The picture was of a girl drudge. It was colored in such a fashion I believe it was supposed to resemble me. She was wearing brown pants and a green work shirt, signifying the cleaning drudge apparel. The pictured form unmistakably had my green eyes, pale skin, and flowing brown hair sketched and colored in amazing detail. There was no denying whom the female cleaning drudge represented. She was sitting on a chair with one foot elevated in the air.
The other part of the picture was flustering. If only I could read the word! I would have to ask Old Jake. He knew how to read from living in the Previous Sphere. A place where everyone had a right to an education. A concept as surreal and out of grasp, as fading daydreams.
This second part of the image was of a young man kneeling at the cleaning drudge’s feet…my feet. He was tall and slender with speckled blonde hair and bright brown eyes. The male, a firstling by drawn and colored apparel, strongly resembled Jude Meadows. He was pressing his lips to the shoe of the drudge…my shoe! What do I make of this? It rendered me anxious in an indescribable way. I could not wait to ask Old Jake what was written on the note!
Chapter 11
I quickly folded and tucked the paper into the pocket of my work pants. My cheeks were flushed with excitement. A depiction of Jude Meadows kissing my foot was unsettling. The representation was especially demeaning for him. If a firstling accidentally touched the shoe of a drudge it would be mortifying and disgraceful. Yet this person distinctly portrayed him not only touching, but kissing mine. Whoever designed it was gifted at drawing, the details were perfectly sketched. There was no mistaking what the image was meant to signify.
I was in a considerable haze. Why did someone give me a picture of Jude Meadows kissing my shoe? Did Jude Meadows depict, color, and leave it to be discovered? Considering our circumstances, I only entertained this inkling for a moment. Was the undeciphered word the name of the person who gave it to me? Was it my own name written in ink? I could hardly wait for the never-ending day of labor to finish, so I could discover these extremely sought for answers.
At last, the highly anticipated bell rang. I hurriedly rushed to my drudge house. I showered the work day away and thoroughly washed the previous night’s flesheater blood from my hair. Ridding the remnants from a frightening moment in my life caused shivering, despite the warm water. I quickly ate and drank my distributed nourishment, and rushed to find Old Jake. He seemed less weak and he was healthier, so I determined he would either be in his room or on the main floor visiting with other cleaning drudges. He generally enjoyed his chances at society so I checked the main floor first, but he was not to be found.
An unexpected realization crept into my frantic thoughts. Suddenly, I wanted to conceal my note from Old Jake. I could not explain my rationale because I never hid things from him, but desired this be kept secret. What if the note caused trouble or I was accused of drawing it myself? Death would be the result of the paper’s discovery. It disrespected the one and only son of Chief Meadows. Old Jake would never wrongfully accuse or cast me into open suspicion. But he would advise I terminate learning more about the responsible culprit. The reality was, I did not want my future actions to be determined for me. This would be mine to keep and my undisclosed property. I would never allow anyone to look upon it. I would safely guard it, in every way possible.
I rushed to my room and memorized the lines and curves of the figures written on the page. I would try to replicate the letters for Old Jake. He would pose questions, but I would be prepared with a well devised and extensive excuse. I mentally retained the lines and curves and tucked the note in my wooden chest. I placed it underneath my dark brown pants. It was far beneath my short and long-sleeved shirts. It was completely veiled from view.
I set out to find Old Jake in his room, confident he would be there. It was a comfort to my expectant heart, when I knocked on the entryway and heard his raspy old voice.
“Come in.”
I entered quietly to see Old Jake resting on his cot. He appeared cold and clutched the blanket around his bony frame. He was freezing and yet all he had was the one supplied blanket, in an unheated room. He eluded one Remembrance Duty, but as custom determined, he could not miss for another year. He was recently forced to serve again, and it was clearly detrimental to his barely recovered health. He needed more than one blanket!
