Nothing looks the same as we drive through the streets on our way out of the city. I'm quiet, but Springer doesn't seem to notice, lost in his thoughts. Our assignment is complete, and now we are returning. Back to the training center, back to the origin of it all, at least for me. A coal of resentment has been smoldering in my heart since my epiphany in Renascence, and I can feel its aim, like a dart, fixed on one person, the one who brought me to this place and made me what I am.
I remember Bram when we were younger, hiding out under the dilapidated eves of some abandoned building in town and dreaming of a future. He always listened to me and never laughed at my hopes for a better life, away from all of it, a life where my daily existence wasn't defined by the number of water credits I had.
It was never a romantic relationship, although I know that I did harbor feelings for him beyond friendship if I am honest with myself. Bram was a person I could talk to without any fear of repercussions. He would just listen, adding his thoughts now and then, so that I felt free to tell him anything, everything. I told him of my fears for the future, how I dreaded the idea of working in the mill like my parents and so many others or ending up as some Company goon. Sometimes I would rail at the injustices that I saw, the clear class distinctions between the haves and the have nots, all because some families sold themselves to the Company in exchange for a gun. Not once did I worry that Bram would betray me. We were too much alike.
Bram lost his mom when he was four, and his dad was never quite the same after it happened. He was always in charge of himself, almost like he didn't even have a father, at least not one who gave a damn. So it's no surprise that he was a serious kid who did what needed to be done without complaint from an early age. After all, who would have listened anyway?
I distinctly recall the first day we met. I was five and had just started school. He had just turned nine and seemed so big to my young eyes. I guess I wasn't much different than I am now. I didn't talk much, and my teacher must have completely forgotten I was even there as he led the class out of the building at the end of the day to board the shuttle or walk home. Bram found me sitting on the front steps, lost and scared though I was too tough to bawl about it.
I remember looking up at him through a blur of unshed tears, seeing his grubby hand reach out as he asked, "Where do you live? I'll walk you home."
And he did, never offering a bit of sympathy so that in the end, I swallowed my tears, grabbed his hand, and headed home by his side. After that, we often walked together and soon became inseparable.
The last time we really talked was just before he got his summons for recruitment. We met at our usual spot, hidden from view on the hill overlooking our town. It was a few hours after curfew and the safest time to meet when we wanted to talk without prying eyes and fear of discovery. Bram had arrived first and was waiting for me with a ratty blanket spread on the ground for us to sit on, he was always thinking of things like that. A smile spread across his face when he saw me reach the top of the rise, followed by a nearly inaudible sigh of relief. He was always nervous I would get caught since my route took me past more surveillance areas, but I was careful, creeping along my often-circuitous path to our meeting spot.
I took my seat next to him and spent a couple of minutes looking out over the horizon, delaying the inevitable conversation that I knew he was waiting to broach. Then, finally, I turned to him, looking into his patient eyes, and said, "You want to get all serious, don't you?"
Bram laughed though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nah. Well, maybe a little."
I sighed. "Okay, lay it on me."
"You're a pain in the ass sometimes," he said while nudging me with a shove to my shoulder. "I'm gonna miss you if I have to go."
"I know." It hurt to think about it. "I'll miss you too." It felt so final to say it, as though the recruitment had already happened. He was preparing me for the likelihood, and I now had to face it. Things would be different. He would be a Sentinel, off in some other world and far from me.
"I need to know you'll be okay." This was so Bram, always mothering me.
I rested my head on his shoulder. "You don't need to worry about me." I owed him that much. He shouldn't be stuck in some training facility worrying over his friend left back home. That wouldn't be fair. But I had to be strong. It was time to grow up a little and face the truth.
He nodded. "You should bring Safa up here more often. She's such a rebel these days that I bet she'd enjoy breaking some rules."
I rolled my eyes, thinking about the crap she complained about all the time. "Yeah, I'm sure she'd love to stick it to the Company by sneaking out with me."
"Just make sure you two don't take anything too far, okay?"
"Yes, Dad." I couldn't help piling on a whiny tone to razz him, but underneath I got what he said.
In an unprecedented show of affection, Bram gathered me under his arms and pressed my cheek to his chest, clumsily stroking my hair with his rough hands. "Hey, maybe I'll get lucky, and we're just getting worked up for nothing."
His words were empty, though. Luck just didn't work out for people like us. I inhaled his scent, trying to memorize it to keep me company when he left me to attend training. He chuckled softly. "Do I stink?"
I punched him in his side. "No. Do you think I would stay tucked under your armpit if you smelled rank? You're my best friend, but I wouldn't make my nose suffer for it!"
He cocked his head, looking at me, plainly waiting for me to explain my true reason. I looked away and mumbled, "I'm just making a memory, for when you're gone." I glanced up at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes looked pained as he took that in, and then he looked off into the horizon, not really seeing anything.
Finally, he said, "I guess we'll find out soon enough."
We spent the next hour talking around the subject that was most on our minds, refusing to face the inevitable. Soon enough turned out to be the next day, and we were never the same after that.