Careless

A Caring Family

This time I've barely finished my orange juice before Mama starts questioning me. 

"It's the first day of your senior year, don't you want to wear something a little more..." her voice trails off as she raises her eyebrows, pointedly looking at my outfit. "Interesting?" She spits out.

I look down at my loose thrifted jeans and band T-Shirt that I'd chosen in the haze of waking up so early for school. After a summer of sleeping in and relaxing, my brain didn't react to the obnoxiously loud alarm clock very well this morning. I slammed the snooze button multiple times before Mama had to force me out of bed.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I ask before gulping down the rest of my OJ. "It's comfy."

"You look like a slob, honey." Mama can get away with calling me this because we both know it's not true. I get perfect grades, earning me the second top position in my class going into my senior year. If I can pass annoying Kaede this year, I'll be able to go to any Institute in the country when I graduate. Second in my class is still good, of course, but I'll need to be first to get accepted to Thyrade Institute, the best Institute in the world. I want to become a doctor just like my dad and Thyrade is the only place that still trains students to become doctors. 

After I get up to rinse my dishes Mama says in a softer voice, "I'm just saying you have to put in a little effort to show you care." 

There's that word again. Care. All anyone is ever worried about is if you care. The Union sends out tests every year just to make sure everyone cares about all the right things. I always ace them because I ace every test I take. 

"Of course I care Mama! I wouldn't be where I am today if I didn't care." I sound defensive even to my own ears, I'm just sick of caring being such a big issue. But I guess it's good, it shows Mama cares about me. 

"Speaking of caring, have you taken your pill yet?" Mama asks.

She's talking about the little red pill all citizens of the Union must take every day. Our history books are overflowing with stories of the violence and misery of the world before the Great Resurrection. The Union intervened a long time ago by bringing together a group of scientists, my father's ancestors, to determine the root of human downfalls. They found that the problem was that people had stopped caring. They didn't care about others or themselves so they acted out in violence. Others developed mental disorders like depression. People were dying left and right from murders and suicides.

They then created a drug that targets the part of the brain that registers emotions, specifically care. The drug mends the damaged synapses in everyone's brains. It keeps us from caring too much or too little, which could lead to problems in our society. We haven't truly needed to take the pill for a long time, but the Union asks us to take them as a precaution.

"Eloise?" Mama's smooth voice yanks me back to the kitchen. Her hazel eyes are looking right into mine with a concerned look furrowing her brow. "The pill?" She repeats.

"Nope, I'll get it on my way out." I answer. I walk towards the bottom of the stairs to shout up to my brother that I'm leaving soon, with or without him. "Elijah! Let's go! I don't want to be late on the first day." It's Elijah's first day of high school, too. I need to make sure he gets off on the right foot.

When I walk back to the kitchen Mama has her hand held out, something cupped in her palm. The red pill. I smile and thank her and throw it into the back of my throat and swallow, hard. I used to need water to get the pill down but now I'm so used to it so I don't. 

"Eloise, are you gonna be okay?" Mama is still looking at me like I'm an injured animal on the side of the road. She's asked me this question a million times this summer. So I respond the same way I did the other thousand times.

"Yes, Mama, I'm fine." I try to give her a reassuring smile, but I don't think she's convinced.

Fine. Fine. I'm fine. 

Words I drill into my brain and so far I've tricked everyone into believing them. Even myself most of the time. 

Silence hangs between my perfect, poised mother and me, her messy, confusing daughter. The kind of silence that means my mother is deciding whether or not to say something else. I decide for her that she shouldn't.

I grab my keys off the counter and go up on my tippy toes to peck Mama on the cheek, and hurry out of the kitchen before she can gather her thoughts. Thankfully, I hear my brother's feet pattering down the stairs. 

I take a deep breath. First day of Senior Year. Let's do this.