he told Daniel as soon as they had left. He carried his old blue glasses in his hand, resisting the urge to put them on anyway to just feel the comfort of the weight on his face.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I don’t know why they would have done that.”

  “I do,” said Daniel. “Your parents probably thought they were doing what was best for you, giving you a leg up at school or whatever. But don’t forget, the Ones own all the private business, and they’re out to make as much money as possible. If health insurance, exams, and glasses are all expensive enough, why would they tell you there’s no need to buy them?”

  “But the optometrists aren’t Ones. They’re Threes.”

  “Wouldn’t matter. I’ll bet my front teeth they’ve been told to prescribe glasses to anyone who walks through the doors.”

  Jude gritted his teeth. “Bullshit!”

  Daniel looked at him quizzically. “You don’t think so?”

  “No. I’m mad because I think you’re right.” He looked at the sidewalk, which became a blur of gray and brown as they walked. “I had a friend who used to say that when he was mad.”

  “You’re looking for a stronger one. I think the word you’re looking for,” said Daniel, “is fuck.”

  “Fuck?”

  “Yep. Say it loud now. Fuck!”

  “Fu
ck!” That did feel good.

  “Fuck!”

  “Fuck!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Samara followed the crowd into the square, following behind a group of journalists. In another twenty minutes, a conservative member of Parliament would give a speech here in this suburb outside the city. It had taken Samara all morning to get here. She’d borrowed bus fare from an aid worker, who insisted it was a gift, but Samara took debts seriously. She’d pay it back when all this was over and she was a permanent resident of Scotland, or any country who’d have her free from threat of expulsion. Taye had offered to come with her, but she didn’t want to ask for twice the amount she already owed for his bus ride. No, she’d manage just fine by herself.

  She did her best to fit in, though the truth was that she stood out from the people here in every way possible. Luckily, the main superficial difference—the fact that all these people were quite pale—wasn’t totally noticeable, as the day was cold and every body was bundled. Though the calendar said it was spring and emphasized it with a picture of blooming flowers, outside it was still necessary to cover everything except faces. Every year except this year, she looked forward to the warmer weather and how it seemed to affect everyone’s outlooks, but this year was different. She could no longer assume she’d survive long enough to enjoy another sunny picnic or afternoon by the pool, and she had to be content with living day by day. And besides, maybe it just never got warm here anyway. None of the people in the square seemed particularly annoyed by the chilly wind. Maybe they’d gotten used to it. Maybe she’d have to get used to it, too.

  A man bumped her, and though she was standing still, she muttered an apology.

  “Yikes, Shepherd,” said a familiar voice. “You don’t have to be sorry for living.”

  Taye stood behind Samara. If her shoulders hadn’t been aching from carrying her backpack around all morning, she might have hugged him. The people around her didn’t seem exactly agitated right now, but their rabble-rouser would soon be here, and she was glad to see someone she knew.