Under The Blue Sky

Chicago’s a cold city.

I don’t mean it metaphorically. Metaphorically, it’s warm with bakeries around every street in downtown, merry chatter through the roads, cars honking day and night, and the comfortable back booth at Danny’s Diner where we all sit sometimes.

But literally, Chicago is a frosty place. It’s never quite hot out by here. Even in the summers, you can go swimming and sit on Lake Shore Drive for hours, but the sun will never feel too hot enough to peel your skin red. And the winters? Those are Arctic. The wind makes your skin chip off, and the freezing temperatures nearly force a good part of this city’s population into hibernation. But then again, when’s it’s all you’ve ever known - the snow, the chill and the nipping wind, you get used to it. So much so, it stops bothering you at one point.

But it’s the dusk of summer right now, and it’s at that comfortable back booth at Danny’s on a warm Sunday afternoon where Dad and I share our customary weekly pancakes that he breaks the news to me - We’re leaving Chicago.

It’s a hard thing to hit. It’s the thought of not being at home forever that shakes through my bones, and this time that I step out in the airy early September evening, I feel it. The frosty Chicago chill, even before winter begins. It’s there - hanging above, a deep pit in my stomach, a claustrophobic little cloud in my brain.

“Lynn?” Dad asks, as he places the change on the counter after the last waffle for today. “Lynn, I know it’s hard to leave a place, but think about it this way - we all need to restart every now and then. And anyway, you’ll be open to all sorts of opportunities in Washington D.C. Opportunities you don’t get in Chicago.”

“Right.”

“And anyway, the job I’ve got there will pay so much, I could send you to the elitist’s school there. Alexandria High. Heard of it?” he’s bouncing his voice to make me excited now. “Lynn?”

“Yeah.”

We pull out of the driveway, and Dad casts a dejected sigh as he does so. The way home is silent; he turns on the radio for a while to tune out the tension, but classic rock isn’t enough to fill the gap there is - the gap between now and saying goodbye to a home.

It comes soon enough - moving day. Mom makes a whole deal out of it, making lists, packing stuff, making more lists and packing more stuff. The last one week is whirled away with legalities, leasing off the house, getting my transcripts from school, medical insurances, and all the crappy adult work I know I’ll be introduced to by next year.

My friends throw a little cupcake party for me - at the back of the bleachers, before the last P.E. class I’ll ever have the misfortune of attending. I see Cassandra Jacobsen throwing her hair over her shoulders every time she looks at my best friend River, and every time she does so, River snorts.

It’s a silent exchange between me, River, Jenny and Carlos. Our own little clique. Everyone’s too afraid to hurt or disturb the fragile balance of silence condensed above us.

“Guys,” I start, looking over the football field River’s played so many games in, “I hate saying it, but I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. It’s killing me.”

Jenny puts her head on my shoulder, interlacing her fingers with mine, “It’s killing me too,” she says, and from the little sniff she tries to hide as she snuggles her face into my shoulder, I know she’s trying not to cry.

“It’s killing all of us,” Carlos says as he rubs a hand over his hair.

“- except Cassandra Jacobsen,” River says dryly, ever the distant one. “She’s happy her only competition is leaving.”

Stroking my fingers through Jenny’s pin-straight black hair, I say, “Competition for what?”

River’s eyes shift from the cheer practise in the field, where the said Cassandra is, to me. “Biggest bitch of the year,” he attempts to joke. But it gets to me - that I'll never hear his crusty jokes again, like the thought of never hearing these voices ever again.

And if against the backdrop of the loud thumping life of public school, the last memory I have of this place is that of Coach Anderson blowing his butt's strength into his whistle, of River and Jenny and Carlos with their arms slung over me as we munch on the frosted cupcakes you can only find in Jenny's oven, then it's a good memory to depart with.

In fact, it's the only memory I'd want to depart with.

I have always prided myself on being strong, but it's beyond my spectrum of strength to muster the courage to savor the air of Chicago one last time as we drive to the airport. My eyes are screwed shut as we travel the half-hour to O'Hare, my head resting against the window. Mom's bony hand clasps against mine, and I can feel the absence of her wedding ring on her finger. We both know how the other feels about the moving thing, and we both allow each other the space to mourn our memories.

The flight kicks off, and from the corner of my eye, I watch Chicago dissolve into clouds as we rise up. It's the only time that I can bare to see the city - when it's already beyond sight.

