A Long, Long Sleep

by Anna Sheehan

  I told him you couldn’t accept.”

  My smile died on my face. “What?”

  “I took care of it for you. Don’t worry.”

  “What . . . are you talking about? Why couldn’t I accept?”

  “Well, honey, your art teacher told me you had to accept this award thing in person,” Mom said. “You know full well we’ll be Australia that month.”

  I was flabbergasted. “But . . . but I have to accept. This is the Young Masters Program!” The vacant, inattentive look on Mom’s face worried me. She wasn’t hearing me. My voice got louder, screechingly strident. “They have art students from all over the planet! I was competing against college students! Mom!”

  “Don’t you raise your voice to your mother,” Daddy said, turning away from his files. This was dangerous ground. To dare distract Daddy from his work. . . .

  But for once, I didn’t even care about Daddy’s disapproval. “You don’t understand! This is the most prestigious award there is for youth artwork! This is worldwide recognition! I could start selling pieces this year even.”

  “You’re not even sixteen yet, Rose,” Mom said. This wasn’t true, but she didn’t know that. “I don’t think that kind of publicity would be good for you at this stage of your life.”

  “I wouldn’t be fifteen if you didn’t keep locking me up in stasis!” I yelled. I had no idea where that came from.

  Mom actually stood up from her chair. She never stood up when she spoke to me. “Don’t you dare ever raise your voice to me, young lady!” she said in a low, threatening tone.

  “Please!” I said, really crying. I was desperate now. “Please, don’t take this away from me!”

  Mom’s face was pinched and she looked over at Daddy. “Do you think she’s overstressing?” Mom asked.

  No. She wasn’t. . . . She was. I could see it in her face. For a moment I just closed my eyes, bowing to the inevitable.

  Mr. Sommer’s voice echoed in my head. A full scholarship to the Hiroko Academy of Art.

  “No,” I said, banishing my tears, trying to keep my voice calm. I straightened my shoulders, pretended to be adult. “I’m not overstimulated. It is only that this is very important to me.”

  Daddy frowned. “So important that you have to be rude to your mother, defy your father?” he asked. “We love you. We only want what’s best for you. Tell me that you know that, Rose.”

  I didn’t know where the hesitation came from. I knew the answer. It was rote. “I know that, sir,” I said, finally finding the words in the torrent of my thoughts.

  “You know what?” he persisted.

  “I know you only want what’s best for me, sir,” I whispered.

  “Good,” Daddy said. He sighed. “I think you are over-stressing on this, though.

  Jackie, why don’t you tuck her in, calm her down, and you and I will discuss it.”

  “Good idea. Come along, Rose.”

  I sighed. I hated it when they did this. They weren’t even gone and I was still losing precious hours with Xavier. There would be no gourmet dinner tonight.

  “How long?” I asked as Mom tucked me into my stass tube.

  “Only a day or two, honey,” Mom said. “We just need to discuss this. You should keep calm.”

  “Okay,” I said. I lay down quietly and let stass take away all the disappointment. I was fairly sure what they’d decide.

  I was not surprised when I opened my eyes and found Åsa standing over me.

  Mom and Daddy had left without saying good- bye. It was easier than futilely arguing with them, I supposed. And they couldn’t know that Åsa kept letting me out. “Thanks,” I said. “How long was I out?”

  Åsa’s mouth was pursed as she said, “Two weeks. They left last night for Australia.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t the first time they’d simply kept me in stasis until a controversial event was over. A birthday party they didn’t want me going to or a school field trip they didn’t think I should attend. I was sure they’d planned on simply leaving me in stasis until the Young Masters awards ceremony was over and done with. It was usually something I just accepted.

  Not this time.

  “Where’s Xavier?” I asked.

  “At school,” Åsa said. “I always wait a few hours after they go, in case they forget something and pop back. It’s a good thing I do; they’d have caught us a couple of times.”

  I smiled, but it was without humor. “That’s okay. I should eat something before I talk with him, anyway.”

