Act 2: And So It Goes

Act 2:  And So It Goes

Alee

Not one to follow a plan, I flow through my

present circumstances.  After all that regrettable

fallow time, I  am ready to try out the various 

bits of my former life, to discover what fits the

new, the now.  Jay, my trusty sidekick of yore,

again, together as we belong, merry tricksters at

play, or comfort when those occasions of serious

nature occur.  I hope my neighbors carry only

fond memories of our high jinks, are happy to see

us about in their midst as before.  Gus agrees to

me joining his back-up cook list, though he has

a full complement.  Jay's sister, Nadia got promoted

to my shift when I disappeared.  Her sister Greta and

she have continued to back up as well, though Jay

has given up her service shift to a younger worker

I've not yet met.  The Community Center, generally

shortened to Com, home to the School and Theater,

along with its myriad rooms for other uses, comes next.

The Theater, as always, calls me, my second home for

so long, where I can dance and sing, create marvelous

fantasies for the flock to perform, where I haven't a care,

just a sort of ecstasy from breathing that, to me, hallowed

air.

Then on to volunteer at the Kitchen, two-hour shifts for

a pittance paid in Barro Bucks from the tax taken in rent

and payment for Community goods by those who can

afford it, along with a free meal of what our work provides 

for those who can't. After meal preparation, Jay and I

grab a cart to carry our share of food to deliver, to their 

Tower apts, to those who can't get about due to disabilities,

who have no one to do for them. While visiting to give

them sustenance, we love to hear their stories.  We offer

the news of the day, help them feel connected.  If we see

they need medical assistance, I call Bonnie at the Clinic.

She sends a Med to discern how to proceed.  Then, we

continue on to feed each next on our list. Once our day's

work has finished we play, make up scenarios as we wander

our terrain, often accompanied by friends who enjoy the

game.  Finally it's time to head home for dinner, family

chatter, catching up with Jamee, Paul, maybe Sophia and

Marta, whoever of our clan happens to be there. Jay has

long since been part of us here, where she has always felt

more at home than upstairs with her mother and sisters,

now mostly on their own, except for Nadia and Greta, the

two next older to her, who have stayed to continue to

take care of Barbara, their erratic Mom.  Jay officially

lives there, too, but rarely appears where she never felt

she belonged. She is perennially welcome here, and with

other friends, as well, sleeps wherever she is when that state

overwhelms conscious activity. She likes to encourage

serendipity by not following plans, acting as each moment

demands.  Dinner and concomitant conversations done,

we return to my happy place, my Theater home. Tonight no

performance looms, just uninhibited fun.  A lovely day, early

in mid-Spring, now softly closes, in readiness to merge

into the next. My future unforetold, what I do know, what

feels like peace, though friends, family, community have

moved on through their destinies, filled any hole my absence

left, I am still and always a part of them, they of me. How

we play out day by day may be a mystery, right now I

feel fine.

Jamee

I am not only about my close ties with Alee and Paul.

I guess I tend to be seen as a follower, though certainly

there are those who know me as Jamee, a man of my

own predilections, motivations, merry company. My

days have several components, with others and alone.

A regular shift at the Factory helps keep me physically

on track, where I get to see, throw about facts and

philosophies, with co-workers who expect me as part

of our routine. At last freed from the need to spend hours

attending to Alee's survival, I can return to my generally

more peripatetic lifestyle.  Yes, I often accompany Paul

on his rounds to keep tabs on his people, their urgencies,

aspirations, to determine how his knowledge of resources

might assist. I enjoy the engagement in conversations, 

gentle ribaldry.  My raging curiosity happily discovers

all those disparate bits that bind into glorious stories,

who each of us ultimately is.  Pleased for these opportunities

to wander my world, look in here and there,  find where

I may be of aid, join in games, converse on subjects both

small and wide, why would I desire any other life, now

that Alee is back, fully part of our world, my grief released.

There's always music to enjoy, accompany.  Usually I carry

my flute on my journeys, riff on some tune of my own, or

with other players I come upon, impromptu concerts to fill

our common air, often promoting impromptu dance. We

Barros can be a happy lot, given little encouragement.

In inclement weather we have the Bar to relax in, play on

the stage, dance with abandon on the hard wood floor.

