1 Change

Death is a lie. There is life and nothing. But not the nothing we expect, the nothing that consumes us to the point where no thought can be had. The nothing that we feel when we sit down, after a long day at work, a day of school that sped by. The feeling when there is no feeling; no emotion can touch you. When nothing matters, your eyes lose focus of the light around it, your ears don't listen to sounds anymore, and there is no taste and no touch. The smell of air: the nothing in the air. The moment when our minds consume us whole and we enter the abyss of our inner selves without a way to navigate it. A ride with no destination, a journey with no end. And suddenly, as quick and as sudden as it came to be, we snap back into reality, what is real, and the emotions come rolling in again.

I am Kane. And snapping back to it is a personal hobby of mine. It has been ever since I was small. Ever since I escaped the floods. I still smell the rough, salty taste of the air that made me smack my lips over and over. I remember my hometown, a small little town, Abilene. I loved how my entire street was made of cookie cutter homes, with half siding and half red brick exteriors, and all with white picket fences around our yard. My dad kind of got everyone to do it. He was a veteran from the freedom wars, all scarred up from battle. But he never told me his stories, only mom. She would tell me all the stories and my dad would just sit and watch the fireplace crackle and pop, occasionally grunting or nodding. Andrea was barely a few months old then, sleeping in my mom's arms, her favorite place by far, and I can't blame her, it was mine as well. But something about the simplicity, even as a kid, I didn't like. How boring to live in a place where there was almost no outside world, no connection to any other city in Calimet. There was little to do, and this would keep me up at night, staring at my ceiling, my eyes transfixed on the the darkened light fixture, hoping, praying for change. I wanted something new. But I didn't want it to happen the way it did. No one did.

I survived the floods and made it to Wyoming. My mom made sure of it. She was good like that, she was strong like that. Catherine Hope. Only a few tears she did I see fall down her cheek as we docked on dry land on our makeshift boats. As our friends helped us off, she said nothing but shook her head at them, silently crying to herself. That was the first time I remember snapping. Everyone was talking and yelling, but I didn't hear them. The world moved in slow motion and everything became fuzzy. They grabbed me and hugged me, shook me around, asking if I was okay. I couldn't respond. That time was blurry in my memories. I hated that time. But mom was strong. We made it to Wyoming a few days later.

We all shared a room in a four bedroom home. It smelled so horrid, that we occasionally had to walk outside for a breath of fresh air, which one cannot even quite have called "fresh" because all of the construction around the area. The smog in the sky, evil and putrid, enveloped us with its misery and smell which was like that of paint and chipped wood. Occasionally, we could even see particles of the wood. I lost myself in scouting for these particles for hours on end, whenever I had time. But there is a kind of mesmerizing feel to their movement. Even as they are hated and dangerous, they are free to be themselves and flow forever with the wind. No definitive end and you'll probably never see the same one again. Always changing.

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"C'mon! Kane! Wake up! Wake up! I need you to tie my bow!"

Picking up my head, I mumbled my way to answer her, " Mornin' to you too, you little taco."

Andrea's face glistened from the sunlight that was coming in, and her blonde hair danced through the rays. "Ha Ha, very funny, " she said rolling her eyes, "Just hurry up and tie it! I wanna look good for people.... unlike you." Her eyes darted down and up my slouched form with sly disgust.

"A little early to roast me, no? Probably a record if I remember correctly," I responded.

Of course she was right however, I never really wore anything special because I didn't feel like there was ever a need to. Almost always it was jeans and a random colored t-shirt. Simplicity is nice, I like it. Andrea however, in this regard, was definitely not like me. She liked waking up early, to brush her hair with the little pink brush she had gotten for her birthday, to push her hair off to one side over and over again until it stayed in its place. She was cutest little 3rd grader I knew.

"Well," she sassed me, "Guess you're just gonna have to live with it, cause until mom sees you first every morning in the kitchen with your teeth brushed and ready, It aint gonna go away buddy."

"What do u want Andrea? Do you really want to post up? Do you really want to play this game?" I laughed.

"Kane!" My mom yelled from in the kitchen "Wake up! Hurry up, I'm not going to keep waiting for you! Breakfast is ready and it's getting cold!"

"Coming!" both Andrea and I responded.

With a grudge and a nod to Andrea, I finally had let go of the idea of more sleep. For my mom I'd get up for anything. I sighed and got dressed: a pair of dark, clean, jeans which fit me perfectly, and also a new white, plain t-shirt. I got my backpack, lazily walked into the bathroom, and brushed my teeth very economically.

I found my uncle and mom talking in the kitchen. My uncle looked like he fell off a cliff; his bruises were becoming more frequent allowing him to claim the look of a purple monster, challenging the one the kids watched on television. He worked at a construction field like most. His injuries had come from the common fights over his leadership position. There was no way he'd ever give it up though. There would be no way he could feed and help his sister's family without it, and family was very important to him. He turned to my direction and then looked back at the small, box-shaped television.

