Guardians

I wake early from a dream. I had been skating on a frozen pond with my mom. In the dream I was older, maybe around 10, but I haven’t seen my mom since I was six. Something about the dream seems familiar but I don’t remember if we actually ever went ice skating before my mom and dad disappeared.

It’s strange to be unsure of which events really happened. Memories are still difficult to come by and I’m not really sure why that is. I’ve heard other kids at school talk about things that happened in their childhood, hobbies they had, a favorite stuffed animal, but I have large gaps. The worst thing I remember was the night my parents were dragged out of our home by Arcadia’s security forces when I was six, and that memory only resurfaced a few months ago. I have images here and there that come up, pieces of conversations from my time with my mom and dad and from my early days at the Home. But nothing like what other seventeen year olds are experiencing. Until information about my past and my parents’ disappearance came up recently, I had never really considered it odd that I don’t have many memories.

When Emily pops in my room later, I ask her, “Do you remember much about your childhood?”

“No, not really. But I came here when I was so young. And you know, it’s not like the Caretakers have made us feel very welcome here, so there’s probably not much worth remembering.”

“No there’s not really … unless you count the timeouts in Mrs. Lambeth’s closet! The extra kitchen duty, no birthdays,” I say.

“And don’t forget the lovely uniform. Nothing says pretty like a frumpy brown jumper and beige shirt. And hey we get boiled veggies every night,” says Emily.

We can’t help but laugh and it feels good. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own misery and fear lately. Having a few minutes with my best friend to just be a kid is exactly what I need.

“Do you remember much?” Emily asks.

“Not much, but I had a dream last night about skating on that pond, the one over by school where the Caretakers would sometimes let us go when we were younger. The weird thing was that I was skating with my mom but I was older, much older than when she disappeared. But when I woke up it felt more like a memory. That doesn’t make any sense though - and there was definitely something going on in the dream, something that seems important.”

_________

I’m skating again. Emily is there this time as well as a few other girls from the Home. I’m shivering and moving awkwardly across the uneven ice with Emily in tow. Neither of us has mastered the movement but we’re loving the freedom of being outside without the constant watchful eyes of the Caretakers.

Suddenly I’m on my hands and knees, tangled up with Emily.

“Hey! Watch it!” Emily yells after the guy who must have knocked us down.

We struggle to stand, pulling each other over, until a man comes over to help us. “Are you girls okay?” he says.

“Yeah, I think so. Thanks so much for your help.” I say.

“Of course. I’m always here to help you, Anya.”

I wake, again feeling out of sorts. Something about the dream is pulling at me - I know something important is just below the surface. I sit up and try to quiet my mind. I revisit the dream, but nothing seems unusual about the skating. I see the fall and the guy skating off, laughing with his friends. And then I see the man come over to help...it’s Glen.

Ever since talking to Emily about childhood memories, I’ve been trying to think of important events over the last ten years. We don’t get to celebrate birthdays at the Home and Arcadia has done away with the holidays people used to celebrate. We are only allowed to honor the Arcadian “heros” who lost their lives in the last Uprising, which does not include any of our family members at the Home, being the children of the so-called traitors. We don’t go to friends’ houses for sleepovers or go to the mall or the movies, and school is just something to get through until we turn seventeen and leave to enter one of the necessary support jobs. So I know I don’t have many memorable events from my childhood anyway, but there are still just so many gaps. Not only gaps, but blackness, like whole sections of my life are gone.

I stop by Emily’s room before heading to my job at the retirement center. She’s getting ready to leave for school, so I walk with her. When we get outside, I ask her if she remembers us ever getting knocked over at the skating pond.

“Yeah...I do remember that! We must have been ten or eleven and couldn’t skate very well. And then that jerk Addison and his friends ran into us on purpose - you know that older guy from school who used to tease us all the time? What made you think of that?” Emily says.

“I dreamt of it last night and I didn’t know if it was a real memory. Did someone help us up after Addison knocked us over?”

“I think so...yeah, it was this nice older man. And the strange thing was that he seemed to know you, but you didn’t recognize him. Do you remember that?”

