The Silvas

It takes me a moment before I see them. Two adults and a child. I recognize them from the last memory Nico showed me. I can see the soft features of his mother’s face as she pulls up a holo that lights her a faint blue. His tall father walks beside her with a slight bend to his back as he peers over the holo with her. Their closeness fills me with a sick sort of envy. It’s clear how comfortable they are with each other, almost like they’re two parts of the same whole, moving in step with each other perfectly.

And then there’s Nico.

He’s maybe thirteen or fourteen here, though I can’t be sure, and he looks happy. His hair is a bit shorter than it is now, swept back and styled, no doubt by one of his parents, and his dark blue eyes are bright and excited as he pads after them. He’s wearing the pressed white linen uniform scientist kids have for photoshoot days, and he seems to practically glow in the starlight.

Thirteen or fourteen… Of course. By the time ninth grade started, Nico had foster parents—two biologists who were well-liked in the colony. I don’t know much about them, even now, but the rumors about the orphan boy went rampant back then, and suddenly Nico had gone from another random kid at school to the center of nosy attention for one hard month. I wonder how many stares he endured, how many whispers he heard. I wonder if the rumor about him killing his parents started that day, or if those theories came later. At least that wasn’t something that spread around back then—I can’t imagine how much worse things would have been for him at the start of high school if people had been saying that.

Still, one thing is for certain: This must be the exact day he lost them. The very moment that killed them.

Did he witness this as a child?

My eyes flicker over younger Nico, and the love he has for his parents is evident all over his face.

He may not have killed them, but they did die. Am I about to see that happen?

I look up at Nico, present day Nico, who has turned away from the scene unfolding before us.

“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to,” I say rather urgently.

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, his head lowered as his parents pass behind him. I watch them for a moment. I watch as his mother ruffles his hair, as his father tells him “this might be the last test—and then we can share it with everyone.”

They’re slowly making their way to the edge of the forcefield.

I tear my eyes away from the sight of them and take a step closer to Nico. I hover there awkwardly beside him, staring up at his face, my fingers anxiously tapping at my thigh—I can’t seem to stop tapping. I feel my breath getting shallow, more strained. I’m panicking, I realize. But Nico… his face is noticeably blank, though he seems to be listening to the conversation his parents are having with the younger version of himself, as his mouth is moving slightly along with their words.

Like he’s watched this scene a thousand times before.

“You stay right here,” his mom is saying. “Just watch the timer on your Linx, okay?”

“Okay!” younger Nico replies.

“This will change everything,” his father adds, his voice thick with pride, sincerity, and I hear the sound of him clapping Nico on the shoulder.

This is bad.

“You really don’t have to show me.” I reach out and tug at the sleeve of Nico’s black t-shirt to get his attention.

He blinks and looks over at me, as if he forgot I was there for a second. His eyes meet mine, and he holds my gaze steadily. “You want to know, don’t you?”

“Kind of...” I whisper. I won’t lie. I’m a bit curious. “But not like this.” My fingers curl around his arm, holding tight. My hands are shaking—when did they start shaking?—and I refuse to look at what’s playing out behind me, refuse to listen to more. “C’mon, Nico. Let’s go back.” My voice comes out strained, but I do my best to stay calm. I don’t want to see anyone die. Please… I can always exit the server, I know that, but I can’t just leave him here, alone in this moment.

Because he’s stuck. He’s stuck right here. And he shouldn’t be alone.

I know what it feels like to be stuck like that—sometimes I think I still am. And I know what it’s like to feel lonely. To see everyone’s happy family and wonder what I did wrong—to know I did nothing wrong, but to still feel wrong. To still feel responsible somehow. His words from before ring in my head: I don’t know why I don’t feel happy.

Everything is perfect. Nothing is perfect. Everything is good. Nothing is right.

Everything hurts.

My head hurts.

My heart hurts.

It’s not supposed to be like this.

I hear his parents start tapping the forcefield behind me, and I grip him more tightly. Did they leave the public atmosphere? And… and…

…suffocate?

Nico lets me hold onto him, his eyes widening slowly as he processes the anxiety in mine. Then he glances over at them—his parents, himself—and he nods. “Okay.”

He touches his wrist, and we’re back in my room. Him in holo form and me in reality. I let out a shaky breath, trying to force the tension from my body as relief slowly replaces adrenaline. I look at my hands, squeeze them into fists, then look at my feet and wiggle my toes. Deep breath in. Hold for four. Deep breath out. Nothing in VR can hurt me. I am safe.

I shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have seen any of that. It’s too personal.

Though we might be past that point.

Nico doesn’t say anything, not for a long time, so I decide to. “Why did you take me there?”

He’s still for a while longer, like he’s debating the answer. Then he sighs and leans back on his hands. “Honestly?” he says finally. “You’re the only one who’s ever asked. Well, besides my therapist.” He stares up at the ceiling, his expression blank, unreadable.

Oh. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He pauses. “I know there are rumors about me. I don’t exactly do much to dispel them. But I’m not a bad person—at least, I don’t think I am. Maybe sometimes I’m an idiot. And a jerk. I’ve been rude to you, and I don’t always go to class, but in my own way, I am really trying, you know?” He turns his face toward mine. He looks so tired. The bags under his eyes aren’t new, but I never really noticed how dark they are, how sallow he looks, as young as he is. And the flat blue of his eyes no longer seems cold, but empty. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t know how to… do this. How to be friends with someone. How to understand people. I probably don’t spend enough time trying.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “You know that first time we were supposed to do the tutoring thing? When you stood me up? It made me feel… so unimportant. Like I shouldn’t even have tried. That even when the thing you want most is on the line, you’d rather avoid me than get the hours you need.” I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off with the wave of his hand. “Listen. That’s what I thought at first. But when I saw Sol and how the two of you interacted, I understood. I realized that it wasn’t about me at all. You have your own life, your own complications, and you do the best that you can with that.” His forehead wrinkles as a pained look passes over him. “How do you do that? You make everything look easy—school, making friends, going out—knowing what you want and getting it.”

“Nico…”

“How do you do it? How does anyone just… do it?” He turns away and crosses his arms across his chest like a pouting child, but I get the feeling that he’s just trying to keep it together.

“It’s not easy,” I say. “It’s never been easy. I keep moving because I’m afraid that if I stop, I won’t be able to get back up again. And the universe doesn’t wait for you—not for a second. I’m just trying to keep up with it.”

He shakes his head. “Everyone tells us that life has never been better for humanity. That we’ve finally done it—fixed everything that was broken. …So why do I still feel broken? Why can’t I just get it together?”

I wonder the same thing sometimes.

The stories of the past are proof of all we should be grateful for. The planet, the universe, the government—they’re as close to being perfectly balanced as they’ve ever been. The world is safe. With no more crime. No hunger. No poverty. No war. With universal healthcare and therapy for all. With technology that protects, educates, entertains, and does no harm. With no more nukes, no disease, no systemic inequality. Everything is shared—no more corporate greed. We can alter the weather—no more environmental disasters. A universal language, a universal culture—no more countries to hate each other. No end times. No ending. Neverending. You’re safe, be happy. You’re fed, be grateful. That roof over your head, all paid for.

If you’d been alive back then, you’d know firsthand how lucky you are now.

And then I think of my mom, glued to her holo, Lunar Lovers playing out loud like shadows dancing on a cave wall. I think of Nico, memorizing his parents' voices through VR recordings. I think of me.

Life, no matter what, always contains some kind of hurt. For some of us, at least.

But I can’t tell him that. I don’t want to. Don’t need to. It’s too much to even think about, let alone say aloud. That, still, there is an unfairness that can’t be washed away by any technology or legislation or medication. I’m starting to see that that’s just how life is.

And if I were Nico, I would feel the same exact way.

After a moment’s hesitation, I place my hand on his shoulder. “It’s because you’re sad” is all I can think of to say. And lonely. “It’s because you isolate yourself.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, his chest heaving unevenly as if he’s physically fighting back his emotions. “You sound like my therapist.”

“Well, it’s what mine told me.” Back when I was going daily. When I was struggling with my dad’s new marriage and wondering why he couldn’t have done that for me. Why he wouldn’t just marry my mom.

Nico nods woodenly, then he’s quiet for a long time. We sit just like that for a while, before I think of something else to say.

“I changed that song you said was bad.”

His demeanor shifts. He raises an eyebrow at me, the ghost of a smile on his lips, which still tremble slightly. “Oh, yeah?”

I smile back at him. “Do you want to hear it?”

He looks at me like I’m saving him. Like I’m clearing the rubble from his life and pulling him out from under a dark, collapsed memory that’s pinning him down.

But I don’t know how to save anyone.

Maybe, for now, I can just try to do something nice.

“Yes,” he says.