Of course, wine and weed for purchase enhance our 

camaraderie, good cheer. Not that we need intoxication

beyond the shared exhilaration, together here, outside

from our current cares, at one with simple fun.   Some

nights the Theater flock plays for audience. Paul and I

like to attend, enjoy that experience with the others

present from the community, watch Alee in her element.

Song, dance, theatric stories that express full emotionality,

gifts from our thespian neighbors, friends, family, we 

recompense, when flush enough with tips left in a box on 

the bar for that purpose, along with a separate box to tip 

the staff. After Theater night, we might go for a bite at Gus's 

Diner, where Jay and Alee are often cooks early in the day. 

Now they have transformed into customers of others' 

culinary fare. No need for the fancy atmosphere of the 

Restaurant, available for special occasions that want more 

rarefied celebration. Tonight's Diner menu is exactly what 

we desire after the show.  Eventually, Paul and I retire to 

home to gift each other every attention. Alee and her flock 

of theater friends have gone off to their own adventures. 

I reflect, a simple soliloquy, a tale of charm and grace, as 

my lifelong lover says I spread wherever I alight. Finally 

the night carries me to dreaming while another day awaits.

 Paul

It always renews me to look into my dearest love's deep

green eyes. I feel as if I gaze into the sea, though I've

never seen one.  I  suppose it to be much like our River,

but greatly more immense, with no discernable end,

as with Jamee and me, our profound bond. I admit

way back when we first each became aware of the

other, when I was but eight, Jamee merely five, that

part of his appeal was his big, beautiful family, so

different from mine.  His people seemed a pantheon

of love and fun.  Even their public spats were more

like theater than actual disturbances in their

obvious mutual regard.  My parents' home offered

no refuge or warm welcome, no squabbling siblings

to count upon.  Mine are sour folks, not salty sweet.

I tend to think they got together to, like some folie

a' deux, enjoy the treat of mocking everyone not them.

Better to think on today's pleasures, not dwell on

what has long been misfortune past.  My official

role as Barro Mayor, paid in kind by those with goods

or services I find useful to meet my modest needs,

chief among them, caring for my aging mom and dad.

I do look in on them, though more rarely now that they

are independent of that necessity, hear their demands,

mollify, implore them to act more kindly toward neighbors

who come by to help out, be less of an unpleasant

chore.   My work, far from onerous, allows me to be

generous with my abilities and time.  I get to wander

my world to find what needs doing, who needs

guiding, where I  can interfere to improve, or instigate

initiatives to enhance our communal lives, both

overall and one by one. On many of those tours,

Jamee joins me, adds his open-handed generosity,

amiable curiosity. People seem to well respond

to our genuine interest.  In instances of dire emergency,

they feel assured that we will readily, effectively

provide in every way we can be of aid.  I get to extend

the empathetic man I naturally am to my community.

How could I feel other than blessedly fulfilled?

Now that dear Alee is again her rambunctious self,

my blessings more brightly than ever bloom.

Early dawns, before our outward looking day

begins, in our, to me, sacred room, I gaze lovingly

into Jamee's deep green sea. Every morning,  I am

thus renewed to engage with all the dramas and

joy of my privileged employment, my chosen

intimates, a world that is my home.

Sophia

They say I've gone native. Though, of course,

Barros are not native to this land, not originally.

I've gone free, to be, to become, me, as I choose.

Happy to have the grace of the gods to exchange

a City existence for this vibrant, even often exciting,

more natural life.  Free of constant surveillance,

the need to appear as if in a restrictive public

square at all times, I am here the Sophia I could

previously only see in fond fantasies, safe from

the probing AI eye. I have always been fascinated 

by stories of the past, tracing relevance, aligning 

the bits and pieces that make a history. Granted

a teaching position, research permissions, a decent

City credit salary for this less expensive economy,

in relation to what native help is paid, I do well,

and perhaps some good. All I am intent on learning,

eventually teaching to my students, the Barro

story, my enduring passion to discover, I am here

able to teach myself. This inquiry demands I pursue,

by inspiring trust through empathy, deep, probing

conversations with those old enough to remember

even older relatives, mentors, whose tales they

pass forward.  I get to wander this once to me

foreign terrain, explore architecture, City bequeathed

and Barro erected, the more temporary structures

made for everyday commerce, the personal projects

that last as social institutions derived from private

business dreams.  I imbibe, explore derivations of

customs, examine those intricate strands, as if weaving

a vast mural behind my eyes. I know I am a 

romantic. Far from interfering with my astute

reasoning that captures and combines every scrap

of evidence I find, in narratives, explorations, suppositions

analyzed for nuggets of fact to be mined, my tendency

toward imaginative fancies adds to my overall

ability to understand and continue to piece together

what was. What an exhilarating place I have found!

