Heart-Shaped Locket

Shelters ceiling is grey and full of rivets, and cool to the touch. Mother told me of a world before Shelter. She told me of a sky. She said it wasn't hard. I would lie in my bunk at night and try to imagine an open sky, that at night, shown with lights of its own that didn't need a generator.

We have stars here in Shelter. They are glittery gold and used to decorate the walls for gatherings. But, unfortunately, they don't light up. When I was young, I would ask about the world before Shelter. About animals and grass and the sky. I saw some pictures of these things during instruction time.

The images were crinkled and worn the colors faded. I would imagine big cats and small mice, grass and wind, and oceans. Instead, we have plants here in Shelter beets, parsnips, radishes, potatoes with long stringy roots that burrow deep into their garden beds. The green rooms are my favorite: reds, browns, and greens. Surrounded in colors of the world before. To touch soil that I know is above and below us.

As an adult member of Shelter now. Everything is mapped out for everyone. My mother is a seamstress. I am an obvious choice for her to mentor. So, I smile like I am supposed to and take my place beside her.

"Everyone needs things, Mira," she would say. "Some projects will be more fun than others, you'll see." She whispered to me. I nod. Traytant was picked to be an apprentice for the grow room. He sat next to Rashad, reaching out and shaking his hand enthusiastically.

Our eyes meet across the room, his brown meeting my blue. He has enough sense to look guilty and offers me a weak smile. That I try my best to return. When the last of the members from our year are assigned. We sit for mealtime. It's been an abundant growing season.

Tonight there is excited chatter across the tables. Mother goes to talk to Commander Lewis. Who is seated at the head of our table, surrounded by his officers and his newest apprentice Reba.

" Is it any surprise really that he chose Reba?" Ferris says. I jump slightly, not having heard him take the seat next to me. I turn to him he gives me a sideways grin. "No, she's always been a bossy one," I say.

Pushing some potatoes around on my plate. "Right, she's always been an uptight nightmare," Ferris says.

I look up from my plate and glance at him. His hair is longer than before, falling into his eyes as he looks back at me. Dark black in contrast to the blue of his eyes. Reba is his match, but I see no warmth when he speaks of her.

"Excited about your metalworking apprenticeship?" I ask. He smiles; it stretches his face. His eyes shining with excitement. Our entire lives, Ferris has liked working with his hands, he was brilliant at making things, he always got into trouble for wasting resources and making things that had no use. I always thought they were interesting to look at. " Yes, Conrad is a nice guy. I am excited to see what I can learn from him." Ferris says.

"Shame you didn't get the grow room apprenticeship. I know it's what you really wanted, Mira." Ferris says gently, his eyes searching my face. His freckles dancing across his pale cheeks. I take a deep breath and look across the room to Traytant, laughing at something his mentor just said.

" Yes, but Traytant is a good choice, I think he will do well, and everyone has their place," I say, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. Ferris is still looking at me, but I cannot meet his gaze. He has a way of looking through me to the truth.

"Right, everything in order brings peace." Ferris says with a bit of a bitter edge. Ferris has never liked the rules, always skirted around them to the best of his ability.

" Peace means Shelter can survive, that we can all survive. That someday future generations can live in the world of before again." I say defensively.

Ferris laughs a deep rumble thing that shakes his chest. "Ah Mira, so good with reciting the rules," He says, leaning to whisper in my ear. " Somethings are better than peace, better than order, sweeter because they are fleeting and uncertain." Gooseflesh breaks out across my neck because of his warm breath on my skin. I shove him away, my hands coming into contact with his chest. He is warm and solid beneath my hands.

He laughs again and winks at me in triumph. I realize what he's made me do. We aren't supposed to touch. The hall around us has gone quiet. I look up and meet the eyes of my peers and the rest of the residents.

"Mira," Traytant says, his face twisted into a confused and agitated expression. It's the first time he has spoken my name since we have received our apprenticeships."Come here." he says firmly. I sneak a glance at Ferris who's wild smirk is gone. Replaced with a steely expression, his jaw ticks.

I get up quietly, my heart racing under my skin. Suddenly I feel too hot, and my limbs are wobbly as I rise from my seat and make my way over to him. When I do what he says, his posture relaxes, and a warm smile graces his face.

"Mira and I were matched earlier this year," Traytant says to Rashad a little louder than necessary. " We could not be happier with leadership's decision," he continues.

"Isn't that right, Mira?" He asks, giving me a pointed look.

