QUEEN OF AMERICA BY LUIS ALBERTO URREA // SENTENCE STARTERS: PART I
@gurrillero : “Don’t forget me.”
you’ve never been away from home before, never been on your own before, but you’re suddenly off planet, off system, and you don’t know where you are. you only have telaş at your side, and you never even said goodbye to anyone. maybe they don’t know you’re gone. you’re sixteen and you just arrived at a spaceport and there’s a lot of noise, noise everywhere! there’s people and they’re shoving past you and it all feels like it’s too much. everything is too much. you find your way into an alley, and you put your hands over your montrals as telaş climbs in your lap, and you try to get yourself out of the bad headspace you find yourself in. moeder and fader and zetaa and azu- moeder and fader and zetaa and azu--
they might forget you. but you won’t forget them.
you’ve just left tatooine; you didn’t want to leave tatooine, but you knew it was time. you gathered up the credits you could selling every last bit of scrap part you had to some local jawas, and you manage to afford a ride to anywhere- didn’t matter where. not there. you’ve added another name to your list. ushul’zane, the twi’lek woman. she gave you a place to live, to work, to learn, but-- you saw what she didn’t say. didn’t do. she couldn’t afford to take care of the two of you, even with what little extra you could bring in to help. you couldn’t stay. you’re not memorable, you tell yourself. she won’t remember you, not after enough time. but you add her to the list all the same. you won’t forget her, either.
the town you’ve found yourself in is has been seeing more of those white soldiers lately. stormtroopers, you remember someone saying. you don’t understand what’s so stormy about them. but they’re loud, their marching makes your montrals hurt. sometimes you’ll hear blaster fire and screaming, but then the screaming stops. sometimes the blaster fire doesn’t. they’ve come in to look at your shop. ask a lot of questions. you get frustrated when they ask the same ones. you’ve said this, you’ve said this, you’ve told them these are your droids. they look at vier. vier doesn’t like them, and neither do you. they tell you they’ll come back, and you don’t think you like the way they say it.
you’re packing up shop for the night; gears go in one bin, sockets in another. the curtain to your shop parts, and you see a young man, maybe near your age. humans are hard to tell. he has a droid following him; you’ve seen ones like them before, but not this one. you can tell. no one else quite knows why, but you can tell. he’s talking about droids, and parts, and although this is breaking your evening routine, you don’t mind it. you like talking about droids, and parts. he doesn’t seem to get angry when you don’t look in him the eyes. but you help him, as the night starts to weigh heavier over the last light of day, and at the end, he thanks you.
days go by, a week, and you haven’t seen him again, or the stormtroopers: but you have seen more of them. you see more of them than you do people, and you realize, your shop has not seen a single customer in a while. night begins to fall, and you start your routine. gears go in one bin, sockets in another. you hear footsteps, lots of footsteps. more footsteps than you’ve ever heard. you tug your scarf down around your montrals, but it doesn’t help. the footsteps get louder. too loud. you’re curled up hugging your legs to your chest on the floor when something pulls you from your thoughts-- a hand, making you jerk back suddenly at the unexpected touch. it’s him. the young human from before. the droid is with him again. he gives you a choice-- he can help you escape the boots and the stormtroopers, and you can join the rebellion. you don’t know what to make of it; you knew the empire didn’t like the rebellion, but you also did not think the rebellion needed someone like you.
he offers you his hand, you ask his name. he tells you it’s suré. you slowly take his hand.
you don’t know if you’ll see him after he takes you to the rebellion. but you add his name to the list. as always, you are certain he will forget you. but you won’t forget him. moeder and fader and zetaa and azu and ushul’zane and suré.
“don’t forget me”, he says. arms are wrapped tightly around each other, your face buried against his familiar chest, the easily recognizable embrace a welcome one. cassian. you breathe deep; you know him, know him better than you know anyone, you think. as much as he comes and goes, he is perhaps the most constant thing in your life that is not your droids. you cherish your time together, the way he understands you and the way you work more than anyone else. your dearest friend.
“i will never forget you”, you reply. you know you won’t. his name is the last in your list that you repeat to yourself, every day. a routine. “i’ll see you when you come back.”
the war is over, they say. the rebel alliance has won, the second death star destroyed over endor. everyone is celebrating, hugging and crying and kissing and there’s noise-- there’s so much noise. amidst the joy, you return to your shop. it’s late. you look at your crates, and begin your routine. gears here. sockets here. you watch as your pink hands move, but the more you stare, the less they look like your hands.
where’s cassian? you had asked, four years ago. we got the plans, they said. but where is cassian? you asked again. who? they replied.
no one knew. no one remembered.