  Åsa seemed to catch that there was something more in my tone than wanting to see my boyfriend. “What do you need from Master Xavier?” she asked.

  I put my hand on the smooth metal and NeoGlass of my stass tube. “I need the boy who knows how to hack my stass chamber,” I said. “I need a boy who can hack my parents’ consent for the Young Masters Program.”

  ...

  I’d wanted to bring Xavier as my companion to New York, but I couldn’t.

  Through various hacked documents sent over the net, Xavier managed to convince Mr. Sommers that my parents wanted him to travel with me to the awards ceremony. Mr. Sommers was thrilled, since he had been planning on trying to go, anyway, and such a trip was no mean feat on a teacher’s salary.

  It was the cherry on top of the perfect year. I shared a hotel suite with three of the other Masters winners: a college student from the Oriana School of Art; a conceptual computer artist, who had grown up on Luna; and Céline, whose presence astounded me. Céline was apprentice to André Lefèvre, a sculptor whose work I had admired since I was six. We discussed art until the wee hours of the morning, and the next day we all took a tour of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art. I could have stayed there for a year, but when the doors closed, we went back to the hotel and were taken by limousine to the awards banquet. After we ate, all ten of us winners trooped up on stage, and we each received a golden plaque with our name and category and the title of the winning piece below it. rosalinda fitzroy, mine read. undersky, oil on canvas. Then they sat us down as the master of ceremonies patted various employees and volunteers on the back. We were all waiting to see who would win the Masters.

  I was hoping Céline would win. Despite her native lan-guage being French and our mediums being vastly different, she and I had similar tastes and the same happily sinister feel to our artwork. Besides, she was apprentice to a truly brilliant artist.

  So when the name was announced, I was disappointed. I turned to tell Céline I was so sorry for her, when I realized that the name I’d heard that wasn’t Céline’s had in fact been my own.

  I turned my head to the podium and stared at the master of ceremonies, completely unable to move. It took all my roommates pushing me on the back to get me to rise out of my chair.

  I was handed the award, a golden pedestal holding a huge round prism, inside of which was the symbol of the medium I’d specialized in — in this case, a paintbrush. The footlights caught in the prism, sending rainbows of light into my eyes.

  I was supposed to have had a speech prepared. Céline did. Rachel did. But I had nothing to say. “I’ve waited for this . . . all my life,” I whispered to the microphone, and then the tears poured down my face, and I clutched the award to my chest. Applause roared through the room, and everyone knew that even if I’d had a speech prepared, I couldn’t possibly have delivered it. A slide show of my portfolio began to play on a screen above the stage, with a deep cello concerto as the background. When I staggered back to my seat, Céline told me, in her sensuously halting English, that the “elegant and sophisti-cated speeches” she the others had written “paled beneath the eloquent purity” of my tears —though I think she was just trying to make me feel better for being utterly unprepared.

  When Mr. Sommers and I flew back to the city, Xavier waited for me with his parents’ electric car. Mr. Sommers went home, and I climbed in with Xavier.

  “I’m so happy
for you, I can’t begin to tell you,” he said as he drove me back to ComUnity.

  “I still can’t believe it really happened,” I said. “I’m only sixteen. That’s never happened before. Not in the history of the award.”

  “Well, you’ve had more years of experience than any of those others,” Xavier said with a laugh. “It was unfair competition.”

  “Stop it,” I said. “I am only sixteen.”

  “And a brilliant artist,” Xavier said.

  “I’m not,” I said. “I cheat. I won the award for a stass dream. It’s all stass dreams. They’re what give me the colors.”

  Xavier looked at me for so long I was afraid he’d run us off the road, but I didn’t say anything. “You use the experiences of your life,” he said finally. He looked back to the road. “The others did the same, I’m sure.”

  This was true. The intricate patterns of asteroid collision permeated Rachel’s computer pieces, and the circus performers and dancers that André used for his models also influenced Céline. I knew he was right. “I still feel like I’m cheating,” I said.

