Today is Thanksgiving. Not the November holiday, but instead, another kind of Thanksgiving that is native to my new home: the Oasis. The Oasis is a secluded island and US territory off the coast of Florida. It houses a society that boasts all-organic produce, green energy, a gun-free environment, and a low crime rate. Well, the crime rate used to be low; for the past couple of months, it’s randomly skyrocketed: home invasions, bank heists, sexual assault...the list goes on.

It has definitely proven to be a burden for me. My parents shortened my curfew out of anxiety for my safety. I don’t blame them; almost losing your child once makes you want to keep them safe from all other threats to their well-being, big or small. Not to sound morbid, but if my parents could lock me up in a cage and keep me there for the rest of my life, they would...out of love, of course! I remember the day they filed a Notice of Intent to Homeschool to the HSLDA just a year ago. It was before they had made up their minds to move us to the Oasis, and they were just as adamant about not letting me walk through the double doors of another high school as our state’s governor was about not changing the gun laws. His obstinate attitude wasn’t surprising to me; he never showed up to the town hall, either.

“I’m sorry, Andrea,” my father had told me, as if it were his fault. “Sometimes the wrong people rise to power, and they end up putting their own wants and needs above the public welfare when it should be the other way around.”

On this day, April 20th of 2019, we celebrate the birth of the Oasis in 1999, and give thanks to Governor Jude and his advisory councils in the districts across the Oasis for the creation of our peaceful society. My father is apart of my district’s council, so it’s practically mandatory that we all appear at the Thanksgiving parade to stand alongside the other representatives and Governor Jude. Not to mention, my friend, Ally, and I are participating in the parade, as well.

I used to go to school with Ally back in Florida, but we were far from friends. She was one of the popular girls, who every other girl (myself included) despised but secretly aspired to be. She and her platinum blonde tresses would turn heads in every hallway she walked through, and I hated it. Looking back on the situation, it was pretty laughable, considering how my hatred for her was only based on my own insecurities. Also, she was my next-door neighbor, and our parents were great friends, so it was a little problematic to hate her.

She was one of the many students from our old high school that moved to the Oasis for a better life after our school’s shooting. She’d lost her best friend during the whole situation, so it was only logical that her parents wanted to move her to the Oasis to help her get away from it all.

The day it happened, our parents talked for hours, and I had the opportunity to speak with her alone in her room. She didn’t say much because she was still in shock, but I guess just being there with her helped calm her down. Neither of our social statuses mattered at that point. It didn’t matter that her hair was long, flowy, or gracefully cascaded to her waist. It didn’t matter that I wore glasses so big and nerdy that I looked like a female Steve Urkel. After the incident, we were just shattered survivors of a tragedy, helping one another pick up the scattered pieces of our what our lives used to be.

The next evening, my parents invited them over for dinner. It was then that Ally’s parents suggested that we all move to the Oasis.

That brings us back here to the present day Oasis. Warm sunlight grazes my sparkling auburn skin as I step out of the car. Ally climbs out behind me. She caught a ride with my family to the parade, since her parents would be coming later on. In preparation of the parade, we are both sporting the Oasis’ colors: red, green, and blue, and we're both carrying tiny Oasian flags. My mom and dad step out of the car in their formal attire. As Thanksgiving Day tradition, my dad is to stand with the other Oasian representatives and the governor during the parade.

My dad is one of Governor Jude’s closest friends. When we first moved here, my father loved the Oasis and all that it stood for. His intense passion inspired him to he started running for the position of one our district’s advisory council members, so he could feel like he was taking more part in the serene environment of the Oasis. While he was running, he made it clear that our family moved here because the peaceful island helped me feel safe from “dangerous public high schools” and “loose gun laws” of the mainland US, and that he wanted to uphold the peacekeeping policies of the Oasis. Governor Jude heard about this and wanted to speak with my father right away. When they first met, they hit it off right way; our family got free access to the Oasis Centre (the governor’s main office and home, like the White House), and Jude helped my father get win the election.

“If you kids need us, we’ll be at the Oasis Centre,” Mom informs Ally and me.

“Have fun!” Dad chimes in.

“We will! See you later."

Ally and I wave to them and start making our way to the local theatre to further prepare for the parade.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Ally says as we walk. Her ocean blue eyes trace the pavement as her head hangs low. I raise a brow in question.

“What ‘doesn’t feel right’?” I inquire.

“Remember when my family and I were so eager to move here, and we talked you guys into doing it, too?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Well, I haven’t told my mom and dad, yet, but I feel like I should be back in Florida, protesting and fighting for justice with all the other kids we used to go to school with,” she begins. She bites her lip, swallowing the guilt that threatens to burst out of her mouth all at once. I have no idea how to respond. Go back to Florida??? I’m completely done with the States.

“If our president and representatives won’t put in any effort to change the laws to protect us, what’s the point in fighting?” It comes out more aggressively than I intend. Upon seeing her wipe away a tear that is trickling down her cheek, her contagious guilt infects me. “I’m sorry!” my voice is more gentle and sincere this time as I place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that, but I just don’t see any point in protesting.”

“It’s better than nothing, Andrea!” she reasons with me. “I can’t sit back and relax here, while more schools are being shot up and innocent lives are being lost all across the nation. And who knows, maybe all the protesting will make a difference some day?” The tinted double doors of the theatre grow nearer. Ally sniffles and straightens herself out. There’s not a hint of sorrow or guilt left on her face. “I don’t care how long it takes,” she says, a stern bass in her tone, now. “I’m going to make sure my voice is heard, no matter what. I’m going to make a change and save lives.”

She opens the door, greets the other parade participants with a warm smile, and that’s the end of the discussion.

