The Last Mate on Earth

Part 1 - Chapter 9

* * * Hope’s POV * * *

“And slow…slow…quick-quick-slow… Slow…slow…quick-quick-slow… Slow…slow…quick-quick-slow… that’s it, Hope. Lovely. Well done”, parent Liza says to me. She has a soothing tone, which she uses to guide my steps. She is one of the oldest parents at 80, not that you would think so. She is surprisingly flexible and agile, can touch her toes and the floor without bending her knees, and can put her leg over her head. She once told me she had been blessed with immaturity; the other parents sometimes looked down upon her. But she told me ‘growing old is inevitable, but growing up is optional. Never let anybody take the joy out of life. Today she is teaching me to ‘Tango’.

Her free spirit and athletic grace are the reason she is the chosen teacher for our physical education. This covers dance, swimming, cycling, netball, gymnastics, karate, running and yoga. All of this is to keep my body in good working order and to prepare it for the gruelling task of reproduction.

I have never grumbled about physical education; it makes me feel strong and happy. The buzz makes me feel alive as my energy courses through my veins. Every lesson, I leave exhausted but exhilarated. At first, I hated the dance lessons, especially ballet. But over the years, I have come to love it, it enchants me, and I feel like I am floating when I glide around the room, leaping from my toes to fly across the imaginary sky.

Last month they let me watch swan lake, it was utterly beautiful, and I had cried at the emotions behind the dances. What I wouldn’t give to see a live ballet performance. Every now and then, the parents allow me to watch recordings of the old staged productions, plays and dances. They were apparently huge affairs back in the day; the ladies and men would get dressed up to the nines. I completely understood the emotion, level of detail, and the dance's enchantment. The way a body can express so much feeling in the way it moves. If I imagine hard enough, I can pretend I am there. Watching a live performance, well, I can dream anyway.

Hayden is absent from today's lessons; part of me thinks it's my fault for keeping him up so late. I will apologise to him when he is next in school. Parent Liza demands my attention and shows her a complex sequence of pins and twirls. The emotion and magic are captivating. I am not at the same level as her, but sometimes I feel like I am. When I am in class, in these moments, when my body flies and when I close my eyes. I am transported. Not to a theatre stage where thousands of viewers watch me - I feel that I am watched enough already - but to an empty dance hall where I dance only for me—a place where I can dance to the beat of my own drum. Occasionally, I open my eyes and am surprised that I am still in class.

This is just what I needed to calm my mind and soul after the incident with the first prospect. Here in this room, none of that matters. The dance changed to ballet; the Parents always closed the dance classes with the rigorous stretching and concentration that ballet requires.

I sense Hayden behind me, breathing heavily as he has completed an intense exercise regime. I wondered when you would notice me. I have always felt sorry for him, but he always gives his best.

“Now bring your left arm up and reach over, and lean slowly into the barre’, Parent Liza’s voice is low and breathy as she demonstrates what it is she is asking us to perform. “Feel the pull of your muscles. Hayden, keep your arm long, boy”, she scolds his poor form.

Hayden grunts in response and winces as his muscles stretch to their limit, making me smile.

“Plie and stretch” Parent Liza sing-songs. “Now lower into a reverence”.

I lower my body into reverence, and it is thankful as it bows into the curtsy and welcomes the end of this dance session.

“Well done, Hope”, Parent Liza smiles and gives me a little clap, clearly happy with the progress that I have made. “Joven and Hayden, please keep working on your balance and your stretches”, she scoffs at the guys.

Parent Liza walks to the far corner of the dance room, pulls her uniformed trousers over her ballet tights, slips her feet into her plain black shoes, and pulls her tunic over her head - all plain except for the embroidered logo to the right of her chest. This is the uniform that every parent must wear - every day. It is practical and commonplace; they blend into the background.

“I swear she makes the ballet extra tough to make me look bad”, Hayden grumbled.

“I agree. She does not understand what it feels like to have your member squished in tights and pulled into unnatural poses”, Joven grumbled, making me laugh.

“Today's lesson was tough”, I puff once Parent Liza has left the room. I hold the barre with both hands and lean over to lengthen my spine.

“You are improving, though”, Hayden grumbled, and I looked up to find him wearing a patronising grin.

