Chapter 19 #2
“Nothing,” Banjo says, and I want to throttle him for not being honest with me. I can’t help him if he doesn’t tell me the truth. “I was just thinkin’ ‘bout how I ain’t ever goin’ to Vocarie. Or any of the other places y’all have been.”
My body tenses. I barely manage to hold back my wince as pain flares down my spine. I don’t regret what Banjo and I did together, but I’m definitely going to feel it tomorrow. Once again, I wish for a giant soaking tub.
“Why do you need to go back to Earth so badly?” I ask, attempting to keep my tone casual. Why wouldn’t it be casual? It’s not like I want to know for any particular reason besides making conversation. And then the absolute worst thought crosses my mind. “Is someone there waiting for you?”
“Mamaw and Viola, yeah,” Banjo says, sitting his bowl down on the coffee table.
I’m not sure if he’s full, or if the thought of returning to Earth made him lose his appetite.
It’s the latter, in my case, and I slide my own bowl onto the table beside his.
“The day before I got my letter tellin’ me I’d been drafted into the Human Relocation Program, I won this big national singin’ contest that came with a giant cash prize. ”
I blink at this new information. Banjo has money? If that’s the case, why didn’t he say so earlier when I picked him up on Hurcaria?
“You told me you couldn’t pay my fee.” And then, after some leading from Stells, had agreed to sleep with me in exchange for transport. I really hope that’s not the reason he’d done everything he’d done with me.
It’s not. I know it’s not. The thought is just my brain trying to sabotage…whatever this is between the two of us. Banjo isn’t really my friend, so I suppose that would make us acquaintances-with-benefits. It doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.
“That’s ‘cause I can’t.” Banjo runs a hand through his still damp hair, giving me a sheepish smile.
“I’ve always wanted to make it big as a singer.
It’s real hard to do, so I never really considered it actually happenin’.
I did the audition on a whim, you know? Didn’t think I’d ever make it to Hollywood, let alone the finale, and then I won.
I thought we were gonna be set for life. ”
Banjo sighs, head falling back against the couch.
He stares up at the ceiling for a moment before turning his head to look at me again.
“The prize was two hundred fifty thousand dollars. I know that ain’t much for someone like you, but it’s a lot for us.
I was gon’ get Mamaw set up in a new house, or at least fix up her double-wide.
Then I’d use the rest to send Viola off to college.
She’s so smart she’ll probably get some kind of fancy scholarship, but I hear that don’t cover everything.
She’ll still need to eat and stuff, and I don’t want her workin’ when she’s the only one of us that’s got any kind of future. ”
Banjo’s voice breaks a little when he talks about his family. It’s clear he misses them. I can’t imagine what that must feel like. I’ve never cared about anyone enough to miss them while I was away.
But I do know what it’s like to have nothing. To struggle every day to scrape by. I spent so much of my life trying to pull myself out of that hole that I can’t fault Banjo for trying to do the same. “So why didn’t they pay you the money, if you won?”
“‘Cause apparently I gotta release an album first. That’s what the contract says. Or at least, that’s what all those guys in suits said it says. I, uh, never read it myself.” Banjo turns to face me fully, his knee bumping against mine.
“That’s why I gotta get back. I only have a year to record the album if I’m gon’ get that money.
And I have to get the money, Tav. We don’t…
” He hesitates, as if he’s unsure how to word what he wants to say next.
“Well, as Mamaw says, we ain’t got much more than a pot to piss in most of the time.
We were scrapin’ by on her Social Security checks and what I made from stockin’ at the Piggly Wiggly. ”
“Who is 'Mamaw?’” I finally ask. The translator doesn’t seem to have any idea. Based on context, I’m assuming she’s some sort of parental figure.
Banjo blinks at me. “Oh, Mamaw is my granny.” When my expression is still blank, he goes on. “My grandmother? Y’all ain’t got them?”
“Oh, she’s the parent of one of your parents.” Now that he mentions it, I remember that tidbit of human culture. “And your parents? Where are they?”
Banjo bites his bottom lip, teeth digging into flesh that’s still a little swollen. I want to soothe the spot with my tongue. “They died when Viola and I were real little.”
Ah. That would explain why Banjo never spoke of them. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. Luckily, Banjo doesn’t seem upset by my prying.
“They were havin’ date night in the Cooter’s parkin’ lot—that’s a liquor store—when a big ol’ sinkhole opened up right under ‘em. Took the car and everythin’.”
