Two-Eyed Seeing, Part 3
Part three of a short story by Amy Johnson
Welcome back to Thrutopia! Today we are posting the third and final part of Two-Eyed Seeing, a short story by Amy Johnson. You can read Part One here and Part Two here if you need to catch up.
Two-Eyed Seeing by Amy Johnson
Part 3
We left Henrietta just starting to get a feel for this future in which she has landed – not a perfect future, but one in which those around her are finding the best path they can through the darkness and difficulty she’s been facing in her own life. Now, she needs to make some decisions.
A month later in her spartan rooms, Henrietta tried to calm, think, and listen to her gut.
Do a pros and cons list. On paper, she wrote STAYING with two columns.
PROs: She loved the work, had kind colleagues, and a slower pace of life. Time. Physically, she was feeling better, as the trauma of training and debt left her body. She was worrying less and laughing more. Doing yoga and qi gong had helped her “open her heart,” as the teachers often said. And the food…
CONs: Her mother in the future would be 75, living a day’s travel away. She would have less time with her. How would she explain? And then there was Nelson, her cat, now dust under the rosebush in this future world. There was danger in the dictatorship they had now, and the possibility of more fires, heat domes, and hunger. Less advanced medical care. If she went back, maybe she could take some of these ideas about helping people. Could she have changed things before they got to this point?
To the PRO list she added, “Rob, maybe.”
It was early fall, with the smell of smoke in the air. After several months, they were having dinner at Rob’s apartment down the hill, on the porch. Lucille, John Little’s dog, was curled up under the table. Rob (who had asked Hen to refer to them by they/them pronouns) had made some squash soup, with sourdough bread and butter, pickled dilly beans, and fresh tomatoes.
“Sorry, it’s probably not what you are used to,” they said, smiling at her. “Most of it is from the garden share. The lovely pear wine came from my sister.”
They had been working together on the unit, and the attraction was strong. Rob was kind and funny in a dry, British sort of way. They were friends. Both had talked about how unwise it was to pursue the attraction until Hen knew what she wanted to do, either to go back or stay. Things could get bad, with tipping points, and the probable need to emigrate north in the next few years. Once involved, they might find it hard to think rationally.
Yet there Rob was, slowly cutting the bread they had made for her, and she was acutely aware of the curly reddish hairs on Rob’s wrist, and the way they smelled like pine needles. Robin emitted a force field she could feel when they were close. Her own skin was tingling with electricity several inches deep. Am I glowing? Is it so obvious? All she wanted to do was touch them.
She reached out and encircled their wrist with her hand.
“I want to stay.”
Rob laid down the knife and touched her face.
“Are you sure? It will be very hard. Things will get worse.”
Henrietta stood up and moved towards them, wrapping her arms around Rob’s shoulders.
Her heart was thudding, and her belly felt like it had turned to liquid silver.
“Yes.”
Robin touched her face. Their pupils were dilated, making their blue eyes seem black. As they kissed, she felt the force field grow until it enveloped them both. They began exploring wherever bare skin could be found, and then were quickly pulling off their flimsy cotton clothes.
“Are you sure, Henrietta? I’m afraid the birth control these days is not so good.”
“I’ll take my chances. Now shut up.”
Much later, they lounged entangled on his bed, looking out the window at Orion while a pink half-moon rose in the southeast.
“So, doctor, what is your assessment?” Rob asked, arm around her back.
“Pretty good, Mx. H., for a ginger, but I think we need to keep practicing,” she laughed.
A million cicadas sang, and a screech owl cried out its sad tremolo.
After Henrietta left to sleep at her place, Rob made themself a cup of tea, wondering how and why they had created this colossal mess. Rob cared for Henrietta, was in love even, but their mission with the Mycelial Group was to send someone back and try to save the planet from destruction. The whole point of putting Rob in this job was to collect transportees and return them to fix things. So far, the government had not found out about the wormhole.
Where was the focal point in time to stop climate disaster? The ramping up of coal burning for industry? The destruction of train systems in favor of cars and interstates in the 1960s? The 2000 election stolen from Al Gore? The increasing powers of billionaires in the 2010s? The 2024 election of a right-wing dictator? For the last one, the Group thought that only an assassination would suffice. Robin couldn’t see Henrietta agreeing to violence. The Mycelial Group didn’t even know if it actually would send you back to the exact time you left. One doctor had gone back to be with his family, and they couldn’t find him in the present time to ask. Rob felt badly about hiding all this from Henrietta. They would tell her tomorrow.
On Monday, Henrietta walked down to the unit to start her day, and was met with Nell Crowe, crying and packing up boxes.
“What’s happening?” Henrietta asked as she touched her arm.
“My son needs me. My daughter-in-law Kate has died of an appendicitis. They didn’t reach the hospital in time from the Deep Lake field station, and they have two young children. I need to go now!”
Henrietta hugged her. “I’m so sorry. How can I help?”
Nell took a deep breath and said, “Help me clean up the last twenty years of my life. I have to condense it to one box, to fit on the train. Thank you, my dear.” Together they looked at each object: feathers, stones, letters, and pictures. There was a hand-made dream catcher of grapevine with one white owl feather and beads made of quartz. “These really work,” Nell said, and handed it to Henrietta.
What are my dreams? Henrietta had given up having her own life in the last decade of training. Why? So she would appear “serious,” or even good enough. She was a woman of color training in the south, which was the first hurdle. Lack of sleep for several years had led to lack of imagination. Perhaps my amygdala is all shrivelled up. How do I want my future to look? To do the work, but maybe also to have a partner and be a mother. To have a garden and play the guitar. Was this world too scary to bring a new being into it? To love somebody so much only to lose them? She wanted to see her Mom, talk to her about these things. Maybe she would take the train north, too. Run it by Rob, see if they wanted to go.
It rained that night. As the orange sun climbed the bristly ridge of Attakullakulla Mountain, the mist people travelled down into the valley, wispily caressing the green life below. Plants, insects, mosses, vast mats of mycelia, and soil microbes sipped greedily, after the long summer drought. A squirrel stretched out on a cool rock, her gray fur coated in sparkles of mist. Grandfather rock wasn’t much bothered by the drought, having seen everything. But the shorter-lived beings breathed in cool mist and breathed out a sigh. We will survive.
Thank you for reading this story! We’ll be back next week with an interview with the author. In the meantime, please feel free to share it with others or comment with your thoughts.
Lots to think about. Lovely last para. Will it grow into a novel?