Think Forward - AWARE

Rho is a young boy with a magical birth defect - he can feel and read brainwaves, but at a cost. The genre should really be Magical Realism, or Urban Fantasy if you want to stretch it. This is part of my "Think Forward" series.

The cheap foam mattress in the nurse’s station doesn’t feel very foamy. It’s tough, like the scratchy blue wrapping that’s slowly peeling off to reveal the yellow foam. This isn’t the sort of place you want to be when you’re not feeling well. Flat on your back, nothing to prop up your head. I suppose the nurse doesn’t think you need a pillow if you’ve fainted. I suppose she also doesn’t understand that being Aware means you are never truly unconscious. I am certainly sensitive to my surroundings. Although my eyes are closed, I can picture how the nurse is tapping her pen against her desk as she waits for someone to come retrieve me. Her lips are tight together. Her breathing is shallow but I can sense it. The round clock on the wall is ticking in tight constancy. Air from the floor vents scatters dust under the raised mattress. I can hear things, I can still feel. That’s exactly the problem.

            This isn’t the first time this has happened. It isn’t the second time, or the third or fourth. This has happened every day for the past two years. I work like a clock; come to school, struggle in, collapse. I pass out cold. Someone carries me to the nurse. She calls my parents. They bring me home. I hardly remember what a full day of school is like.

            I know when my father comes in. His footsteps are distinct; heavy and wide, but quick. He is big but not slow. And his brainwaves are thick bands, heavy to read. The more he focuses on me, the faster the waves skid through the air. I’m already knocked out, but his presence alone is enough to keep me there. I hear him sigh, a noisy exhale aimed at me. I can nearly feel his hot breath on my wet forehead.

            “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised anymore,” he grumbles. He is walking toward me. His arms flex as he prepares to lift me.

            “I think we can both agree that this is a bigger problem than we ever anticipated,” says the nurse. She is stalking around her desk now. I can feel her staring at me.

            My father chews on his lip and his brainwaves grow wider. He has a few choice words about the problem I pose.

            “His doctor says we need to give him time to adjust,” Dad says. “He warned it might take years, but I had hoped it wouldn’t.”

            “We’ve had children like Rho before. Their parents almost always pull them out of school immediately after the diagnosis. Have you considered home schooling?”

            “My wife and I work during the day.” Dad shakes his head. “We don’t have time to teach him ourselves and we can’t afford to take off work. Do you have any idea how close I am to being fired for this? Two years of leaving early!” His voice is loud, almost shouting. He could whisper in the doorway and I would still hear him. This is torture. But then, I’ve been through two years of it. “And if it’s not me, it’s his mother. She’s in trouble too. If he doesn’t adjust soon, I don’t know what we’ll do.”

            The nurse’s station is set away from the classrooms. Sometimes everyone is far enough away that I don’t sense them. I enjoy those times; the only time I start to rest. When the brainwaves come back, I can’t help but to read them. Over and over again. I have sensed every student in the school all at once, multiple times. They feel like headaches. They are headaches. My own brain gets tired and feels fiery. Then it spreads to my eyes and nose and cheeks. Everything aches and burns. My mind shuts down to block out the incoming waves and I faint. Pain lingers until my recharged brain can blot it out. The backs of my arms are scraped. My knees are always purple. I’m used to waking up on the carpet, or hardwood floor, with my nose stinging or my legs twisted under me. I don’t mind what my body looks like. But the pressure in my head is constant.

            I feel my father wrap his arms under my knees and shoulders. He picks me up like a baby to be rocked. The starch of his business suit is hard against my skin. In the beginning, my father would cradle me. He would gently carry me to his car and slowly lean my head back against the seat. Now he lets my head dangle over his elbow like my little sister’s doll, dragged around and limp. He carries me out of the nurse’s station and I can sense the light change. It is raining outside and he doesn’t bother to shield my face. Water drips into my nose and the corners of my eyes. When he slides me into the backseat of the car, my head droops and I become disoriented. The rain in my eyes and the ebbing headache feel like crying.

