Intertwined

The Concepts of Time and Faith

Emalia

2030

    I arrived home from my tour of the CD8 school at a quarter past five o'clock, obviously far longer than intended, and, believe it or not, this increase in time was due to any transportation mishaps between Civilian Districts. Ms. Arnold arrived to bring me home right on schedule and without any struggle, at least not until she was physically inside and demanded to know where her "child" was. The poor secretary at the front desk had no clue where I'd run off to, but she assured Ms. Arnold that they'd find me and that there was no need to worry. I couldn't have gone far, after all.

    Unbeknownst to both parties involved in said interaction, however, I was within the confinements of a room that had always intimidated me into avoidance with walls covered in shelves, multicolored binding, and actual ink-and-paper print: the library.

Mr. Deslauriers had taken care to locate and show me a real-life history textbook from the "Before Period," a term I vaguely recognized from our history lessons back in the CD4 school, but now he was in the middle of reading me the definition from a separate text placed in his lap. His feet were propped on the table we both shared residence upon. He told me it was never actually acceptable to sit this way, but today was special and there were special circumstances to accommodate. I smiled yet failed to follow.

    "The Before Period is a term used to identify the time prior to The Great Split (see page ninety-two for further details), when the United States of America still remained a unified nation."

    I was entirely enthralled by his reading and the words did laps inside my head, but started speeding by a little too fast for my liking. I couldn't entirely grasp their meaning. Of course, Mr. D. could sense this from but one glance upwards from the text and onto my face; I imagine that I looked positively dumbfounded.

    "Did you learn about the the old United States?" he asked, innocently and nicely so as to not provoke any distrust. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't yet aware of this conversation-oriented tactic of persuasion.

    "Last year. My teacher told us that's what we were called before the big war. But I don't remember what that was called, really..."

    "The Great Split," Mr. D interjected, and I nodded my thanks.

    "Yeah, that. They were called states instead of Districts then, right? The different parts of the Divide?"

    The Divide, I could recall, was the name of the literal straight line running through what was the old United States of America, and it had been drawn as a result of the Great Split. It separated us from whatever lie on the other side. My schooling had never reached farther than that.

    Mr. D. dipped his head and said, "Correct. I take it you did learn about the Great Split then, if you know about the Divide?"

    I did know a little. I recalled that it was a war, even a topic that Mrs. Rosenzweig had avoided it during our lessons, and thus my knowledge on the subject was limited, as it was on many others. But now whatever question Mr. D. threw in my face I felt instantly inclined to answer, so suddenly I was very hungry for more information on this bloody conflict I'd never been properly informed of.

    "Not really," I confessed, painfully, crossing my fingers in my head in hopes that it would spark some kind of teacherly-need within him to explain it to me. "We talked about it a little in school but not that much..."

    Instead of fulfilling my desire to know more, however, Mr. D. just sighed and paused, pursing his lips together as if the words he wanted to say would be found along the delicate skin there, but eventually he moved on and left me very much unsatisfied, even embarrassed. Had I asked about something I shouldn't have?