Chapter 2

A massive work in progress. Also, superpowers.

I did technically have a job, and I guess this made me happy, but it wasn’t exactly top shelf. I was the night editor of a publishing company. I didn’t even know the position existed until I was hired. So five nights a week I stayed up till three or four in the morning, keeping up on call information and emails and tweeting and Facebooking to update our clients. I didn’t have to leave my kitchen table, which was good, because if I was forced to dress and interact with people at such an hour I wouldn’t have held the job very long. Still, it did pull on my resources. Sometimes I’d fall asleep with my face on my keyboard and wake up to a dead battery, and sometimes during the day I’d catch myself walking into a room or standing at a window with no recollection of what I was doing before or why. I could also blame it on the medication my doctor prescribed for panic attacks and depression…but I chalked it up to experience. I was a starving writer. I was supposed to suffer at some juncture.

            I woke up the next morning in my bed. I don’t remember consciously falling asleep there, so I had probably fallen asleep on the couch and Ben had carried me here. As I did every morning, religiously, I grabbed the bright orange bottle off the nightstand and pulled one long, cream-colored pill from it. I’d been on psychotropics since about age 11. That was the year I’d entered middle school, somehow lost focus on my studies in the mass of swirling bodies, then one day broke down in the middle of pottery class and had to be dragged, screaming, from the room. I can’t remember why that moment set me off exactly, but I remember I was stared at oddly from then on. After a visit with several doctors and several differing opinions, my parents, Kathy and Richard Boss, found a lovely psychiatrist named Emily Axford who aligned most thoroughly with what they believed was wrong with me. Luckily my parents had the money necessary to put me on a steady stream of drugs and therapy meetings with Ms. Axford through high school and college, and I was still on that prescription today, though I skipped most of my therapy meetings. Whenever I missed a meeting Emily would call me and her soft, counseling voice she’d ask what was up. I didn’t always answer the phone when she called, nor did I always answer her messages; but sometimes when life built up an especially sucky wall of suck around me I’d go in and we’d chat. At least she wasn’t my mother.

            I downed the pill and got up. I sulked to the kitchen in my pjs and pulled frozen waffles out of the freezer. Ben must have already left for work, as his favorite coffee mug sat in the sink. Ben worked as a counselor at a local kid’s club; mentoring kids and all that jazz. He didn’t look like he’d fit in with the rough crowd with his sandy blonde locks, dimples and denim blue eyes…but there was apparently something in his demeanor that made the kids respond to him. He had just attended a club graduation ceremony for one of his roughest customers�"a kid named Tony who was going to finally, finally, graduate high school. Maybe that’s why he could put up with me. I wasn’t the toughest challenge he’d had by far.

            I heard the bathroom door slam and knew Levi must be back from whatever bar he’d frequented the night before. Levi was a tool�"a pothead, a lush, often an idiot…but he was too valuable to our lease to get rid of. Levi was a lot of things, but he always paid rent on time. As he should. He made the most money out of all of us.

            I stood at the sink and ate Frosted Mini Wheats from the box. Outside, our elderly neighbor was watering her tulips. The pink, red and yellow heads bobbed heavily under the spray. The woman was small, maybe five feet, and walked with impeccable posture. Mrs. DuPont’s husband had died when she was only forty years old, so she’d lived by herself for many years. I liked the old woman. She still shoveled her walks in the winter and carted her recyclables to the curb every Tuesday morning. And she was hilarious. For a woman who’d lived through years of misogynistic antagonism, she hadn’t lost her charm. If anything, the pressure had hardened that woman until she sparkled like a diamond. Today, she was dressed in a smart pantsuit. Her grandchildren must be visiting. I looked into her eyes. I could see the joy, the contentment there. I could almost hear her voice as she talked about them. Teddy just went into first grade. Can you believe it? And Abigail just got an internship with the Depot. She’s working on water sanitation. My Abby! She has such a head for science, that one…

            My mental monologue was cut short when I heard Levi walk into the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened and closed. Then a throat cleared itself.