Inside the theatre, everybody is getting ready. Ally, some other girls, and I touch up our makeup. Then, Ally and I grab our Oasian flags and journey to the Oasis Centre to wait for Governor Jude to give a speech before the parade starts. He stands at a podium outside the front entrance of the Centre. Behind him, my father stands with all of the other representatives from across the Oasis.

There are chairs neatly placed in several rows across the freshly cut front lawn. A crowd of formally dressed citizens (my mother included) occupy the seats, patiently waiting for the governor to begin. I join a bigger crowd of casually dressed citizens and my fellow parade participants. We all stand right outside of the Centre’s front property that’s guarded by Jude’s personal security. Ally is, once again, by my side as we observe the governor.

He clears his throat and raises the mic just enough so that it can pick up his voice:

“My honorable fellow Oasians,” he begins, adjusting his spectacles on the tip of his nose, “I would just like to thank you all for joining us here today to celebrate a day of gratitude.

“We are a diverse people, who come from all walks of life. Some of you were born here, some of you immigrated here from the mainland US or across the world, some of you have seen heart-wrenching tragedies in your homelands that inspired your immigration here.

“But what we all have in common is our desire for a more serene, happy society. Today, we give thanks to our bold leaders” —he turns slightly to acknowledge the council members— “and the families here, who have battled multiple adversities and worked so hard to come together to upkeep this great island!

“We have accomplished so much here: using renewable resources as our primary source of power, growing healthy food, and creating stricter gun laws so that our children may walk these streets and get an education without the anxiety of being ambushed by any crazy gunmen.” I feel Ally’s fingers intertwine with mine as she grasps my hand; Jude’s speech has moved her.

When the speech is over, ten minutes remain before the parade begins. Ally and I have to go to bathroom, so we head inside the Centre; the security immediately recognizes me and allows us inside with little to no hesitation. We go to the third floor of the Centre where some of the representatives are conversing with each other. My parents are talking and laughing with the governor himself.

“I’ll never get used to this place,” Ally says, in awe of the divine setting. We stand out in our outfits the moment we arrive on the third floor. Governor Jude spots us and calls us over to say ‘hello’. His wife, Martha, is usually by his side, but she’s nowhere in sight at the moment.

“Andrea, how are you, love?” Jude greets me with a firm handshake, as usual.

“I’m doing well, thank you, sir. Your speech was top-notch, as always,” I comment with a polite grin. The laugh lines ingrained in his cheeks deepen as he chuckles and thanks me for the compliment.

After I make small talk with the governor, I lead Ally further down the hall and around the corner to find the bathroom. Typically, she’s curious about the establishment, from the articulate decòr to the various rooms lining the hallway. I stop in front of the public restroom, but she’s still exploring and has halted at the door of the governor’s private restroom. I attempt to beckon her over to me, but she remains where she is and presses her ear up to the door. I wander over to investigate and mimic her actions.

My heart drops as a dreadful sobbing echoes from the other side of the door. I theorize that it’s Mrs. Jude; the voice is familiar, but I’ve never heard or seen her cry before.

Ally raises her brows with uneasiness and mouths a question to me about who’s behind the door. I purse my lips, not knowing how to respond. I hesitantly knock on the door.

“Mrs. Jude?” I call to her in a velvety voice. Ally only grows more panicked.

“That’s the governor’s wife?!” Ally whispers to me.

“I think so,” I answer.

“Andrea, is that you?” Martha inquires. Her voice is nasally.

“Yes, ma’am. Is everything alright?” I ask.

“Everything is fine, dear. Thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

Her heels click-clack against the tile flooring in the bathroom as she approaches the door and opens it just a little. She’s taken aback by the sight of Ally, and I’m taken aback by the sight of the governor’s wife with glassy eyes. To see such an influential person in such a sad state leaves me with a pang of despair...fear, even.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Martha says to Ally. She puts on a melancholy version of her photogenic smile. Martha then directs her baby blue eyes to me and the smile fades. “Come inside, Andrea,” she orders. Before I obey, I turn to Ally.

“I’ll meet you at the parade,” I tell her. The platinum blonde nods and heads back down the hall.

Inside the bathroom, Martha leans against the marble counter where the sink is.

“Please, don’t tell anyone you saw me like this,” she pleads. “I don’t want them to think anything has gone wrong.”

“I won’t.” I nod with understanding. “But could you please…” I hesitate to ask, “tell me what’s wrong?”

She pauses and stares directly into my eyes. I can’t determine if the stare is of pity or if she’s contemplating something. I look away; it's making me apprehensive. She looks down and pushes herself off of the counter. She grabs me by the shoulders. The stare only grows deeper and more intimidating. I'm forced to look into her potent eyes.

“I didn’t want you to know because of all that you’ve been through, but you have the God-given right to know for the exact same reason,” she says, her voice firm. “I assume you’ve noticed the increased crime rate around here, lately?”

“Yes.” I nod again. She swallows and begins:

“Several months ago, another mass shooting happened in the States, and multiple gun-rights associations have been under fire for it, obviously,” she explained. Another pause comes about, and her eyes fall to the floor as she scruples to continue. “Recently, my husband got involved with the largest association.” It seems difficult for her to swallow the lump in her throat. The tension in her voice thickens, and she glowers at the floor. “Those devilish people have a plan to ‘prove that banning guns won’t make a difference in the US’. They donated an enormous amount of money to my husband to stage multiple crimes across the island to ‘prove’ their damn point so people won’t blame them for the shootings anymore.”

Tears blur my vision of her guilty face. I’m frozen to the touch.

“I’m so sorry, Andrea,” she whispers to me. Tears are welling up in her eyes, too. She engulfs me in a hearty hug. “I tried my hardest to keep him from taking the donation...”

A tear trickles down my cheek to my chin and falls to the floor with the Oasis flag that was once in my hand.