Chapter Text
There are certain things that are expected of you when you turn ten years old. You should be able to tie your own shoes and pick out your own clothes without looking like a clown. You should know the names of the colors and shapes around you. You should get along decently with your peers and have at least the most basic conflict resolution skills. You should be able to write a decent page about a given topic. You should remember your past life.
Lexa hit all of the milestones, went above and beyond, her teachers calling her an extraordinarily bright child, a joy to have in class, a remarkable influence on her peers, a natural born leader. She loved her family and even got along well enough with her sister. She had no reason to believed she would falter on what was expected of her so the morning of her tenth birthday, she searched to find what felt different. According to her older sister, Anya, remembering was like being hit by the trains Lexa listened to passing by her window before she went to sleep, that Anya woke up and expected to be somewhere entirely different, but the law prevented her from telling Lexa exactly where until she remembered herself. Her mother painted a gentler tale, explaining that she woke up and the details slowly trickled back to her, the water glass on her bedside table changing into one belonging in a different time. Her father didn’t talk about it, really, even when Lexa crawled onto his lap as he sat at his desk the night before her tenth birthday, already in her sleep clothes, but too anxious to lay still, but he did admit that the first thing he remembered was his last moments.
Remembering your last life was regarded as one of the most important moments in the process of becoming an adult. Yet Lexa woke up that morning, feeling no different than she had the night before, the anxious knot in her stomach tightening. She looked at the water glass she placed on her bedside table the night before, but it stayed the simple glass, one she’d drunken from most of her life. She listened to the sound of the trains, still rushing past her family’s farm, but nothing came to her. She remembered what her teacher had told her the day before, how he’d tried to recall memories of his childhood to realize he could reach even father than that, but when she tried, it remained the simple memory of racing down the dusty road in front of her house on her old, cherry red tricycle.
The knot in her stomach stretched and condensed at the same time as Lexa stared at the plain pop-corned ceiling above her. She’d heard of people who didn’t remember. Outcasts, practically shunned from society. Lexa fought back the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
The door to her room suddenly slammed open and an uncharacteristically excited Anya stood in the doorway. Before Lexa could complain about her older sister’s habit of barging into her room unannounced, Anya said something, quick and garbled, almost resembling English enough to make Lexa believe her inability to decipher it could be morning grogginess.
“I’m sorry, can you say that again?” Lexa asked, rubbing at her forehead.
Anya seemed a little concerned, but repeated her question. Lexa cocked her head in confusion. She wasn’t speaking English, but it was too…structured to be gibberish and flowed just enough Lexa didn’t think Anya was playing a trick on her.
The excitement quickly drained from Anya, “You don’t understand me.”
It wasn’t a question, Anya knew that Lexa had no clue what she was saying. Her tone was bitter and angry, yet also disappointed in a way that didn’t help the increasing anxiety levels.
“You don’t remember,” Anya spat out, furious in the way only a teenager could be.
The knot in Lexa’s stomach moved into her throat. “I’m sorry.”
Anya merely shook her head, stomping out of the room, past Dad on the stairs and slamming the front door behind her.
“Hey, sport,” Dad smiled, yet clearly confused as to why his eldest had stormed out of the house. “How you-”
“I don’t remember,” Lexa mumbled, looking down at the quilt still covering her.
The room went silent, until heavy footfalls made its way to her bedside. He knelt down beside her, a large hand on her back.
“Are you sure?” He was scared, Lexa could see it in his eyes.
Lexa nodded, fighting against the tears. She’d never seen Dad scared before and she quickly decided she didn’t like it. “What’s going to happen, now?”
Dad sighed, rubbing calming circles into her back, before explaining, “You have two weeks. After those two weeks, mom and I have to report this is to the authorities.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” Lexa hated how her voice trembled.
“I know, I know,” Dad assured. “It’s just…there are people who can help you. You’re ten now, people are going to assume you remember the past and we all did things that some people might want to…question us about. However, you can’t answer those questions and that makes people angry.”
