Chapter Thirty-Seven: Letting Go
"Holding onto things that vanished into the air, left me in pieces, but now I'm rising from the ashes." David Cook: The Time Of My Life.
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The idea of presentism has caused controversy for centuries. The belief states that only what happens in the present is reality. The thought of that the past and future does not truly exist is enough to give most people a headache. The past is only a memory, a figment of history that has ceased to be real today. To any living human, what occurred hundreds of years before our lifetime or just yesterday becomes a little idea in our minds, but ceases to exist as it is concluded. What was real is not real in the present. The future is one huge guess that is technically not existent. The future is what we dream of and plan for, but it is only a notion of our minds. One may sit and daydream about being president just as one may think about tomorrow, does that make it legitimate? No, we are left to imagine those ideas the same way a young child may imagine they are a princess or an astronaut.
What do I believe concerning presentism? I think who cares? The past, the present, the future, they all are so intertwined it does not matter what we label it. The past shapes the present. Because of what we accomplished or did not accomplish yesterday influences where we stand today. Then that continues; what we learn or do today decides what will happen tomorrow. It is all part of one's life to that we cannot put an exact name on it. Our job is to try to balance the past, the present, and the future for they are all one in the same.
Tony Stark, my father, landing in my backyard in Oakley two years ago was the catalyst in an explosive chain reaction. It would be senseless of me to say that has not affected me on a day-to-day basis. I would never have even thought of becoming Iron Defender if I was not so rapidly shoved into the Battle of Berlin. In a period of a month I went from an ordinary teenage girl to waging in a war against aliens. I suddenly found myself in the bigger picture of the fate of the universe. I go from an innocent girl who the most violence I had seen was a bloodless high school fight to killing foreign creatures and losing my left leg. I was a college student who became a government secret agent in the blink of an eye. I was forced out of the lower story and directly into the upper. How could anyone argue that such occasions are not worthy of being called the currently reality?
I endured the turmoil of my best friend and boyfriend being kidnapped and presumed dead. I faced death with a brute of a woman ripping my back to where I laid in a pool of my own blood. I endured a painful first few steps into nearly becoming a terrorist group's ultimate weapon. I am thrown way outside of my comfort zone on a mission that leaves me without the security of my family for over a year. The two people who I loved the most were suddenly and pugnaciously torn permanently from my life. My mind was taken from me and controlled to attempt to injure those I care most about. I find myself in the perilous void of outer space to fight an unknown enemy. I do not believe those occurrences are unfit to call reality.
However, all of that is over. I am not naïve enough to deny this. The actual events have ceased to be current and we have proof of such. Memorials have been erected in honor of those who died in Berlin, Detroit, and Paris. Gravestones mark the burial grounds of friends and family who lost their lives. Scars serve as a reminder on those who were lucky enough to fight through the circumstances that they faced. Both the living and the dead serve as examples that such devastation had transpired but yet it is over. As hard as it is to accept this fact, we must move past such tragedies. Sometimes, that is the hardest part. Having to let go of what was and having to grasp the what is stands as one of the most painful transitions a person has to go through. But it must be done in order to move on and free ourselves.
Waves crash against the rocks under me. Seagulls cry as they fly close to the ocean. The salty pacific breeze meets my skin; the tips of my hair flutter behind me. The grey sky is sunless due to the layer of clouds packed together above. My fingers mindlessly trace over two decorated jars that rest in my lap. I subconsciously kick my heels back against the course rock from where I sit on the edge of the cliff. The early morning, late spring, California weather is warm enough where my light jacket and shorts keep me warm enough.
It has been two weeks since the battle in space. It has been two weeks since the tornado of events that remain as a blur in my memory. Those two weeks have been a mixture of various effects caused by the war. I have begun training Alex in Reinforcer. His training is minimal since I have been mostly out of order. Training has consisted of enabling Alex to use the suit efficiently. Like he said, he knew the basic idea of how the suit functioned but not all of its little tricks. Seeing Alex in his suit eliminated some worries and created new anxieties. In the end, I have no doubt that Alex will not become a strong partner.
Everyone is back at the Avengers tower and is dealing with their aftermath their own way. For some, these days have been spent mourning for the loss of Tripp. Antoine Triplett's funeral was the day after we returned back to Earth. The funeral service was short, but personal. Flowers from all of the individuals Tripp was able to touch in his short life decorated the stage. Director Coulson gave a eulogy on behalf on their team. It was the most heartfelt speech that I have ever heard Phil speak. I could recognize the words from each of the group written into the homage.