"Hey there buddy, did ya hear what happened to the panhandle? It went down with the rest of it. They say it ought to stop now, saying that no more new land is popping up on the other side."

I gazed over to the television and listened, "...According to officials, the extra land appearing in the Pacific Ocean can be considered within the claims of both Calimet and Taiwan; However, our President Carder has claimed that she intends to take all of the land for our glorious country; in a statement early this morning in our capital, Los Angeles, she exclaimed that the fact that this new land was close enough for Calimet to claim ownership. However, when asked for the purpose of obtaining the new islands, she did not respond."

I didn't understand it. How could the appearing of a tenth planet so far away from us cause such flooding? Most of Texas underwater? And why would this appearing cause a country to break into two? I remember learning in history how Calimet and York states were once combined into a country named United States of America. Back then, people had no fear of the day ahead of them. There was rare flooding, and rare fire.

The Mississippi River flooded when the poles shifted. An entire eight degrees it was said, all because one fat rock in space decided to get close to us. BH-127. Land disappeared into the ocean in places like Louisiana, and increasing in Honolulu. Simple as that I was told, that entire civilizations and cities had to be evacuated. In the grand scheme of things, this was only a light touch against the earth compared to what else had happened before in it's cosmic history. Had it really been on fire? Had it really frozen over a few times? It would have been a sight to see. Flaming rocks hurling toward the earth's crust, ready to change the planet, forcing the earth to obey and be submissive to its sheer power and will. An infant earth, new and dumb, could in no way save itself. It was the lamb at the slaughterhouse. There it was, hiding behind the cosmos in secret, a small planet in a small solar system, in an unsuspecting galaxy, holding the treasure of life to its chest. But the universe did not like it, and sent the chaos.

I looked away from the television and to the clock in the house. We had to go if we wanted to make it to school on time.

"Time to go" I whispered my sister. We headed out the back door and headed on toward school.

I was in the 10th Grade. Our school, due to the exodus, was extremely packed and was forced to hold all 12 grades of school. It was a pretty average school with average people with average grades. It was special to us though; not because it held any physical value, most of which had worn out with time, but because it was ours.

When we reached school I looked at Andrea, knelt down to her, and told her the same thing I always did, "Be smart."

And she responded the same way every time, saying, "And you, Kane," she smiled,"don't be dumb," and gave me a hug. My favorite moment of every day. That kind of moment was the opposite of all the empty thoughts in my life. That hug she gave me very day, as simple and brief as it was, made me actually happy. That warm and sunny feeling that can only be given by the bright and ecstatic. That moment when you're full of all that's good. You don't deserve the moment, but there it is, giving itself to you. My sister was the best, whether she knew it or not. That little 3rd grader. And the way that she skipped off to her class, her backpack jumping up and down, would break and rebuild anyone's heart 50 times over.

Andrea wasn't the only friend I had though. Most of my classes with my best friend Damian. We had been the best of friends ever since I was four. He had lived in Abilene with us and chance would have it that both of us happened to move to Wyoming. He had grown faster than me, reaching 6 feet tall. He had a manly figure but his voice didn't match. He was one of the smartest people that I knew. His grades never failed him, unlike me. He was perfect on paper, but for some reason, his anxiety is what brought him away from that threshold. He took the floods worse than some.

"Damian!" I said finding him walking into English.

He looked around confused until his eyes landed on me. He slowed down to let me catch up, looked at me expectantly and said, "Ready for the test?"

My head dropped into my palms. Not again. Why did it seem like I could never get a hold of due dates. I let out a deep sigh and kept walking into class, sat down, put my elbows on the table, and ran my fingers through my hair.

"The day that I end up having my stuff on time, is the day that I die," I eventually said looking to Damian. "Like, why can't I just write the stuff down and get it done? Ugh!"

If I didn't turn this in today I would lose my high B in the class and might even fail. This was the only project that we had in this class and it accounted for twenty-five percent of our final grade. Why did I even try anymore? It wasn't like the school cared or even supported us getting good grades, which was probably because no-one was that exceptionally smart, except of course, for Damian.

He looked at me confused, "Didn't you say you were working on it the other day?"

"Yeah, I said that. It was my way of telling myself to start working on it. Didn't really happen."

