I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, --Ulysess, Tennyson.
"Hey, how're you?" Brent Mallard said, his hands in his jean pockets, face screwed up towards the sky, and looking back at her, with a kind of apprehension. He leaned against the school's compound, the wall cold against his back, despite the school jersey shirt he wore.
The girl he was addressing wasn't making things easier either, since she sent him one of those brittle looks that could perhaps, ultimately make most boys whimper. He wasn't about to, so the resolve was strong, and he had to tell her.
She looked at him, arms crossed, shiny jet-black hair tied up in a pony tail, and the girl's face was devoid of emotion, "I'm doing all right. I guess. What's up? Something on your mind?"
"Yeah, I want to tell you something, but I'm not sure how this'll go."
The wind picked up, and the breeze was cool, touching their faces and Ashley's long bangs obscured her vision. She reached up to place them away so she could look at him. The tension was building and she just couldn't take it; she really hated having to get into these uncomfortable situations, "If you're here to tell me that you don't want to go to the dance with me, fine. No skin off my back."
"Oh no, no, I want to take you to the dance, it's just that I have a problem." He said, his brown hair lightened as the sun moved across the building, chasing away the shadows, and the large windows that faced them from the other side of the building tinted enormously gold and bright.
Ashley squinted a little, turning her head from the momentary glare, "I have to get home, Brent, so spill it."
"I have to go away. My parents and I are going to move to one of the new colonies out on the terminus system. It's the farthest one and it's an opportunity for my mother, since she's been called to work on one of the top secret laboratories there. I don't know what it entails. Something about corporations and being needed to help in some surreptitious work." He shrugged, "so I can't take you to the dance."
Ashley blinked, unfolded her arms, mouth slightly open in surprise, "You're leaving? I'm….I guess, I'm… happy for your mom then. I- I don't know what to say."
"I'm sorry, Ash." Brent said, unhooking his hands out of his pockets, and pushing himself off the wall, drawing closer to her, "I really wanted to take you there. I was really looking forward to us…being together."
She half smiled, uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny, "When are you leaving?"
"My parents talked about it last night and they're leaving at the end of the week. I guess we have a few days, if you want to do anything else."
Ashley laughed, then she was talking too fast, eager for the few days that held them together on this planet, "What do you want to do? I have some ideas. Like, you can come over to my house and meet my sisters, but they'd probably drive you crazy. My dad's really cool, I've always wanted you to meet him, he plays the saxophone and we have this great big pool table. You'd really like him."
She said this with her voice fading….because he had closed in and touched her cheek with his hand, reaching across to touch the stray hair, "Ashley, I'd like that. How about tomorrow? Is that a good time for you, like say, after school?"
She swallowed, looking up at him, memorized his face—the way his eyes took on that golden light, and the sharp angles of his face, the smell of his jacket: leather, sweat and spice from some space-age deodorant perhaps. Ash couldn't help but grin privately—it smelled nice. She memorized the way his hair was cropped close to his head, brown strands lightened gold as the sun teased by, the way his almost grey eyes looked sad--the brown brows above them giving expressive pain as they drew together.
"That sounds good," She nodded, barely recognizing her own voice, because it sounded slightly cracked, "god, I'm so stupid, look at me," she reached up to wipe the corners of her eyes, "do you know, that I hate crying? I really really do, and I blame you, Brent Mallard, I blame you!"
"Then blame me, Ashley Williams, I'm so sorry." He wanted to hold her, but wasn't sure if he should take liberties. Brent couldn't always tell with Ashley, as she was hot and cold, fun as hell one minute and the next, she's bossy and determined. He supposed he'd never understand girls, but then it's probably why he was instantly intrigued from the moment he became aware of them as females, and not as silly girls to poke fun at.
And that moment on, to Brent Mallard, future Alliance marine to go on a bright career as an L3 biotic--a human among other humans under the practiced knife of a surgeon; somewhere on the far edges of the galaxy; fighting for justice--he'll never forget the way this girl made him feel.
From a distance, the couple closed in, their shadows merging as one, as they hugged, between the two long standing buildings, distanced from everything else.
It was odd to see nothing in the sky, but a painted canvas and planets too close; it was eerily strange to see not a flight of birds, but they're reminded once again, this was not earth.
A short while later, Ashley's little walk home wasn't far, as she crossed the bridge that overlooked the surreal water of crystal dark blue and large lily pads holding steadily afloat, and springing up with pink flowers waiting for the sun to greet them. The bridge was built soon after the colony had established, and schools and workplaces were sprung up for businesses and families. The environment was so close to earth, and the abundance amount of rare minerals not found on their home planet brought even the most corporate pleasure seekers to take great interest there.
When she was home, she kept her head down, passing by the rooms where her father would see her, and she didn't really feel like having a confrontation with anyone. Ashley walked through the hall, around the bend, glancing over at the living room where two of her sisters were reading and studying, the long coffee table splattered with stacks of small books—a bit primitive in this day and age—and two small terminal laptops with familiar orange lights displaying on the monitors. Her family kept smooth hardwood floorings, and the edge of the room showed a stairway to the second floor, white washed colours and aquamarine walls, curving towards their rooms and long spacious windows overlooking the slowly growing human colonies.
She was about to go upstairs, but her father stopped her; he had conveniently avoided asking her why she was frowning. Instead, cheerfully offered to play a game of pool with her, handing the weapon of choice, and she was about to refuse, but couldn't deny the way her father smiled. Somehow, he always made her feel happy, like the lining silvered along the dark cloud, and she took up the cue stick with a kind of glee, her heart in her throat.
Her father kept a room, a den where his favourite books were held and though, Ashley felt that his love for the old classics were a little sappy, she couldn't help but sit and listen to him after their game of pool, listen there by his desk, while he told her about what they meant.
"This one is a good one, Ashley, it's about the time of war on earth, a civil war between the north and south. You remember in your history class." He had a genial smile, easy going, and the dark creases along his forehead and crows' feet on the corners of his eyes gave him character.
She sat back against the too-big chair, seeming to engulf her tiny form; her fingers entwined together, "Yeah, I know. The north won," her voice sounded bored, and reaching up to place her hand, palm cradling her cheek, she couldn't help but feel the tugging of a grim sadness.
"Ah, my girl," he raised a finger as if to give his next meaning clear, his face animated, "this poem I'm about to read to you, is about a ship which returns to port with a Captain who is dead."
"The captain dies?" Her interest piqued, she gave her father a strange look, "doesn't sound very nice."
He laughed, "There's meaning to this. Here let me read this part to you."
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weatherd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
Ashley listened to the rest of the short poem, and her brows drew together, frowning, "it's depressing. I mean, the war is won, but..."
"Well, it should be, it's about Lincoln's death. But in writing this piece, the poet expresses his admiration to a great leader. And humanity mourned over his death."
She rolled her eyes, "Dad, you and your sappy poems." But she was smiling, her good humour coming back.
Her father closed the book, carefully setting it back along the shelves behind his desk, where all his other classics were held. His profile, to Ashley held this gentle nature, of a man who had suffered long and hard, kept his daughters grounded so they could always know family, the sad eyes, determined jaw, and soft lines around the mouth.
Her heart seemed to beat loudly, because she loved her father and couldn't bear the way he suffered under the stress of work. Moving from colony to colony, forever roaming with a hungry heart…..and never being able to get recognition for his loyalty.
Ashley was only fifteen then.
She had her heart broken by the first boy she fell in love with, and her world was changing. But for now, her father was here, alive and well, so she stood up, her face cheerful, her ponytail swung from the movement, "Dad, how do you deal with loss?"
