I can’t name three things I’d change about my world because it would take more than that to get back what we had.
“Sillah!”
The unnatural bob of bronze hair turned toward the voice with a smile that instantly betrayed curiosity. “Dad! Did you find something?”
“Sillah, I found it. I’ve been searching there…there’s been evidence we’ve found pieces before, but nothing, nothing, like this it’s…it’s…”
She stands up immediately, expecting an answer, hoping that he’ll say…
“A Pocket.”
A legend. Her dad found a legend that they had both been chasing for as long as she could remember. For years they found scraps of things. Pieces left behind from a world – no…a lifestyle – that was scrubbed from digital history. Every shred of paper is like gold. The greatest thing they’d found before today was a ballpoint pen with some ink still in it. Mom said they should save it, but dad insisted that they use it.
“Use things for what they’re meant for. Pens are meant to write, not sit around being admired.”
The digital archives have some clues if you dig deep enough, but at this point they had plumbed the depths. No server ever had any record of a Pocket. Maybe somewhere beyond highly encrypted legal firewalls there was more information, but none of their curiosity burnt quite bright enough to challenge the legal authorities and risk their stilted but still present freedom.
“Where? Where did you – how did you find it?”
Her father shakes his head with a trembling finger pressed to his lips. The curl in her hair comes from his, but you can hardly tell with his hair shorn close to the scalp and practical.
“I promised never to speak the location out loud. But that hardly matters, just grab your pack. I’ll show you.”
To most people, her father never seemed like an enthusiastic person. Her mother was the one who could easily speak with anyone and whose delightfully raucous laughter would echo off bronze and chromium and cause her father to mutter under his breath that the only good things about our world are the built-in vehicles for Lanya’s laughter.
“Those bricks I bring home and the pieces of wood I’ve salvaged, they used to build incredible things with them. When I was a child, I saw pictures on screens, but before they scrubbed the Old Way. Even then Pockets were a rumor, but we still had the history. The more history we lose, Sillah, the closer we get to losing.”
“What if the Old Way buildings also carried laughter? Is it possible that they made it even more beautiful?”
“It is possible, but be careful not to idealize the Old Way, Sillah. It was not a different world; it was built by the same people and it was still far from perfect, but…I like to hope it had a beauty that I know our way is missing.”
Her pack was in hand almost before he spoke. She dashed under the flap of the tent and out into the Satellite Forest. Of course, her dad knew where to find her – he had gifted the stained yards of heavy canvas to her almost immediately after he found it.
“What is it? It’s so rough.”
“I think it’s meant for shelter.”
Together they’d found a spot far enough away from chromium homes and wellness patrols in the oldest part of the Satellite Forest (they conveniently forgot to mention to Lanya that it’s also the rustiest) and gradually this became the place to store every piece and particle of the Old Way that they’ve managed to find.
“I’m ready. How far is it?”
“Mmm better not to say, but it’s not close. I told your mother not to expect us home until midnight.”
She nods. “But it’s worth it, right?”
“More than worth it.”
It took all day and the better part of the night to reach the settlement more fondly titled a Pocket.
“See look, those are trees, real trees! That’s how I found it. Now slow down for a moment and take a deep breath.”
She breathes in deeply and is immediately assailed by a fresh, almost spicy, sensation. “W-What is that?”
“They said that they’re pine trees, some of the hardiest trees that were in existence. Careful pushing through the pine needles; they’re sharp but not dangerous, just a bit unexpected.”
Slowly, carefully, they made their way through the small grove of deep and silvered green. Sillah is awestruck; even knowing that they were going to a Pocket didn’t guarantee that there would be trees! Against her father’s advice she immediately reached out to touch the pines and was still surprised at how sharp they were. Not necessarily sharp enough to cut, but still strangely dangerous.
“Dad, uh, you’re sure they’re not poison?”
He shrugs, moving a branch out of the way while easily ducking under another.
“They only said what they’re called.”
After about twenty minutes they emerged on the other side of what Sillah kept calling a forest, but her father insisted that it was properly classified as a grove. As soon as they cleared the trees, they found themselves standing in front of a series of caves emitting a low, warm light.
“Is this –?”
“This is the Pocket.”
She walks in and looks around and everything is completely foreign but far from unnatural. The walls have been carved to create adequate space and both sides of the walls are lined with tents made of the same or at least a similar material to Sillah’s own beloved hideout. Above each tent or set of tents is a name carefully carved into polished wood. The light is coming from cloudy lanterns and lamps. The glass is scratched, imperfect, fragile, but the light was so soft and golden instead of the efficient blue-white that she is used to. Wordlessly she wanders in and the people, in the tents and walking around, stare and she stares back unashamed. Their clothes don’t reflect the light and are all made of cloth held together with stitches like in the canvas. She feels her father’s hand come to rest on her shoulder to guide her to a tent near the end of the row.
“Samuel? You’re back already? Oh, and your daughter Sillah, right?”
A much older, grandmotherly woman stands up, using a magnificently carved wooden cane to get to her feet and approach the two outsiders. Her gray and white hair is intricately braided and piled carefully onto her head in what Sillah assumes is an ‘ancient style’.
She nods her affirmation, still too overwhelmed with the hundreds of unimaginable sights and smells.
“Lanya didn’t come?”
“Next time.”