I…have absolutely no idea what to say to that, so I go with the safest route. “That must have been quite difficult for you.”
“It was alright, I guess,” Banjo says with a shrug. “Mamaw was kinda mean at first ‘cause she had to give up her menthols so she could afford formula and diapers for Viola, but it ended up workin’ out okay in the end. At least she could make her own moonshine.”
He shakes his head as if to clear it. “That’s enough talkin’ about all that. It ain’t like I didn’t have a good childhood. Viola and I had plenty of fun. Heck, most of the time, we didn’t even know how poor we were. It wasn’t like anyone else had much more, you know?”
Apparently, Banjo and I had a much more similar upbringing than I could have ever imagined, barring one rather large difference.
Banjo had been taken care of by this Mamaw person.
Even if he hadn’t had much, he’d been loved, and that had been enough to grow him into the happy, sunshiney man he is today.
Me? Well, it certainly isn’t a surprise I grew up to be jaded. I can’t help but wonder how different I might have turned out if I’d had the same kind of support.
“What about you?” Banjo’s question brings me back to the conversation. “You ain’t got nobody on Vocarie to go back to?”
“No.” It’s both the easiest answer and the truth. Even if I could return to Vocarie, I wouldn’t. There’s nothing for me there except reminders of a past I’ve desperately been trying to escape.
Banjo’s smile fades a little. “No? You ain’t got nobody?” I nod, and he frowns in response. I don’t like it. It seems unnatural on his face. “No family?”
“No,” I say again. Banjo looks at me like he’s waiting for further explanation. Since I made him share about the tragic loss of his own parents, I suppose decency requires me to do the same.
This is why I always prefer to not talk to anyone about anything.
I sigh heavily before continuing. “Vocarie is…not like Earth. The populace is made up of two major species, the Daulkuns,” I motion to myself, “and the Aekzuks.” My nose wrinkles instinctively when I mention the Aekzuks.
Apparently that reaction is never going away, no matter how long I spend away from my former home.
“If you believe the legends, we were both once one celestial being who split themselves in half to have company or some similar nonsense, and that’s how the two species came to be. Two halves that are supposed to come together to create a whole.”
“That’s kinda beautiful,” Banjo says. The urge to roll my eyes is nearly overwhelming. The story is simply propaganda spread by the Aekzuks.
“Yes, well, the only reason I mention it is because Aekzuks and Daulkuns can’t reproduce with others of their kind,” I continue.
“There has to be one of each in order to create an offspring. But the problem is, not all the children are born Aekzuks. In fact, far more Daulkun children are born. It made Aekzuks rarer, and somehow, they’ve become more politically powerful.
They control the majority of cities and hold all important government positions.
Even though Daulkuns outnumber them, they’ve mistreated them for so long they no longer have the power to fight back. ”
Banjo tilts his head, considering everything I’ve told him so far. “That ain’t that different from Earth,” he admits. There’s not even a hint of a smile on his face now. “I guess things like that are universal.” I shrug. “So what’s all that got to do with you?”
“When Aekzuk couples wish to reproduce, they have to hire a Daulkun surrogate or donor to help conceive the child. Because of the lack of jobs for Daulkuns, especially stable jobs that pay well, it can be one of the few ways to make a living for some.”
I glance down at my lap, fiddling with the tie of my robe. I’ve never had to explain this to anyone before. On Vocarie, it’s commonplace, and outside of Vocarie, there’s never been anyone I wanted or needed to tell. I almost feel…shame? Why? It’s not like any of it was my fault.
I take a deep breath before plowing on. I’ve already started this story, so I might as well finish it.
“They pay to have a child, but really, they only want an Aekzuk child. If the baby is Daulkun, they’re typically sent to some kind of home for abandoned children.
” I glance up to meet Banjo’s gaze. He seems a little confused.
I wonder where I lost him. “That’s what happened to me. ”
I can see when it clicks for him. “Wait, so they just abandoned you as a baby ‘cause you weren’t one’a them Ack-zuhks?” The corner of my mouth twitches up as Banjo slaughters the pronunciation. I don’t bother to correct him, instead just nodding in response.
“Wow. That’s…” He snorts derisively. “Yeah, Vocarie and Earth both aren’t that great. No wonder you’re out here, flyin’ around and rescuin’ people.” There was no pity or sympathy in his eyes. Only admiration that I definitely didn’t deserve.
But oh, how I wanted to.