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There was choice in the History Heap. Sometimes it felt as if there was none, but there was choice.
Most people from the heap decided to study to become researchers, sure, but Parcel knew of a few people that were studying to become doctors, one that was taking classes in Rotglob to become a chef. Though most people became researchers. It was their choice, even if it didn’t feel like it.
Parcel, of course, was studying to be a researcher. They were so good at it, and it would be such a waste not to. They liked science. They truly hoped they would be able to specialize in some sort of science.
For Parcel, it was usually a very good thing to be called into Aunt Freaky’s den. That fact didn’t make those encounters any less nerve-wracking.
“Are you waiting for my mom?”
Parcel, thirteen years old, nods. They were standing outside of Aunt Freaky’s den, fingers fidgeting with the hem of their uniform.
“Oh, don’t be nervous,” Muni smiles, patting the younger kid on the head. “She really likes you. Says you’re gonna be a star researcher one day.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Good.” The older boy had just left Aunt Freaky’s den, and was looking around the immediate area as if he was waiting for someone. “If I was trying to be a researcher, I’d love to work with the laser books. Maybe I’ll come back for them if I ever take a break as a doctor.”
“There you are!” Parcel was not exactly sure of the name of the person who yelled that out, but they were aware that they were Muni’s cousin. The cousin took hold of Muni’s arm. “You’re not going to be a doctor if we don’t make it to class. Come on, we have to go.”
“Okay, okay!” Before getting pulled away by their cousin, Muni spared young Parcel a glance. “Keep at it.”
Parcel didn’t have to be told to ‘keep at it,’ as they were already very dedicated to their research. Late nights in the stacks, combing through books and books and gaining absolute explosions of knowledge from each one. Parcel wasn’t authorized in every section as they weren’t an official researcher yet, but they were good at working with what they had. They were good. They were so good.
“Studying?”
Fifteen year old Parcel was sat snug amongst the physics books, reading from one as they used a stack of other ones as a table. They nod, not taking a glance up at Herbie. The boy was about their age.
“I just finished studying,” Herbie exclaims. It almost sounded as if he was bragging. Parcel huffed, blowing some hair out of their eyes.
“Studying isn’t something you can finish. It’s an ongoing process.”
Herbie shrugs, sitting in front of Parcel, knees to his chest. He was boring a hole in their skull with the sheer force of their staring. Parcel sighs and lowers their book.
“What?”
“Can you read over my work?”
Parcel snagged up the writing that Herbie dangled in front of their face. They didn’t understand why this boy was so attached to them.
Herbie was like a little leech, always stuck on Parcel’s side no matter what they did. He was also studying to be a researcher, and although he was admittedly good at it too, he didn’t seem to take it as seriously as Parcel did. He would need to get his act together if he wanted to continue this career path.
“You need to stop dotting your ‘i’s with hearts, Herbie. It’s unprofessional.”
But this wasn’t exactly something they could dwell on. They had important opportunities constantly coming their way. Muni was right, Aunt Freaky really did see their potential. Parcel continued to be able to have meetings with Aunt Freaky, even after Muni was gone.
“This is very good, Parcel.”
“Thank you, Aunt Freaky.”
Aunt Freaky stands to her full height and sets down the clipped together pieces of parchment she was just reading over. She motions over to Parcel with her head, who subsequently stands too and takes the paper back.
“Though it isn’t extraordinary," she adds, looking outside from her den. Parcel tried to see what she was looking at. “You don’t add much. It’s a lot of regurgitation.”
“Yes,” Parcel agrees, nodding to Aunt Freaky’s back. “That was my goal.”
“Which is why it is very good for what it is.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“Oh, Parcel,” Aunt Freaky turns to the young person, a smile on her face. “You always do.”
Parcel always understood. Because Parcel put in the work.
There was a lot that Herbie didn’t understand. Parcel noticed him cower at the nice things Aunt Freaky said to him when he should have been accepting the praise. They heard him out on his worries about the lady having it out for him. That was another thing Parcel didn’t understand. Parcel really hated not understanding.
“Why is she so hard on me lately?”
Parcel’s nose was buried in a book yet again, but this time in the comfort of their own den bed and at age nineteen. Herbie had infiltrated their reading time, laying over top of their legs. Parcel didn’t mind as much as they used to. There was something about Herbie that they were really starting to love.
“She isn’t,” they say simply, trying not to lose their place.
“She is.”
“She isn’t.”
“She is.”