“Am I going to get sent away?”
“We’ll see what happens.”
Breakfast was tense. Mom had made waffles in celebration, Lexa’s favorite breakfast, but that morning she hated the way they settled in her stomach. Anya sat across the table from her, not touching anything as she glared at Lexa. The moment the high school bus arrived, Anya all but sprinted out the room as Lexa fought the tears once again threatening to fall down on her already cold, soggy food.
The two weeks passed slowly, but once they arrived, Lexa wanted them back. Officers from the Reincarnation Agency came not even fifteen minutes after Dad had made the phone call that morning, but Anya was already gone by the time they showed up. She’d elected to ride her bike. The head officer was a woman with a pinched face who handed Lexa a plastic trash bag to pack her things, but took it back once Dad assured her that Lexa was allowed to take real suitcases with her, especially as they’d already been packed. She was allowed a quick goodbye, barely a hug and a kiss on the forehead before being shuffled into the back of the car. On the way out of town, they passed by the high school where Lexa saw Anya locking in her bike. They made eye contact and, for the moment she could see her big sister, it seemed that Anya was almost as heartbroken as her.
The drive was long, the sun having set nearly half an hour prior by the time they reached large gate that the driver had to swipe a key card to enter. Inside were nice neat homes with small front lawns bordered by picket fences. The windows were large on the downstairs floors, smaller upstairs, and each were brightly lit. One showed a family of six eating dinner, another showed an older man and a boy appearing to be around twelve roughhousing in a living room. It wasn’t the large gray institution Lexa had been imagining. They turned down one of the cul-de-sacs, pulling up to the house on the end. Like the others, it was brightly lit inside, Lexa could see two boys, a girl a bit older than her and an older woman all watching some sports game on the TV screen while, off to the side, a man and a different boy read a book. An officer opened the car door and Lexa stepped out timidly as the other roughly yanked her bag out of the trunk. Leading her to the house, the first officer knocked on the door, loud and obnoxious in the quiet neighborhood.
The door opened to the man. He was tall with kind eyes and a scruffy beard. Behind him, a lanky boy almost hid behind him, only poking out his head to watch the interaction.
“We called ahead,” the officer sounded bored. “Here’s the girl,” Lexa was pushed closer to the threshold as her bag was tossed onto the floor at the kind man’s feet. “Here’s her stuff. As usual you will be given extra money to pay for food and other necessities. Good night.” With that, the officers turned and went back to their car, driving off without even letting the man say a word.
Lexa looked up at the man who smiled brightly.
“Nice to meet you, Lexa.” He picked her bag up off the ground. “Come inside, it’s getting cold out there.” He wasn’t wrong. It was well into October and the summer nights had yielded to the chilly autumn evenings that had Mom making hot chocolate almost nightly before bed. Could she even call her mom anymore? Was that okay or had Lexa crossed the line? Did her old life mean anything in this strange new town, living amongst strangers? She stepped inside.
“Rych, why don’t you go watch the game?” The man gestured to the living room where the woman was the only one watching what was happening near the front door, the other three on the floor, cross legged, engrossed in the basketball game on screen. The lanky boy, Rych, seemed unhappy to be sent away, but reluctantly left to sit on couch, leaning against the woman. “Come along, Lexa.”
The man climbed up the narrow, steep wooden staircase to the second floor. Along the wall were pictures of the children and the family they’d created, starting at a picnic when evidently the eldest boy first arrived. Lexa didn’t waste too much time as the man was already at the top of the stairs. At the top, she realized the cramped yet homey nature of the second floor, with a somewhat low ceiling and barely any hallway space. There were six doors, four with names on them, Lexa recognizing the name Rych on one, not including the door that was open to reveal the small bathroom. The man led her to one of the rooms without a name, opening it to reveal a decent sized bedroom with a twin bed pushed into one corner with a bedside table and reading light. There was a simple desk underneath the window that already had a lamp and wastepaper basket. A wooden dresser was across the room from the foot of the bed. It was a nice room, but it wasn’t her room. Lexa silently thanked Dad (Dad?) for having packed her quilt and convincing her to bring along her old stuffed animals.
