by Eli Constant
“I know you do. I know that. I’m so sorry Jason.” He placed his hands on the forearms of the two men still loosely restraining me.
“She’s okay now. You can let her go.” The man hesitated, then let go, and backed away. Jason and I embraced and kissed. It was a long, lingering and convincing kiss. A little tongue sealed the deal. “I’ll be back later tonight.” Jason whispered in my ear. I nodded and kissed him once more.
I tried to look incredibly embarrassed. I looked down at the floor and apologized to the room at large. No matter what I said, I knew I’d be labeled a psycho bitch from that point on. No doubt word would travel fast in the facility. I walked quicker than I normally would.
It was convenient in two ways- firstly, after that kind of scene, anyone would want to get the hell away rapidly and secondly, I was chomping at the bit to find Peters.
I was leaving Jason to deal with the fall-out. I hoped that the men would stay true to masculine nature and ignore the lover’s quarrel. Emotive scenes were not usually dissected by men. I looked at Jason once before I disappeared through the exit door.
He was sitting in the chopper and he was watching me. I mouthed three little words and he smiled.
I found Peters in the cafeteria.
I grabbed a bag of dried fruit and nuts off the snack bar, not wanting to walk through the food line. I glanced around the room, but knew I wouldn’t see Megan and Kara, they always ate promptly at five and it was already after five-thirty. Peters was sitting, munching nervously on a cereal bar, apparently his stomach was also too nervous for real food.
“So?” I looked at him questioningly.
“So, it’s up to her now.” His following sigh was ragged.
I exhaled and looked past him into the middle distance.
If our little half-human succeeded, my life would change- forever. My two daughters would become three. One blossoming tiny Kara and my two Megs.
Margaret Brown, third daughter.
Third Daughter
It was interesting, this contraption that allowed men to fly.
I could feel my body rising in harmony with the machine. The great, oscillating wings beat above me. Thump… thump… thump. The sound was just as had been described to me.
I recognized my abnormalities, knew why I was different. They had tried to keep it from me. Elise, my mother, told me it didn’t matter. My origin, however, was not hard to devise.
My original name spelled out the solution: Shelia-2. When I discovered Sheila-1, I knew. When O’Toole explained what biological meant and that he was the paternal element in my particular biology, I knew. I was unique, a singular being with unusual parentage and an unsure future.
It should have frightened me. It did not.
My exposure to the world had been limited to a small room, two larger rooms adjacent and whatever books the doctors brought me. I still asked Father to read the juvenile “Goodnight Moon” to me, although I had since read and memorized the Oxford Dictionary.
I found comfort in the easiness of the children’s book, the melody of its words, the consistent familiarity of going to sleep with a bright moon to light my dreams.
In my hours between rising and falling, I learned. Peters, whom I thought of as Uncle, always brought me new books.
One day he came bearing a history book. The trials and tribulations of a bygone world gave me pause to both dislike and love the imperfect nature of humans and both dislike and love that human part of me.
After much badgering, I’d been shown my chromosomal composition; I understood what made me physically different. Books taught me of the heart, of the soul, of a supposed deity that loved all creations. I recognized in my heart a true goodness, but also a pathological need to seem good. I did not believe that who I was, was decided solely by my genes.
I shifted my body ever so slightly.
Double jointed or not, being contorted in a small bag was not too comfortable.
When he’d put me down, Uncle Peters had whispered that I was stashed underneath a seat directly behind the pilot. It’s not exactly the position I would have picked, but perhaps it was so conspicuous that it was smart.
In the raucous of rescue, I could hope. At least, Uncle Peters had instructed me to hope when he gently stuffed my bag under the chair. Hope- wishing for something better or banking on a certain outcome. I could do that.
When I felt the helicopter falling and the impact of landing, I was ready. I felt the weight of men moving and exiting and I grasped the interior zipper pull, which was difficult as my arms were bent awkwardly back.
I opened the bag slowly, enough to see that the back of the plane was deserted. The doctors warned me that the pilot would likely stay seated. I craned my head and saw a helmeted person in the front. If I were lucky, the pilot would be the man Jason- the one Elise trusted. The pilot was yelling something into a set of head phones. His attention was focused elsewhere.
I untwisted my body, one joint at a time. I slithered from beneath the chair, leaving the black material bag behind me. I kept my body lowered to the floor of the chopper.
I moved quickly, too quickly for a pure human.
In the door frame, at the edge of the chopper interior, I bent my body out of the plane and towards the roof of the building. I snaked beneath the chopper and surveyed. Two military men were standing on the roof near the edge. I could see the top of a rope ladder. They were shouting and shooting.
I crawled out and away from the chopper towards the opposite edge of the building. I was careful to stay in the pilot’s blind spots, just in case he was not the one called Jason.
The plan that had been outlined for me seemed less than convincing. Stay on the roof, stay safe and try to blend into those being rescued. That wouldn’t be very effective if there were only one or two people on the ground. I made a decision.
I looked over the building’s edge. No humans or humanoids, no activity. It was all quiet in wonderland and I was Alice about to fall down the hole- another favorite book.