“She–” Parcel sighs, officially losing their place. They put the book down and look at Herbie. “I don’t wish to continue with this unintellectual back and forth.”
“I think that means I’ve won,” Herbie smirks. He stretches outwards like a cat, staring up at Parcel’s ceiling. He yawns, his facial expression settling back to its neutral state. “I’m not trying to be self-centered, if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s really hard on you, too.”
Parcel would rather he be self-centered.
“Maybe it’s because she found out where we’ve been going,” Herbie suggested much too casually. Parcel felt like they could be sick.
“She couldn’t have,” they say quickly. “She’s simply like this with everybody.”
“So you admit she’s hard on us.”
“Are you not listening to the words that come out of my mouth?”
Aunt Freaky wasn’t hard on them. She wasn’t hard on anyone. Herbie, among some others, just had a hard time understanding her tone recently. She cared a lot and Parcel could see that clearly. She pushed them to their fullest potential with only the best intentions. That was the hardest thing she’s ever done. The hardest thing any of the superiors in the heap have ever done.
Herbie sighs. “Sorry, Parcel.”
The History Heap was competitive. It grew more competitive as the years had gone by. With most people choosing the life of a researcher, there was always an understanding that everyone was involved in a not-so-friendly competition. It wasn’t personal, it was just the way it had to be.
It was all worth it, though, because Parcel was finally an official researcher in the end. Herbie, too. He worked under them as their assistant among the highly debated science books that Parcel had always dreamed they would work among.
“Some new books were discovered and retrieved from a bunker deep within the Eternal Dark,” Parcel explained to Herbie one day. “They’re under our jurisdiction, and I have been told they should be laid out for us in the east wing.”
They grabbed his hand without thinking about it too much and started to lead him through the catacombs that made up the History Heap. They start to walk a little quicker past the section of laser books, and Herbie almost trips over his own feet.
“Woah, Parcel– I doubt Void’s mad at you. You did what anyone else would have done.”
Parcel shakes their head, only slowing down once they’re out of sight from the laser book section. Their grip on Herbie’s hand was tight.
“You need to stop beating yourself up over this. It was survival, Parcel. And you didn’t know Void that well…”
They stop by a table with a disorganized pile of books and start to thumb through them. Herbie helped, of course, but didn’t stop with his endless lamenting about Void.
“You didn’t know they would get in trouble for losing that book in our section. You just knew that if the blame was on them, you wouldn’t.”
Parcel shoves a few books in Herbie’s arms and takes a few more to hold themself. They beckon Herbie their direction with their head as they start to walk to their little research nook.
“Fine, don’t talk,” Herbie sighs, walking behind Parcel. There wasn’t heat behind his voice, just resignation. “From what I heard, they didn’t get in too much trouble. It wasn’t a total destruction of knowledge case. We found the book in the end, didn’t we?”
Parcel nods, sitting at their desk and plopping the books down in front of them. Herbie does the same, on the opposite side of their desk. He parts the seas of their book stacks so he can look them in the eyes.
“You okay, Parcel?”
Parcel nods.
“You’d tell me if you weren’t?”
“Of course I would.”
They both pick a random book from the stack and start reading. The pair really was efficient for only being junior researchers. If only they had access to the full library of books that were in the History Heap. That would come in time, but there were moments where it would be preferable to have full access to all of the knowledge the heap had to offer.
“Ugh,” Herbie groaned, setting down his book. “This author cited a journal from the restricted section. I hate it when they do that.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I know it was in the restricted section. I took some notes on it before, but misplaced them…”
“We can go borrow it again,” Parcel suggests.
Herbie hesitates, bookmarking the page that had the citation. “We’ve been borrowing books from the restricted section without authorization too often, recently. What would this be, the third time this week? We’re going to get caught one of these days and it’s not going to be pretty.”
“Aunt Freaky trusts us. She won’t even suspect that we did anything.”
“Aunt Freaky trusts you,” Herbie corrects.
Parcel stands. “Then on the off chance you get caught, I promise I’ll get you out of it.”
It was almost inevitable to get into trouble in the History Heap. Parcel didn’t. Parcel was good. Or cautious. At the very least they were cautious. But they liked to think that they were good. They did what they felt was good.
They tried not to get worried when Aunt Freaky called them and Herbie to her den for an unspecified reason. She thought of them as somebody who was going to be a star researcher one day, it couldn’t possibly be for anything bad.
Herbie was shaking in his boots and Parcel knew why.
