2022-01-06 - Mori Shej, Perdita

Perdita sits in her living room, curled up in a corner of the oversize couch, looking down at an old cellphone that's clearly seen better days.

The screen is cracked in one corner, and the Hello Kitty phone case is scratched and chipped. It's not lost on her that Ravn's been carrying a similar case the entire time she's known him, either.

It was a hand-me-down from at least two siblings before she ever got it, and probably one of her parents before it got passed down to the kids. Daya, her older sister, had it before it fell to her. Thus the case. The fact that it was one of the few 'girly' things Perdita was allowed to own before her... emancipation... isn't lost on her, either. It's a link to her past that she hasn't been able to let go of, no matter how many times she's had to run. She's risked being captured just to keep this stupid hunk of glass, metal and plastic.

The phone has been charging, but not turned on, for several days, as Dita weighs the pros and the cons. She misses her family, but if she takes this step and they reject her again... it will reopen old wounds. She knows that.

But she also knows she needs to try. Almost a decade of running is more than enough, and she's finally got people around to help catch her, right?

She takes a deep breath and powers it on. Within a few seconds, the phone is booting up like it'd just been turned off overnight.

Dita unlocks the phone, opens her contacts, preparing to add a number to her new phone, when a voice mail notification arrives. Her surprise is plain when she notices that the phone still has service. There's no one around to fake for, and when no one else is around, Perdita can be herself.

Eight years, and it has service. A text arrives. Missed calls.

Then another voicemail. And another. The notifications continue to come, voice mail, text messages, emails, missed FaceTime notifications, Facebook messages.

Hesitantly, Perdita opens the phone app and begins listening to the messages. Voices she hasn't heard, hasn't let herself dream of hearing.

Soon, she's crying. Most of the calls are from her sister Dayana, with a few voice mails from her mother, Gaby, begging her to call... but every month since Dita ran, her brother Raph has called and left a voicemail, asking her to call, telling her about his important things in bursts, the baritone of his voice comforting. As she listens to them, one at a time, it becomes clear this was a way her brother coped with losing her.

To say Dita is overwhelmed is an understatement.

She sits, hugging her knees, for a long time, listening to each voicemail play. Tsinyorri, sensing something is up, finds her way over to Dita to drape across her feet. Most of the afternoon is spent this way. She had planned to get work done around the building. Had planned to have a big meal ready hours before Garrett's expected return time.

Dmitri called a few times. Dmi had a little girl less than a year after Dita ran away. She knew it through Dhvani, but to hear the excitement, the joy in Dmi's voice, underlaid with sadness for his littlest sibling not being there. Even Sarah and Reyna, her cousins, called.

And then the phone rings, actually rings, for the first time in years.

Her father’s picture is on the screen, a face she hasn't seen, except in her dreams and nightmares, since he threw her out onto the streets of Alexandria Bay. That face, which had told her she would always be his beloved baby boy, twisted in anger, calling her horrible names as she walked away, ignoring him and the boyfriend he'd caught her with.

Perdita, for the first time in all those years, answers.

There's silence on both ends for what seems like an eternity, but is only a few seconds.

His voice is older, heavier, but she'd know it anywhere.

"Alo, Leander? ... ashundo, Leander..." Hello, Leander? ... listen, Leander...

"Alo, Bàte... De akana mai anglal... me bushov, Perdita.” Hello, Daddy... Please from now on, my name is Perdita.

"... Alo, Perdita, sheyorri, Perdita." *Hello, Perdita, my darling daughter, Perdita.