He slowly nodded and calmly looked towards the front of the class. He was a good friend. From helping me with my homework, to letting me in on due dates when I forgot, he seemed to have it all. And he did. Damian was a spectacle. The girls in the class were both mesmerized and distraught by him. He wasn't a popular kid because he just didn't care for it, but he did get along with almost everyone. But not one person can get through life perfect. His Achilles heel was his anxiety. The floods were bad for me, but as for Damian, that's a whole different story. He stopped eating for days and days at a time. He didn't lose anyone, but the fear of it brought him down. It's weird to be sure; those who lost family members took it better than those who got close to it like him. The idea of not having what they currently have, with all the memories, cannot be accepted. Those who lose people in their lives don't know what could've been, so they move on. No one wants to lose a family member, not even a friend, but its gives the opportunity of growth. We move on in their memory, while people like Damian, move on with the fear of what can be. This anxiety was probably the cause for the consistent fidgeting of his fingers, or his bouncing of his legs. Always paranoid, on the lookout.

I slumped my head down and tried to breathe. Mrs. Danter started coming up and down the rows of seats to grab our final essay. She was troll of an old lady. Huge bulky eyelashes, and poorly put mascara dominated her face which had more creases than one can count. Her hate of teaching dominated her expression almost all the time, except for Friday's, when one might have caught a quick smile when she looked at the clock. Very rarely though to be sure. Her dress, maroon in color, said that she might have had a date later. Her makeup wasn't that bad either. She was prepared for something. Today, she also was very on top of her game. She walked with such a pace, one might not believe, hitting a rather good rhythm. Two steps, pick a paper, two steps, pick up another paper, two steps, paper, two steps, paper, paper, two steps, paper. When she reached me, She became thrown off of her perfectly timed course. I hardly acknowledged her, I was lost in my own in-obsession with reality. She did not respond well.

"Mr. Hope, I do hope that you finished your work this time?" She said looking away from me.

She gave a small chuckle, However, I was not going to put up this today, I was too tired to talk back though. I simply just put my head down. She didn't seem amused.

"Mr. Hope, we're not doing this today, let me know, do you have your work or not?"

I felt bad at the sound of it. She didn't sound as I had expected, it was more somber.

"Ugh, i'm sorry" I replied, "I don't."

"cooperation," She said slowly, "good to hear it." And with that she looked at me, smiled, and continued walking.

Before I could think anymore of the weird conversation, Adira walked into class late. She was one of those popular kids who doesn't care about school or anything. They get no work done, but they still receive respect. But she was better about it I think. If only she wasn't so good looking, I might have hated her. Her perfect brown hair and shining brown eyes put the stars to shame as they reflected one's very soul back at them. The distant curls in her hair only added to the overwhelming effect, and her smile, with respect to her dimples, could force the most hateful person to smile. In contrast, her frown would cause anyone to feel shame, bury their heart and hide it, forbidding it to come back until she smiled again. She walked calmly to her seat and and sat down as if nobody was looking.

Mrs. Danter, now clearly trying her best to keep herself together, stood and continued to go around and pick up papers. Once she reached Adira, and asked if Adira had the homework. All she recieved was a quiet, questioned look back. After a few seconds, Mrs. Danter responded, "Alrighty then," and kept walking.

Mrs. Danter finished picking up papers and handed out the day's test. It was harder than usual and I was stumped by almost every question. What I don't like about English is the fact that there are questions asked like, "What would the author most likely agree with?" Questions like these ask about opinion and if you don't have the same opinion you get it wrong. I apparently never have the same opinion. Of course, as everyone expected, Damian was the first to finish and he, being quite a spectacle, sat down and started reading a history book titled "The changes of life from the year 2010 to 2030."

I fazed in and out during the test and answered to the best of my ability, what else could I do without studying? Once I finished, I walked up to Mrs. Danter who was fidgeting with her finger. Not with her finger, no, with her ring. Inspecting it and twisting it. Judging every angle, objectively. She was focused on her mission, she was searching for something. She was looking for a reason and explanation. Her eyes were saddened and her head drooped down. Her hair was covering one eye, concealing a tear. She made slow movements in her inspection, feeling every rough patch of metal on her finger.

I cleared my throat, "Mrs. Danter?"

She hastily looked up and took my paper, "thank you Kane" with a fake smile on her face.

"Mrs. Danter, I'm sorry that I was rude earlier, I just thought..."

"I know," she responded, "trust me, I get it."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes Kane," She said fixing her hair and putting it back on the side of her hair, "I'll be fine. We all go through things, right? I'm sure you understand, now please go sit down, some people are still taking the test."

Yes, I did know. We all did. Almost everyone had a story in my school. But we all had the same story in a way. The floods. They were the story. Sometimes we forget that everyone we talk to has a story to be shared, to be cried over, to be joyous over. We grow, we love, we move on, we forget, we cry, we sit alone, and we all watch it happen with little to no power. But what matters is not what happened, because that's the past. It happened. It was what it was. There is no way to change it. We can only move on. As long as time holds us as slaves to its change we have no power. We have the years given to us by God and that's it. We have ourselves and that's it.

As for Mrs. Danter, I had gained respect for her. She moved on. And as class ended, She stood up, looked at her name written on the board in bold letters. MRS. DANTER was written. She erased the first R.

I guess it was her time to change.