I anticipated finding him well and strong. The disappointment of seeing his ashen features and sluggish movements was crippling. He was shivering incessantly.
I resolved to cover any faltering at his appearance, and determined to sneak him my blanket before the arranged hour of sleep. It did not matter if I suffered with the bitter air of night. The dread of being caught in the act did not sway my decision either. How could they punish me for something as trivial as bringing a sick, possibly dying old man an extra blanket?
When Old Jake saw it was me, he shakily summoned the strength to put himself into a sitting position.
I tenderly pleaded, “No, no, don’t sit on my account.”
My hesitant hands gently moved him to a resting position, tucking the blanket around lanky arms and shoulders. I silently cursed the fact he could not enjoy the comfort of a warm bed and heated room, another ignorant regulation of Starosa. He appeared as frail as a snowflake, landing on a surface and vanishing too quickly.
“So how is my girl today?”
This utterance of words immediately ignited a coughing fit. He seemed incapable of recovering from the chill in his lungs. The Remembrance Duty I served with him months before continued to haunt him.
I answered, “I am good. I was hoping you could help me figure something out?”
I spoke delicately, trying to smolder the excitement of wanting to know what was written on my undisclosed possession. My determination to hide the note from him had not diminished in his presence. There was a need to secretly cherish it.
“Alright, let’s hear it.”
Another cough rattled his lungs before he was able to look at me expectantly. I swallowed and attempted to retain even speech.
“I have to clean the School for the Firstlings this week.”
There was an internal struggle to look Old Jake in the eyes. It was the first time I would hide the truth from him, in my entire existence. I busied my hands into my pockets because they were slightly shaking. Were they trembling from my slight dishonesty? Or from the anticipation of discovering what was written? I was not sure.
I wanted to know if the particular letters were my name, the name of the person who gave me the note, or something else entirely. Old Jake was waiting for me to continue. I earnestly hoped he did not notice how much I was stalling; how much I was vacillating.
“I was cleaning the classroom desks when I noticed a piece of paper on the floor. It must have fallen out of one of the firstlings' desks. There was something written on it and I am curious to know what it said?”
Old Jake tensed immediately and demanded, “You did not take the paper from the classroom did you!?”
“No, no of course not. It would be foolish to take something from the school. Especially, if it did not belong to me.”
Old Jake was relieved and affirmed, “Good! I know I taught you better, but I was not sure there for a second.”
He recovered and waited for me to carry on. I regretted inflicting stress on the poor old man, if even for a brief lapse of time. I struggled to find my words once more. They seemed to have scuttled to the corners of the room and out of my reach. He evidently mistook my lack of speaking as an indication of my inability. Old Jake assumed I did not know how to properly describe the word.
He interrupted my brief fumbling for words, “Ana, obviously you do not know your letters.”
This fact clearly caused him disdain.
Dissatisfaction shadowed his features before he added, “As it is forbidden here in Starosa.”
I was pleasantly astonished at his display of disapproval regarding a long standing Starosa practice. It was apparent Old J
ake did not agree with the rule banning drudges from an education. He had never shown any qualms with Starosa laws before, or at least in my presence. His minor lapse in normal character was pleasantly welcome. I appreciated the realness over the guarded and protected sentiments he usually imparted.
He stated, “As a result of the law forbidding drudge education, I do not perceive there will be a way for me to inform you of what was written. Especially if you cannot tell me what letters were on…the fallen paper in question.”
He was unaware of the ample amount of time purposefully spent memorizing. I could mimic what was written on the page. An explanation poured rapidly from my mouth.
“I can picture the curves and lines of the letters in my mind. If you let me use a piece of your paper and a writing utensil, maybe I could try and replicate…what I remember in my head.”
Old Jake studied me long and hard before responding.
“I presume you know as an old one, I am allowed paper to write on. Although its sole purpose is for recording anything useful, I remember from the Previous Sphere.”