“They have been working me extra hard lately. I have to be in the best shape possible for the prospects,” I tell him matter-of-factly as I straighten up.

“They want me to have another attempt at learning Spanish.”

“Again? Can they not recognise a lost cause when they see one?”

“Well, thank you for the encouragement.”

“No. I …” he falters. He never stutters or fluffs. He seems different.

“That is not what I meant. You speak English, French and Italian. What more do they want from you?” he says, his tone showing frustration.

“They want perfection”, I sighed.

“They are crazy. You are perfect as you are”, Hayden tells me.

“Please tell them that”, I snapped.

“So, prospect number two looks interesting”, he tells me as he tries to change the topic.

“He does”, I say dismissively. I was not in the mood for another prospect, yet soon I would be meeting him.

“He seems level-headed”, Joven tells me.

“What happened with Jason was unfortunate”, I tell them, choosing my words carefully while I rearrange the strap of my leotard.

“Hmmm…” Hayden scoffs.

“They showed me a picture; he has a mohawk. Can you believe the facility would allow someone with hair like that? Is it a statement?” I say quickly as I try to ease Hayden’s mood.

“It is rather pathetic. But I hear that he is a skilled scientist, knows a lot about history and is good with numbers. But with that hair, he looks like a peacock”, Hayden laughs.

“Do you think he studies the same history as us?” I asked.

“Of course he does. What else would he study? Vampire history? Human history? Fae history?” Joven laughs as though I am daft.

“The history of other species would be interesting”, I admit.

“So, have they talked you through the new meeting procedure?” Hayden asks me; I can tell he is annoyed to broach this subject.

“Yes. The director spent an hour explaining it” I shuddered. It was a painful and mind-numbing hour.

“It is important. We cannot have you close to harm again”, Hayden says defensively.

“I know it is important, but so are other people. I am not that important”, I tell him.

“You are to me. So let us go over things again”, he bit out.

“You will be wearing the uniform of a parent, and you will all be wearing veils. You are to remain behind parent Hannah the whole time”, he starts to lecture me.

“Yes, I know. And parent Liza will be wearing a cream version of their uniform, also in the veil”, I tell him.

It has been decided that the initial meeting should not be with me. Parent Liza has a similar frame size to me, and she will sit in my place while I blend in with the parents and watch the meeting. At first, I was annoyed, but now I find that I am relieved. It is an arrangement that I am more than happy with.

To blend in.

To be unexceptional.

To be a part of the parenthood.

To be rid of the burden of being engaging, desirable and perfect.

“I want to know what he dreams of, what his last thoughts are when he goes to bed at night, and his thoughts of those still stuck outside in the toxic air”, I tell them.

“Really?” Joven asks me, looking shocked.

“Yes. Those thoughts cannot be controlled, he will not be expecting those questions, and it will give me an insight into who he is,” I say as I pull my ankles into my bottom and enjoy the tug on my inner thigh muscles. “Our thoughts are what make us special, and I wonder if he feels lucky and grateful to be alive and in his position or if he is an entitled t**t that …”

I am cut off by Joven’s and Hayden’s hysterics, “Please call him a t**t in front of the director”, Joven begs me.

“Is it not OK to ask those questions?”

“It is”, Hayden tells me.

“What are your answers, guys?” I ask them.

“This is getting too deep for me. I will see you in the next lesson”, Joven says and dashes out of the dance hall.

“I feel lucky to live in safety, but equally, I envy their freedom”, Hayden tells me, appearing sad.

“And what of the other two?”

“You ..” he begins to answer.

“Hope, Hayden. To the next lesson, please”, parent Liza says as she pokes her head around the door. Hayden frowns, clearly frustrated but begins to walk to the door.

“What’s the matter?” I ask as I catch up to him.

“This place”, he answers, shocking me. This was so unlike him.

“What were your answers?” I asked.

“I will tell you one day”, he says.

“Tell me now”, I whine like a petulant child.

“Fill your water bottle”, he instructs as we reach the water fountain.

As the water is running, he leans to tie his laces. “My last thoughts at night are of you, and I dream of you”, he whispers so quietly that I barely catch his words.

He dreams of me?

And we dream of him, a voice inside my head says.

Am I going crazy?