My Daughter and The Unexpected Legacy of Clone 99
by Cynthia Kazandjian
This is what I was bred for.―99’s last words
Sunday, April 3, 2016 in a Montreal café
She sits across the table from me at our weekend coffee shop, her hands cupping her eyes to try and hide the tear water filling them and running down her face. She’s barely touched her vanilla milkshake. It’s her third, maybe fourth attempt to describe meaningful scenes in the first two episodes of Star Wars: The Clone Wars-Season Three. She gets the farthest with her final attempt. “There's this clone, ok. Clones aren’t supposed to have names, so he's clone number 99.” She continues, “ He was supposed to be a clone trooper but he didn’t pass certain tests so they put him in maintenance.” She tells me that she will only share what is essential in order for me to understand what happened. I want to understand why it has affected her so much. I’m all ears and connected heart.
Star Wars: The Clone Wars is the 3D CGI television series which debuted in 2008. My daughter is working her way through the seasons online. I will consult Wookieepedia and learn that the story arc of this series is set in the fictional Star Wars galaxy during the three years between the films Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith. Believe me, I am not assuming you don’t already know this, especially if you’re a Star Wars aficionado.
Although I’ve seen all the Star Wars films, this television series is terra incognita to me so I ask, “Why didn’t he pass?” Her face is pained, “Mom, you don’t understand how sad 99’s story is. He taught so much to Heavy.” Not wanting to disrupt the solemnity of our exchange, I show no sign of amusement over the name Heavy. It’s not easy though. I will learn through a Google search that this clone’s name is actually spelt Hevy. But for the sake of continuity in this piece, I will continue to spell his name incorrectly.
Now her expression is rueful. In a humorless tone I ask, “Who’s Heavy?” She turns to the refrigerated display case on her left and studies an impressive selection of ornate cakes. I watch her eyes move from cake to cake to cake. She’s stalling. Her gaze settles on the cheesecake overlaid with a glazed assortment of strawberry peaks and valleys. I don’t repeat my question because I know she wants to delay the emotions overload if we continue this conversation. I lean closer, “Boo Boo (one of my many nicknames for her) we don’t have to discuss this here and now, you know.”
By now I am accustomed to her fixation on all things Star Wars. Our corner kitchen table doubles as her crafting station (thank God for kitchen counters). Like offerings to a faux flower God, ingenious made-from-scratch Star Wars crafts surround the base of a large off-white ceramic bowl that bursts with an immortal flower arrangement. These crafts are of objects and beings from the Star Wars universe. They include Darth Vader, a hybrid of Death Star and Starkiller base, a blaster, Anakin’s speeder, and BB-8. Between George Lucas’s exciting imagination and my daughter’s bountiful creativity, a carnival-like scene has taken over this table.
Dwarfing all in size is an old blue and silver Sony CD radio cassette-corder (aka a boombox) that I can’t bring myself to replace by smaller and newer technology. It looks like an alien spaceship and seemingly hovers above the strange carnival as though it’s on some kind of observation mission. Darth Vader in particular blows my mind. God knows what was used to make his arms and the red light saber he permanently brandishes. But what really makes him special is that his arms can spin backwards or forwards because they are powered by an engine that my daughter appropriated from an old ferris wheel toy. Every time I see this dark villain standing somewhere on my floral placemat, I’m amazed.
I could go on and on about how this galaxy far far away enriches the one my daughter actually inhabits. A sizeable portion of the downstairs playroom looks very much like a Star Wars shrine. Depending on the Star Wars film she’s chooses to watch (for the umpteenth time), she will strategically position various Star Wars-themed Lego creations on the floor around her. If I had to sum up her relationship with the Star Wars universe, I’d say it is shamanistic.
Take her dozen or so lightsaber collection (exclusively blue and red)- half of them are handmade, the other half store-bought. These energy weapons never leave her bedroom unless it’s battle time with her older brother. She’s exacting about how she lays these laser swords across her bed or places them in the toy bin. God forbid I should accidently move one of them while folding her laundry. Even if only by a millimeter, I’ve compromised the unique and useful powers she curates (with BIG devotion) and this upsets her. I’ve offset the harmony between real and imaginary universes that my nine year old daughter works devotely to preserve. I tell her she’s too adorable for words but she sees her devotion as serious business-nothing adorable about it.
