Assurgent [as-sur-gent] \ə-ˈsər-jənt\ adj.: 1. Botany. (of leaves, stems, etc) curving or growing upwards; rising or tending to rise, especially 2. moving upward; ascendant
Rowan
Choosing Day, for me, should have been like every other; I knew where I belonged and where I would stay. I had seen others from my faction grow doubtful and despondent, watched the progression of heads lowering and eyes clouding as the Day approached. But I did not have parents to disappoint, nor did I possess skills that would have deemed me fit for anything other than my birth faction. Above all, the strongest force that keeps me in Amity is the memory of my mother. She would've wanted me to go into Erudite, or Candor, or Dauntless, anywhere but this 'mirage masquerading as an oasis', as she used to call it. But if she stays, I stay.
Wade claps me on the shoulder as he takes the empty seat next to me, and I give a nod in return. Our mothers had been best friends ever since they had become pregnant. They pretty much had to; Wade and I were 'free love' babies, as encouraged by Amity dictum, but our dads didn't stick around for us to even be born. It was the most fortuitous thing that could have happened for us, though: we grew up, all four of us. Wade and I had not only been neighbors, but we were also best friends, inseparable, through the jeers and taunts and particular cruelty that can only be found among schoolchildren. One of our mothers would make sure that we ate and completed our schoolwork, while the other worked until past the dinner bell to meet the weekly harvest quota. It wasn't easy, but we always had food privileges for the day and clothes on our back. Besides, it was better than having a drunk, enraged, factionless-deserving excuse for a father who would've only been unworking hands and an extra mouth to feed. Hazel's dad had been the same, until her mother managed to get him kicked out of Amity for selling appeasement serum to Erudites. No, we had had good childhoods without our fathers, and returned the work our mothers had put in for us five times over after we surpassed them in height and strength. We had been happy, or as happy as you can be in a place that advertises and markets joy. Two years ago, I had been content.
Knowing the gravity of leaving me with my thoughts for too long, Wade murmurs, "You ok?" I nod automatically, realizing a few moments later that I missed the opening speech and half of Candor has already Chosen. I try to memorize each person's Choosing in an attempt to concentrate on the ceremony. I remembered the moment in my childhood when I learned this trick; my mother had whispered it to me, smiling, before we reached the school perimeter one day.
"Dream in secret," she had told me, with dimpled cheeks and eyes full of sadness. "When you are here, work and obey and quell. But when you are alone, dream ceaselessly, so that it becomes part of you. So that they can never take it away from you."
It is almost our faction's turn to Choose. Only a handful of Abnegation are left. My mind had been wandering again; it was impossible to focus when the sea of faces never changed within each faction: Dauntless with their arrogantly narrowed eyes and jaws thrust too far forward, Abnegation's meekly bowed heads and carefully tucked elbows, the deeply furrowed brows and haughtily raised chins of the Erudites, all the same, one after another, choosing to be imprudent or pretentious or boorish or forever acquiescent. I stare, unseeing, at the Choosing bowls, ashamed for brooding like a petulant child, yet allowing it anyway. I was, however, doubly thankful for Wade at that moment, whom I trusted to give me a subtle nudge when it was almost time for my Choosing. Thoughts drifted between my mother, my true friend, and the various possible outcomes of a different Choice.
Suddenly, with an ice-skid shock of recognition, I was jolted out of my contemplation by the most familiar, heartrending look of defeat I have ever known.
She looked more Erudite than Abnegation, with a gaunt face and thin, bowed shoulders. I scanned the crowd for her parents, and when I spotted them, I realized why she looked the way she did. She had her mother's large, dark eyes, high cheekbones, and olive skin, all of which were made more prominent by the taut, black knot at the base of her skull; they both also shared an attempted but poorly hid expression of utter exhaustion. But even so, something wasn't quite right: the thin sweater around her shoulders couldn't hide her sharp collarbones and bony wrists; she was so pale that even from our distance, I could see a dark river of veins traveling from temple to jaw; and from her position under the stage lights, her cheekbones cast dark, slanting shadows across the sides of her face and purplish circles hid her eyes entirely in shadow. She looked like she hadn't slept or eaten properly in years; the look of her alone left a feeling of deep unsettlement in my chest.
I knew from the way she was pointedly avoiding her parents' gaze as she walked past them, the way a dog with its tail between its legs will do when repeatedly hurt or betrayed, that she wanted only to escape but would forever remain where she was out of obligation or responsibility or whatever horseshit excuse she had been fed. I suddenly felt a blistering, inexplicable anger towards no one in particular.
I watched as she took small, soundless steps to the Choosing bowls, her hands knotted protectively against her navel in the traditional Abnegation pose. We both knew which faction she was going to Choose, and we both hated her for it. I imagined her in ten years, with wrinkled hands and the three children all Abnegation are encouraged to bear, the shadows under her eyes as grey as her dress, thinking back to this day while sitting in silence and darkness at a small kitchen table. My rage turned into a deep, welling pity and I looked away, unable to once more witness the look of quiet, gentle resignation that had haunted me for years.
I look around at the other Choosers and their families and see that almost everyone is as uninterested as I had been a few seconds ago. The announcement of her faction booms over the speakers, attracting the attention of those around me and igniting a round of applause. I don't understand what has happened until, from behind me, Heather whispers excitedly, "Oh, wonderful!"
She breathed an audible sigh of relief and, with shaking hands, drew in the blanket that was thrown around her thin frame. As her mouth curved in a small, shy smile, slight dimples appeared in her cheeks.
I sat rooted in my chair as cheers erupted from my faction, welcoming the girl with a smile on her face and sadness in her eyes.