father saying anything, Tomlin promises, “I will take care of him.”
My father doesn’t utter a word. I wonder if this is custom too or if he’s trying to control his own sadness—if he fears the moment he tries to talk, his voice will crack. He gives Tomlin a small smile and another nod.
We ride for approximately an hour at a ceremoniously slow pace. That is all it takes to ride past the entirety of our people. As we go, I think I see Griffin in the crowd, but I can’t look at him now. I fear my resolve will break at seeing a friend, and I’ll fall apart. So, I keep my eyes forward and formal.
Finally, at the end of the line of people, it’s just me and my parents left. The people are all in back of us now. The linkages of arms won’t break until I’ve said goodbye to my parents.
Ama and Apa turn their horses around and look at me.
My mother juts her chin up, in a sign I know is meant for me. I’ve seen it many times when I’m about to cry. It’s her reminder to me to keep my head up. This time the gesture seems softer, affectionate. I jut my chin up to her in response, and she smiles. I look over at my father and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to capture this last picture of my parents before they go. Then I put both my mother and father in my line of sight and mouth the words, “I love you.”
They mouth it silently back to me.
I lean forward on my horse to say my last official words to them. Words that will be marked down in history as being my first act as Elected.
I raise both of my arms out in front of my face at forty-five degree angles. Elbows close to my sides and palms facing up like I’m offering a present. The physical salutation of our country.
And then in a booming voice reverberating off the mountains in front of us, I give them my final goodbye.
“A new day to you both!”
9
I watch as my parents become dots on the horizon. Even as their forms grow distant, I don’t turn around. I can’t seem to let them go. I stay face-forward for another reason too—I don’t want my people to see the anguish carved into my eyes. I’m trying to collect myself.
I feel a tingling on my cheek. I brush it away, frustrated, thinking my emotions have taken over and I’ve ended up crying after all. But then I hear nervous murmuring behind me. I turn the horse around to look at my people. They’re still linking arms, waiting for me as is customary, but they’re growing restless. I wonder why until I feel another needle prick on my forehead.
I look up at the sky and see dark green clouds.
I need to lead. Now!
“Everyone find shelter!” I yell. As sharp drops of acidic rain fall down on us, everyone lets go of their neighbor’s arms and starts running. I only hope my parents are able tofind a cave or some brush to hide under until the onslaught passes.
Greenish clouds mean rain tinged with radiation-born chemicals. I should have seen the clouds earlier, but a wind must have blown them in quickly. The drops on bare skin will leave tiny blisters. Not enough to really hurt a person, but how would I truly know? We’ve never before stood out in the open as buckets of this rain fall down on our heads.
I reach down and grab up two small children onto my saddle. I look down at their parents and see their nods of agreement. I ride fast, heading straight for my house. Once under an awning, I drop off the children and ride out again to grab more kids onto my horse. I think I see Griffin helping more children to shelter on the back of a bike, but we don’t have time to stop and talk to each other.
After a half hour everyone’s indoors, and my skin is itchy and red. I return the horse to the stable, brushing it down because it also felt the acidic rain. Maran is already in the stable, ready to assist. He helps me walk the horse over to a fountain so it can get washed off. The horse thrashes its head around impatiently.
Maran doesn’t make eye contact with me. He’s too busy tending to the horse.
My father doesn’t utter a word. I wonder if this is custom too or if he’s trying to control his own sadness—if he fears the moment he tries to talk, his voice will crack. He gives Tomlin a small smile and another nod.
We ride for approximately an hour at a ceremoniously slow pace. That is all it takes to ride past the entirety of our people. As we go, I think I see Griffin in the crowd, but I can’t look at him now. I fear my resolve will break at seeing a friend, and I’ll fall apart. So, I keep my eyes forward and formal.
Finally, at the end of the line of people, it’s just me and my parents left. The people are all in back of us now. The linkages of arms won’t break until I’ve said goodbye to my parents.
Ama and Apa turn their horses around and look at me.
My mother juts her chin up, in a sign I know is meant for me. I’ve seen it many times when I’m about to cry. It’s her reminder to me to keep my head up. This time the gesture seems softer, affectionate. I jut my chin up to her in response, and she smiles. I look over at my father and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to capture this last picture of my parents before they go. Then I put both my mother and father in my line of sight and mouth the words, “I love you.”
They mouth it silently back to me.
I lean forward on my horse to say my last official words to them. Words that will be marked down in history as being my first act as Elected.
I raise both of my arms out in front of my face at forty-five degree angles. Elbows close to my sides and palms facing up like I’m offering a present. The physical salutation of our country.
And then in a booming voice reverberating off the mountains in front of us, I give them my final goodbye.
“A new day to you both!”
9
I watch as my parents become dots on the horizon. Even as their forms grow distant, I don’t turn around. I can’t seem to let them go. I stay face-forward for another reason too—I don’t want my people to see the anguish carved into my eyes. I’m trying to collect myself.
I feel a tingling on my cheek. I brush it away, frustrated, thinking my emotions have taken over and I’ve ended up crying after all. But then I hear nervous murmuring behind me. I turn the horse around to look at my people. They’re still linking arms, waiting for me as is customary, but they’re growing restless. I wonder why until I feel another needle prick on my forehead.
I look up at the sky and see dark green clouds.
I need to lead. Now!
“Everyone find shelter!” I yell. As sharp drops of acidic rain fall down on us, everyone lets go of their neighbor’s arms and starts running. I only hope my parents are able tofind a cave or some brush to hide under until the onslaught passes.
Greenish clouds mean rain tinged with radiation-born chemicals. I should have seen the clouds earlier, but a wind must have blown them in quickly. The drops on bare skin will leave tiny blisters. Not enough to really hurt a person, but how would I truly know? We’ve never before stood out in the open as buckets of this rain fall down on our heads.
I reach down and grab up two small children onto my saddle. I look down at their parents and see their nods of agreement. I ride fast, heading straight for my house. Once under an awning, I drop off the children and ride out again to grab more kids onto my horse. I think I see Griffin helping more children to shelter on the back of a bike, but we don’t have time to stop and talk to each other.
After a half hour everyone’s indoors, and my skin is itchy and red. I return the horse to the stable, brushing it down because it also felt the acidic rain. Maran is already in the stable, ready to assist. He helps me walk the horse over to a fountain so it can get washed off. The horse thrashes its head around impatiently.
Maran doesn’t make eye contact with me. He’s too busy tending to the horse.
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