June 9, 2000
It always seems to come out of nowhere, even though Jules knows the time line. It's been two years and eleven months, though, and that is the longest she's ever gone without the flurry of packing and unpacking. She's hopeful that she will get to start high school with her friends, huddled together in a grove of German evergreens, sharing butter-rich pastries and bags of sweet Haribo before heading to class in the long brick and steel building full of the older kids she's admired from afar. She wants to stay a car's distance away from a busy city with quick yattering in accents and languages she doesn't understand. She wants the Christmas markets and day trips to France. Most of all, she wants to come home to a place that has a history and at least one comfortable blanket that isn't imbued with the smell of cardboard moving boxes.
When she gets home from school that day, her final day of middle school, she knows the time has come. It isn't just the stacks of boxes. Her parents, both of them, are home. She's so used to the quiet existence of a latchkey kid that hearing the deep mumbling of adults in the kitchen puts her on edge. As she places her backpack in its usual nook on the couch, she notes that the afghan her grandmother crocheted is already gone, packed away, categorized as non-essential. As she makes her way through the small home, her heart begins beating in her throat, terrified to face what is waiting for her.
As she crosses the threshold into the kitchen, she's ready to start crying. Her parents, who have always been the sort of people to go out to dinner rather than make it, have already packed half of the kitchen. They look over to her, beaming. The first few days of packing are usually the best for them. When the excitement of new opportunities wears off, the bickering will begin, but now, they are glowing.
"Julesie! Your daddy got his new assignment. We're going home! To Texas! Isn't that exciting?"
It is not at all exciting. She loves Germany and doesn't want to spend her entire summer preparing to leave it. If she were born to a different family who allowed the sort of outburst she would like to have, she might have thrown something. Screamed. Instead, she takes a measured look at her parents and shakes her head. She walks to where her mother is packing away dishes and takes them in her hands and wordlessly rewraps them so they will be better-protected from the transatlantic move. She will see them again in six months. As she does this, her parents watch her, glancing at each other curiously. Jules stays quiet until they begin to work again, assuming she's happy with the move. She is resigned, but not happy and she needs them to know that.
"I can't believe you're doing this to me again," she whispers to them finally.
February 25, 2003
Warning: mention of 9/11 and soldier deployment
“Please don't do this to us,” Jules whispers into the sleeve of her Austin High School Cheerleading hoodie as she looks around to the hundreds of people in the room with her. She doesn't know if she just wants to save her family from this or all of the other families as well. Around her is a sea of camouflage and the sound of people sniffling. She looks to her own mother, who is remarkably stoic amidst this chaos. She's been in long enough. She's done this before, even if it was more than a decade ago. Her father stands with them, his arms at his sides as he waits for some signal that it's time to leave.
Watching the towers come down on television was the first and only time in her life she'd ever seen her father cry. That, more than the horror on her television, had affected her deeply. Even in this moment when he is about to leave them for a great unknown, all she can see is that single tear on his cheek, long since wiped away. She's known this day had to be coming for the last year and a half. Life near the military base had fallen into a specific shadow as soldiers waited for orders that were absolutely coming. At school, people are suddenly making plans for after. After school, after graduation, after Dad's gone. Jules can't bring herself to join them. All she wants is right now. For the moments before her father‘s convoy leaves to stretch on forever so she never actually has to say goodbye. A lifetime of her parents never being home and the thought of him leaving and never coming back overwhelms her.
She rubs her face with her sleeves to massage away the urge to cry as her father turns to her, the nearly imperceptible look of disapproval shaking her into her own stoicism. Her dad is in charge of these soldiers and they have appearances to maintain even now. He reaches out to her and puts his hands on each of her shoulders before moving them to cup her face. She presses her lips together in a thin line, trying to convey everything she's wanted but failed to say to him over the last year and a half. He smiles at her and she thinks he looks handsome in his black beret. The moment ends when he leans to Jules' mother and kisses her forehead. She's glad that he does that, that they can still do that even if the world has opened up and swallowed everyone down.
She hates this war in ways she can't express. She hates everything about it, but in the moment that her father turns away from her, she hates it mostly for the vacuum it creates. Her breath is gone when her mother puts her arm around Jules' shoulder and squeezes her close. Jules watches the room break into a flurry of action before falling into line. Regimented rows of soldiers and regimented rows of families.
Jules watches a single tear trail down her mother's cheek, caught by her knuckle at her jaw. Jules wishes she could cry, but she doesn't.