  “The stass dreams are dreams,” Xavier said. “They come from your head, not the stass tube.”

  I looked down at the award in my hands. “I still can’t believe it’s real.”

  As we stepped into the lift, I handed Xavier the award. “Would you keep it for me?”

  Xavier stared from the award back to me. “I couldn’t,” he said. “You earned it.”

  “And if my parents see it, what do you think will happen then?” I asked. “Give it back to me in college, when I take that scholarship.”

  Xavier grinned. “Deal.”

  He kissed me so long and hard that I began to wonder if the lift was plummeting to the depths. (In actuality, it had stopped and opened its doors, waiting patiently for us to be finished with our business and actually get off at our floor.)

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you,” Xavier said. “I’m so proud of you.” He kissed me on the end of my nose. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  We went our separate ways, and I opened the door to my condo and swung myself inside. “Hey, Åsa! I’m back!”

  Åsa did not call out with her brusque Swedish, “Ja!” so I followed the hall and poked my head into the living room. “Åsa?”

  A jolt of cold ran up my spine, leaving the taste of iron in my mouth.

  “Åsa isn’t here,” Mom said, glaring at me.

  I licked my lips. Mom and Daddy sat side by side on the living- room sofa, waiting for me. “I . . . I can explain,” I said.

  “You had better,” Mom said. “We came home early, spe-ci fically to take you to this . . . thing you so wanted to go to. And what do we find? You’re gone. Tube empty. We nearly phoned the police. Do you know what that would have done to your father’s standing in the community? Our daughter, kidnapped? Or worse, a runaway ingrate.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom, it’s just —”

  “You had better be sorry,” Daddy said. “Once we found out that you weren’t waiting for us, we spoke to Åsa. She confessed that she’s been taking you out of stasis. No, I thought. Our daughter wouldn’t do such a thing. She wouldn’t dare lie to my face.” Daddy stood up so that his full height bore down on me.

  “Or so I thought.”

  I shivered, and my stomach dropped. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I whispered.

  Mom stood up then and joined him at his side. “She tells us you have a boyfriend. You aren’t old enough for a boyfriend.”

  “Mom, I’m sixteen,” I whispered.

  Daddy exploded then. I’d never seen him really angry, not that I remembered. It was fear of that anger simmering beneath the surface that always kept me from defying him. “You deceitful little bitch! It’s a damned good thing we’re here for you, do you know that? Do you know what would have happened to you if you’d been anyone else’s daughter? You’d have been diagnosed as crazy! They’d have left you in the streets! You aren’t worth anyone’s time, let alone ours!

  You’re worthless! A feebleminded, duplicitous, backstabbing little maggot who isn’t worthy to lick our feet!”

  “I’ll handle this, Mark,” Mom said, her eyes tight.

  “You get that child to behave, or you’ll never see her again!” Daddy yelled at her.

  “Don’t worry, dear,” Mom said. “Rose and I can talk this through. She knows what’s best.”

  I swallowed. I suddenly feared Mom’s calm more than Daddy’s fury.

  Two hours later, I went to bed, shaky, exhausted, with my face stinging from the tears. But Mom was right, just like she’d told me, again and again and again. I knew what was best.

  I waited all day in the garden. I could have gone to Xavier’s door, knocked, told his parents I wanted to see him. They knew full well what we were to each other, and it had never bothered them.

  But I didn’t want to pull him from his happiness. I felt like the longer I waited for him, the longer his world would stay complete. I felt like Ophelia. My lord, I have remembrances of yours that I have longed long to redeliver. . . . Her confused, clumsy return of Hamlet’s gifts and letters, all the time knowing that her father waited behind the arras. Mom and Daddy were nowhere to be seen, and I knew they weren’t listening. And yet I knew what I had to do. I wondered if I’d drown myself, wrapped in flowers, in the garden pond after it was over. I wondered if it would even matter.

  He saw me the moment he came into the garden. His grin was so broad and happy my heart twisted. I was going to ruin everything for him. But I knew what was best.