            “Hmm. Sidney? Can you not dig your hands into the Wheats? We all eat out of that box.” I turned around as mister big-shot political-science major Levi sat at the table. He’d dressed in a sharp green and white polo and khaki shorts. He looked like a d********g.

            “If I remember correctly, I bought this box.” Levi rustled the paper he was reading. He was eating a Greek yogurt he’d spooned into a separate bowl, which also happened to be the most irritating fashion possible. He had sharp, Italian features and piercing brown eyes. He was handsome. But he was also so annoying.

            “I bought the two before that. But that hardly matters. It’s just not sanitary.” he smiled at me like a father might smile at a surly child. “Just grab a bowl. Simple solution.” he went back to his paper. Instead of launching into an all-out shouting match, I just closed the cereal box and took the high road. From my room I heard him chuckle, and I knew he must have moved onto The New Yorker. Ugh. Jackass.

            I checked my email. The Chinese place had answered me back. They’d dropped a check in the mail. I sighed. My money would get to me. But it would also be several days. As long as the check didn’t bounce, I guess I should be pleased. Once I’d gotten all my housekeeping out of the way I changed into light clothes and grabbed my sunglasses.

            Outside, I waved at Mrs. DuPont. She had moved on to the dozens of potted plants she kept scattered across the porch, and she smiled broadly. I had earbuds blaring in my ears so I couldn’t have heard what she said, but the waves of excitement I felt rolling off her in waves was hard to miss. I heard her voice again. Jackson broke his arm two weeks ago. Poor baby. He was playing soccer. I missed the game because of Shirley Wilson’s funeral…

            I jogged towards Oscar Park. A random collection of ducks and geese stood honking at the lakeside, preening and fighting and scrabbling for the bits of bread a family of three tossed them. A toddler, maybe two or three, squealed as one goose snatched the bag from his fist. I rounded the park and watched people as they went about their business. I loved going on these runs. They helped clear my head. Plus, people were fascinating to me.

            A man rode by on a bike, with a helmet and kneepads. He was frowning. Concentrating. Perhaps he was training for a race. A woman walked by with her dog, a giant sunhat shading her face. She had a bandage in the crease of her elbow. I felt a wave of nerves break through the warm sun and cover me like a wet towel. The woman had to be ill. I could see her face, which was tight with a smile, but a smile someone wore when the only other option was an outward frown. Cancer? Skin cancer? I broke my gaze and shook my head. To drive the nagging thoughts away, I looked towards a young father who stood with his daughter at the snow-cone truck. The little girl was bouncing in ever-widening circles, impatient for her syrupy cone. When he handed it to her, the waves of adoration that crashed so completely over her was a sweet balm to my nerves. I kept my gaze on the two until I drew level with them and they disappeared behind me. Yes, people were fascinating indeed.

            I jogged into the shaded, secluded portion of the park where teenagers went to smoke and kiss in the summer evenings. Today, only a mound of goose turds greeted me. That, and a couch cushion that had somehow miraculously arrived in the middle of the paved walk. I let the sweet sounds of Imagine Dragons lull me into a half-doze, my feet plodding mechanically beneath me as I jogged. This was another reason I like to run. It was easy to fade out and finally be alone in my head. I ran for maybe two or three minutes, enjoying the feel of dappled sunlight on my skin, until I saw a quick flash of movement on my right. If I had been paying attention, I might have reacted faster. As it was, I was caught off guard.

            A large, dark shape smashed into me and I was sent flying off my feet. I barely had time to get my hands under me, keeping my face from being smashed into the pavement. I rolled and felt the ground tear my knees and palms. I landed on my back and sat up, angry. The shape had managed to keep its feet.

            “What the hell man?” I met the his eyes.

            It was a man. An older black man, covered in a dirty, torn windbreaker, the whites of his eyes bright against his face. I could hear him babbling something, almost incoherent, and I knew by his dress if nothing else that he was homeless. I cut off the string of expletives I had ready and tried to stand. I was caught off guard again when the man screamed.