By now I have gathered luscious fruits of these

opportunities that I can share.  More importantly,

I have become a blessed member of my adopted

Barro family. They keep me in touch, in merry tune,

with the intimate facets of my personality. Marta

and I, so different in our styles, outward facing traits,

Somehow, we are each the completion the other

needs to bloom into all of our potential beauty.

Who we have become together grows day by day,

into a better forever. Love and duty, both for me

seem like enthusiastic play. Marta and I, though

co-existing at the City Uni-Teacher's Division,

never met then. Barro and City students were kept

separate, to deny too great a chance of untoward

communication. We met here, in our capacities as

faculty at the School, shortly after we began our

tenure, when still quite young, close to 21, less than

a month it turns out between our births. From the

start, we had endless thoughts to share, were

amazed by how immediate and intense our mutual

care, understanding became manifestly obvious.

Her family pulled me into their heart. My parents,

siblings had given me sound foundation for who I

was then yet to be.  Not effusive, but loving, basically

kind, if at times arrogant, intelligent, responsible,

fine models, mentors for an academic career. I

sometimes  am in touch, from the Compound

communication platform, with one or another of

them, share anecdotes from both sides, tell them

how I'm faring, get to hear about what is important

to them. City Compound cut off from the Barro

in which it stands to the far South, on the River,

surrounded by a high tech opaque fence so none

can see in, screened against entrance by any but

City approved immigrants that we may temporarily

enjoy the benefits of City engineering, including

the ability to communicate with people still in

the City.  Of course the price is AI surveillance

within its confines, as in any City designated place.

Thus I only tell my City family only what I safely

may. Not the way I would choose to be restricted,

out here where I have the chance to be authentic.

Well over a century back, the Barro, not yet named, 

was but a strip of unmanned land, cleared of its 

natural forest by massive fires while Earth was 

erupting against us, as within the what would 

become City parameters, across our wide, 

winding River. The Uppers, those of self-proclaimed 

divine right, once they had arrived, with their chattel

and technologies, quite obviously in charge of

how things would be,  didn't want to be bothered

by Lowers lacking obeisant loyalty.  They decided

to exile those unwanted nuisances to that barren

space emanating from the River's other shore, to

find ways to survive, or die. By long, lazy habit,

that practice has continued, including  a policy

of diverting potential refugees from the greater

world of survivors, trying to find a possible new

home, after the changes that made so much of

our planet less welcoming to humanity. Over

these vast decades, Upper enthusiast improvements

have added their influence to how we have

evolved into today. There are still some few forest

dwellers subsisting, as they have learned to on

what they can forage or kill. Most of us live within

the ubiquitous Garden paths, housed in the

Towers, hi-rise hovels as they are often fondly 

called, erected by Barro labor with materials,

tools, specific blueprints provided by some Upper

project plan. Concomitant, the Clinic was built,

back when the idea of using Barro descendants as

soldiers against possible invasion by violent refugees

instigated a project to advance their health,

strength, stamina, and numbers, thus abortion

methods were  not taught in Med education.