Back to clone 99.
She insists she can do it- describe these two episodes. We’re sandwiched between a stranger at the table beside us and the cashier at the cash register adjacent to the dessert display case. They’re within earshot and the coffee shop is filling up fast. Ever tenacious, she tells me that all she needs to do is talk very low and try hard not to cry. “No no I can do this mom.” I nod, “Okay sweetie, I’m listening” She tries again…
Nope.
She can’t.
“Mom, I have an idea. Pass me your journal and I will write what happened.” Her eyes smile through tears the way a beautiful rainbow appears during a rain shower.
This is what she writes:
heavy said -we’re just a number
99 said -to me you’re all a name
Heavy and 99 sacrifice himself for his team, his brothers, he used to be selfish
but 99 taught him
heavy was gonna leave his group
I read what she’s written in my journal. As I read, she tells me that clone 99 has deformities and ages too quickly. He helps Heavy who is a cadet become a clone trooper. I know enough now to have a strong sense that integrity and wisdom permeate clone 99’s character. I look up and before I can say anything she blurts out, “He dies mom… 99 dies. It is so sad.” And with a tortured voice she shares clone 99’s heartbreaking words before dying, “He says, ‘I’m a soldier just like you.’ mom.”
She’s cupping her eyes again. Now MY eyes are filling with tears. I keep thinking-the most beautiful universe I’ve ever looked into is through her precious almond-shaped, olive green eyes. She’s fighting the flow of more tears and losing. I can’t fight mine. We’re weeping in public.
My mind is flooded with random memories that underscore her sweet essence. I have always been mesmerized by her profound goodness. She’s the little Jedi girl that says and asks me things like..
“You smell like love.”
and
“Mom, thank you for giving me life.” (No darling thank YOU for giving ME life)
and
“Is it fun to have a period?” (ummm, fun?)
and- the question I am sure many a writing teacher has heard countless times
“Do poems have to rhyme?” (No darling but they CAN rhyme; life, on the other hand, does not and CAN NOT)
I am facing a lady at the table to the left behind my daughter. This stranger offers me a reassuring and compassionate smile. At first I am puzzled. Of course- she sees a mother and daughter who are both in tears. The young waitress looks uncomfortable when I ask for the bill. I leave a huge tip-I’m in maternal overdrive.
We agree to discuss this further in the car. We’ll have privacy. We’ll watch these episodes the instant we’re home. As I drive, I learn more. Clone 99 convinces cadet Heavy not to leave his failing squad, Domino Squad. Clone 99 emphasizes the importance of teamwork and loyalty to his brothers. When Heavy and his squad pass and are promoted to clone troopers, Heavy gives clone 99 his badge to express gratitude and acknowledgement. Heavy will eventually die in battle.
Now we’re watching the episodes on my computer. The battle droids are attacking the cloning facility on Kamino and trying to steal genetic material. Clone 99 helps the soldiers as they fight. In a selfless gesture that will cost him his life, clone 99 tries to retrieve more explosives needed to fight the droids. He exposes himself to droid fire and is killed. My daughter and I are emotional wrecks. You already know clone 99’s last words.
I initiate a discussion about noble gestures. I tell my daughter that there are 99’s in our world, but there certainly aren’t enough. Their lot in life seems unfair and they’re sometimes treated like afterthoughts by society. But, against all odds, (including death) their profoundly noble spirits will have the last word. These people are the angels among us. If we are lucky enough to meet them, we must thank them for existing. We must celebrate them, honor them, and try and be more like them. Our collective legacy depends on it.
Afterword
A writer friend who writes the most beautiful and captivating daily vignettes inspired me to write this piece. Naturally, the main inspiration was my daughter but, as my friend explained - unless you write about your experiences, thoughts, and observations, they stay as clouds. I wanted to immortalize a special cloud and it resulted in this piece.