“So, this is your room,” the man explained. “Adyna and I sleep in the room down the hall. Once you choose your new name, you can put it on the door, really make it your’s.”
“My…new name?” Lexa cocked her head, confused. “I-I like my name.”
“Oh, dear,” The man’s face became concerned. “Has no one talked to you about this?”
Lexa shook her head.
“Oh. Oh, no.” The man seemed alarmed. “You do know that you’ll be living here now, right?”
No one had explicitly told her that, but she’d assumed, so Lexa nodded. “Thank goodness. Still, I’ve never seen a kid given so little explanation by the time they’ve been brought here. Sit down, sit down.” He gestured to the bed. Lexa sat, her feet dangling off the sides, barely hovering over the floor. The man sat down in the desk chair, facing her.
“Do you know how you were named?” The man asked. Lexa shook her head. “Well, I don’t know how to explain this properly since a lot of details have been withheld from me, but when you’re born, the hospital figures out who you were in the previous life. They name you the name you had before in hopes of increasing the chances that you’ll remember when you turn ten. It also puts a bar about that person in public discussion, such as in the news and in movies and books, for ten years. Past that, your parents are in charge of making sure you don’t learn anything about your past life before you remember, but you already know that. Those of us who end up not remembering, for reasons still unknown, are moved to these separate communities. They really aren't bad, though, I promise. We have our own schools, including some top of the line colleges, hospitals, and forms of entertainment. We do have the internet that, albeit, is restricted to only allow content created in our communities around the world and censored outside media. You can travel freely among these different communities through the subway systems. Either way, when you come here, you are asked to choose a new name, because the name you have no longer suits you. You will never be Lexa, because you don’t remember Lexa, but that is not a bad thing.”
“The older kids called me a murderer,” Lexa murmured. When news got out that Lexa turned ten and didn’t remember, the kids took on the reactions their parents had. Many of them viewed not remembering as a form of killing the old soul.
The man sighed, “Yes, people can be particularly cruel to those who they do not understand.”
“What’s your name, sir?” Lexa asked.
“Henri,” he answered. “Henri Clark, but you can just call me Henri, none of that sir business.” Henri sensed the question before she asked, “My name was Marcus Kane.” Lexa nodded. “Okay, let me give you a rundown.” He pulled a wallet out of his back pocket, opening it to reveal a family photo inside. “This is Adyna,” he pointed to the woman. “Her name used to Indra.”
“Are you married?” Lexa asked.
Henri laughed slightly at the question. “No, no. Neither of us were interested in marriage, but we did want a family, so we just signed up to be Parents together. Sleep in separate beds and everything, but she is my best friend.” He pointed to the oldest boy, “That’s Eli, used to go by Lincoln, he just turned twelve.” He moved on to the lanky boy, “I think you already know Rych. He hated his old name, John Murphy, and was actually somewhat too happy to let it go. He’s eleven. Tommy’s almost twelve, and I’m pretty sure his name was Finn. And that’s Ivy,” Henri’s finger finally landed on the only girl. “She’s sensitive about her name: Maya. She’ll be eleven soon.”
Lexa looked down at the picture, reminded of the family portrait her mother had insisted on getting done that summer. Lexa had complained, especially when her mother forced her into a dress, and in the end her unhappiness could be sensed through the photo. In this picture, though, they all had on bright smiles, except for Adyna, who’s smile was small and close lipped, but she already got the feeling that that may just be who she was. Ivy was wearing a fluffy pink dress while Rych still had on sleep clothes, Tommy wore a soccer uniform still covered in dirt and Eli wore a simple button down and tie. This hodge-podge of people were clearly happy to be there, proud to have a picture taken of their family. Lexa thought of the small, wallet sized photo, the only one she could grab in time, stuffed into her bag, of her family portrait. She may not have been happy at the time, but that was her family, how could she ever fit into this one?