The Clinic was filled with appropriate tools, furnishings, 

for medical necessities, at first staffed with City Meds 

specifically trained to ancient practices to deny us 

access to their advanced technologies.  While there 

was no AI surveillance, as per Upper policy of 

ignorance in regard to Barro doings, City workers 

could not be sure their colleagues would not tell on 

them if they deviated from expectations.  Thus need

for the Compound, to facilitate such communication, 

was perceived and made to be. As it turned out, no

violent invasion occurred.  Exploding drones were

sufficient to repel those with hopes of immigration

to the City. Occasional stragglers simply got diverted

to the Barro. Still the Clinic survived, thrived as Barro

pearls were selected to train as Meds for their own,

still by precedent policy paid in Creds by a City open

grant.  Bit by bit locals were able to serve as Auxiliary,

do the work to support the Meds, also paid through

the Clinic resources. Decades later, the Community

Center, the Com, was conceived. It was the result of

a group of bored Uppers devising an architecture

project to include a School to teach basics, give Barros

the training to do the jobs now needing to be filled,

to discover pearls, people with unusual natural

talents that City mentors could develop to be useful,

for Barro employees for Upper schemes, as well as

those who might migrate based on their special

abilities to become City Lowers instead of remaining

what is considered lesser entities by City understanding

of class. The Com, of course, evolved to fill its many,

varied rooms with studios for all manner of crafts,

the Theater and rehearsal spaces, laboratories for all

kinds of science research education, kept within approved

boundaries, whatever occurred to us to use it for,

including a community Pantry/Kitchen and the 

Recycling (Rec) Center, as well the Tool Shed, a repository 

for community tools to be borrowed as needed.  Between

the Com and Clinic, some Lower entrepreneurs created

the Store, once City paid Barro residents had Credits

to spare, to sell conveniences the Uppers would allow.

Local merchants took to setting up temporary spaces

to display their wares, referred to as the Mart, East of 

the Store and Com. Over time, the Diner and Restaurant 

were established, but not before the Bar,  below the

Mart, a place of camaraderie, social recreation, eased

with intoxication, music and dance. To the much

further South, well East of Barro commerce, community

services, has long stood the Factory. Pretty much,

that's the landscape, buildings, gardens, commerce,

fundamental pieces of my history gathering excursions.

I excavate layers that never seem to end. My 

self-inspiring work, heartfelt friends now family,

each new day a further discovery.

Bonnie

Warm, relaxing water, I pour with cupped

hands over my face, long, luxurious hair.

Peace.  No need to resist drifting away.

Cas has the household sorted, every 

member under the spell of personal 

affairs, soon to meet over our evening 

meal. For now I get to release pent up

feelings, fatigue, from Clinic busyness,

healing or grief, frustration with myriad

details of operation, blood, gore, repair,

medications, all becomes a blur.  As Cas

would advise, I fall into meditation, free

my mind, let built up anxieties melt,

that I become the Bonnie I share with

my family.  This family that feeds,

cossets, unlike the place where I mostly

raised myself after the tragic passing of

my beloved older sister, Tara, though

for her an end to suffering. My fascination

with the biology of health, how our

bodies work, and how they fail, grew 

from my dutiful, loving care for her,

and later Mama, baby Louise, during

those horrid days back in my middle

childhood when illness plagued our

family.  I used what I knew, or thought

I did, but to no avail. In those less painful

times, before my sisters died, Mama 

reduced to a gaping shell, going

through motherly chores as if by rote,

we had been a normal, fairly happy

group.  Of course, Papa too was traumatized.

He grew to want no part of the home that

had once been filled with comforting kin.

He took to working double shifts every

day at the Factory, then to drink and find

commiseration at the Bar. We rarely

saw him awake, unless while in

preparation to forsake us once again

for better company. Barry and Steve,

my younger brothers, too little to

perceive other possibilities, did their

best to not be a bother, played quietly

in their room, took their louder games

outside. All to say, as a teen I spent my

days and evenings studying, puzzling 

over lessons, the ideas they inspired,

delving ever more deeply to discover

what science might reveal. I thus learned

skills, gifts I could give to those I held dear,

as well as professionally.  I provided Cas

and Bobby their vasectomies, after we,

combined, decided to limit our pregnancies,

in consideration of my and Camille's 

demanding careers. Though Sophia, Marta

and I attended Uni for a time simultaneously,

we were in different divisions, not thrown 

together.  I had known Marta to some extent as 

older sister of my good friend, Cas. Yes, he was 

several years younger, but we were somehow 

sympatico. When I returned, replete with all I 

had learned at the City's school, he had moved

next door to the apt where he had grown, to 

care for his invalid grandparents. I took one of 

their two vacant rooms, helped Cas with Dan 

and Liz, while interning at the Clinic.  My days 

were full, learning through intense experience 

in preparation for my future position as head of 

staff, after years of taking care of patients 

presenting with ills and injuries of every 

description. I am no historian, like Sophia with 

her academic background, or Cas, so fascinated

by his family's stories.  Of course I know the

basics we're all taught, how our ancestors were 

exiled across the River when City values clashed 

with their activities or personalities, or they had 

appeared as refugees from worldwide devastation. 