So it was real. Glen, the janitor and gardener at my high school, knew my name when I was younger. He told me recently that he knew my parents back before they were taken, so I suppose he could have recognized me that day at the pond. But why am I remembering that now? I must just be feeling guilty about Glen getting arrested after helping me find out more about my parents’ disappearance a few months ago.

I leave Emily at the high school and continue on to the retirement center. The center doesn’t seem the same after my mother’s friend Barbara died suddenly. I dread going in there now, fearful that my boss Adam has turned me in to the Arcadian Council after having confided in him about my suspicions concerning my parents’ whereabouts and treatment the last several years. I know the Council would consider my actions treasonous and I could endanger the lives of my mom and dad’s friends who are still plotting against them. Every time I walk by Adam’s office, I hold my breath and wish I were invisible. And every time I hear the front door open, I fear it’s the security forces come to take me away.

As I’m making my rounds to deliver fresh towels to the residents’ rooms, Mrs. Jensen, the recently arrived occupant of room 14, calls me over to her bed. On her bedside table are photos, presumably of her family.

As I’m looking at one with a young woman and little boy, Mrs. Jensen says, “That’s my Karina and little Charlie, my grandson.”

“Wait...she was my teacher, my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Collins. Right? That’s her isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, I believe she was, Anya. You know, she and Melissa were so close as children. She was so sad to hear your parents went away.”

This can’t be happening. After so many years without a word about my mom and dad, why does everyone I meet now seem to have a connection to them?

“I didn’t start out in your daughter’s class that year. I remember I got moved for some reason.”

“Yes, that would make sense. Karina got transferred to the school a few weeks after the year started.”

“She was so kind to me. She always looked out for me and my friends when the other students were being cruel. Is she still teaching? I’d love to see her again.”

Mrs. Jensen looks away, lost in thought. When she looks back, her eyes are misty. “No my dear, I’m afraid she passed away five years ago...she and little Charlie in a car accident.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

These fleeting connections between me and my parents, these people who have come in and out of my life...I just don’t know what to think. Have these encounters been purely coincidental? Did my parents have a bigger sphere of influence than I realized, and if so, why weren’t these others like Glen, Barbara, and Karina rounded up after the Uprising like my parents were?

Emily stops by my room after dinner. Since I started confiding in her about my research into my past, we’ve been spending a lot more time together. I’ve missed her company so much since I had to leave school.

“So have you figured out how to sneak away to look at those files you found in the barn?” Emily whispers.

“No … well maybe. If I can get Mrs. Shelley alone when I’m helping her in the kitchen, she may have some ideas. If she’s willing to help me, that is. She made it pretty clear before that she doesn’t care about helping unless there’s something in it for her. I guess I could just try going out my window and climbing down one night like I did before.”

“Are you sure that’s safe? Someone might see or hear you.”

“Maybe, but what is Mrs. Lambeth going to do? Lock me in the closet without dinner? I’m seventeen, not seven.”

“Yeah, but she could also turn you over to the Council. They already arrested your friend Glen and your parents and probably loads of others. And if they really did have something to do with Barbara’s death, then I’m afraid of what they could do to you. I mean, I know I told you to just do what you felt was right but now…I don’t know, Anya.”

“I know you’re afraid. I am too but I need to do this. I’m tired of being afraid and things keep getting more convoluted. I’ll be careful - I promise,” I say.

I know I will talk myself out of it if I wait until another day, so I carefully open my window after everyone has gone to bed. I slowly lower myself down to the ground and start walking toward the old barn.

I quickly uncover the little box that Mrs. Shelley left in my room that has something to do with my parents before looking at the medical files I’m supposed to search for their friends. This time I brought a screwdriver and hammer to break open the box. Inside are pictures of people, people I know. Glen from my high school, Karina my 5th grade teacher, the head maid from the Home when I was eight, my 8th grade science teacher, the mail carrier on our route a few years. People who have come in and out of my life since I was left alone. People who have always had a kind word for me, who have looked out for me. These connections that were always there in the background, intentional connections to keep me safe when my parents couldn’t be there. I know now that I was never actually alone.