Tides of the Continuum 1: Making History Read Free

Lincoln didn’t give her much time to digest that information before continuing, “My wife died some years before that in…another accident. I don’t have any children. Now it’s your turn.”
    Aurora felt like such a heel. But how could she have known? Softly she spoke to him while reaching toward his hand, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”
    He pulled his hand away from hers before they touched. “No, it’s fine. You were saying?”
    Aurora felt such a renewed connection with him because of both his sorrowful state and because she too was alone. Her armor was cracked, and she decided to let him a little closer to her. With her head contritely bowed, she responded, “My mother died when I was born, and I was put into the foster system. I don’t know if my dad thought he couldn’t take care of me or if he was angry at me for her death, but either way he refused to allow contact with me a few years back when I petitioned for it.”
    She continued, “I’ve lived in so many foster homes that I have lost cou nt. Everything good in my life I had to do for myself because there were simply too many children in the foster system to let us all get the attention we deserved.”
    Lincoln listened respectfully to the things she was telling him, although he already knew most of it. Another swallow of ginger ale and she continued, “I don’t know what it feels like to lose someone close to me, but I do know how it feels to not have them at all.”
    They sat for a few minutes in silence, like two lost souls finding a moment of solace in mutual loneliness.
     

3
     
    Aurora gripped the mechanical pencil tightly as she focused on the tiny piece of lead in her other hand. She had to line up both the pencil tip and the lead just right, as she held the eraser with her thumb. Success. Aurora was happy. She continued writing where she left off.
    Several weeks before, she had glued the eraser on her mechanical pencil in an attempt to keep from losing it as it had a tendency of late to fall out while she wrote. Only too late, she realized that she’d effectively sealed off the easiest way to refill the lead compartment. So in an effort to save just a few cents she began to fill her pencil from the tip, instead of buying a new one. It still worked, and she could make it continue to work if she did so carefully.
    As she wrote a rough draft of an essay on engrained behaviors, she stopped. She gently put her pencil down on the table and sat back. Her thoughts turned introspective as she realized what she had been doing. She was a statistic. Some children raised in foster care had certain characteristics. Some hoarded things, collected things, destroyed things. Some gave their love too easily to others, while Aurora found herself closing her heart to the majority of society. As she thought back, she saw that she didn’t actively make friends. In fact she shied away from others when not required to interact with them.
    Casually Aurora looked up from her table and noticed that indeed most of the people in the large room in which she worked were congregated toward one half of the room. But she had either consciously or unconsciously chosen to sit in the more empty area of the room.
    Tears started to well up in Aurora’s eyes as she realized she was pretty much no more than a product of her environment, and she hated being predictable. She stood and walked over to a trash can. She threw the mechanical pencil onto a pile of discarded nachos resting atop a small mountain of crumpled papers. She knew she would not try to retrieve it after the cheese bath it received.
    She walked briskly back to her table and began to gather her materials. But to her surprise, a voice from behind her caused her to pause. “Darn, I thought I’d join you.”
    Lincoln sat down at the table she had been about to leave. Another student stood near Lincoln, as if he were his butler. But then the other guy spoke softly and Lincoln