Mystery Paper
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The room is empty. It’s strange to think that this is where I lived for five years of my life, but the walls are bare and cold. They look dirty in places too. A couple of windows have been boarded over with plywood. The light coming through them gives it an odd blue cast; they’re fogged up because it was raining when we got here. I can see now why no one wanted this place: it looks like a dump.
“This is our new home,” says Mom, looking around the kitchen. “I’m sure you’ll make it your own.” She comes around from behind me and puts her arms around my waist. “Come on, let’s go upstairs—”
She stops short as she sees something out of the corner of her eye. For a moment we just stand there, staring at each other, then I turn around too.
A man is standing by the door to the hall. He has long hair and he wears jeans and a black shirt. His jacket hangs on his shoulders like mine used to before I grew so tall.
“Hello!” he shouts, smiling broadly. “My name’s Sam! You must be the ones who sent us the letter. We’ve been waiting for you!”
Mom reaches down into her bag and pulls out a camera. “Can I take your picture?” she asks.
“Sure!” he answers, grinning.
They talk while they snap away. I watch from the kitchen table as the man wanders off down the hallway toward the front door. Then he turns back and waves enthusiastically as if he knows Mom will catch him later.
He’s gone. There’s no way anyone could get inside this building without being seen. I wonder how he got out again.
“Okay,” says Mom, “we had better start unpacking. Dad should be home soon.” As she walks past me, I hear her say, “Don’t forget to set your alarm clock.”
As we unpack, I try to think about what happened today, but it’s hard to remember anything clearly. I know I was scared, but that’s all. When I look around the house, though, I realize how different everything feels. This isn’t my bedroom anymore; it doesn’t feel like mine.
There’s something else I don’t understand: the man in the suit said he knew we were going to send them a letter, didn’t he? So why did they wait until now to come for us? Had they been watching the building all along, or had someone found our address?
When Mom gets the last box moved into my old room, she sets it down beside the bed and steps aside. “We’ll leave you to settle in,” she says. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Dad’s already told me not to go outside. It would be too dangerous.”
“That’s right,” she agrees. “No wandering around near the woods. No getting lost. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She smiles. “Go ahead,” she tells me. “Get settled in. See if you can find some clothes to wear tomorrow. And we’ll stop by in the morning to pick you up, okay?”
“Sure.”
Then she leaves.
In the end, I stay in my old room because it’s easier than trying to figure out what goes where and how. But then I have nothing better to do, so I sit in the middle of my empty floor and stare at the wall. My parents left only an hour ago, but it feels like days since they’ve been here.
Before this, I never realized how much they mattered. I thought I could go on living even after they were gone. That’s why I always worked so hard—so I’d have money to buy food and things. I figured I was tougher than everyone else.
But I still miss them terribly.
I wish we could have stayed together. Why couldn’t I have made myself more important to them? If I hadn’t run away to start with, if I’d done what they told me to, none of this would have happened. Then maybe my dad wouldn’t have been hurt. He might be alive now.
There’s only one thing I can think to do with all my free time. In the early afternoon, I decide to go over to the park. I walk the long way around, passing close to the woods, and it takes a long time. I worry that I might get caught, but I keep going.
The woods are dark and damp under the trees. I’m surprised to see that most of the snow has melted, leaving black puddles everywhere. All my fears about being seen vanish when I step into the clearing.
The center is full of people. They’re playing games, dance, shout, talk, and sit quietly. Some of them are wearing shirts. Others are naked.
At first, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Then I notice the men and women walking around with their skin pink and smooth. These aren’t the same people I saw yesterday; they’re young ones, not adults. I realize then that these must be other kids who live nearby. Maybe some of them came from the same place as I did.
After a moment of shock, I join the crowd.
A girl pulls me toward her and we dance. We move slowly, holding each other tight, moving our hips, swaying back and forth. She touches my face, my arms, and my shoulders. I touch her body, feeling the soft skin against my fingertips.
I’m in heaven.
Later that evening, I return to the park. Again there’s a crowd, but I don’t know any of them. One man kneels before me and begs for food. Someone hands him a loaf of bread. I watch as he eats his fill, then hurries off to share it with others. Soon the whole area is covered with people eating, sleeping, laughing, crying, and making love.
Someone else holds my hand and leads me through the crowd. I follow willingly.
Eventually, I reach an open space surrounded by people. On top of the rocks, a woman dances. Her feet are bare, but her legs are lithe and white. She sings softly as she spins around, her hair flying behind her. A young man joins in, and soon the two of them are leaping and spinning, yelling together.
Soon their voices fade. I sit down beside the edge of the rocks.
Everyone is silent.
“People,” the woman begins, “I want to talk to you.”
All the heads turn toward her. Even the children look up from their play.
She smiles. “What I’m about to say may not be easy to hear. You’re not to blame for what’s happened to us. I understand that you didn’t ask for your lives to change so drastically. But sometimes those things happen anyway. Sometimes the world decides the fate of humans. But the truth is, you didn’t make this choice for yourselves. This was made for you, chosen by someone else.”
The crowd nods.
“This is our new home,” she continues. “Our world. Our planet. Not Mars or Pluto or Venus. Earth. The real one. This is where we’ll live now. And this is where you will come to learn. To grow. To understand. To find your own answers. I hope you won’t feel too different from hearing that. After all, this is where you are meant to be. This is where you belong.”
Some of the crowd stand up. One girl runs off into the forest. Others wander away, disappearing among the trees. Many of the others remain seated.
“You can leave here anytime,” says the woman. “It’s a big world. There’s no need to stick around if you don’t want to. But know that everyone has the right to stay. No one is forced to go anywhere. Nobody is barred from coming back again. It’s just…well, sometimes we have to take chances. And I’m sure many of you already know how much you’ve changed since last night.”
For a while, nobody speaks.
Then a little boy calls out, “We’re happy!”
He’s followed by another.
“We’re finally free!”
And after him, another.
As I listen, I remember what I once heard a scientist explain to me: that the human brain contains something called a mirror neuron system, which allows us to imagine ourselves doing the action of another person.
When we see someone else do it, we also feel like we’re doing it. This is why we often imitate others, even when we haven’t been told to. I guess this is what is happening now. I’m not happy with what’s happened to me. But I find myself repeating the words of these people, though I don’t really understand how they feel.
“Freedom!”
“Happy!”
“Free!”
I find that I’m nodding along with everyone else, smiling as I whisper, “Yes.”
The End