November 2006

My sister and I were meeting with our world on a yellow school bus which was travelling along the sea. We weren’t far out to sea, but a ways off the coast of some city, it was quiet though; the sky was not very dark yet, but it was getting late.

I swam without thinking, there was no push to move, there was only the flowing of water around me and the sweeping feeling as waves lightly washed over above and brought air bubbles around me. I felt like I was some sort of surge, naturally curving in my course as the currents dragged me one way and the other, but I was a power unto myself as I pushed through with each current to find my course set on the bus.

I could hear my Mother’s words playing back from memory; she’d told my sister and I to carry our brooches in plain sight when we neared the bus as the people on board may not let us attend if we didn’t have them. My sister and I were ‘princesses’ of the lowest class.

Each class had a Mother, and the Mother had children, and took charge of the other families in their class. Our world was like a triangle of people, the Queen was at the top and made all of the decisions; whilst at the bottom of the triangle the lowest class were the strongest physically. We carried out the more labour-intensive of the Queen’s instructions. There were five classes including the Queen. I remembered something my Mother had told me, she’d said that the Queen and the lowest class had an understanding that the three classes in between could never grasp. We knew that the Queen would never do anything without a care, whatever she did would be in the best interest of everyone. The lowest class were the foundations of our world; we held our world together with our strength of body and our loyalty to the survival of our kind. We looked to Her for strength of mind and conscience, for the path to follow and her guidance. It was also well known that Queens were most commonly born in the lowest class. The three middle classes weren’t allowed to kill us for fear of killing a ‘Queen-bearer’. Over the last three thousand years, Queens had only been born under into the lowest class, and this was causing all the more offence in the middle classes. I knew that if we didn’t have our brooches, we wouldn’t be allowed onto the bus, if only out of spitefulness.

I could see the yellow of the bus as it pushed along the water like an oddball boat. I waded in the water briefly before I attempted to board it. My sister caught up and we waded together.

“Why do you wait?” she asked. I couldn’t think of a practical reason. Something felt ominous, as if something of utter importance were likely to happen tonight. I asked her if she had her brooch ready and she lifted her hand to show me the large pearl with a single string of smaller pearls which ran down her palm like a white eye shedding a glowing tear. I was fond of our lowest class brooches. The others, with their extra strings of pearl looked too busy. Ours was simple and quite delicate. As we left the comforting cool of the water and tried to enter the bus, an arrogant human man told us that we couldn’t come on board. We showed him our palms and he just looked away and ignored us as we silently made our way into the bus. My grandmother was already there, she had saved us seats where we could see the Queen when she arrived. My grandmother looked old. We didn’t age naturally, but my grandmother had spent enough time away from us and our power to have lost most of her own. It was a trial for her to make it to these meetings every fifty to one hundred years. She’d given up her seat in line to the throne but still held sway because she’d retained any amount of her power regardless of spending so much time in human society. My grandmother had fallen in love with a human woman long before I was born. She’d loved this woman so dearly that she’d left us to be with her, passing as one of them. But humans had different views at the time. They still didn’t know that we exist, even now; but at the time it was still a crime to be punished, to love or be in love with someone of the same ‘sex’. My grandmother had finally found her heart with a mortal woman and the humans hanged them both. Thankfully, my grandmother survived. They’d left her tied to the tree with her love. When it rained she changed shape and held enough of her mind together to escape. She’s been feared by us ever since for her stubborn body and broken heart, people with those attributes can be sadistic and fearless enemies.

We took our seats with our grandmother and kissed her in greeting; others may have been scared of her, but to us she was family and treasured. Those around us sat back a bit so as not to touch us. For some reason, the middle classes had begun to look on physical strength as a vulgar and unattractive feature. We didn’t look any different from anyone else, but our ability to snap them in two seemed to make them bitchy. My sister and I looked at each other, our grandmother tut-tuted at us and told us not to encourage them, but by this point there were two third class girls standing next to our seats. They looked down at us as they held one-another’s hands. I could see from their expressions that they were mean through-and-through, and yet a little scared of us because they were weaker. It had become custom to slander someone rather than start a fight as they were all so weak. It was thought to be crude to slap someone if you truly hated them, it was proper to insult them instead. So they insulted us because we were ‘beneath them’. I stood and seemed taller than either of them, although I was the same height. They looked as if they might faint, the girl to the right had such a pale complexion, I thought she might wilt like a dead white lily as she collapsed. But they stood their ground and waited for me to make the next move. I simply smiled and asked them how their families were. They gasped and screamed that I had threatened their families. My friendly smile didn’t falter; I stood there and waited for them to stop their whining. Their little hands fluttered as they pointed from me to my sister and my grandmother, accusing us as a class. My sister did not rise, my grandmother had inconspicuously grabbed her skirts, she sat looking up at the girls as if trying to memorise every line of their faces. I could tell this was going to grow into an ongoing feud from the look on my sister’s face. I couldn’t stop it, but I could try and calm it before it took to a new level of abuse. I put my hand out. The girls shrieked and bolted backwards as if I’d gone to strike them. I simply held my hand placidly as I extended it out to them to take; they looked at me as if I were mad.