 

            I sit in the corner of Dr. Benner’s office in a red plastic chair. He gave me soda and some toys to keep because I had to go through the MRI again. The lighted tube makes me think of space and stars; far away from brainwaves. The machine is loud and rumbly, but it doesn’t have a brain. It doesn’t hurt me. Really, I don’t mind the MRI. Except for that when I come out, nobody is ever much happier.

            “There is improvement, but it’s minimal,” Dr. Benner says as he points to a black and blue scan. A red dot on bluish-white glares at everyone. “The Knot is still extremely sensitive. It needs to harden at least twice as much to be able to tolerate a large public situation. See, he’s fine here. Right, Rho?”

            I only read three brains; Mum, Dad, and Dr. Benner. There is a faint pulse in the front of my head; I can feel them. But it is a numb feeling. I don’t hurt. I nod to Dr. Benner.

            “I don’t understand why he isn’t improving,” Mum says. Her back is curved like a waxing moon. Her head bends forward. “It’s been two full years since he developed his Awareness. We’ve been sending him to school each morning. Granted, he can’t handle it for long, but he’s at least been exposed to it.”

            Dr. Benner’s white shoulders crunch up to his ears and fall back down. “The exposure probably hasn’t been long enough. His brain has adjusted to shutting down when there are more than a handful of people around him. You say he’s generally fine at home these days, so at least he’s adapted to that much.”

            “Even if we could do it, I don’t understand how home-schooling would help his situation.” Dad looks from me to Dr. Benner, his eyes close together.

            “Home-schooling would give Rho enough space so that he isn’t in constant pain, while allowing the Knot to harden on its own. You see, the Knot is capable of hardening even without being around other brains, but it is a much longer process. Without other presences to speed it up, it might take at least ten years before the Knot is completely hardened.”

            “Ten years! We just can’t afford to do that,” Dad says.

            I finish my soda and balance the cup on my leg. It doesn’t bother me anymore that people talk about me. When they discuss me like I’m not there, I read them. When I became Aware, my brother and sister thought that I could read minds. They were afraid to be in the same room as me. That was fine by me because distance makes brainwaves fainter. They were wrong, though. I can’t hear thoughts. I can sketch out my surroundings like a grid in my head. Dr. Benner says it’s similar to echolocation. I see grey pictures based on what my brain feels. With people, all I can do is read a person’s brain, and I’m not very good at that either. You have to experience the brainwaves to read the brain. But I can’t filter them enough; I reread the same person’s brain over and over, until I pass out. With so few people, though, I can slow down the process. I can focus on one brain and then another.

            Mum’s brainwaves are thin but solid. Reading them is like reading a card of vital information. I can tell she is thirty-eight years old. She has back pains. She has no special Telabilities like me but her brain is strong. She thinks a lot. Her fingers are swollen and her wedding ring hurts her hand. She grinds her teeth often. And at the moment she is chewing on the inside of her lip.

            “Well, have you considered sending Rho to boarding school?” Dr. Benner asks. “I know of a few children who really adapted quite well there. The constant presence of others forces the Knot to harden faster, sometimes as quickly as two years depending on the size of the student body. I can recommend a few schools that are very considerate of Telabilities.”

            My father laughs. It is a harsh sound, loud and sharp like his footsteps. “And how are we supposed to afford boarding school?”

            “There are scholarships, financial assistance,” Dr. Benner says, but he is ignored.

            “My son hasn’t done schoolwork for two years. He was allowed to work on his final exams at home and passed to Year Six out of pity. I doubt he’ll qualify for scholarships.” Dad glances at me. His face is flushed. I read his brainwaves and find that his skin is prickling him. My eye contact makes him uneasy. He looks at the floor and shakes his head. “Rho is smart; we know that. But I don’t know if boarding school is such a good idea.”

