The Last Red

Chapter 32: Bradley

PART II - 2 YEARS LATER

Koben's P.O.V. 

Another work-day over.

I enter my O.C. apartment - a 500 square feet bright space full of smart-living-devices and more furniture than one person could ever need - and throw my bag over the marble kitchen counter. It's a big upgrade from KTL block. Yet, it doesn't make me feel good. For me, this only represents another step - a step closer to my goal.

I rub my knuckles - sore from all the time spent behind the AI computers - as I collapse onto my oversized bed. 

I've been working overtime for the past two years, so that when I come home I can fall asleep immediately from exhaustion. I hate the silent time before bed - my mind always takes me places I don't want to go.

Yet - more often than not - when I close my eyes to defeat my unwelcomed daydreams, my mind tricks me into bringing those places to me...

15-year-old Bradley walked into his newly-renovated bathroom and stared at the reflection in a huge mirror above the sink with anger.

All those hours spent in the Hall - long after everyone else was gone - were in vain. He had watched that Aaron boy - his teammate and his friend - for years. Always leaving early, getting picked up by his parents who always brought him sweets - his favorite food - one that Koben steered away from ever since he could remember.

"Sweets will get you defeated," grandfather always said. "You have to be stronger than your urges. Greatness demands sacrifices," he would preach. 

And Bradley listened. He admired his grandfather - the very esteemed Granger Jones.

Bradley sacrificed. He defeated his inner demons. He fought against laziness. He spent hours training when everyone else would go to hang out with friends. 

He believed his grandpa was right - he always was, anyways. 

But not this time.

Aaron appeared almost late to the Competition Hall - all judges were already seated. He rushed into the dressing room at last minute, using an old pair of sneakers that were already worn-out - stored in his locker room as an extra pair - just in case he forgot new ones...

But it didn't matter.

He still beat him. 

Training less than one third of Bradley. 

Enraged Bradley took a glass vase off the floor and threw it into the mirror. 

It broke.

So what - he wouldn't use it much longer anyway. He knew he wouldn't be granted his stay with his results. 

Sudden rage appeared in him, but it was directed at his grandfather - he lied! Everything he told him, promised... didn't come true. He promised him if he trained hard enough, prepared well enough... he'd be the best. But he wasn't. 

I only realized my grandfather was right after I moved to Mars. After I grew up - got more skill, trained longer, fought harder. How I wish he could see me now - I would make him proud. Apologize for all the things I told him the last time I saw him...

Little Brad walked out of the bathroom after taking a shower - ready to go to bed - when he saw his mother coming out of her bedroom - a suitcase in her hand, she strutted downstairs.

And Brad followed. Why was she packing? Where was she going?

He carefully stood on the bottom stair, peeking into the living room - not wanting to be noticed. 

He watched her strut over their large living-room towards Brad's grandfather, who was seated in his large sofa behind a thick mahogany desk - newspapers spread in front of him. He was one of the few who still used the ancient methods - he claimed it made him more creative. And who could refute him - he was the grand Granger Jones.

With her jaw clenched, she stopped in front of a black leather couch - throwing a full suitcase over it - then determinedly placed her hands on her hips. It was obvious she was upset.

But my grandfather was never one for the theatrics. It took him almost half a minute to give her the attention she demanded - a moment of his time. 

Finally, he lifted his grey eyes away from the newspaper and extinguished the cigar in his hand into a thick-glass ashtray.

He tilted his head ever so slightly - his signature move - in the most composed manner.

They just stared at each other for the next 10 seconds - as if the one who spoke first was the loser in this mindgame only the two of them understood. A daughter filled with rage and a father so used to it. Their stares always told stories of their own - there was almost no need for them to speak.

"How did the boy do?" grandfather finally spoke, even though he must have known the answer after a single look at her face.

My mother breathed with a clenched jaw for a few more seconds before replying - she respected him too much to address him with an angry voice. Yet, she was always angry at him. Angry for always being right.

She then shook her head, her eyes finally parting with his to meet an olf-fashioned brown carpet spread all across the room.

The grandfather nodded. "I told you not to marry that man..." 

It didn't sound like gloating at all - rather sympathy - giving her an excuse, someone to blame. Because he knew the man she chose to marry wasn't worthy of his daughter. Almost no one was.

Mother's eyes pierced him with anger as she now breathed loudly, her jaw still tightly pressed.

"John's gone," she declared, hiding the pain behind her words. "When will you let that go?" she demanded firmly, even though it was obvious it was a rhetorical question - he would never let it go. Because her relationship with my father brought me into the world. And I was still there. 

"Oh, but he's not," grandfather responded simply. 

He was referring to me - John's son. Who was just as inadequate as his father. 

„It's not easy out there," my mother defended me. 

Grandfather observed her intently - still not moving, besides the gentle lowering and lifting of his chest as he breathed. "It never was," his eyes then left my mother to gaze into his glass cabinet that displayed most of his accomplishments throughout his very long life. Not all of them could fit inside. 

"Normal used to be the cruelest word that existed. If you didn't fit in," he intertwined his fingers, resting them over the desk, "you were tagged as awkward. Not right."

"And now... the word is enough. You're never smart enough. Good enough," mother clenched her jaw once more."Worthy... enough."

His eyes met his daughter once again - now suspiciously eyeing the suitcase on the couch. "Ordinary stopped being enough a long time ago," he reasoned with her. He suspected what she was planning to do.

"It did," she nodded angrily. "First... they said be the best. You just had to be the best at something. Now it's the best of the best. Nothing is enough anymore," she shook her head. "It seems... almost impossible to accomplish what it takes to stay here. To EARN your place here."

