distant solar systems / zori

Vasco Izar

I liked to take walks at night to clear my head. Troubles seemed smaller with each step along the gravel path out from the farm and toward the town center. It felt good to be in the warmth of the night air. My days were full of all the issues of the district (a sour well that needed replacing, or a fire that had burned a man’s crops), it was easy to lose yourself in all of it. We’d converted the Mayor's mansion into a meeting hall along with a boarding house for folks that needed to get back on their feet. I'd each lunch with the folks that were staying there. I kept them close to my heart - we're all just one step away from such a thing - and tried to show them the compassion the world hadn't. Late afternoons were open for citizens to meet with me and keep me grounded to what was going on in the district.

Tonight was reserved for my usual sojourn to Katelyn’s bakery. I worried about her. Not that I didn’t think she was capable, or strong. But she seemed at a loss for direction in her life; I’d seen others adrift and it was all too easy to be steered into the wrong harbor. I wanted to believe that she’d find what she was looking for, or at the least, the peace that she deserved. Often I think that some folks have never known what it means to be stable, to live in a world that isn’t changing from one day to the next. It was harder to feel the ground shifting beneath your feet, especially if you weren’t sure which way to go.

The chimes sounded above the door and I entered into Katelyn’s shop, my cane sounding against the hardwood floor. I took in the smell of fresh bread and pies and smiled a little smile. It made me think of being a boy, when my mother would bake fried dough and sprinkle it with cinnamon. Things were more plentiful then, or perhaps I just remember the better times. All the same, I can’t help but be reminded how happy the little shop always seemed to make me.

Oh! Vasco. I did my best to pretend I hadn’t seen her tearing into a cookie and then placing it away for later (when you’ve had four children, it was amazing the things you could make them believe you hadn’t seen). I ease onto my left leg and step with my right, and step slowly toward the counter. Somehow by getting a title I managed to make people nervous, which still took getting used to. I mean, um. Mister Izar. Sir. How can I help you?

“Hola Indie,” I started (most of them I knew by name, from the election or that I'd made a habit of coming to the bakery). I took in the warm light and the nearly empty shelves. Business was always good, and today looked like no exception. Not that I was making sure that things were in top shape, as that wasn’t my place (but it wouldn’t hurt if I peeked in now and again to make sure). “I was hoping to get a loaf of whole wheat. And maybe a couple of brownies if they’re hiding somewhere.”

I grinned. They were most certainly not going to be hidden away from Emma and my children, for after they went to bed and I needed a moment to sit back in my favorite reclining chair and enjoy something for myself.

“You can call me Vasco,” I add, stripping away the formalities. “Did I get here too late? I don't want to bother. I think I must have spent a little bit too long walking here. It's a beautiful night, after all."

Vasco Izar

‘I only just started closing up.’

Good, then I wasn’t being too much of a burden. I hated putting out the last folks in the bakery if it meant they took time away from their cleaning and stocking. Being mayor didn’t give me the right to keep them open any longer than they should have been, no matter my sweet tooth. “Glad to hear it, Katelyn usually –” but she keeps going, and drawls some, words coming freeform out of her head.

‘…was going to take the leftovers to the orphanage like Katelyn does.’ (joder) ‘You’re welcome to take some off my hands. Less for me to carry. But also, less for the orphans, I guess.’ I couldn’t tell if she was being too cute by half, and part of me appreciated the boldness. I felt myself flush at the thought I might’ve been taking from the orphans when I made my late night stop-ins. I suppose Emma would have all the more reason to stop me if she ever discovered the truth (though she’d pointed out the smudges on my cheeks just a few weeks prior when she shook me away on my recliner. She’d failed to produce any evidence against me, though).

‘I’m sure they’ll be alright.’ She shrugged as though the kids are an afterthought and I craned my neck to be sure that I’d heard her right. These were the children that had lost their mothers and fathers, that lived in the house that Katelyn built (half of which belonged to the Izars, at least in name). But she stripped away the doubt with what came next, and the picture started to get clearer.