  He wrapped me in his arms, and I longed to return his embrace. But I didn’t. I stood there like a post of wood.

  Xavier pulled away and looked down at me, kissing my forehead. “Still in shock from yesterday?”

  I took a deep breath. “I . . . I got to know the other artists pretty well while I was over there.” I knew this was the only tack I could take. This was the only aspect of my life he had not been present for. “We shared a suite.”

  “So you said,” Xavier said, still smiling. “Did you learn some new techniques?”

  “No,” I said. “Well, yes, but . . . but mostly I learned about life. They’re all lots older than I am.” He tousled my hair. “Must have made quite a pet out of you.”

  I pulled away. “Stop it.” He finally realized something was really wrong. “Rose?

  What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “This,” I said. I couldn’t prolong it. I had to get it over with quickly. Like slitting my own wrists —if I tried to do it slowly, I’d never get it done. “This isn’t working for me anymore.”

  Xavier’s brow furrowed. “What isn’t?” “This,” I said, indicating the space between us. “I mean, we’re not . . . really the same.” Xavier raised an eyebrow.

  “I should hope not. It would be awfully hard to kiss you if we were.” “I’m serious,” I snapped. Xavier realized that I was. “Come on, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “I just can’t do this anymore.” “Do what?” “Be with you,” I said. Xavier froze for a moment. “Why not?” he asked finally. “It’s just . .

  . I can’t.” “No,” Xavier said, angry now. “No ‘just.’ You tell me what is going on.”

  I’d known it would come to this when I came out the door. I knew that telling him I didn’t love him wouldn’t work. He’d know my saying I loved someone else was impossible. I couldn’t tell him that my parents disapproved, because then he’d just find a way to see me despite them. Or he’d expect me to disobey them, and I simply couldn’t do that. And I couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes when he saw, again and again, that I chose them over him. So I did the only thing I could: I told the truth, in the harshest, most dishonest way possible.

  “It’s too weird, Xavier,” I said. “I mean, I . . . I grew up with you. I changed your diapers, for God’s sake! It’s like . . . like we’re brother and
sister, or . . . or . . .”

  I couldn’t follow that thought, so I let it go.

  “You didn’t think it was too weird last night. What’s happened between now and then?”

  “Nothing!” I said probably too quickly. “Last night I was just so . . . happy and tired; I didn’t want to try to change anything. But I knew even then . . .” I was afraid he’d catch the lie in my voice, so I jumped back in. “I’ve always been so much older than you, tried to look out for you. I mean, you con fided to me about your first crush!”

  “No, I didn’t,” he said. “My second, third, yeah. But my first crush was you.”

  “You see?” I said, leaping on that. “This can’t possibly be real. This is . . . this is some kind of adolescent wish fulfillment. It can’t be good for either of us.”

  “Rose, what are you saying?”

  I couldn’t look at his face. I didn’t want to see the stricken look I knew was etched there. But I could hear the strain in his voice, the barely concealed panic. I hoped my own voice wasn’t so easy to read. “I’m saying we can’t be together anymore,” I said. “I’m saying this isn’t right.”

  “Not . . . right?”

  I knew what he was thinking. This was the most right thing in the entire world.

  When the two of us were together, the entire world seemed to right itself.

  “No.” I hoped he couldn’t hear me choke on that word. I took a deep breath. I had to get out of there. I couldn’t take this one second longer. “ Good- bye, Xavier,” I whispered. I took a step across the lawn.

  The door had never seemed so far away. One step. Two. Three. Four. I got as far as six before Xavier grabbed me from behind, turned me to face him. “No!”

  He gripped my shoulders and shook me. “No! I don’t accept that! Who cares what the world thinks is right or not? We aren’t freaks of nature! You and me, this can’t be hurting anyone! How could anyone say what we’re doing is wrong?

  We aren’t brother and sister —we aren’t even different ages! It’s not your fault it took you this long to grow up!”

  “Yes, it is,” I whispered.