Goldilocks

by L.R. Lam

“I’ve never been good at patriotism,” Hart said. “The U.S. was too big, too diffuse and diverse to really understand what it meant to be American. Was I proud of the good things we’d done? Sure. But I’m ashamed of a lot of other things. That we did. That we still do.” “I used to be proud,” Hixon said, her mouth twisting as she stared at the remnants of her sweet potato. “In the military, I was honoured to have that flag stitched across my chest, representing my country. I was one idealistic little recruit, plucked right out of the cornfields. “Took me too long to realise the country would rather I shut up, sit down. Don’t be too loud about who I loved. Move aside and make room for someone new. I already went to Mars—how selfish was I, to want to go up again?”