Amity
This is a work in progress. Names, events, titles, etc. are subject to change
“Professor?”
Why can’t I figure it out?
“Excuse me uhm, Professor?”
What’s missing? There’s got to be something I’m missing.
“Excuse me, Professor?” A loud voice.
I’m shocked by the sudden voice behind me. My heart is racing and my train of thought is starting to get away from me. I lament that it will take me forever to get back to where I was, but that’s thrust aside by the sudden wave of anxiety rushing over me. Attempting to collect myself, I turn around in my chair and greet them.
I take a breath and stutter, “Y-yes, hello! I’m so so sorry I didn’t respond earlier!” I notice it’s that noble, Matar. It’s strange to be called “professor” by someone of status. Ahem. “Please, Sir Matar, I’ve said before: just call me Stella.” I’m still a bit frazzled but I force a smile. He’s holding one of the statues I handed out during my lecture earlier today. It’s broken. I’m not surprised; it’s a difficult topic.
He speaks up, “Pro- uhm, I mean Stella.” He clears his throat now, his face is a little red. Maybe I’m making things harder for people and should just let them call me what they want. Matar shuffles a bit before replying to me, “I’m also just your student here. Call me Mat. What is it you’re working on?” He nods toward the clay figure on my desk. I turn around and look at it. Ah, that’s right, I was busy. I pick up the figure and fiddle with the square protrusions I molded on the head. I kind of made it look like a chess piece with arms, legs, and eyes, haha.
I remember he asked me a question and start to answer, “For a long long time, I’ve been trying to give life to something. I’ve tried many different materials, shapes, objects, anim- uhm.” I think maybe I shouldn’t say that. I continue, “Nothing has worked. Well, nothing has stayed working…” I play with the arms on the clay figure. “They either stop moving after a short time or have no will of their own. So they just turn back into the lifeless matter they were before.” My face starts to hurt a little bit. Moving on, I point at his broken statue, “But, what is it I can help you with, Matar?”
He clumsily shows me the broken pieces of the statue and say, “I can’t seem to do what you showed us in the lecture. I just end up breaking it.” I take the pieces from him.
I smile a bit at the mess he gave me. The pieces begin to float between my hands. They slowly come together, the seams and edges smooth away as it becomes whole again. I have the statue do a little dance and softly tell him, “I wouldn’t worry that much. Remember, it took me decades before I was able to move matter around like this. You need to understand the fundamental elements of the world before you can start to manipulate it.” The statue is doing a small cheer. “At least, I had to understand all that. For you, the easiest way to think about it is to imagine that it’s not an unmoving statue.” Maybe that’s not right. I clarify, “Rather, realize that everything is made of the same things, so why couldn’t a statue flow like water?” The statue crumbles then splashes on my hands. Matar isn’t saying anything. He’s just kind of staring directly at my eyes. I avert my own eyes and quickly reform the statue. My heart can’t take the thought of whatever judgements are going through his head.
He finally speaks, saying, “But miss Stella, I know a stone statue can’t move like water specifically because I know its elements and properties.” He looks confused. I know this is a hard topic. Matar speaks again, “It’s just… difficult to imagine.”
That really is the roadblock. The benefits of experience are a burden on the imagination. I hand the statue back to him, “You’ll get it, I know it. You just need to let go a bit. I’ve noticed children have a much easier time with this lesson. Let your mind free, I know you can do it, Mat.” I try to reassure him with a smile. His face gets redder. What am I doing wrong? I turn back toward my desk.
Matar thanks me and walks out the door. I wave my hand above my head to say goodbye.
There are so many people in my life now. It’s really weird. I’m not used to people looking up to me. I’m honestly very uncomfortable, but it’s also really nice. People like Matar do make me feel welcome and important. They make me feel like I’m wanted here. Still, I have no idea what I’m doing or saying sometimes. People’s reactions are also hard to decipher, too.
I guess it’s not really my fault, though. I spent a long time completely alone. No one to greet me in the morning. No one to share my feelings with. No one was there when I fell or got hurt. That will mess a person up. If only I wasn’t alone.
Maybe it was my fault. People were scared of me. I was the girl without parents. That was weird. I had no manners. It was better if I just stayed away from people. I was alone.
It was my fault. I shouldn’t have been around. I shouldn’t be here.
It’s my fault. I should be alone. No one wants me here.
I should be alone.
I should-
A sudden tapping on my arm scares the life out of me. I shriek a little as I notice the clay figure I had been using for research was tapping me. Reflexively, I hit it away from me. When I noticed what I had done, my heart sank. I can’t believe I just did that. The little guy starts to pick himself up.
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
I carefully lift it up to its feet. The figure seems to be okay and doesn’t look mad or hurt. I smooth out a few of it’s edges and brush it off. I ask it if it understands me. It just stares at me, its empty eyes unblinking. I try some more questions. No reactions.
I put up my right index finger and tap it with my left index finger. Then, I slowly move my right finger close to it and wait. A few moments go by, it stares at my hand, then puts its little arm against the tip of my finger.
Excitement. Elation. Confusion. My head is a maelstrom of emotions right now. I’ve done it. I don’t know how, but there’s a living creature in front of me that can make decisions and communicate. My entire being wants to scream. Decades of failure and now this.
Coming back down to Gemini, I realize the clay toy I made is staring at me again. I lean down, my face getting close to its face. “I guess I need to name you now, huh?” No response, of course. “How about Rook?”