We don’t have any whole wheat left, but we do have honey wheat, which is kind of the same. Wheat is wheat.

I’m sure Indie had all sorts of wonderful qualities. She seemed perfectly pleasant, and minded the shop well enough. But, I explained once to my children that, well, some people in this world, they are born natural born sprinters. Fast strides, strong legs, natural athletes. Some folks are never made to do much more than jog. For Indie, I imagined that when it came to sense, she may have been a jogger (or a brisk walker). “It will have to do, I think.” The doctor wouldn’t be too keen on it, or Emma, but then I suppose I shouldn’t have waited until close to look for a fresh loaf.

Venus is in Gemini right now, you know. We’re supposed to have greater clarity in knowing what makes us happy. But definitely don’t commit to anything. Not the right season for that.

When the words come out I know what all of them mean, but not how she’s arranged them. I’m not quite certain I understood her, but then, that seemed to be a recurring theme. Though maybe she meant something along the lines of watching the skies for signs; that much any good izar could know. I prayed enough to the stars above for my children and family I couldn’t hold any judgement. And her prediction wasn’t half bad. I wasn’t in the sort of shape to commit to much of anything, so that much was true. Only to try and better my health, and help the district as much as I could.

“Don’t worry about the brownies,” I replied. She was earnest, which I appreciated most of all. Being earnest seemed to have gone out of fashion when I was young. “In fact, if you’d like, I don’t mind helping you take them to the orphanage. It’s headed back where I’m going, and I could use some company on my walk. Better than walking alone, you know?” I didn’t tell my brothers, or even Emma, that I had a little bit of fear walking alone along the gravel path. My cane was sturdy enough, but I still struggled to balance. And I knew it was a bit of stubborn pride, but the last thing I needed was to hurt myself again with a fall. The uneven roads weren’t made for folks like me, something I hadn’t quite thought of until after my illness.

“We can take in the stars, too.”

Vasco Izar

We used to be as wide eyed as Indie. Back when the world was nothing more than the hill at the edge of the riverbed, or running through wash lines in the wind of spring. Small against the frame of something towering over us we couldn’t see. When we grew, we turned around, and saw that there were the worries, the march of peace keepers. The mornings when we fed our children and had only coffee to drink for breakfast. Youth is living without the weight of doubts on our shoulders. It’s not without pain, but the sweetness is still fresh.

I remind myself that she’s just young. A child that still sees the world around her and not toward the horizon. And there’s value in that – holding onto it as long as she could – before someone else taught her to give it up completely. Hearts become harder without someone or something to live for, so I hope she holds fast to this as long as she can. Good that she had the bakery, at least, and the faith of Katelyn to keep it up. She starts to wrap the bread (not quite the way Katelyn would have, but good enough) and I lean both hands on my cane.

I would love that. I get nervous walking home alone in the dark, you know. I’m always worried some weird guy is going to follow me home and murder me. Hasn’t happened yet, but, it could still happen. She says it all matter-of-factly, and I smile, and let out a little laugh of surprise, if only because I can’t find what to say. Part of me wanted to take her concerns seriously, and ask if she had friends that had the same worry – we did our best to keep the streets safe, but we could’ve been doing more – but then I think about how she wanders from one topic to the next. Instead I nod and make a note to talk to Emma about it; it had to be a lot more frightening being a young woman alone at night.

She starts to close up and I step across the hardwood to lean my back against the counter and get out of her way. She’s careful, making sure that everything is tucked away. It’s not like she doesn’t notice the things she needs to. Just a bit outside the lines. People used to say the same about me, years ago. A boy that thought too much about the big picture, and not what was right in front of him. She finishes with a flick of the light switch, and I feel the night air greet us as she opens the door.

Quick question. When is your birthday? She locks the door behind her.

“January 4. I was born after the… fortieth games, I think.” I have to think for a moment. Every passing year I seem to forget that I’ve aged. You get that way after passing the different milestones. First eighteen, then twenty-five, and thirty. Those years seem like doldrums, when most itch to turn back the clock. Forty comes and birthdays mean more again, I think, because you start to think of all the people who didn’t make it there with you. “And you?” I guess she’s not more than twenty, just a bit younger than Raquel would’ve been.

