She was too grateful that he hadn’t questioned her to think of much else. “Okay,” Gaia said simply. “Have a good meeting.”
Chapter Six
She gasped as the television sprang to life. Apparently TVs were now entirely three-dimensional. She stared in awe as she flicked through the channels. It was amazing to watch everything as if it was happening with her right there—no headgear required. Her wonderment, however, was short lived.
“What the hell?” Gaia grumbled. She tried to find a program—literally any show—that wasn’t divinely oriented. Even the talk shows and game shows were religious in theme. “What is going on?” She clicked the remote, changing the channel.
The $100,000 Pyramid to Heaven.
Click.
Good Mormon America.
Click.
The Price is Right for Evangelicals.
Click.
Survivor: The Biblical Edition.
Click.
Catholic Crossword.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or both. “This is unfuckingbelievable.” What in hell was going on?
Gaia refused to watch any of the ludicrous TV shows, she wasn’t in the mood for virtual mass, and she highly suspected the news was something she should only watch in small doses. After all, the high-tech television consul alone was enough to suggest the doctors hadn’t exactly brought her up to speed very well on the world events she’d missed. Nearly every question she’d put to them throughout her hospitalization had garnered her the same response:we feel you should ask your husband. It’s a good way to re-bond with him.
Feeling as disoriented as Alice after the girl had tumbled down the rabbit hole, she turned off the TV. A knot of apprehension formed in her belly. There was something more than a little odd going on here. She stood up and began to pace.
United Christian America. A gold cross on top of the White House. Religious television programming on steroids…
This was crazy. All of it. She had fallen asleep in a secular world of diverse art, thought, people, and religion and awoke in a disturbingly monolithic society of professed if tacky Christianity. She recalled the sea of mostly white faces that had cheered for Ryan as their motorcade drove by. Why had there been so few people of color?
Gaia chewed on her lip—a nervous affectation she’d had since childhood. It’s not like she wasn’t accustomed to being one of the few faces of light caramel in the room, even within her own family. Her mother had been mixed race while her father was of Scottish origin, making Gaia only twenty-five percent black. Nevertheless, just as her mother had, she’d always identified as black. Her mom’s mom had seen to that.
She plopped down on the sofa and smiled as memories of her feisty grandmother—or herMadeaas black grandmas were called in the South—washed over and through her. God, how she missed that wonderful woman. “Chile,” she would say, “your little yellow butt best never forget who she comes from.”
Gaia never forgot. It wouldn’t have even occurred to her to try and pass as anything other than the entirety of who she was. Still, her grandmother had worried over the issue enough to bring it up every now and then. Her mom said it had been that way ever since she’d converted to Catholicism at Gaia’s father’s urging so they could be married in the Catholic church.
All things being equal, she rarely thought about race since her own family was so diverse. It wasn’t until situations such as the current one presented themselves that the issue seemed at all relevant. Now, as she thought about the lack of variety she’d seen inside and outside these walls, not to mention on the television…
Gaia frowned. It was creepy. It made no sense and it was downright disturbing to boot. She stood back up and paced some more. Walking past the fireplace, she stopped and did a doubletake. Backing up, she padded over to the mantel above the hearth and pulled down a framed photograph of Ryan and herself on what had presumably been their wedding day.
They both looked happy. Very happy. Ryan was quite dapper in his military uniform and Gaia was striking in a lacy, form-fitting, white wedding dress. Her hair, she noted, was cornrowed to the middle of her back. She stilled. In this photograph she resembled the woman in her earlier nightmare to a tee. Her heart began to race.
“Maybe I wasn’t dreaming during my nap,” she murmured to herself. “Maybe I was remembering.”
Was it possible? Could she have actually fought in the civil war that had led to the revolutionary one? Did the redheaded little boy truly exist? Goosebumps formed on her arms, but she set the question aside. It was, after all, mere conjecture that was hard to credit. The Gaia she remembered knew nothing about guns, ammo, and the like.
She ran a finger over the glass partition separating her from the photograph. Deciding she wanted to hold the filmy paper herself, she opened up the back of the frame and took the picture out. Her gaze raked over every inch of it, memorized it. She could discern from the background scenery that they’d married near to Christmas. She flipped the photograph over and examined the back. “Ryan and Gaia: December 1st” had been scrawled in blue ink.
Her nose wrinkled. How odd that whoever had written their names and the date on the back had neglected to add the year. She sighed. At least she now knew she had an anniversary approaching in less than a month. What she didn’t yet know was how many years they’d been wed. She decided to put the question to her husband as soon as he came back.
Returning the photograph to its frame, Gaia placed it back above the mantel. She wondered where her old photo albums were and supposed they were likely packed away in the house in Atlanta along with the rest of her old life. Absently running a hand through her hair, she turned around and glanced at the television again. She supposed she should watch a little bit of news if she hoped to jar her memory.