Then, over these close to two centuries, we grew 

into a people of our own devising. Occasionally 

there have been interferences by bored Uppers 

wanting to do something for amusement, by their 

lights philanthropy.  Their longevity without 

physical diminishment results in a desire for 

untried entertainments. We have all been taught 

of these past developments, but rarely think about

that knowledge, caught up in current issues.

Of course, in that sense of less than consciously 

aware attention, I have gleaned much from

proximity to conversations of my more

historically astute family members. Sophia

often visited Alee when she was so ill, to

regale her with historic stories, distract our

invalid from her inabilities, while giving her

imagination more fodder for fabricating

fantasies to amuse herself. Even now that she 

has regained her preferred activities, Alee 

incorporates those histories as greater grist

for theatric plots. We each have our passions,

our emergent dreams, escape mechanisms.

Humans, in all our glory, confusions, reparations,

endlessly amuse me, perhaps especially when

I am knee deep in the mysteries and ministrations

inherent in my profession, their fragilities, those

I can and cannot cure.

Jay

Jacqueline!  Do I look like a Jacqueline, or

Jackie? I could have gone with Jack, but Jay

suits me better, more to the point. Barbara,

my mom, anointed us each with her current

fantasy when we were born. Seven lasses

to bless our less than happy home. The story,

as I've been told by various sources over the

years, but mostly her own version, ranted in

diverse manic moments, that old familiar

tragedy of young infatuation. Sweet, innocent,

16, though she often seemed a bit peculiar

to her social group, clearly a beauty, too

attractive considering her limited experience.

Mal, an older man of twenty, undeniably cute,

a flirt, endearingly intense, broke her defenses.

He promised, sincerely, to take care of her,

no matter what their future might bring. 

Strangely for him, he meant it. He actually was 

smitten, as he relates these days when I visit 

while he's feeling nostalgic. She had broken

his defenses, too. Then came Gwen, first born

of their eventual dynasty of seven daughters,

quickly arriving one by one in a mere nine

years. Barbara, not much past seventeen,

believed back then in the family she was

creating, at least when she was stable, which

slowly became more and more rare. Mal

did his best to keep his promise, held it

together through six subsequent daughters,

a decade of heaven tinged hell. By the time

I was little more than two, he no longer

called our place home, though he would

come by to play with us, commiserate, implore

our patience, from time to time. He still

resides at the bachelor apt with other men

retreating from their bad romances. Once

they were grown enough to strike out on

their own, my two eldest sisters moved

together to the apt next door, at first along

with two others, Camille and Laura, then 

as just them. Mostly I see them around and 

about when our days intersect. Though my 

official residence is still with Nadia and Greta, 

sisters next above my age, who take care of 

mom, all the rest having flown to better homes. 

I do my best to try to forget them, engaged in 

my merry chaotic existence. I spend my nights 

with the friends I end up with when sleep takes 

me. Barbara and her attendants, or more often

just Nadia and Greta, can be easily found

selling mom's knitted wares at the Mart, a

center of activity, so I often encounter them

there or at the Diner. Barbara, through all of 

her self-made tribulations, has found comfort 

in creating knitted garments quite lovely and 

practical. Many are happy to buy from her. 

This activity apparently works well within her 

fantasies. Now freed from the exigencies of endless 

pregnancies, she still must contend with unwanted 

dependencies inherent in her instability, inability 

to discern reality from her suspicions, irrational 

fears. Despite her obvious need of professional 

care, she won't let Meds near. She still resents 

what she believes their cavalier attitudes when 

she endured end of pregnancies' laborious pain.

Early on I learned it best if I refrain from 

interference in her drama. I found friends I

can count on, frivolous fantasies that belong

to me and my coterie, especially my sacred

sister, Alee, who when we were children, 

welcomed me to join her adorable family

who treat me as one of them. Maudlin is

not my style. It's much more rough and wild,

raucous, yet soft and subtle when the suit fits.

Comprised of many bits, pieces, I get to express

as I decide, or if what some say is true, what

fate demands.  Probably a combination.

Look, the Sun is falling through this early

mid-Spring sky. Ready to find out how this

bit turns out tonight.