Rise

Chapter 2 - Blind

Ten years earlier...

            "How was school today, Kaye?" my father asked, sitting next to me at the dinner table. His fine brown hair was still slicked back since he'd been home from work.

            "Good," I said, tracing the wood lines in the table with the tip of my middle finger.

            "Why was it good?" he pressed. He stood up to wash his hands, squeezing past my mother who was in the walkway bringing dinner to the table from the kitchen.

            I shrugged, not realizing that he was no longer in the room.

            "Well, did you learn anything?" my mother chimed in. She placed a silver bowl of steamed vegetables in the center of the table before turning back to gather the other dishes from the kitchen.

            "Yes."

       "What did you learn?" my father asked, returning to the dining room. He placed a velvet placemat before me, interrupting my tracing, and sat a china dish and silverware on top of it.

            "Stuff." I put my chin in my hand and frowned at the plate blocking my lines.

            He sighed, "You certainly have a way with words, Kaye Monroe."

            "Just like her father," my mother joked, re-entering with three more dishes of food balanced poorly in her arms. My father made a face at her before quickly reaching out and taking the two heaviest. I watched my father's strong hands with envy, thinking about all the things I could accomplish if they were mine. My father used his hands too much. He worked long hours most days, and half of the time he would come home when I was already in bed.

            As my parents sat down to the table, they shared a glance that never failed to make me feel excluded from their world. It was a glance that held a connection that I could never understand at that point in my life. They were joined by a deep, unfathomable friendship long before I came to them, and although I knew how much they loved me, I couldn't figure out why their love for each other was so different.

            "A boy asked the teacher a question today that was kind of strange," I said, suddenly remembering my time at school.

            "What was it?" my parents asked simultaneously. My father started spooning vegetables onto my plate.

            "He asked what a 'reese-ist-unce' was. He said heard some Core kids talking about it on his way to school."

            My parents looked at each other, hesitant.

            "Do you know what a reese-ist-unce is?" I asked plainly.

            My father replied cautiously, "What did your teacher tell you it was?"

            "She said we're too young to know," I confessed, looking down at my hands. I hoped my parents would tell me regardless of what my teacher said.

            My father sighed, thinking over what he would say next. My mother whispered something in his ear and he nodded a few times, all the while looking at me with thoughtful eyes. He knew I was a curious child and probably wouldn't put the subject to rest very easily if he did not answer me.

                     "Kaye," he began, "I want to tell you a story. It's about the Resistance."

            "The Resistance?" I repeated.