When we land, I'm too scared and anxious to watch the sprawling city of Washington D.C. expand before my eyes. I'm drained and exhausted of the thought. The plane touches the stretch of land, our feet now planted on the heart of American polity. And I, I just want to crawl up and die.

“C'mon,” Dad grunts as he hoists our limited baggage. “Lynn, get up,” he says, and sighing, I comply.

The drive to the house is full of chatter - mostly Dad trying to bridge the little silences by pasting endless small talk in between. The little happiness facade of our family fell long ago, and no matter how much he tried, he wouldn't succeed at hoisting it back up.

The apartment is empty. Absolutely empty. If I hadn't known the basic laws of physics they teach you in eighth grade, I'd say the place is devoid of air too. Dad already had a hard time filling in the silence in a cramped car, imagine how much he'd try in a stale-seeming vacuum- like apartment.

“We shift in the furniture tomorrow, Viv,” he says to Mom, who's pouring herself a cold glass of water. She pulls out the frozen pizza that’s customarily provided to everyone when they move in at the apartments at Mallard Lake - along with the fridge, dishwasher and other household stuff. “I'd say it's a nice place to start, isn't it?” He walks over to the window on the side of the living room. It's curtainless. “In the spring, Lynn, the garden below will be full of cherry blossoms, imagine that.”

“It won't be our garden though, will it?” I ask.

It hits a nerve. Dad goes all quite. And Mom, well, she always is. He casts her a look, one which involves the look you give your partner when you're so fucking done with them.

“I - I got a brochure for your school, Lynn,” he starts, forcing a smile. “Here,” he rummaged through one of our suitcases and files out a little folder. Smooth, scented, and important looking.

I study the cover - the picture of a tall, intimidating Victorian building with a clock tower at the centre of the complex stares at me. Alexandria High. Even the name sounds too rich for my tongue.

“How can you affo-”

“Pizza, honey?” Mom cuts off in an urgent tone; and she throws me a look that says that the question I was about to ask was a sensitive one. Too sensitive for the fragile balance that hung in the tense air between us.

“Yes,” I cough, turning through the pages of the brochure, “That'd be good.”

Dad starts working the next day, I'm not sure if it's anything different than what he did in Chicago, because he's a doctor, and the pattern of saving lives can't just happen to change overnight. My Mom works there too, like they always have. And I have far too much time on my hands to deal with.

I go through the brochure half a million times over the weekend before I start school. Their fee tops more than a sum I can fathom with my mediocre eyes, and the thought of going to a school that has a uniform and no Spirit Week is vaguely threatening. Its all over there brochure - the kind of kids that go there. All children of businessmen, ambassadors, diplomats and politicians. A couple movie stars too. I, with my average earning parents and less-than-posh lineage just cant fit in a place like that. And the more I think about it, the more my heart succumbs to a wild pace.

The anxiety is maddening.

“Pack your stuff, Lynn,” Dad pops his head through my door and glances at my room. I took the liberty to decorate it with fairy lights and spare posters, and he feels content with the way I have seemingly reconciled with a future here. “You don't want to miss anything on your first day, hun.”

“I already packed everything.”

“Knew it,” he smiles, and against my own self, I smile back. He pushes the door open lightly, walks into the room and sits down on the edge of the bed. “It's going to be a hard time fitting in. These aren't the kind of people you'd go to school with. These are the kind of people that you only see about in movies. But you'll find yourself here too. You always do, Lynn. Don't worry,” he says softly.

I nod, my fingers gently gliding over the thick, smooth papers of the brochure.

ALEXANDRIA HIGH - THE GATES WHERE CULTURE, CLASS AND EDUCATION ALIGN.

“How?” I ask despite myself, staring at Dad's tired brown eyes. It's only when Mom's not around that you finally begin to see the cracks in his facade. “How can you afford this?”

He sighs, his shoulders sag. The dim lighting of the room only outlines the fine lines on his forehead. “I got a better job. They pay better -”

“ - they can't possibly pay as much as Angelina goddamn Jolie, Dad,” I feel on the verge of snapping, “tell me.”

“I'll tell you, Lynn, I promise,” he says, abruptly standing up, much to my surprise and suspicion, “But you have school to worry about tonight. Not anything else.”

And with that, he leaves. I hear the faint creak of the door as he goes to his bedroom. I imagine if Mom is pretending to be asleep, or if she's decided that even sharing a bed with Dad is too much. I sigh dejectedly at the brochure in my lap. The pictures in it - the hallways, the grounds, the stage, the stadiums. It looks like it's been pulled out of a Harry Potter set. And their alumni is stellar. Senators, ambassadors, people with multi-billion dollar empires, even two goddamn former Presidents.