In the past, I often witnessed Old Jake scribbling on his allotted paper with an issued writing utensil. Both items were a luxury a drudge born into Starosa would never be allowed to have in their possession.
He glanced at the doorway apprehensively and gently said, “I suppose I can break the rules a little today.”
Great effort was expended as he pulled the pen and paper carefully from under his blanket. It struck me odd. He slept with his written words? Maybe having it near his person became handy for quick retrieval when a memory surfaced? Or perhaps they were treasured items and closely guarded?
I brushed the reasonings aside. Anticipation to learn what was written on the note overwhelmed competing curiosity. He reluctantly handed me the pen and paper with an anxious look on his face. It took an exhaustive amount of exertion for him to lay back down even with my careful help.
He urged, “Let’s make this quick. If an elite ten happens to barge in, it could look like I am teaching you to read or write. We would both be killed for the offense.”
I nodded gingerly. I took the pen and laid the paper on the floor. I tried to keep the tremor from my hand, as I attempted to replicate the memorized lines and curves from the note. I had hardly used a writing utensil and it was awkward resting between my fingers. Surely, I was not holding the cherished equipment correctly, but gave my best effort for the task at hand.
The curves and lines did not come out perfect, they were far from how they appeared in my memory. I hoped Old Jake would be able to decipher what I was having a horrible time recreating. Frustration crawled under my skin. The young children who attended school had the capacity to write properly and I did not. I exhaled dispiritedly and handed my atrocious attempt to Old Jake.
He grabbed it with a tottering hand. I was shamefully thankful his unsteady hand matched my own. I could not cover the slight tremble, revealing internal emotions I did not want to confide. Old Jake peered at my pitiful attempt and slightly rotated the paper, studying it thoughtfully. I was standing on pins and needles waiting for Old Jake to speak. After an eternity, he cleared his throat.
“Well it is a long shot. Your poor unskilled hand made it difficult for me to interpret.”
He winked teasingly and continued, “I conclude this paper simply says the word...sorry.”
I asked, “Sorry? Are you sure?”
Old Jake chuckled, “Yes, Ana. I am pretty sure.”
He paused and demanded, “Now tell me, why do you care so much for what a random piece of paper says? I am positive you’ve run across many loose scraps with writing on them during previous days at the school.”
I signaled agreement and quickly retrieved my well devised excuse for an answer.
“Yes, but I guess it’s been bugging me more lately. I will never learn how to read and write. This new dissatisfaction, resulted in a strange interest when I found the paper on the floor.”
I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly and rambled, “It isn’t a big deal though. I know I shouldn’t fret over something I have no control over. You get some rest, Old Jake.”
I made to leave and hurriedly kissed him on the cheek. I froze. The minor act of affection escaped me before I completely processed what I was doing. I never kissed dear Old Jake, but the fondness came so naturally there was no time to stop my actions beforehand.
I regained my composure, waved, and headed out of the door as swiftly as possible. I needed to flee the room. The area was even smaller with my lies and raw actions crowding around. I exited fast, avoiding his expression. He could not ask any more questions or offer reprimand for the escaped and uncontrolled act of caring.
I barely heard him saying, “Goodnight, Ana,” before I was practically running from the vicinity.
I entered my undersized chamber, dug for the paper out of my wooden chest, and flung myself on my cot. I was awestruck as I peered at the note. Did a firstling offer what appeared to be an apology? I was convinced of who had given it to me as well. No, it was not any firstling who left this treasure for me to discover. It had to be Chief Meadows’s very own son.
The future chief of Starosa wrote and left me a note. I remained sore and my heart still hurt from the public humiliation he caused. Yet, in his own special way, Jude Meadows attempted to ask for forgiveness. One of the most important firstlings in Starosa had taken the time to apologize to a plain, lowly cleaning drudge like me.