“Why do you ask?” I offer an arm to her, half to be a gentleman, and half so that I can help keep balance as I walk.

Vasco Izar

I think so too.

Moonlight illuminates the curves of her face, pale and fragile in the night. I squeeze my arm a little tighter against hers, part for balance, and part in agreement. As the years have passed, I’ve gotten so used to death that it’s not the fearsome monster it once was. No longer what crept in shadows or hunted the innocent, death is a time of day. To be expected, or forgotten, as though when it comes you sigh at how early it’s managed to be (or complain that it has gotten so late, and you were ready hours before). A lucky few find it exactly on time, with open arms, decided. Tragedy had stripped death of its luster and left behind a dull and empty ache.

It’d be so boring if we were just stuck here for the rest of eternity. I don’t really have much keeping me tied here in the first place. I’d hate to never be able to leave.

We walk a ways as our shoes against the gravel takes up most of evening sound. I focus on the lights in the distance, the scattering of stone-faced homes where my brothers and cousins slipped their children to bed, and idled to forget the weight of the day. Indie’s arm is soft against my side, careful to guide me along. She’s not lost her wings – of course she hasn’t – gazing up at the stars for an answer. Summer wind rattles full branches of peaches and reveals thicket of stubborn trees to our east. I give a nod in their direction.

“Huh. I’m not sure if I’d ever be able to be anywhere else.” The words come out so honest I’m sorry for speaking them. The sweet smell of onion grass greets us, and a bramble of blackberries reveals itself among the trees. Her words remind me of Sampson’s, in a way. I uncoil from her arm and pull a papered joint from my pocket. I’d taken to smoking before bed, on nights when I couldn’t sleep. Or when the stars looked particularly welcoming, and I wanted to sit out on the porch and fall asleep in one of the wicker chairs. Sulfur bursts forth when I strike a match, and take a deep drag into my lungs.

“I think the hardest part of growing up is finding a future all alone. It’s like… walking through this patch of trees at night, eh?” I held in another breath and exhaled, and pinched the joint between my index finger and thumb, offering it to Indie. I exhaled, all slow and full. “You think you’re walking it alone, down a path that no one else knows. All the way out here, when everyone else is miles away. That’s lonely, putting so much distance between yourself and the rest of the world. Not when there’s folks that could walk along with you.” I let out a laugh. “Even if they don’t know where the hell they are, it feels good to have them say you should keep going.”

It didn’t bring down the walls that kept us in, that much was true. But they’d started to let us work elsewhere. I intended to find more for people like Indie in the other districts. And even if she stayed here, something that would fill whatever empty space she had.

She sets in on the stars and how they’re more than just the blips of light hanging overhead. They’re worlds away, but that didn’t make them any less powerful. They’re constant, present, a part of who we were and a part of who we’d be. I like what she says because it feels as though it comes from deep within, with passion pouring out the tips of her fingers and radiating from her eyes. She’s a beacon, all light herself, preaching the gospel of the stars, and me, taking in the sermon. I set my hands behind my back and smile, a part of her universe.

Maybe it’s stupid to believe all of this, or to judge people based off the day they were born, but… people can lie. The stars can’t. They’ve been here long before us, and they’ll be here long after. They know more than either of us ever could. They have no reason to lie.

“I love that,” I find the words as balance, all whole and heavy, tethering me back down. “There’s so much wisdom in the universe, and we only ever get to see a little bit of it.” I lean a shoulder against the bark of the tree, and then my head, still grinning. “People break their backs over this existence and suffer and – it’s so sad, to think there could only ever be one place and time for us to exist. To give so much for so little…” I fall to a whisper. “I can’t let people live like that, not if I can do anything. I want everyone to feel what I have.” I shift to get my back flat.

“I’m luckier though. I think the stars must’ve had designs for me.”