The women of Coulson's team were very teary eyed. Fitz was there to comfort Simmons and a new man whom I have never met before, Lincoln, was there for Skye. It broke my heart to see Mrs. Triplett, his mother, crying throughout the entire service. A couple other men and women sat with her, childhood friends of his, and they too had a steady stream of tears down their faces. If I was not so drained, their sadness would have undoubtedly brought tears to my eyes.
The day after the mission, I slept the entire day as many agents did. The team still aboard the shuttle did not touch down on Earth until around four in the morning. Alex gratefully flew me back to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters where I was relieved to be able to take off a damaged Magnetar. I did not stay at the office long for there was little report to actually file on my part. I was free to go home after being assessed by a doctor and believe me when I say I slept from five that morning to five the next morning. According to Alex, I did not even make it to my bed. I passed out on the couch in the living room. Finishing a war to such a degree in space manages to take everything you have to give and then some. I vaguely remembered waking up to use the bathroom but other than that, I was out like a light. With me asleep as dead weight, apparently Tony had to move me to my bed. I should have weighed less actually; my hollow Emergency Ring leg weights considerably less than my regular bionic prosthetic.
Even with access to new legs, I had to wait another week and a half before I could reattach the new prosthetic. Due to my torn base I was required to keep my stump bandaged with no extra weight until it healed. I was forced to use crutches until that time came. I was thankful to have my advanced leg back instead of the hollow one. Tony was not joking when he said he had multiple backup limbs for me. The morning before the funeral, my dad showed me to a storage closet that was full of black metal legs. It did not take Tony long to build a new arm for Bucky. Before a week passed, Bucky was sporting a new, shiny, metal arm. My dad listened to Bucky's wishes for an upgrade; his new arm is now similar in style to mine but still metallic silver. Also, now in place of the red Soviet star a red, white, and blue Avengers 'A' is embellished on Bucky's shoulder. I was allowed to see the artwork up close and I easily recognized the uniqueness of the hand-brushed strokes do not match Jarvis's precision. I remember how Steve kept finding his way down to the lab occasionally during the duration while Bucky's arm was under construction. I overheard Natasha questioning Steve about the new emblem, but he refused to comment. Clint has yet to receive his miniature arc reactor-powered hearing aids, however. Those should become usable within the next month.
Being home was peculiarly discomforting for the first few nights. Making the transition back to normal life felt wrong after such an ordeal. I mean something as simple as playing with Mojo and Bo began to freak me out. The familiarity of meeting Bucky back in the theatre in the middle of the night and training with Natasha in the gym reminded me of a time before the loss of my grandparents it just did not feel acceptable. After a few nights of uneasiness and restlessness it became clear to me what I needed to do.
Tony dropped me off here on the cliffs of Pismo beach almost an hour ago. He let me know that he would give me time alone before he came back in an hour. It feels comforting to be back in California again and even more so at a place with so many childhood memories.
Pismo beach was my grandparents' favorite beach in the entire world. As the legend goes, my grandfather first met my grandmother here. He was working a summer job for the family florist business as a beach vendor selling flowers when my grandma walked by with a group of her friends. He gave her a beautiful daisy and asked her on a date; the rest is history. They took me to this beach multiple times as a little girl. Here I would be in my favorite princess swimsuit chasing the waves with my grandpa and collecting shells with my grandma. I even remember one time my mom came with us on a day vacation. She paraded me around on her shoulders and into the salty water of the ocean. She bought me ice cream and a stuffed dolphin from the boardwalk. I doubt my mom remembers this day that I speak of, but I consider it one of the happiest days of my life. I smile fondly yet sadly on these memories as that is all they are now.
Memories are a deception, so I've taught myself. If you allow yourself to fall in the trap of nostalgia you only hinder yourself. Longing for a figment of a memory of something or someone that you cannot ever have again will poison your mind with unhappiness, where the antidote is nonexistent. You have to train yourself to keep such thoughts at bay. To allow mixed feelings of saudade to cloud your mind will not permit your life to move forward. Where are you going if you're not moving forward?
This is something I have personally struggled with. Because I was so latched onto my grandparents I never gave myself a chance to fully accept Tony and my mom as my family unit. I kept putting them as second place which was unfair to them. Granted, Tony probably enjoyed being only second at the beginning since that required less work on his part. But now my dad has become more than what he started out as two years ago. What Natasha told me the morning after my grandparents' death, that it was God's plan for them to be my caretakers until it was time for someone else to take over the job, has opened my eyes to my ultimate fault. It's a fault created by S.H.I.E.L.D. in all good intentions, but one that must be managed carefully for it can spiral into a negative quality.