My breath shakes as I think about it. How - How will I fit in? And why do I have to? And that's the last thought in my brain when I go to sleep.

And it's the first when I wake up.

My eyes wander over the uniform. It's beyond ridiculous how I’m being forced into a set of monotonous clothes to adhere to a standard I don't want to reach. It's like I'm being told that the only possible way for me to survive on marble corridors and Victorian classrooms is to wear a silly blue pleated skirt and a blazer with a Latin monogram on it.

Will I have to study Latin too now?

“Eat slowly,” Mom chides as I stab a fork into the egg. “Lynn!” she says in horror as I stab it three times in a row even harder. Dad stared at me as if I've grown an extra head, and between the corset tight skirt and the knee high socks, I want to stab his eye out for sending me to some school I’'ll never be accustomed to.

“I just want to get it over with,” I grumble, staring viciously at my breakfast.

“You'll be fine,” Dad starts, but between that little time frame, I've already chugged down the coffee, and have stood up, impatient to just get it over with.

He rolls his eyes before grabbing his keys, and in silence - apart from the sound of me fuming for no particular reason except anxiety, we drive away. It's full of small talk, but not the tense kind he has with Mom lately. It's easier, and I barely notice as we pass all the election flyers and campaign posters that cover the better half of the walls in the city.

“Are they always this political?”

Dad takes a right. The streets turn emptier. “Yeah, I mean, it's the capital. We're only seven miles from Capitol Hill. Presidential Elections are in three months. What do you expect?”

The anxiety has me toppling over. When we pull onto another street, a huge billboard with the same Alexandria High slogan as on the brochure towers over. My breath catches in my throat. What will it be like? Will everyone think I'm from a mediocre class? Will they not accept me because my Dad's not a billionaire? Will the kids even be normal? Or will they make paper planes out of dollar bills?

“Lynn?”

“Yes?”

“Calm down, will you?” Dad says. “It's not going to be terrible.”

We pull up at the last curb, and oh Lord, can I die now? The gates tower over us, and the little stretch of sidewalk in front of the enormous, heavy iron gates is full of kids - all in the same uniform as me - making their way in. And the school building, it could be Hogwarts. The clock tower is visible from outside, it's hands ticking at a quarter to eight. The guard at the door beckons our car in, and in we go.

To the left is a stretch of grounds so freshly mown and so flashingly green, it could have been from a fairy tale. A couple of kids sit in the middle of it, laughing. And to the right is another ground, equally big - big enough to be a landing strip at the airport - and large, red, gold and green banners waving around.

We step out of the car, and the first thing I see is me visibly shrinking as the block of building looms over me. The dusty brown structure of stone so magnificently tall and medieval, the lush grounds, and the air brimming with privilege. I shrink.

I feel Dad place a hand on my shoulder, and silently guide me through the sparse crowd of students as they flock in through the first entrance, and onto the administration block. We walk through a pathway between two of the gigantic buildings, and around the expanse of green grounds that I saw earlier. It's too distant to catch what's on the flyers and banners in the fields, but I can bet my ass it's got to do with politics.

We walk to the reception, and yes, the floors are a sparkling fairy tale white. Our footsteps echo treacherously loud as we make our way over to the older woman at the front desk. Dad collects my schedule, hands it over to me.

“It isn't bad,” he says, shrugging.

“I guess so,” I feel blinded by how the sunlight bounces off the sparkly floors, “Yeah,” I stumble a little, “I think I'll pull through.”

Dad smiles. He rarely does. “Of course you will,” he presses a kiss to my head. “Now I have to run, you'll find your way, won't you?” he asks, pointing to the little map of the school at the back of the schedule. And by little, I mean more complex and winded than a quadratic problem.

“Yes,” I say, eyeing the frigid hallways to my side. I had no idea what it would be like. “I'll do just fine,” I say, and with a little wave, walk into the first hallway, mustering a fancy amount of courage. The moment I set foot into the hallway, I can feel it so silent, the blood pounding in my veins deafens me.

I drag in a rough breath as I prepare myself for the labyrinthan walk across the school’s compounds. It's only a school, I remind myself. Just a fucking school. Here goes nothing.

And with that thought, I walk into the single most condescending school possible.