"Yes, we are fortunate." I say mechanically. It's not that I dislike Traytant. In fact, he is kind and steadfast and a model resident of Shelter. He is everything anyone could hope for in a match. Slowly the tension from before is erased. Chatter begins again in the hall.

We will start sharing our own quarters tonight. My belongings already packed in a small bag. I spend the rest of the evening at Traytant's side. When it's time to leave, I turn to him and say, " I will collect my things and say goodnight to my mother; I will see you in a few minutes. " He nods and smiles gently.

Once out of the hall, I let the breath I didn't know I was holding escape me. Running a hand through my hair. I look at the metal beneath my feet. It is worn and discolored from so many footsteps.

I step into my old quarters, picking up my bag and slinging it on my shoulder. Mother is there with words of encouragement and a warm hug. I smile at her and hold on tightly when her arms are around me.

The new quarters are the same as my old ones with one big exception there aren't bunks in this room. There is one bed. Traytant is sitting on the left side of it when I enter.

He stands up awkwardly. "Welcome home, Mira."

When he touches me, my skin doesn't break into gooseflesh. My heart doesn't race. He is gentle. The experience is not a bad one. I know what to expect, been prepared to be matched and what it would mean.

When it is done, he kisses me gently and rolls over, and begins to sleep. I start up again at the closed sky of Shelter above me and wish again for stars.

The weeks pass as my apprenticeship begins. I learn to mend shirts and widen hems. I understand how to make clothes for little ones and how to quilt.

I prick my fingers a lot in the beginning. So that my fingertips are sore. Ferris seems to need the most mending of shirts. He tells me it is because he is a metal worker, and there are many sharp edges he has trouble avoiding.

One day he brings me his shirt, insisting it needs mending. "Ferris, there isn't even a rip anywhere." I say, exasperated. He gives me a knowing look as he points to an unusual flap on the shirt sleeve. It is then that I realize how close he is and that we are alone. His eyes lock on mine. He takes my hand in his calloused one.

"Here." He says, dragging my hand over the flap where I feel something solid underneath. He releases my hand and winks. Leaving me there hand firmly grasping his shirt sleeve. I take my thread rippers and open the flap. Something tiny and silver clinks onto my work table.

Ferris has given me a star. It is heavy in my palm. I stare at it, flipping it over in my hand. The most genuine smile I have ever had rips across my face, and I laugh.

At the mealtime in the hall, Traytant goes on about cross-pollination and how he regulates it to not overtax the mother plant. I nod and listen to him as I feel the star in my pocket. Ferris's eyes meet mine, and not for the first time I see how beautiful he is.

He brings me his shirts regularly after that, hidden with little treasures. A tiny flower, a cat, a tree, a pair of small glasses. Tiny forbidden treasures, all precious. Pieces of the world before, he's given me. I find myself looking forward to his visits.

One day as I am ripping open one of these pockets, I find a note instead.

"Boiler room, tonight midnight. F."

I quickly stuff the note into my pocket and try to steady my hammering heart. The hours pass so slow it is almost painful. Traytant won't sleep easily as if he knows on some instinctual level that I am about to break the rules.

I am jittery and uneasy as I wait patiently, schooling my features into neutrality and smiles.

When Traytant begins to snore, I slip out of our bed. I feel like I am flying down to the boiler room. By the time I have reached it, I realize that I've run there. Ferris is leaning against the wall. His skin is flushed from the steam in the room.

His smile is radiant. I swear this is what the sun looked like in the world before, personified.

"Hi!" I nearly shout at him. He pushes off the wall and closes the distance between us. Our eyes lock. I reach out and touch his chest. I feel his heart beating erratically under my palm. "I wasn't sure you would come." He says nearly a whisper as he rests his forehead against mine. The contact is electric. " I was." I reply.

Words no longer seem important as our lips meet and Shelter and rules all become hazy. The sky is open with tiny metal stars, and my world explodes with color.

We are a sweaty mess of tangled limbs when he sits up and reaches into his pants pocket. "I made this for you," Ferris says. He places a heart on a chain in my palm, pulling me back into his chest. "In the world before, they were called lockets, given to people they loved. They wore it around their neck to rest on their heart." he says into my hair.

I snuggle in closer to him after slipping the locket over my head. "Thank you." I say. Remembering his words from months before. This moment with him is dangerous. It is against order and sense. It is precious and fragile, and uncertain.

It is stars and wind and oceans. It is grass and music and lockets. It is an open sky.