            Dr. Benner nods, following Dad’s gaze to the checkered carpet. “Yes, I understand. But I’m afraid there aren’t many other options for curing this, short of leaving Rho at his school even when he passes out.”

            “Oh, I hate to think of him like that all day.” Mum covers her mouth and frowns at me. I feel her eyes grow hot and melty. She looks away as she sniffles. I have stopped worrying about what everyone is saying. I already know what will happen to me later. Uncontrollable pain and unconsciousness, no matter where I go or what I do. My parents will send me to school on Monday and the cycle will restart.

 

            At home, I have a headache from the walk into the house. The neighbors are out, mowing their lawns and walking their dogs. Mice have moved into the attic. I press my face into the sweaty sheets beneath my pillow. The mattress doesn’t fight me; it just lets me sink. Softer than the nurse’s mattress, and warmer. Sometimes I tell myself that the deeper I go, the less I hurt. But that’s just pretend for when it’s the worst. Brainwaves can penetrate everything; walls, pillows, and especially my head. And anyway, this isn’t the worst.

            The air hums outside my closed door. I can’t see through it with my eyes, but my mind can. My sister Tesni emits waves like a fan on the highest setting. Her mind is racing like her feet. I hear her stomp down the stairs and try to ignore her but I can’t. If I knew how to shut out brainwaves, I wouldn’t hide in my room.

            Tess runs through the tiny living room and stops in the kitchen. The tense waves of my parents greet her. My mother’s waves are irregular; she is on the phone. But Dad is silent and his waves are steady. He watches Tess and waits. I can’t hear what she says but I know her news already. I can tell by the way the waves skip and grow heavier that she is talking about me. 

            I feel a new brain coming up the stairs; a dense presence, my older brother Pryderi emits firm like my parents. The door creaks as he enters my room. He keeps his distance from me. There is an old bean bag chair in the far corner, and he pauses over it before slowly lowering himself.

            “They’re discussing you again.” His voice is thick. Pryd is a good brother. He refuses to gossip about me the way Tess does. Usually he’s the one who carries me to the nurse’s station, like he did this morning.

            “Yes,” I say. It is hard to say much. My voice gets caught in my ears and makes headaches worse. “They have been…for awhile.”

            “Tess was embarrassed at school today. Her friends saw you collapse.”

            My cheeks burn. My condition is nothing new. The whole school knows. My classmates still stare but they no longer talk about it. Tess is the one who treats me like a scandal.

            “Mum’s talking about boarding school on the phone. I think she wants to send you.”

            “I’m a burden,” I sniff hard and press cold fingers against my blistering forehead.

 “I try to be normal. But it’s so hard…” My throat tightens and strains against my voice.

            “Don’t cry, Rho,” Pryd commands. “They know. It’s not your fault.”

            My brother is age twelve and old. He acts like he’s in Year Twelve instead of Eight. He has two babies to take care of; Tess, who is eight years old and can’t do anything for herself except tattle on me. And then myself, ten years old and not a bit independent. He helps me to my classroom and puts me at my desk. Then he helps carry me out. I curl sideways so I can see Pryd. He is too tall for the bean bag chair; his knees are by his chest. His brainwaves keep a smooth rhythm almost like music. Sometimes when I only sense one brain, it’s almost enjoyable.

I don’t know what happens but I start zooming all over the house. I feel the warm air leaking through the wall vents downstairs. I follow three mice across the trapdoor in the attic. I see my parents in the kitchen; Dad with his hands folded and Mum biting her pink nails. Tess is tapping her feet on the tiled floor. Wind hits the windows in the bathroom and rattles the panes. There are three other human brains outside near the house and several animals and I read them all at once. Pryd coughs and I roll over. Facedown on the mattress, I yank the pillow over my head. I wonder how deep I have to go before I smother my wandering mind.

“Rho?” Pryd climbs onto my bed.

            “Just…wait,” I say, gasping.

