Page 4 of Uprooted
“I don’t know. I’ve been feeling the pressure set in. Every time someone congratulates me, I just feel this pit in my stomach.”
“It feels different when it’s your own expectations versus someone else’s.”
She nailed it and named the very thing I’ve been feeling for the last few weeks as we’ve been preparing to leave. Having the words to explain my mental state takes some of the pressure off.
“I think you’re right.”
“Everyone is going to react to those external expectations differently. For some, it’s the fuel they need to achieve. For others it's paralyzing. Some will even rebel against any form of expectations internal or external.”
“I think I fall into the second category,” I say reluctantly.
“And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Just stay focused on the things that keep you motivated and focused. Ignore all the rest.”
I grab a broken stalk and turn it between my fingers, letting her advice sink in. She’s right. Now’s the time to get focused, to let go of all the things that drain my energy.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I tell her honestly. I have never been more grateful to have a mentor like Dr. Kahn. She has pushed me academically and helped me grow as a person. We aren’t that far apart in age, but I look up to her.
“Good. Leave that rusty robot there, and let’s have our last cup of good coffee before we leave.”
I take a final look at the sprawling wheat field, hoping it’s the last time I’ll see a field being tended by polibots. I kick the leftover heap of metal as I turn and follow her.
* * *
I savor the smell of the freshly brewed coffee before I test the temperature on my lips. Dr. Kahn is right about a lot of stuff. She’s absolutely right about this being one of the last cups of decent coffee we will get. The synthetic coffee they try to pass off at research centers doesn’t come close to the real thing.
“I’m going to miss this place,” she says and scans the coffee shop. It’s the heartbeat of the University. It’s on the corner of campus thatleads to the rest of New Boston. The seats are well worn, the tables nicked and ring-stained. It’s not trendy or glamorous.
“I am too.”
“Maybe they will put a plaque on one of the tables. ‘Here sat the illustrious Elowen Carson,’” she says. My mood lightens from her gentle teasing.
“I’ve always dreamed of coffee spilled on my name.”
“Young college students will make a pilgrimage here. They’ll flock to see where you got your last cup of coffee before you saved humanity.”
“And what about the great Dr. Kahn? Where will students go to honor her part in ensuring our survival on Earth?” I turn it back on her.
“If I could pick, I would say, an empty field. A place where soil can sit and rest and replenish.” Her beautiful words put a lump in my throat.
Industrial agriculture has destroyed much of the usable soil. Overcultivation is necessary now to account for the high rate of crop failures, but we are stuck in a vicious cycle. The majority of every crop withers before it can provide sustenance for our struggling planet.
“That’s not fair. I get a sticky table and you get poetry.”
She shrugs and lifts her cup in a toast, enjoying the last of her warm coffee.
03
Elowen
I take one last look around my empty apartment. This little shoebox of a place has been my home for the last rotation. On one hand, I’m sad to say goodbye. On the other, I’ve grown restless here and cannot wait for a new challenge. There will always be something bittersweet about closing a chapter and starting a new one. There were times when I was younger that all I wanted was to live on Earth, but reality didn’t live up to expectations. I just never felt at home here.
This is a career-defining moment, a chance of a lifetime to make a real difference. When I heard that the University had been granted access to the research center, I became obsessed. Singularly focused on getting on the team. You name the gold star, I got it—great grades, peer-reviewed papers published, and my fair share of awards. Every interview, I showed up like I was defending my dissertation. Any qualification I made sure to exceed. As far as I was concerned, the position was mine for the taking. Had things not gone my way, I absolutely wasn’t above begging.
I’m ready to get to j’Tilak and get to work. The seemingly endless receptions and dinners and celebrations all feel empty when we don’t have solutions. I’d prefer we save all the celebrating for when we return with answers. After that, I’ll be the first to run up on stage. Maybe then all the attention will feel deserved.
The front door slides open when my parents arrive. My mom's eyes are already red and brimming with tears. She sniffles and plasters on a shaky smile. I've seen this look before. Every time we're separated from each other, she falls apart. I definitely inherited myindependent streak from my dad, and I'm always the one to offer comfort in these situations.
“I know, I know, I’m being silly. You’re not even going to be gone that long.” I pull her into a tight hug and her body relaxes into mine. She's the closest friend I've got. But every once in a while, I feel like a third wheel. My parents are at a stage in their lives when a romantic dinner shouldn't include their grown daughter.
