Tristessa--Opening Scenes

         The quiet in the medical facility was broken by a pair of military boots rushing down the hall. The woman’s door burst open and a man entered. He rushed to the woman lying in the bed and, almost reverently, took her hand. “Are you all right, my dear?”
         “Of course.” The woman smiled at him. “After all, it’s not as if I haven’t done this before.” The two smiled at each other for a moment and the remembered the births of their other four children.
         “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be here,” he said as he sat by her side. “I came as fast as I could.”
         “Well, that’s what happens when you accept the big promotions, you don’t have time for things other than military business.” The smile in her eye told him he was forgiven.
         The clock on the wall began to chime. The woman sat up in bed, her husband bracing her with pillows. No sooner had she settled into her new position, when a quiet knock sounded at the door. The woman smiled. “I think it’s time to meet your daughters.”
         The door opened and a nurse walked into the room. In each arm was an infant. She handed one to Mom, the other to Dad. The couple leaned together to examine the children. The child in Mom’s arms was looking up at her parents with wide, blue eyes. She had the finest bits of golden silk covering her head. The child in Dad’s arms looked exactly the same, with one minor difference. Her face was scrunched and red, her mouth open as she screamed her indignation at her new surroundings.
         “It’s time to name them.” Mom smiled at the girls as she spoke. According to Alerian tradition, children were officially named when they were one day old. The delay gave the parents time to get to know each individual child before naming him. A person’s name is a part of that person. It should tell a story, just as the person’s life will tell a story.
         “Well, what do you think?”
         “This one is as beautiful as a spring flower. She is solemn and sweet.” Mom brushed a finger across the cheek of the child in her arms.
         “Camellia. Those always were your favorites, right?” Dad’s hand joined Mom’s to rest on the precious bundle.
         “Camellia.” She spoke the name softly. “A delicate name for a delicate child. Her expression changed from soft delight to rueful amusement. And what of your daughter?”
         Dad quirked an eyebrow. “Why are they always my children when they’re screaming?”
         “Because that’s the way it works.” Mom stole a quick kiss. The infant quieted, almost as if she knew what was being discussed.
         “She has spirit and beauty. Even though she looks exactly like little Camellia, when I look at her it’s like…” Dad’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head, searching for the correct word.
         “It’s like she’s stealing your breath. Looking at hope.” The tears in her voice echoed the tears in her eyes.
          “Exactly. She’s…she’s…different. I don’t know what it is.” Dad’s voice lowered, as if speaking to loud would shatter the importance of the discussion.
         “Every parent thinks their child is special, but you’re right.” It was Mom’s turn to join Dad’s hand on the infant. “She has an important future.”
         “A future that will bring her what? Success, joy, love? Or pain, sorrow, and suffering?”
         “Who can tell? We will do our part for this child. Unfortunately, we cannot decide her future.”
         “No.” Dad’s voice was now barely above a whisper. “It has already been decided.”
         “Millennia.” Mom spoke with confidence. “She will have the confidence and hope of a new millennium to launch her into life.”

         Thus the children grew. Camellia, a sweet, gentle flower in life’s garden; and Millennia, vibrant and energetic, facing life head on.


         
         “Come on, Camellia. Just do it!”
         “Yeah, hurry up. Everybody’s waiting for you.”
         “What’s the matter? You scared?”
         The children were scattered about a pool of water at the base of small waterfall. One by one, each had taken the plunge from the top of the waterfall, about fifteen feet. Only Camellia and Sterling were left at the top. Slowly, Camellia inched to the edge and looked over. The others will still urging her to jump. She searched for her twin, finding her almost instantly. The bond between the two was almost tangible. They knew what the other was thinking and felt what the other was feeling. Once glance between them could speak more than many people could communicate with hours of talking. Their eyes met. “It’s okay,” Millennia’s eyes told her. They told her much more, but not in words.
         Setting her mind, Camellia shifted her weight until she was a fraction from falling over the edge. She took a deep breath and held her nose. And froze. She couldn’t do it. Let the others laugh if they wanted to, but she just couldn’t do it. In the split second she made her decision, Camellia felt a pressure against her back. An instant later she was falling.
         Time stopped. Vaguely, she heard a scream, not registering that the sound was coming from her throat. For a moment, Camellia felt as if she were suspended in midair. The icy water closing around her shocked her back to reality. She struggled to the surface of the pool, coughed up the water she had swallowed, and it was over. She was safely at the bottom of the falls.
         “Cammie!” Millennia was at her side in an instant. “Are you all right?”
         “I’m, I’m fine.” Camellia finally cleared the water from her eyes and met Millennia’s gaze. The concern and love she saw there chased away the chill of the water. When Millennia’s concern for her sister abated, however, her eyes hardened and sparked with anger. A splash sounded behind the two girls as Sterling made his dive.
         “See, Camellia, that wasn’t so bad…” Sterling’s words were abruptly cut off as Millennia plowed into him, her movements not impeded at all by the water.
         “How dare you push my sister!” Millennia shoved Sterling’s head under the water and held it there. After a few seconds, she allowed him to struggle up.
         “I just wanted to…” Again his words were cut off as Millennia pushed him under again. This time, he was smart enough to put distance between himself and Millennia when she let him go.
         “Are you insane!” There was a spark of fear in Sterling’s eye.
         Millennia advanced on her prey. “If you ever touch her again, I’ll…”
         “Millie, it’s okay.” Camellia tugged on her arm. “I’m okay. Let’s just go home.”
         “But, Cammie.”
         “Please, don’t” Camellia pleaded. Millennia looked at her sister and relented. She new Camellia hated it when she got into fights.
         “Fine. Let’s go.” Millennia relented, though she tossed one more glare at Sterling before the girls gathered their things and walked across the field towards home.