December 4, 2018
All she wants is for him to stop crying. She wants him to understand why she does this. Why she is always working. That she has to work or she will lose her mind. That she needs to do familiar, measured tasks to stop her mind from sabotaging her. That all she wants is to forget that there is a stranger living in her head and that her back is covered in the last vestiges of bruises that she cannot explain. Jeremiah, however patient and adventurous as he usually is, does not understand this. He has no basis of understanding, and she is trying to remember that as she unbuckles his car seat in front of the day care.
She knows that this was a bad decision. She'd known it when she signed up for the extra hours. The day would come when she would be called in to work when she'd already made plans and it was Jeremiah who would pay the price. Jules hates herself for promising a trip to the aquarium. If he couldn't be excited for something, then he couldn't be disappointed when he didn't get it. She wishes she could be the kind of person who could take any day she wants away from work. She wishes that not only for herself, but for Jeremiah. He deserves that.
Rubbing her face, she hefts the wailing child from his seat and places him down next to the car, kneeling down to face him. His poor face is streaked with tears and his blond hair is mussed in his desperation to stay with her, and it breaks her heart.
"Mumma, please. Go home. Let's go home now." He grabs her hands and squeezes her fingers, making Jules' lungs fill with lead. She takes in a deep breath and nearly wavers. She wants to live in the world where they are still at home, happily eating frozen waffles and cuddling on the couch. But she doesn't live in that world.
"Baby, Mumma has to go to work. She has to help the sick kids get better." Jeremiah wails again because, today at least, he doesn't care about the sick kids. He cares about his mother who promised a day together and is reneging on that promise. He lets go of her fingers and covers his face with both hands, sobbing.
"No, you lied! You said!" It's this that breaks her. All she wants is to be a good mother, the kind of mother who never disappoints her child, but he knows now that sometimes adults lie. And she did that to him. Jules scoops Jeremiah into her arms and he buries his wet face in her neck and she presses her wet cheek to his hair. She won't stay home from work, but she can take a few extra minutes for him. It's absolutely the least she can do for him.
"I'm sorry, Jeremiah. I'm so sorry."
December 16, 2018
I'm sorry. The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere, startling Jules so much that she splashes a bit of champagne down her front. Reaching for the nearest napkin, she blots away the alcohol, staring wildly around her. The voice is unfamiliar and jarring, reverberating in her mind. For a moment, she thinks that someone is playing with the microphones on the stage.
I need to. It's so loud, so intrusive. It takes a full fifteen seconds for Jules to realize who it is that's speaking to her. It's been nearly a month since she woke up in her own apartment, covered in bruises and unable to account for an entire week of her life. An entire week of her son's life. She's learned so much in that time, but she's not ready to let herself go again. She hates the thought of it. Hates the truth of it so much.
Standing, Jules places her drink on the table and makes a beeline for the bathroom, making sure no one is following her. Her eyes scan the room as she walks, looking for Parker. For Cara. She sees Parker in the corner with Nora and she puts a hand to her head. No. Not now. There is something in her muscles, some tingling that she can't place and her head is threatening to split open. She makes it to the bathroom in time for a wave of pain that makes her vision go white.
Stop fighting, Jules. I promise it'll be okay.
"No." Her teeth are clenched tight, the light reflecting sharply against every corner of the room. If she gives in, she can't control what happens next. She can't make sure her life does not fall apart around her. If she gives in, there is no keeping her son safe. Her self safe.
"Please." Jules moves away from the mirror and slides down the wall, her head in her hands. She's had such a good night. She's never felt so much like a person in charge of their own life, and she doesn't want it to end, but Jessica persists and Jessica is strong.
Jules, please. I need to find him.
Julianne Draper does not want to lose a week of her life, but she knows what this means. She knows that there must be some ending to this, and she would like to see that ending. For a moment, she wavers, and that is all Jessica needs. Jules's chin drops to her chest and Jessica's raises high.
Holding her hands in front of her face, Jessica assesses what she is wearing and where she is. She's witnessed parts of this night as she fought Jules for dominance, and she hasn't liked much of what she's seen. There are too many people and she is too weak… But she isn't tired. Her joints don't ache. Her muscles aren't quivering with the effort of living.
Curious, Jessica focuses on her fingertips as a tiny green spark catches each fingertip individually. She feels… nothing. A month ago, this was agony. The electricity in her system was unnervingly strong. And now it felt like power. Standing, Jessica kicks off her heels and stares appraisingly at the bathroom wall before taking her first step upward, face lit up in a thrilled and mischievous grin.
Then, there is a click as the bathroom door opens.