Chapter 12
The next morning while strolling to the School for the Firstlings, I spotted Zander heading to the creator drudges’ factory. Interaction amongst drudges of different lines was strictly forbidden. Yet, he motioned his head toward me, and sent a half-smile my way. Despite the regulation, I silently greeted him back with a timid wave and instantaneously took in my surroundings. I made certain our act of disobedience went unnoticed. When my fearful eyes found their way back to Zander, he showed disapproval with a shake of his head. It was irritating. He disliked my inability to openly break laws. I was still too submissive in his eyes. My days were spent in constant defense mode, and it clearly annoyed him.
I did not care, most of his actions did not please me either. His ranting sparked new views of our underprivileged conditions. But I still wanted to be the best drudge I could be, and follow the rules. I firmly grasped onto the belief my obedient behavior would at the very least, prolong my impending doom.
I was on high alert for Rykeir, making sure I did not have another run in with him. Enduring our recent encounter was dreadful enough. Using the trunk of a large tree to block myself from view, I peered at the school house and cautiously scanned the area. He was not there, so I darted to the entrance and through the threshold. My only goal was to get into the protection of the school house. The students were settling into their classrooms. I planned to dash to the cleaning supply closet unnoticed.
In my hurry to get through and shut the front door, I turned and smacked into something … or someone with a hard thump. I was afraid to look, fearing the one person I was trying to avoid. I apprehensively glanced upward and was startled to see Jude Meadows grinning at me. I instantly peeked around the hallway. We were the only two people there.
“Sorry, sir,” I mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.
In the quietest of utterances, he said, “No worries, Analysse. I am the one who is sorry.”
I was surprised at his open apology. Despite my resolution to not meet his gaze, his words forced my eyes to his. He stared into my sudden glance with gentleness in his expression. Before I could fully process what was happening, he abruptly turned and headed for his classroom without another word.
I watched him stride away dazed and confused. My mind seemed to be floating somewhere with the white, fluffy clouds. Clouds resembling the fluffy treat called marshmallows, which I would never taste.
After Old Jake forced careful reflection on the past, I eventually determined Jude Meadows did frequently acknowled
ge my existence in a polite manner. The recurrent act suddenly stopped after being put on Remembrance Duty with Zander. It was unsettling. I was more aware of Jude Meadows’s presence than I initially recognized. However, this time it was different. He openly apologized! He called me by name. The unexpected occurrence never happened before. What if his father had seen or heard our encounter!? He must have realized his blunder and left the scene swiftly.
My thoughts raced to a dreary rainy day in our past. The memory crept to the surface like a spider creature crawling on a wall. He had not always acted courteously. The day he overtly disgraced me had been an awful exception. Remembering the incident with rising disgust, I snapped back into reality. I made for the supply closet when I noticed a piece of paper on the floor. The rising hurt and anger recoiled. Did he carelessly drop this? I was annoyed because I would be expected to return it.
I retrieved the paper and flipped it around. The conspicuous image was startling and for the second time, I was taken by surprise. My heart reacted as if an unexpected gunshot could be heard thundering throughout Starosa. I rapidly recognized the paper was meant for me, and rushed to the supply closet to have more privacy. Being the only person in the hallway was not enough concealment.
My movements were erratic as I shakily sat and positioned my back against the closed door. I needed something to keep me upright. I studied the paper and the curious sketch made the room circle around me. My emotional state made clear sight difficult.
Blurred vision eventually focused on an in-depth drawing of a young woman. Once more it was clear she positively resembled me. There was the unmistakable dark hair, light skin, green eyes, and cleaning drudge attire. Next to the figure of the girl mirroring me, was a perfect replication of a roselett flower. The roselett was the most beautiful and sweet-smelling flower in all of Starosa. It was known for its loveliness and was often planted in front of the firstlings’ houses. It was an item they paid large sums to purchase. I admired many roseletts in the past. Mostly while on cleaning duty at the stores where they were sold. From memory, I could almost smell the sweet aroma circling the air around me.
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