“Of course. Well, I’m sure you’ll need to be off soon so let me show you a few things before you leave. My name is Juliet. I’m one of the founders of the Pine Pocket.”
“A-Are there more?” The possibility of there being more places like this, seemingly untouched by the technological advances of the New Way, gives Sillah back her voice.
“I’m uncertain how many more there are exactly but wherever you find a grove of live trees…”
Sillah’s dad shoots her a look that says See, I told you. As a family they always argue over words and meaning and it’s practically a crime in their household to say something and be unable to provide proof. Sillah chooses to ignore the obvious use of grove, whispering under Juliet’s explanation, “Forest still sounds better.”
Juliet raises an eyebrow but continues speaking while her father just sighs in resignation. “…there is most likely a Pocket somewhere nearby. Now I understand you don’t have time to hear how all of this came to be, but there are a few things you must experience, I insist.”
She gestures widely to the lit stone hallway bustling with people who are clearly settling in for the evening.
Sillah manages to tear herself away from the careful scrutiny of every unusual detail of the Old Way. “Yes, please!”
Juliet smiles. “Good, first into my tent I’m going to make us a quick cup of tea.”
“Tea?” Sillah looks at her father and they exchange looks of genuine confusion.
“Oh gracious, don’t tell me those automatons have done away with tea as well?”
“If it’s something you cook then yes, and if it wasn’t a major part of history then it probably wasn’t in the archives before they scrubbed them.”
She shakes her head sadly and holds open the tent flap. “You have been deprived.”
It takes longer than she would expect to prepare this strange drink, which apparently involves heating water and leaves? But her father looks eager, so she reluctantly receives the stunning and impractically delicate teacup and takes a small sip. Hot bitterness followed by an expanding sweetness that makes the flavor something besides just strong. She sneaks a glance towards her dad. He looks absolutely delighted.
“Incredible, strange, but delicious!”
Juliet smiles approvingly. “I knew you were decent folk.”
After finishing the tea, Juliet leads them through winding hallways that purposefully connect the series of caves to each other. If she had the time, Sillah would have insisted on stopping to examine every other thing they passed by. Eventually though they come to a room with the tallest ceiling she’s seen in the cave so far, and carved into every wall are shelves, and lining every shelf are hundreds and hundreds of books.
“You can each take one with you as long as you promise to take care of it.”
Before she can finish speaking Sillah makes a beeline for the nearest shelf and carefully, lovingly, begins running her finger along the titles. The thrill of finding something that was supposedly lost, that had been replaced and then destroyed, is unbelievable. She grabs the first one with gold lettering on the binding and the promise of fairytales in its title.
“This one. Please.”
“Of course, an excellent choice. Such a fine copy of Hans Christian Andersen stories, an excellent first choice.”
Samuel takes his time studying the shelves, visually sorting through genres and authors, eventually he narrows his choice down to history and philosophy. He looks pained with the decision of choosing between them. Sillah hardly notices; she’s already lost to the depths of her book, but Juliet does.
“Why don’t you bring the other back for your Lanya?”
He is clearly tempted to say yes, but instead he slumps further into his literal and figurative corner of indecision. “She won’t want this one.” He waves a copy of Socrates dialogues which is still crisp and well annotated, “And she wouldn’t mind this one, but I’m sure she’d pick something a bit different.”
Sillah responds without tearing her eyes away from the page for a second. “Mom would want a biography or a cookbook but she’d still read the history if you gave it to her.”
“I know but…”
Juliet smiles and quickly selects a well-worn book off the shelf by Julia Childs, part biography and part cookbook. “Here, this is for dear Lanya and you take Socrates for your earlier visit and Churchill for this one alright?”
“I don’t want to break any rules.”
“The rules are there to protect the books but I have full confidence that you and your daughter will take excellent care of them.”
Still without looking up, Sillah replies. “We absolutely will!”
Samuel nods resolutely clutching all three books to his chest like they’re new and already beloved children.
“Wonderful! Well, it is getting late. You mentioned you would head back…oh dear, before midnight.”
Juliet pulls out a marvelous piece of clockwork that somehow informs her that it is a quarter to two in the morning. Sillah looks up just in time to catch the time, and she immediately jumps up, shrieking, “Mom’s gonna kill us!”
Rather than disagreeing her father just nods somberly before turning to Juliet. “Would it be alright if we spent the night here and head out in the morning?”
“You,” She points to Samuel and Sillah who are both still clutching their books like their lives depend on it. “and Lanya are welcome here at any time for any amount of time. All I ask is that you leave behind any technology and you keep the location to yourself. You and I both know that none of this is officially against the law, but most of it has been destroyed, so we have to preserve every bit of what we have left. I trust you can help us do that?”
Sillah looks around at the few candles under glass and paper lanterns that light the magnificence of the Pocket’s underground library. “Of course, we can and we absolutely will, won’t we Dad?”
“That’s all we’ve dreamed of.”
“Excellent, well grab your things we’ll set you up in a nice tent and I’ll send you home with a few fresh goodies and hopefully Lanya won’t be too worried.”
“Yeah, well I can already tell you that mom is definitely going to be upset, but that’s alright, next time we’ll convince her to come and then she’ll understand how easy it was to lose track of time here.”
Samuel looks around the library with wonder still lit in his eyes as Sillah begins to follow Juliet out. She stumbles down the uneven hall with her nose still fully buried in her book.