I flung my body into open air. My senses were alive with new smells. The rushing wind against my body and the sight of land growing larger made my heart race. It was amazing how my mind automatically sent signals to my elbows and knees. My legs were positioned, my arms were ready, and my form rolled to the side in response to the impact.
Act quickly, I told myself. Get to the other side of the building.
Springing to life, I began to run. I had never run before; it was exhilarating. I checked my pace, reminded myself to be a convincing human. Even slowing down, I was at the corner of the building in seconds. I halted in my tracks. I looked down at my body. I was too clean.
Reaching down, I grabbed a fistful of grass and dirt. I spent several precious seconds rubbing filth on my skin and clothing.
Then I turned the corner.
In front of me were fifteen undergrounders. It felt odd to call them that. They were racing towards the building, towards the four humans trying to climb up the rope ladder.
My initial instinct was to race for the ladder myself, climb to safety. I was suddenly afraid of these bestial creatures, even though they were part of me.
Then my sense kicked in. My physical appearance was of a young, human child. The doctors said I was physiologically close to three years old. I had to act my visible age. What would a human toddler do?
I began to scream. Even to my own ears, it was piercing and unsettling.
Faces swung to look in the direction of my affected helplessness. Eyes grew wide in horror, taking in the site of my small form against the landscape of oncoming slaughter.
Guns fired, adults shouted. I stumbled towards the ladder, my arms outstretched. I screamed. I yelled ‘help.’
A man, halfway up to safety, descended and ran for me. The gun fire continued and it did make me feel frantic. For once, I did feel like a child counting on the capableness of those larger than myself. My eyes closed in real fear; I felt strong arms wrap around me and hoist me
into the air.
“I got you sweetheart, I got you.”
What would a child do? What would a child say?
My arms went around his neck in reflex. My face burrowed into his shoulder. I said nothing.
“I’ve got you.” The man’s deep voice kept whispering reassurances. I continued to cling. I felt less afraid now, but whimpered now and then to be convincing. My body seemed to calm just from the mere contact with another person.
I could feel the man’s body moving up the ladder. More hands latched under my arms and lifted me upwards. A woman this time- crooning in my ear, telling me everything was going to be okay, asking me where I’d come from.
I opened my eyes long enough to make sure my original savior had made it up to safety. I didn’t know how I felt about humans as a whole, but I wanted that man to survive.
The woman was running with me to the helicopter. Her gait was jarring and it was difficult to focus on the scene behind me.
The man, who had come for me and abandoned the safe rooftop to save a child, was helping one of the uniformed men pull up the rope ladder.
My scream was real this time.
I watched the man’s arms jerked downwards. He didn’t have time to loosen his hold. The soldier beside him tried to pull him back, tried to help. But my rescuer kept falling. The distance wasn’t far enough to kill him, but what waited below was more than capable of a murderous blow. Several shots were fired. It was too late. I knew it was too late. I was so grateful I could not see the scene on the ground.
My ongoing screams were drowned out by the chopper blades. That monotonous thumping should have been soothing. Instead, it was a heady reminder that my existence, so short and meaningless, had cost another life.
When the last person boarded, we rose into the air. The woman, who had carried me and buckled me, covered my eyes, but not soon enough. Images were already seared into my memory. Even with my limited exposure, my quick mind had seen the man, heard his screams, and counted the pieces of him.
Much like my second bout of screaming had been authentic; the tears that now wet my cheeks were very real.
I could see mouths moving, but I could not hear the conversation around me. My silence would be construed as a symptom of shock.
This human life would be full of sorrow and my ability to suffer from powerful emotions further alienated me from my maternal family. And, at that moment, I was thankful. Seeing my mother’s family below, knowing their nature personally, I wanted no part of myself to be… undergrounder. Perhaps humans, with all their flaws, were the less evil choice. The man, the man who gave his life for me, was proof.
When we landed within the facility, we were met with a flurry of activity. It was disorienting. I looked for a familiar face, but saw none. I knew better than to search. The doctors had explained it would be too risky for them to meet me before processing.
The woman was holding my hand. I’m sure she meant well, but her grip was tight. It hurt.
A man walked towards us. I recognized him as the pilot. He was tall and the hair on his face was bright red. He introduced himself as Jason. He was Elise’s Jason. I pulled my hand away from the woman and reached for him. He knelt down and asked my name.
“Margaret.”
“That’s a beautiful name, Margaret.”
“T’ank you.” I spoke very quietly, making sure my words sounded high and young. I truly was nervous. A whole new reality waited for me with a daily routine that did not involve waking up in a closet and idling the hours away reading books about life.
The man named Jason took my hand in his.
Unlike the woman’s grip, he held my hand gently. We walked away from the noise and out of the hangar. The hall was an interesting and seemingly never-ending length of white and metal. It reminded me of the laboratory, but it was narrower. The lights above were the same, garish and bright.
“Margaret, I’m…”
I interrupted him. I knew it was rude because Father had told me so. “You are Elise’s Jason. You are helping me?” I waited silently for him to respond. He was taken aback.
“They told me how smart you were.” He ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled. “We’re going to processing now. It won’t take long.” We stopped talking. We heard footsteps rapidly approaching behind us.
