The Evolution of Normal

Epilogue

Normal.

Do I even remember what that was like? I suppose I'm beginning to. The boy has taken to calling me Mother. I've started to think of him as my son. We live a simple life. That's normal isn't it?

Except for the fact we're both failed science experiments. That's not normal, not even a little bit. But as the days pass, those sorts of things become easier to forget. Taking care of the boy, providing for him, creating a home. That takes up my time, my energy. Helps me forget. But even still, it's all too easy to cast my mind back, to the time when a corrupt group of people drastically changed the entire world, and ruthlessly murdered everyone I cared about. I gingerly call forward the memories of those I loved, remembering the sweet, tender face of Rand, the intense, selfless face of Mona, the beautiful, eternally loving faces of my parents Theodor and Stella. All their voices echo through my skull, their bodies and movements make impressions behind my eyes. These the ones I truly loved, the ones that truly loved me. Dead, all of them. The sorrow will always remain, but the pain of it has faded, at least a little. I've come to terms with the irrevocable reality of it. Besides, I have the boy to take care of, and he's more than enough. More than I could ever deserve. Everyday he astounds me with his expressions, his acts of intense understanding and emotion, his deeply human connection with me. He truly is marvelous, in his own right. And yet his father only saw him as some new science project, a toy, a heartless means to an end.

But he's long dead, too, now isn't he? Along with the other two owners. AcriChem was successful in converting humanity to "the next evolutionary step," accomplishing everything they wanted to. But as soon as everyone found out about the great hoax, about all that AcriChem did, mankind brought the three of them before an international council that would decide their fate and appropriate punishment. It was unanimously decided across the globe that they be killed for their crimes against humanity. So, broadcast for the world to see, they were publicly executed for their actions. I didn't watch the broadcast, though. I can't remember what I was doing. Probably playing some silly game with the boy.

I remember when I first met him. I didn't think he was real, just a fever dream in the lava tubes of Mount Rainier. But the boy was real, I found out at the house on Lanz Island. And I remember when he offered to help me escape, how in that moment everything changed. I remember the awful electrical storm that enshrouded Lookout Mountain as we tried to escape, and I remember the limitless, blinding purple light that consumed me. I thought for sure I was dead, struck down by lightning. But somehow the boy managed to save me. Maybe he redirected some of the electricity away from me, absorbed the amperage, perhaps. I have absolutely no idea, but I woke up to his concerned face, his eyes, dark orbs of pure emotion. He saved me. And he continues to do so.

I still struggle with the ever lurking anger that poisons my soul. That's not normal, either. It's a battle every day, and that will never change. Still, our lives are calm. It's easier to control the anger when there's nothing to agitate it. The boy helps a lot. I'd like to think every day I get a little bit more like the old Chloe. And every day I adore her more and more.

"Mother?"

I shake myself from my heavy thoughts, looking over at the boy from my chair. "Yes, OHMEN?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I am. Just remembering, that's all."

"What is Mother remembering?"

"Things that best be forgotten, I'm sure." I smile sadly at him.

A crooked, sympathetic smile breaks across his face, his understanding, black orbs of eyes knowingly look into mine. "Let's go for a walk then. Fresh air always helps us."

"Yes, that's a good idea."

I stand and help the boy put on his coat, and then grab Miranda's, the one Rand so lovingly gave me. After all this time, though, it's more mine than hers. I pull the ever familiar coat over my shoulders, soft lining hugging my body. I feel the oily leather, finger the loops and toggles, the bullet holes. This coat saved my life once. It's been with me since the beginning. This coat is home. I will always be thankful for it, I will ever treasure it. I savor the moments of buttoning, bittersweet memories filling my head. I breathe deep, coat fastened to my body, exactly where it belongs. Yes, Chloe's coat.

"Ready, Mother?"

"Yes, ready."

We head outdoors and begin walking. A few of our neighbors are outside watering their lawns and we wave to them. The golden sunlight of early evening casts shadows on the concrete in front of us as we walk.

"Mother?"

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking—"

"Uh, oh."

He smiles, "You're funny, Mother. But I was thinking, and I've decided I no longer wish to be called OHMEN. It was only ever the name of my artificial spine, and it's silly anyways, don't you think?"

I smile, noting that he spoke those sentences perfectly, with not a single error in speech or grammar. I've been slowly teaching him how to talk properly, and he's made great progress. Ever faster we move closer to normal.

"It is, yes. But you will forever be an omen to me, because with you I know I have a future, whatever that may prove to be."

"Yes, Mother, you tell me this all the time. But I'm talking about my name, what we've been calling me."

"Yes, of course. So what would you like to be called?"

"I've been thinking about that a lot. I tried for a long time to remember what my parents actually named him—I mean named me—but I couldn't. So then I thought a long time about what I would like to be called."

"And did you come up with something?"

"Yes, Mother, I did."

I stare at him expectantly. "Well, out with it, insolent child! I'm dying to know!"

We laugh together, just like a couple of normal people, and stop at the corner.

He looks up at me with shiny, eager eyes, lopsided smile pasted to his face. "Mother, I'd like to be called Theodor."

I look at him in silence, unable to respond. I search his face, seeing the honesty, the love and compassion behind his choice. My chin trembles, and I begin to cry.

"Oh, Mother," he says, putting a hand on the small of my back. "It's terrible isn't it? I knew she would hate it. How bad I feel! Don't you worry, Mother, I'll come up with something else."

I wipe my eyes, kneeling down to his level. "No, silly boy," I say, sniffing, "I'm crying because of how wonderful that is, and how fortunate I am to have you. I love the name, really, I do. I think it's perfect, it suits you so well."

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?"

I smile, wiping the tears from my face. I adjust the collar on his jacket, put my hands on his cheeks. "Now how about we finish our walk?"

"Yes, Mother, I think that's a great idea."

I stand straight and he puts his little hand in mine, and it heals my insides. It's easy to forget everything that isn't normal in our lives because moments like this one, an evening walk holding my son's hand, are the most normal things in the world.