Across the Universe

Season.

And I wouldn’t have to be alone.

And then I heard it. A tiny whisper in my mind, a barely heard voice I almost — but not quite — ignored.

And the voice held a question. And the question was:

What if I unplug her?

And at first I did ignore it. But the question got louder. And louder.

It roared.

And so, just to make it shut up, I reached out, and I flipped the switch in the box above Amy’s cold head, and I watched the light blink from green to red.

And the voice inside my head sighed in relief and whispered words of comfort and told me she would smile at me when the ice melted.

I was going to wait, right there, be there for her when she yawned and stretched and emerged from the box. Be there as her eyes fluttered open, as her lips curved into a smile.

But I heard—

— Orion, scuffling in the dark, listening to his own voice — but I didn’t know that then. I swear I didn’t know it was him, watching.

So I ran to the elevator and went to the garden and tried to pretend I had not brought a girl back to life with the flip of a switch.

Then came the alarm.

And the scream of it—aroo! aroo! — blended into Amy’s scream.

Of pain.

And later — of regret. Sorrow. Broken dreams and hopes.

I broke those dreams.

Me.

And nothing comforted her, not even the love she never saw from me.

And Doc said she couldn’t go back; she could never go back.

And I knew — I knew—

I could never tell her the truth.

77 AMY

I SIT IN FRONT OF THE HATCH DOOR, MY BACK AGAINST THE cool metal wall, my eyes staring through the glass to the stars beyond, thinking about Harley, wondering what it felt like in those brief moments between flying and dying.

I come here often now. With awakening, the people of the ship who had been passively meek are now explorers. They are in the gardens, they are in the Hospital — to read Victria’s books or listen to Bartie’s guitar playing or look at Harley’s surviving paintings. Some are even in the Recorder Hall, and some leave with eyes opened wide with truth. This is one of the few remaining places where I can truly find solitude. Elder doesn’t think it’s safe to let everyone come to this level, even though some are now aware of its existence. I agree. I don’t want anyone else taking Orion’s stand on the issue. The painted X on my Daddy’s door has still not faded away, even though I have scrubbed and scrubbed.

Elder had the keypad fixed — and improved — so that when I punch in the code word, the hatch door stays open for as long as I want it to, and I can stare out the glass window into the stars for as long as I need to. It’s a long way home from here, but this is the closest I can be.

I stare at the stars. There are so many here, so many more that I can see here than I could see when I stood on Earth’s surface. And even though there are so many and they look so close together, I know they are light years apart. The glitter in the sky looks as if I could scoop it all up in my hands and let the stars swirl and touch one another, but they are so distant, so very far apart, that they cannot feel the warmth of each other, even though they are made of burning.

This is the secret of the stars, I tell myself. In the end, we are alone. No matter how close you seem, no one else can touch you.

“Amy?”

Elder stands over me, and for a moment he looks ominous, like a vulture.

I risk a smile at him.

“I’m glad it’s over,” I say.

Elder does not return my smile.

“It’s a relief. I think I might be able to live an okay life here, if I don’t have to worry about my parents every second. Ugh, that sounds ungrateful. You know what I mean.”

“Amy.”

I look up at him. His face is very serious.

“What’s wrong?” There is laughter in my voice, but it’s nervous. “Did something happen?” My fingers curl, scraping against the cold metal floor. “Did something happen to my parents? Was it not really Orion?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Elder bites his lip.

“What is it then? Here, sit down beside me.”

Elder doesn’t sit. “I have to tell you something,” he says in that voice that makes me know whatever it is he has to tell me cannot be good.

“What is it?” I finally screech, because I cannot take his nervous silence.

78 ELDER

“I’M THE ONE WHO UNPLUGGED YOU.”

79 AMY

I FEEL MY HEART THUD — ONCE, HARD — AND THEN IT’S LIKE A rushing of blood and emotion from my body and I am empty inside, frozen like before, and I see nothing, and I feel nothing, but that’s not true. Because as