the girl in the sky (1)

the girl in the sky (2)

Originally written by GS Jackson, November 1995

At the start, Michael sat alone on the train to school. Then two stops after getting on, a man in a gray colony uniform sat beside him for a little while, but then he got off two stops after that. Michael and the few kids who lived at his apartment complex went the furthermost distance to get to the middle school at the other end of their side of the colony. When he graduated to the ninth grade, he would only have to go two stops from his apartment to get to the high school. He only had two more years. He could hardly wait. That meant he wouldn't have to get up so darned early.

When the train wasn’t waiting at a station, the train tunnel was very dark except for the occasional red or green light that would streak by to mark the tracks it hovered on. The yellow lights overhead inside the train made Michael's skin look orangish or even brownish. Almost like I have a tan or something, he remarked.

The train began to jerk a little, and slowly it stopped at the Ferguson station. The darkness disappeared and the walkways and people of the Ferguson station rushing busily about appeared in his window. Michael tensed up. A lot of kids from his class would be getting on. Most of them didn't like him. He quickly decided to just stare out the window and count the lights as that blazed by. Maybe he would think about his binoculars or about Dawn or about both.

The doors opened, and the kids crammed in noisily. They were laughing and pushing and talking. The younger ones ran to their seats first. Then when the older ones arrived, they would just push the younger ones out of their way and sit where they pleased. The first and second graders would then have to triple up on seats or stand up holding on to the handrails. Yet, Michael noticed some of the little kids were beginning to develop spunk. Some were resisting. They would refuse to budge by kicking and biting or they would simply cry. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't.

Michael had compassion for two third graders and told them they could sit with him. They bounced in and oddly enough sat quietly. Michael went back to starring out the window at the blackness of the tunnel. He remembered when he was in the third grade, from Ferguson station on, he had always been forced to stand.

"Isn't that Michael Jeffs sitting in front of us?" a voice said. Two of Michael's classmates had chosen to sit in the seat behind him.

Michael gripped his book bag and slid down in his seat a little wishing so much he would just suddenly disappear.

"Yeah, that creep."

Michael began repeating what his mother had told him to think when people began making fun of him. Only the ignorant ridicule. Only the ignorant ridicule.

"He's a freak you know. He has no father. What kid has no father?"

"Clone children don't."

Only the ignorant ridicule. Only the ignorant ridicule.

"I heard his mother was a stowaway. She's not even supposed to be here. My father said that she almost jeopardized the entire colony. If she would have had twins or something, the whole balance would be thrown off. Families could starve. The extra carbon dioxide from extra bodies could deplete our oxygen supply and we could die."

"No, no. That's not what I heard. I heard he's not human at all. I heard he really is a clone, but he's a test model of a new kind that is supposed to really feel and think and learn. An artificially intelligent clone or something."

There was a pause in the conversation like the voices were contemplating what had been just said.

"He's just an experiment, huh?" The voice laughed. "What a freak."

The blackness outside the tunnel isn't so bad, Michael thought as he gazed out. At least it's peaceful. At least it's quiet.

Pete came in with a packet of hand towels for the dispenser. It was his last bathroom in the Ford station scheduled to be sanitized. It appeared empty. None of the bathroom urinals were being used. Then he noticed one bathroom stall had it's door shut. Pete leaned over slightly and saw shoes. He walked back out and took a mop from his cart. I'll mop around the urinals first, then I'll do the stalls. He had cleaned these sinks last night so he wasn't going to do them again until tomorrow. That was his rotation. One morning, do the sinks. One morning, do the floors. Then repeat.

Pete began to scrub the floor. But then he heard a noise. A strange noise. It was quiet at first, then suddenly it became louder. Then it would muffle. Pete stopped to listen. It was coming from the shut stall. Pete stood the mop against the wall and walked up to it. It was a whimpering. Maybe even a crying.

"Hello?"

There was no answer. But Pete could still hear gentle sobbing.

"Hello? My name is Pete. Are you okay in there?" He leaned over to look at the shoes underneath the stall door a little closer, but whoever was sitting in the stall must have noticed, and they quickly slipped their feet upward hiding them from view. It didn’t matter. Pete had seen enough to notice the shoes were smaller than a man's and were fashionable. Something a teenager might wear.

"I know you're in there. You can't hide. I also know you're crying. Maybe I can help."