Across the Universe

23 AMY

MY FACE IS PRESSED AGAINST THE METAL, BREATHING IN THE dust that clings to the rivets curving around the interior wall. My eyes burn; my vision is so blurred all I can see is the grayness of the metal world.

Something inside me snaps.

I. Can’t. Do this. I can’t. It’s too much. This — all of this—living—I can’t. I just can’t. To have given it all up, and be left with nothing but this metal wall—

I slide down its slight curve, leaving a trail of sweat and tears and snot, but I don’t care. As I fall to my knees, the damp earth seeps wetness through the knees of my pants. My fists clench the dirt. It feels like dirt — real, honest dirt.

But it’s not.

“Are you all right?”

A man is standing on a path that connects the Hospital to a big brick building farther down.

I lift my filthy hands in front of my face, dirt falling in clumps from my fingers. I try to wipe the tears and snot from my face, but I’m pretty sure I’m just a muddy mess.

I press against the wall to stand. “You must think I’m crazy,” I choke out, attempting a half-laugh.

“I think you’re very upset,” the man says, rushing forward to help me stand, “but not crazy. What’s wrong?”

I snort. “Everything.”

“It can’t all be bad.”

“It really can.”

The man stands there, totally ignoring the mud I’ve smeared on his sleeve.

“I’m Amy, by the way.”

“Orion.”

“Nice to meet you.” As I say it, I realize it’s true. This is the first person on the whole ship who either didn’t creep me out, threaten to kill me, or both. He’s older, almost as old as my father, and although the thought feels like a splinter in my heart, it’s also a little comforting.

Orion starts leading me toward the brick building, away from the Hospital. “Let’s clean you up before I send you back on your way. What were you doing at the wall, anyway?”

“Looking for a way off this ship,” I mutter.

Orion laughs, a sincere, real laugh that makes me smile, too. His eyes light up, reminding me of Elder. Not so much because of the way he looks — everyone looks like they’re related to everyone else on this ship, with the same skin and same hair. No — it’s the kindness in his eyes that reminds me of Elder.

I pause at the steps of the brick building. RECORDER HALL it says in big, white-painted letters. Next to the big doors is a painting of Eldest. His cold eyes follow me as I mount the steps, and I try to avoid his painted gaze. Orion rushes ahead, saying something about a towel.

I push the door open after him, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior light.

Then I see it.

Earth.

Not the real Earth, obviously, but a big clay model.

I rush forward, my fingers reaching for the huge clay globe of Earth that hangs in the center of the giant entryway. There’s America, there’s Florida, where I was born, there’s Colorado, where I met Jason. My hands tremble as I stretch up to touch the dusty, bumpy clay, even though it’s far beyond my reach.

Orion snatches my hands away and scrubs them with a steaming hot, slightly damp towel. It feels almost as if he’s scrubbing away my skin, and when I pull away and look at my hands, they’re red, but clean. Before I can say anything else, Orion shoves the towel in my face and scrubs it as well. He’s laughing, and so am I–I haven’t been treated as if I was a child in need of a bath for a very long time.

“Clean again!” Orion says cheerily, tossing the towel behind him. He hands me a glass of cold water, and I drink it greedily. My muscles seem to relax, and I finally start to feel calm again. “So,” Orion says, nodding to the replica, “you found our model of Sol-Earth.”

By Sol-Earth, I guess he means my Earth.

“And here,” Orion adds, “is Godspeed.”

I hadn’t noticed the little model of the ship made to look as if it were flying from Earth before. It’s about the size of my head, whereas the model of Earth is so big my arms wouldn’t reach around it.

I flick the model with my hand. It swings on its wire, chaotically off-course. Then settles back, as if nothing has happened. It’s a ship. It can’t be bothered to care.

“Everything better now?” Orion asks, as if a warm towel is enough to solve any problem.

“I’ll be okay,” I say, but we both know I’m lying.