He looked at her then, weary - not wanting to hear what she was about to say.

"I don't want to try anymore," she almost laughed. "I'm just so... TIRED of constantly trying. Competing. Always, all the time. Non. Stop. More and more," she exclaimed in desperation, "always more. It doesn't end."

He looked at her in understanding. "And what's your solution?"

She took a breath to steady herself. "We're moving to Mars."

Grandfather scoffed. "There's no land available for purchase in the developed part anymore. You can't be serious about joining one of the blocks over there..."

"Martia agreed to sell me a part of her land," she declared. "The house's already being built."

He looked at her in plea now - he didn't want to lose his daughter. "The ticket hasn't been sent to the boy yet..."

"It will be," she nodded in certainty.

Grandfather didn't refute her. "The boy is nearing the age," he involuntarily agreed.

"I don't want to miss this chance on a house - I might not get the opportunity when the time comes."

"Just buy the land and wait," he reasoned once more, "he still has a chance, our Bradley."

But she shook her head - her mind was already set. "I don't want him to feel inadequate when it arrives. I don't want him being told that he isn't worthy. Because he is - he is my son. He has more value to me than the entire Earth population combined."

Grandfather brooded, desperately hanging onto the thread that keeps his daughter here. "Brad will already be sixteen when the ticket arrives - he will not need you by his side by then."

She scoffed silently. "I don't want to wake up one day and have to see my child being deported just because somebody else's child took his spot on the stupid list," her eyes teared. "I used to be the best, Dad," she shook her head. "But now even I... can't focus on being the best at what I do when I'm constantly SCARED of losing him. I already lost John. I can't... I can't go through it again."

"And I can't sleep peacefully knowing that my child is by my side at this moment only because somebody else's got sent away," her voice was filled with anger.

"I say it," she whispered. "I say the cruelest word there is – Enough. It is enough, Dad. We're leaving."

( ** tip: listen to this song while you read from here on onwards: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzNvk80XY9s&list=PLAB9391697851974D&index=10

He stood up from his chair, face grim - he realized her mind was set and he knew her well enough to know he couldn't change it.

He walked over to her in slow steady steps, lifting his arm to carress her cheek. "You were always special, Vanessa," he gave her a half-nod, pride obvious on his lips. "You are a Jones. And so is that boy," he insisted. 

She cried now, shaking her head. "He isn't," she finally broke. "You were right. You are always right," she shook her head. "I never should've married John."

"No," he silenced her. "Listen to me," he held her shoulders tightly, demanding her to be strong. "I was right then just like I'm right now," he stared at her. "The boy is a Jones. And he can make it. He will make it."

Mother sobbed.

"He just needs more time," grandfather let her go. "He needs to grow up - then he will realize. I've known many men throughtout my lifetime, Vanessa. Sportsmen. Short basketball men with no agility who claimed the world's throne. Fat bastards who ran marathons and finished first. Bradley knows it. I told him - it is the mindset that makes you a champion. And he will be one. Then," he assures her, "you will come back to me. Both of you."

...

We boarded onto the spacecraft, and I started walking to the front of the craft - as we always travelled first class, but my mother took my upper arm - ever so gently - and smiled as she shook her head. "These are our seats," she said, sounding relieved, as we took our mediocre seats on the craft. 

I watched her exhale as she looked out the window, the smallest smile on her closed lips. 

I had never seen my mother so still before. She stared outside and I noticed her jaw was relaxed - for the first time in a long time.

She was genuinely - at peace.

My eyes never left her - in all the time we waited for the spacecraft to fill - it was just so... wonderful seeing her like this. It wasn't the face I imagined when thinking about her, but it suited her so well. As if that was the real her - it just took a lot of time for her to show up.

As the spacecraft launched into the unknown, she stared the last few seconds out the window, probably saying her goodbyes - and I could tell she was relieved.

Then she turned to look at me at last.

The spacecraft light reflected against the water on my beautiful mother's face - just under her clear blue eyes.

"You'll be fine, Brad," she reassured me with her gentle hand on my skinny knee. But I wasn't worried about myself.

I nodded and looked in front of me.

Something bothered me too much to relax. So I decided to ask the question that was eating me on the inside.

"Mom..." I said with a polite voice - hesitating.

She turned casually, lifting her chin in waiting, a little smile still stretching her lips. 

"If it wasn't for me..." I licked my lips, "would you have ever left Earth?"

Her lips parted then, her face back to the normal version - one I've known over the many years - grim, pained and worried. 

She forced herself to press her lips and contain the tears. "I don't know," she shook her head. "No one can know that, my little prince."

But that wasn't what I had asked. Of course she'd have to leave if she was given a deportation deadline. And I don't think she ever would be handed one - she was a proud owner of the top notch genes.

"What I meant was...would you have ever chosen to leave?"

The question took her by surprise.

And it was all I needed to know - she never even thought about it. No one does - for why would one want to leave?

"Maybe," she nodded her head multiple times, then continued speaking something I didn't listen to - it didn't matter: I could always tell when she was lying.

I looked to the seats next to us - another child accompanied by his parents. I watched at yet another mediocre boy and his mediocre parents, holding hands tightly - forced brave smiles on their faces and their failed attempt at trying to hide the fear behind their eyes - and I wondered... was he also the one to blame for their sentence?

"It's O.K. Mom," I laid a hand over hers to comfort her, because I knew she needed it. "We'll be back one day," I pressed my lips meeting her big blue eyes. "I'll make sure of that."