“Would you not like to take my hand? Would you not like to accept my apologies for my careless greeting to you and your families?” I asked in a gentle voice. The older of the two took my hand and spat an acceptance of my humble apology. The younger looked at my hand as if it were tainted. I extended my hand to her and she backed away. I asked quietly, “Is it that you do not accept my apology, or is it that you would not shake the hand of a daughter of the lowest class?” I was angry, but I didn’t show it. I tried for something calm to come through in my voice and I think it worked to a degree. But there was outrage amongst the others at the implications of what I’d said. I sat down and waited for it to boil over. I was tired of the mind games and needless arguing. I looked at my grandmother and she winked at me, a very human trait that I’d grown to love from her. I winked back and held back the beginning of tears. Under all of the harsh voices I could hear a whisper rushing around us. I thought it was the water outside the bus, the thrash of wind and sea rain along the windows, and the ebbing floods around the doors. But it was becoming more tangible, as if the air were thickening with sea water – the moisture soothed my throat and I smiled as the voices hushed and died away slowly at the sweet whispers of our Queen.

I’d never met our Queen before. We all lived in the same sea, but I’d never actually seen her in our ‘noble’ form. We’d started taking after humans in our appearance as they started inadvertently mimicking us in building societies and structured classes themselves. Our people traded in pretty things. A rare shell, a brightly coloured pebble, a rusted bottle cap… And so the addition of pretty clothes had been a natural advancement in our aesthetic appreciation. I wasn’t sure I liked it though – clothes restrained me. I didn’t like feeling trapped when I moved. I often tore my clothing while moving rocks or catching food. But in other ways it was good because I could carry more found objects with me. Found objects were important and could save your life through trade for help or even a future favour. Looking at the Queen in her slight dress and beautiful messy hair, I could see she was extraordinary. No one carries ‘nothing’ upon them, not even the lesser families of the lowest class. But She was powerful enough in herself not to need things to trade. She was our leader, she was our Queen, and beauty was part of her authority.

Everyone sat in their places as the Queen took her own seat on the bus. Her hair was wet and black and her eyes were an aqua colour so intense that I couldn’t look away. I thought it was the colour that drew me in, but it was her gaze on me that entranced me. Her eyes were so fresh and young, and yet they held so many memories. I could not even imagine what she could see. She was the oldest of our world because each Queen inherited the memories of the Queen before her when she took her place. All that we had ever been was held within her eyes, and those eyes were looking at me.

“Your mouth turns up slightly higher on the left side,” the Queen said. There were sadistic giggles from the girls behind us; they revelled at the criticism directed at me. The Queen continued, “It is beautiful, perfect in its imperfection. Like a rose. So pretty,” and She graced me with her warm smile. As she turned to look at the rest of our world, all of the Mothers and children who could meet, I could feel her warmth drain away as if diluted by the waters outside. There wasn’t a sound to be heard among us and we waited for Her voice to fall upon our ears again. I could have waited forever, happily. The Queen rose and looked around her and shook her head. I could hear hands smoothing fabric nervously and I wondered who was so nervous of attention as to accidentally draw it to themselves. My thought stopped there as Her hand touched my shoulder. The Queen was looking down at me, and surprised murmurs spouted from around the bus. I caught snippets of whispers, questions about a choice. Was the Queen making her choice? I didn’t entertain the thought and worried that I might have done something to upset our Queen. I fell from my seat to my knees, splashing tiny tides around the Queens feet. She knelt down to place her hand back on my shoulder and she looked into my eyes.

She said one word, “Soon.”