I timorously must say that I mishandled the ability to control my emotions. I withheld my feelings from those who were undeserving of such treatment. I displaced my mom and Tony to a lesser role in my life and exalted those who were no longer germane. I hurt Alex by closing myself off to him. I made him feel as if he was not important enough to me by this and that is entirely false.
It was only but a few days ago when I finally opened up to Alex about my exposure to such cruelty in Australia. I restrained nothing of the story from him. I began with my reaction to first discovering that he was safe but unlikely to make it through the night. I told him every thought that went through my mind when I first faced the notion that my dad was going to be killed right in front of me. I informed him of the excruciating process I was put through to be reinforced with unbreakable bones. I recounted every gory detail that haunts my dreams at night of Supergiant lashing a bedraggled leather strip studded with metal shards through my back. I describe to him what the experience of one's own blood streaming down their sore body and pooling around their body as their hands and knees shake from the searing pain ripping through my body. I told Alex what it was like to be helpless as terrifying aliens interrogate you and you can do nothing to prevent spilling every secret they ask.
Alex listened without a peep as he finally heard my entire ordeal. I managed to get through the entire story without losing a tear. Once or twice my eyes became moist with tears, but never did one fall down my cheek. I was afraid that my lack of vulnerable emotion would raise flags with Alex; I could not have been more grateful when he did not question it. I felt wonderful after the few hours we spent together. A huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders as I no longer hold my nightmare from him. Now with the long overdue explanation to Alex dealt with, I now only have one last tribulation on my plate.
The cool breeze temporarily dies down as I feel for the lids of the thick ceramic jars. My fingers shake as I unscrew the lid to the first urn. I slowly turn the opening down off of the cliff towards the water. I softly shake it so that the soft ashes tumble out. I take a deep breath as I watch the ashes of my grandfather flutter down towards the rocky ocean bottom. Once the container is empty, I watch the last of the grey grain touch down in the water. All the babbles of nature around me become muted as I take my grandmother's urn and unscrew its top. I briefly kiss the jar before pouring its contents down to the ocean. I gaze down as the ashes of my grandma drift down towards my grandpa's in the salty swirl of the Pacific Ocean.
So why am I speaking of all of this? Because I have finally grasped that memories are not my reality. I will not wake up tomorrow stressed over the terror I faced aboard the Black Order's mothership in space. It is critical that I allow those experiences to shape me and then let go and accept that what is done is done. I need to delight in what I have now and who I have now become.
I hear a car crunching on the gravel road behind me. I turn around to see Tony is his sports car coming to a stop where the road ends. There is no need for him to roll down the window as the convertible top of the car is pulled on, "Mon, are you ready? The court closes in an hour and if you want to change your name today I suggest we get going."
I nod in response, "Yeah, I'm ready."
"Do you need to change or anything?" Tony motions to my metal leg on full show since I'm wearing shorts.
"No, I'm fine," I no longer feel shame in showing my missing limb anymore.
I pick up the two emptied urns and cannot help but feel a sense of calmness. I have accepted my grandparents' death and made a peace with that. Their deaths have forced me to leave my old life behind and receive who I am now. Today Tony is taking me to change my last name. I am no longer the Monica Potts who was a stainless girl living in California; I have to accept that that is not who I am. I have faced death, I have inflicted death, and I have been emotionally damaged by death. I have become a new, stronger, changed woman and I must embrace that. I am Monica Stark and this is my future, whether it is reality or not.
I took all chances that came my way. When a new opportunity arose, I did not dip my toe in to test the waters, I cannon-balled right in. The fear of regret drove me to utilize every moment. Such decisions lead me to having to make difficult choices. I replaced my father's head at the guillotine and put myself right up on the chopping block. All this turmoil of the past two years lead me to consent to the fact that I was chosen for this. A path has been set before me. Death and danger lurk on every twist and turn but it is what I have been chosen to do.
I am chosen to be Iron Defender.
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And that's a wrap! The trilogy is completed and wow. Almost a year and a half of hard work is now done. I'll be updating an acknowledgments post- don't groan- here in the next few days and yes, I will be a little emotional.
Dedication to @alltimealyxx <3
Love you guys!
x SJ