also happened to be where the grocery store and mall was. Occasionally, I had dragged Byron there to window shop, but he never complained.
Besides two trips to Boston, the farthest I had ever really traveled was to my dad’s plant – it was five stops north and eight stops west. I had led a very sheltered life over a very small area, but I had never needed to travel. Byron, Camille and my parents were my world. I never needed or wanted any more than them. But now that Byron was gone and Camille refused to even look at me, I was lost. I didn’t know who I was or who I was supposed to be. I didn’t even know if I wanted to even bother trying to be anyone anymore – what was the point?
Not knowing what else to do with myself, I wandered my way onto the tram. I had no specific destination in mind. So I just kept riding it as I stared out the window. After about the eighth stop, I noticed the mix of people had changed. I was passing through a working class living area now. I couldn’t see much of their housing from the window – it was just rows of large buildings. So I started people watching. If it wasn’t for their ID badges it would have been hard to tell the difference between the blue-class and red-class workers. They all dressed similarly, and each sported the same pleasant, polite expression. But as I entered areas with even lower level classes, the differences were striking. Their faces were gaunter and their eyes were sadder. They didn’t laugh or chat, but sat in their seats looking utterly exhausted.
As a green worker walked by me, I realized that I had never in my life seen anyone lower than brown class, and that had only been in my dad’s plant. They were our society’s dirty little secret. We lived separately, and worked separately, so the upper-class never had to lay their eyes upon their hardships and despair. I felt disgusted with myself as I spent the rest of the day riding the tram all the way to its north end and back.
I don’t know if it was because of me scaring her by disappearing for the day, or because it was our last day together, but my mom had the entire day planned out for me on Thursday. First she woke me up early and had me shower and dress in one of my nicest outfits. Then she brought me to Claire’s for an overpriced breakfast. I still had no real appetite for food, but I forced myself to clean my plate. It was one thing leaving leftovers at home, but to waste my mother’s hard earned income credits on something that would go into the garbage – I couldn’t do that. Besides, many people would never get to eat this extravagant a meal ever again in their life.
Gulp. Okay, I need to change my train of thought before the waterworks start up again.
Next my mother brought me to the salon to get my hair styled and my nails manicured. Two things I never had done, or cared to have done, but I grinned and endured it for my mother’s sake.
“So what kind of hairdo did you have in mind?” the hairdresser asked. I just shrugged in response.
“Something elegant, but not too delicate; she needs to be able to sleep in it. My daughter’s been fast-tracked and I want her to look her best tomorrow.” Pride radiated from my mom as she bragged.
“ Mooooom ,” I whined and tried to shrink into my chair and hide.
Because of Byron, I felt horrible about my good fortune. The last thing I wanted was to have my mom bragging about it, but it was too late. The moment the words were out of her mouth, I had half the salon doting on me. They all had their own suggestions on what I should do with my hair, nails – they even wanted to do my make-up.
“I’m not sleeping in make-up and no one is cutting, perming or dyeing my hair. Beyond that I really don’t care what anyone does,” I shouted over the chaos.
In the end they settled on an intricate pattern of braids. It left my head a little sore with all the hands pulling at it, but I had to admit it looked really pretty. Plus so
Besides two trips to Boston, the farthest I had ever really traveled was to my dad’s plant – it was five stops north and eight stops west. I had led a very sheltered life over a very small area, but I had never needed to travel. Byron, Camille and my parents were my world. I never needed or wanted any more than them. But now that Byron was gone and Camille refused to even look at me, I was lost. I didn’t know who I was or who I was supposed to be. I didn’t even know if I wanted to even bother trying to be anyone anymore – what was the point?
Not knowing what else to do with myself, I wandered my way onto the tram. I had no specific destination in mind. So I just kept riding it as I stared out the window. After about the eighth stop, I noticed the mix of people had changed. I was passing through a working class living area now. I couldn’t see much of their housing from the window – it was just rows of large buildings. So I started people watching. If it wasn’t for their ID badges it would have been hard to tell the difference between the blue-class and red-class workers. They all dressed similarly, and each sported the same pleasant, polite expression. But as I entered areas with even lower level classes, the differences were striking. Their faces were gaunter and their eyes were sadder. They didn’t laugh or chat, but sat in their seats looking utterly exhausted.
As a green worker walked by me, I realized that I had never in my life seen anyone lower than brown class, and that had only been in my dad’s plant. They were our society’s dirty little secret. We lived separately, and worked separately, so the upper-class never had to lay their eyes upon their hardships and despair. I felt disgusted with myself as I spent the rest of the day riding the tram all the way to its north end and back.
I don’t know if it was because of me scaring her by disappearing for the day, or because it was our last day together, but my mom had the entire day planned out for me on Thursday. First she woke me up early and had me shower and dress in one of my nicest outfits. Then she brought me to Claire’s for an overpriced breakfast. I still had no real appetite for food, but I forced myself to clean my plate. It was one thing leaving leftovers at home, but to waste my mother’s hard earned income credits on something that would go into the garbage – I couldn’t do that. Besides, many people would never get to eat this extravagant a meal ever again in their life.
Gulp. Okay, I need to change my train of thought before the waterworks start up again.
Next my mother brought me to the salon to get my hair styled and my nails manicured. Two things I never had done, or cared to have done, but I grinned and endured it for my mother’s sake.
“So what kind of hairdo did you have in mind?” the hairdresser asked. I just shrugged in response.
“Something elegant, but not too delicate; she needs to be able to sleep in it. My daughter’s been fast-tracked and I want her to look her best tomorrow.” Pride radiated from my mom as she bragged.
“ Mooooom ,” I whined and tried to shrink into my chair and hide.
Because of Byron, I felt horrible about my good fortune. The last thing I wanted was to have my mom bragging about it, but it was too late. The moment the words were out of her mouth, I had half the salon doting on me. They all had their own suggestions on what I should do with my hair, nails – they even wanted to do my make-up.
“I’m not sleeping in make-up and no one is cutting, perming or dyeing my hair. Beyond that I really don’t care what anyone does,” I shouted over the chaos.
In the end they settled on an intricate pattern of braids. It left my head a little sore with all the hands pulling at it, but I had to admit it looked really pretty. Plus so
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