“Hey, hold on!” The soldier that had tried to save the man on the roof ran up to us. “Are you okay little girl? I didn’t get to ask you.”
I stared at the man, my quick mind formed words.
“Tat man ded ‘cuz of me.” I made the words sound juvenile; I hoped I sounded like a three year old. I didn’t think I was very convincing, but I began to cry again. And that was convincing.
“No sweetie. It’s not your fault. He wanted to save you.” I turned into Jason’s side and buried my face in the coarse cloth of his pants leg. The soldier patted my back. “Are you taking her to processing?” He asked Jason.
“Yes. All the noise back there was really upsetting her. I thought it would be better to get her into the quiet.”
“She’s been through a lot. You should have seen her. She was all by herself, stumbling out into the open screaming. We were lucky we could hold off the undergrounders long enough. I wonder how the hell she ended up by herself.” The man’s voice held a lilt of disbelief.
My voice was muffled by the shirt, but they could understand me. “Da-de, mom-ma tay ded. Me hid.” I stopped and sniffled; peeked out to see the man looking at me. He didn’t look skeptical now. He looked amazed. “Da-de, ma-me hea-ven?” I made it a question- a question that any distraught child might ask to answer the absence of a parent.
The man’s eyes were tearing now. I felt bad deceiving him, but not so bad to turn truthful.
Jason put his arm around my shoulder.
“She doesn’t need to relive anything more tonight.” Jason said. The soldier didn’t protest. “I’ll take her briefly to processing, but would you be willing to make a statement for her? I don’t want her to have to talk about this again.” The soldier nodded. Jason and I turned and we walked away. Ordeal almost over now, I thought.
Processing was a blur. Jason did all the talking. I sat, shivered, and looked scared. My glazed-over, tired eyes stared at one particular wall spot for prolonged periods of time. I only shifted my gaze when someone said something directly to me.
I was the picture of exhaustion and shock. Finally, I slumped in my seat and closed my eyes. I didn’t wake up again until I felt my body rocking.
My ear was against Jason’s chest; I could feel his heart beating. It was slower than mine, less fluttery. It lulled me back to sleep.
The second time I woke, I was lying in a bed. The covers were itchier than the ones in my closet, but they were warm. I heard voices and opened my eyes slightly. Two silhouettes were outlined on the wall.
“She looks so human.”
“She is human Jason. She’s innocent and more human than most of us. Her brain is extraordinary.”
“Why are you taking her in, Elise? Why is she our responsibility?” The way Jason said it- I got the impression that he’d asked this question before.
“Because she is a miracle and… and I love her. It’s true. Part of her is everything I’ve come to hate, but the other part is wonderful.”
Mother loved me. How did that make me feel? Happy.
“What about Megan and Kara? Did you think about how they’ll feel?”
“My daughters are accepting and loving. I have no doubt that they’ll welcome Meg with open arms.”
I heard a sigh in the dark.
“If you love her, I can learn to love her.”
There weren’t two silhouettes on the wall now. Only one dark, oddly-shaped shadow and I heard unfamiliar sounds to accompany the movement of that shadow.
I tried to put the events of the evening out of my mind. I blocked the quiet whispers of Jason and Mother. I closed my eyes again. I dreamed about tomorrow and days with new experiences. I imagin
ed going to class, eating with people, making friends.
It would be a constant battle to not seem more than human. I would be always masking my abilities, my intelligence. It would be difficult, but Father was right. I needed more because I was more. I couldn’t live my life in a closet.
In the morning, I was woken by soft words and a gentle shaking.
“Meg, wake up sweetheart. We need to shower and go to breakfast.”
It was Mother, my Mother. I rolled over to face her and opened my eyes slowly. Two other faces stared at me curiously. Small faces with long curtains of brown hair. The smallest said ‘hi’ and smiled. The oldest smiled also.
“Hi.” I whispered, feeling shy- an emotion I had not experienced before. Mother spoke.
“Meg, this is Megan and this is Kara. These are my daughters.” They looked like Elise- the same coloring, the same lip shape. They were very pretty. I touched my own face. No one would mistake me for her daughter. I was too different. My hair was like my real mother’s- bright and silvery.
Kara, the smallest, reached her little hand towards me and stroked my hair.
“Pre-tty.” My cheeks felt warm.
“Okay girls, let’s go! Meg, here are some new clothes for you.” Mother handed me a pair of soft pants and a pink shirt. “They’re not glamorous, but they’re clean, sweetheart.” I clutched the clothes, finding the pink shade beautiful.
Mother held my hand as we walked. I stared up at her and decided I would like being her child.
Kara gripped my other hand with her small strength; she was already attached to me. I found this pleasing. Megan was on the end of our family chain, still shooting me curious glances.
We strode happily. I forgot about Father. I forgot about the laboratory. I forgot about my real mother.
Taking off my clothes for the communal shower, the joy I felt moments earlier lessened. My happiness would constantly be punctuated with my need to appear normal. Unclothed, my extreme double jointing was obvious. I could stand erect and look anatomically human if I concentrated hard.