“Sorry,” he says in a sunken voice. “You don’t want to leave, do you? Sometimes it’s hard to tell; it’s all been the same this whole time.”

            “I don’t want to go,” I say. “But-” I stop to breathe. “I’m so tired. Of all of this.” I’m tired of the way I am. I want to be like Pryd, alone in his head. “It might really help.”

            “You want to go?” Pryd’s brown eyes widen.

            I push myself up on wobbly arms and knees. Hand over hand, I crawl off the bed. The pressure is still in my head, holding me down like gravity. Pryd puts an arm around me to help guide me but I shrug him off. I know how to walk. I use the railing on the stairs and make it down fine. There are my parents in the kitchen with Tess. They sit at the round wooden table. Only the stove light is on; the rest of the room is dark. My family thinks darkness helps me, but lights don’t have brains. Tess runs behind Mum when I enter; she still believes I can read her mind. I don’t help any by squinting at her.

            “Rho!” Dad looks up as I approach. He and Mum share raised eyebrows. “I thought you were taking a nap. How are you feeling?”

            “Bad,” I say slowly, and Dad cringes. “I hate being Aware. Like this. Unable to control it.”

            Mum smiles at me but it isn’t happy. She looks sad, like she knows she forgot something. “It just takes time, right? You’ll learn to control your mind.”

            I shake my head. “Not this way.” Everyone has wide eyes, all dark brown like our hair. I feel the hearts in the room beat faster and mine struggles to keep up. “I want to go to boarding school.”

            Dad jumps in his seat and Mum grabs his hand. Behind them, Tess is on her toes.

            “You mean, if we could afford to send you, you would want to go?” Mum asks. “Even if it meant leaving next week?”

            I hesitate; am I ready to leave my family? Mum and Dad? Pryd? I don’t care much about Tess; we glare at each other while I think. I remember the morning.

The way Dad swung me into his arms like something with a low value.

How Pryd was late to class for taking care of me.

How Mum nearly cried at Dr. Benner’s office.

No, I am not ready to leave them.

But I will.

            “Oh, Rho,” Mum says, sniffling. She leans into her hands and wipes her eyes. Her smile is wet. “I just spoke to your Aunt Lucy. You know, she works at a very nice boarding school for boys in Monmouth. She offered to let you live with her and go to school, if you thought you might want to.” Mum begins to cry in full, streaming eyes and nose. “She can start you as early as Tuesday.”

            “This is quite strong of you.” Dad stands up and claps my shoulder. “You’re really going to enjoy Monmouth School, Rho.”

            In five minutes I have become a hero among my parents. They haven’t smiled so wide in two years. Dad actually hugs me. I wonder if they’re happy for me, or happy to be rid of me. I consider taking it back. I can change my mind, can’t I? I do want to get better. But even I know there’s no real cure for being Aware. There will never be a day when I don’t feel other brains.

            When I step back, the pressure hits me again. I read Mum, Dad, Pryd, Tess, and then I read them all over again. I feel their heartbeats and the heat rise on their skin. Four is not a big number. Four is something I can generally stand. But now I realize how much that four means to me and how far away they’re moving from me. I don’t try to hold back their brains. Four feels like an anvil and I let it push me down.

 

Reviews

[Tim H]

Great plot aspect. The characters seem real and with their own unique voices. Since the diagnosis of "aware" seems to be medically accepted, it seemed to me odd that the collapsing at school would go on for two years. I would have thought that either the school would have stepped in to provided a teacher or alternative placement, both parents would have lost their jobs trying to preserve the status quo. Your style draws in the reader and you build a great sympathy for Rho.

[Wolfwind Words]

Wow...would be an understatement. It flows, it's intriguing with new idea's and the plot is solid. Your characters have full and exude life from the page. This is material that I hope one day graces the bookstores or adapted to the big screen.

I can't find fault in this. This was a wonderful joy to read.

Aaron Wolfie Maycroft