         Dinner at the Camari household wasn’t an option. It was a requirement. No matter how scattered the family was throughout the day, they always ended up around that table. It was a time of sharing, of togetherness. In a day when parents were working all day and half the night, and children were scattered at various academies and training centers learning and developing skills, the Camaris went against the grain. Dad and Mom believed that family was the most important thing in life.
         Tramoni. That was the ancient Alerian word for “family.” It translates “family,” but means so much more. Tramoni is a bond stronger than any bond in the universe. It is unbreakable, unmovable. It is as necessary as the very air you breath, as the blood that flows through your veins. Tramoni isn’t simply an idea, it is a thing. A living, breathing, feeling thing. Taking away one member would be like take away a foot, a hand, an eye.
         The Camari children were taught about tramoni from the moment they entered the world. The realization of the other family members as an integral part of themselves brought a closeness rare among siblings. Yes, they had their squabbles as all children do. In the end, however, they always came together again. In their minds, there really wasn’t any other option. The very idea of staying permanently mad at another was ludicrous. Because of this familial harmony, dinners were always fun, pleasant, and sometimes wild events.
         The children didn’t really have assigned seats, they just tended to shift toward the same places at every meal. Dad sat at the head of the table, his back to the large picture window looking out to the gardens. Mom sat at his right, close to the serving bar in case she needed to retrieve something. The youngest, Terrence, sat next to Mom. Across from them sat the twins. Thomas, the oldest, rounded out the table sitting at the foot between Terrence and Camellia. Thomas was telling the family about his current project, building scale models of famous starfighters.
         “I’m almost finished with the Turvy,” he enthused. “Just a bit more work and she’ll be ready to paint.” Thomas swept his fork through the air for emphasis.
         “About time,” Camellia commented. “I thought Ensign Torrell would go forever without his wingman. The Topsy is nothing without the Turvy”
         They were speaking of Ensigns Torrell and Marquis. In their matching ships, the two had been a key team in liberating the neighboring planet Dorin from invading Ocerians fifty years earlier. Thanks to some fancy flying, the Topsy and Turvy had managed to punch through enemy lines and destroy the power source of the Ocerian energy fields.
         “Never forever!” Thomas exclaimed. “Those two are inseparable.”
         “Like Cammie and Millie,” Terrence chimed around a mouthful of vegetables.
         “Mouth closed,” Mom reminded.
         Dad smiled, enjoying hearing his children talk about the things they loved.
         “It just proves what can be accomplished when you work together.” Dad met each pair of eyes. “Remember that. No matter what happens, you will always have each other. Hold on to that.”
         The children had their eyes glued to their father. When he spoke like that, softly, firmly, confidently, they knew that whatever was being said was important. Something they needed to remember. Even four year old Terrence nodded solemnly, although he didn’t quite understand. What he did understand was that Dad loved him, and that everyone at that table was very special.
         “Tramoni,” Camellia said softly, eyes wide with childish wonder.
         “Tramoni,” the others echoed.
         “Tramoni,” Dad agreed. “The most important thing.”
         Dinner continued with fun conversation, no one seeming to notice that, for once, Millenia was not saying much. She was squirming a bit on her chair, wondering when the afternoon’s swimming incident was going to come up. They had to know. Dad and Mom always knew. Millennia wondered what her punishment was going to be. She knew holding Sterling under as she had was wrong. It didn’t matter what he had done.  She was surprised it hadn’t been brought up already. Dad and Mom were usually quick to deal with misbehavior. Were they not going to do or say anything?
         The relief that came with that thought was short lived. As much as she didn’t want to deal with the consequences of her actions, she also didn’t want to hide something from her parents. I want them to know. Millennia almost jumped in her surprise. She didn’t want to get away with what she had done. She didn’t want to be the type of person who lashed out at the tiniest provocation. Consequences were a good thing. They helped her be the good girl she wanted to be. And sitting in that chair at the tender age of eight, Millennia gained a wisdom that eludes many adults. It’s not worth it.
         “Millennia Serena!” Mom’s voice snapped Millennia to attention.