“You can come in now, I don’t see the point in waiting.”
Parcel didn’t either.
The three were sat at a table, Aunt Freaky in her own special chair to accommodate for her elongated limbs. She wasn’t smiling, but that didn’t mean much. Aunt Freaky seldom smiles these days.
“There’s been complaints from a group of our senior researchers that a pair of junior researchers have been snooping around restricted sections without the proper authorization.”
Parcel’s blood ran cold. They wanted to glance over to Herbie, but knew better. That would only make both of them look more suspicious than they probably already did.
“You two were never a thought on my mind when thinking of potential suspects,” Aunt Freaky continues. “There are so many junior researchers who just love to break the rules. But not you two.”
Herbie broke and looked at Parcel. They could feel his eyes on them, but they just kept looking forward.
“You could only imagine my surprise when one of your fellow researchers handed me this.”
Aunt Freaky set down a piece of parchment. Nothing about it looked unusual. It looked like an average note pad someone living in the History Heap may have. Someone in the History Heap who dots their ‘i’s with hearts.
“This is your handwriting. Is it not, Herbie?”
Herbie stared at Parcel with more conviction. They just kept looking forward.
“It’s…”
“Look at me when you’re talking to me, Herbie,” Aunt Freaky spits.
Herbie snaps to attention. “Yes… That’s my handwriting…” His posture and eye contact was strong, but his voice was small.
“You understand that the contents of these notes contain information you only would have had access to if you were in the restricted section.”
“Yes, ma’am…”
“Do you understand why we keep the restricted section restricted? Do you understand how fragile and one-of-a kind those books are?”
“Yes, ma’am…”
“And Parcel–”
Parcel finally shifted their gaze, mechanically looking to Aunt Freaky when their name was called out.
“You work very closely with Herbie. Did you know anything about this?”
“No ma’am.” Parcel affirms quickly, before Aunt Freaky could even finish her sentence.
“Very well.” Aunt Freaky stands, slowly walking to the door of her den, which was staggering in height to match her own. She opens it. “Parcel, you are free to go.”
Parcel could just throw up. They needed to be back in their den and they needed to be back in their den now. They liked to think of themselves as levelheaded and reasonable, but Aunt Freaky was getting to her nowadays. They used to be her number one defender alongside Muni and his cousin, but now they just weren’t sure.
Then there was the guilt. God, Parcel hated feeling guilty. Hated that living in the History Heap meant having to learn to be okay with feeling guilty all the time. They hated that they were incapable of standing up to the person they loved most in this cruel world.
They finally made it to their den and sat in their bed, back flush against their wall. They’d feel better once Herbie was back.
Hours later, they had Herbie in their arms. They didn’t feel better.
“I cannot believe she suspended me from researching for a week. What is that possibly supposed to be teaching me?”
Parcel was drawing circles on Herbie’s back as he laid in their arms. “I don’t know.”
“I’m so upset,” he whines. “Not at you… I understand what you did back there. You were under pressure. I’m moreso upset at, I don’t know, the world? And whoever gave that note to Aunt Freaky. Who could possibly gain anything for that? Like– I get it if they were saving their own ass, but the only ones who could have gotten in trouble because of that note were you and I. So it was either someone with nothing to gain, or... Wait… Parcel.” Herbie shifted so that he was sitting up on the bed like Parcel was, putting them on even ground. “It wasn’t you, was it?”
Unsurprisingly, Parcel was at a loss for words yet again.
“Parcel, I lost that notepad months ago. Did you have it for that long? Were you just waiting to rat me out? You have to tell me, Parcel.”
Parcel felt themself slamming into a brick wall. This was why they felt nauseous. This is why Herbie’s presence wasn’t doing anything to comfort them. This is why they hated the recent culture of the History Heap.
“You never lost it,” Parcel admits. “I took it from you.”
“Why…?”
Parcel sighed. There was no point extending this lie any further.
“I knew that if I was the one to put the blame on you, I would not get in trouble. I knew that if it was anyone else to accuse one of us– which was inevitable– that I would have taken the fall, too. I was being entirely selfish.”
“Taking my notepad was a failsafe…” Herbie reiterates more simply.
“Yes, Herbie.”
“That makes an awful lot of sense, now that I think about it.” Slowly but surely, Herbie lays back down, this time resting his head on Parcel’s chest. He could hear their heart beating a million miles an hour. “I forgive you.”
Parcel swallows as their arms wrap around Herbie once more. They didn’t remember saying they were sorry.