            Well, it might have been a scream, but it seemed to originate inside my skull. I jumped and slammed my hands over my ears. I could feel the blood on my palms smear my cheeks. I looked up at the man again. And this time I stared.

            He was babbling. But God strike me dead if his lips weren’t moving. I blinked, wondering if I’d actually hit my head and was suffering a concussion.

            “I got away mmhmm. Bastads don’t get me. Don’t touch! Don’t touch! Don’t you touch that damn thing! No. It ain’t fair man it ain’t fair. I got away I did yes I did yes I did…” his rolling white eyes met mine. My mouth hung open. Then suddenly, his eyes seemed to clear a moment. His nervous dancing slowed. He made a fist with his hand. Then he lunged at me. I screamed and backed away, but he’d grabbed hold of the wires in my ears and my calf. I struggled, but damn this guy was strong. The babbling in my head ceased. It left my ears ringing. But suddenly, a voice, a sudden, real human voice broke through my mental nonsense.

            “You!” he screamed, shaking my shoulder. “You listen!” I screamed again and covered my eyes. I thought back on all the rape statistics. Strangers raping people was a very small percentage on the whole. I felt bad that I was going to mess up that neat number they had today. The man shook me again, screaming at me to listen. And even though he face was inches from mine, I noticed his breath was fresh. Like he’d just brushed his teeth before putting on his homeless best.

            “Listen girl!” he screamed and ripped my hands away from my face. I quivered in fear, frozen. The man’s eyes settled in their sockets.

            “They’re coming, you hear? Coming. And they ain’t want no normal people either. Normal is bad. It ain’t good for their machine.” I tried to make sense of the words. But my brain was still firing fight or flight adrenaline and it was like trying to hear a single flute in an orchestra of a thousand.

            “They’re almost here. And they want the special ones. They wants the ones who can listen and can hear and can see.” He punctuated each of these words with a shake. “So you watch! You have to watch! You can fight it but don’t you give over nuthin. You got it?” He shook me again. My head rattled. The man stood, faster than I thought someone was able, and my brain caught up with me. I didn’t turn to look where he was. Instead, my feet flew.

            I ran faster than I’d had in years, tearing past people, trying to keep my breakfast in one place. The faces around me seemed suddenly sinister. The voices, the looks, the senses screamed at me from a dozen different directions at once, hammering me with thoughts. Thoughts I’d had before, and some thought’s I’d never have to comprehend in my life.

            Did I leave the back door unlocked?

            Megan shouldn’t go alone�"

            God she is so hot.

            Eggs, milk, diapers, then the bank�"

            If we meet with the budget committee first�"

            …hmm burning ring of fire, I went down down down…

            I ran up the steps of the house, dropped my keys, shoved them trembling into the keyhole, then threw myself through the doorway. I slammed it behind me and set all the locks, my hands trembling. In the blissful quiet of the house, I collapsed on the linoleum in the entryway. I threw my hands over my head and sobbed. My heart hammered loudly in my ears, but thankfully, that’s all I could hear. My body trembled. For the first time in a very long time, I felt truly afraid. I jumped when the air conditioner kicked on. Then stood and bolted towards my room. I had my cell in my hand, ready to dial 911, when my sense caught up with me. What exactly would police help me do at this point? I’d run from the scene. They could come here, sure, but would discover that I was prescribed a heavy dosage of crazy pills for exactly this kind of event. It could very well have been a psychotic episode. The scrapes on my hands and knees were still oozing, but that was my only major injury. I hadn’t been raped, blissfully. I put the cell down, slowly, like it were a weapon. Plus, what would I say about the voices? Yes, officer, the homeless man made the voices ramp up. Yes sir. He said to watch out for them sir. We should round up a posse. Right away.

I dropped the phone on my bedspread and then sat down beside it. I took three deep breaths. They helped clear my head. Then, like any good mental patient, I texted my psychiatrist.

Hi Emily. can I meet with you soon? kinda upset.

Then, three minutes later:

Sure. Have opening tomorrow afternoon, 2.

In the bathroom, I ran a shallow tub of water and then sat in it. There were chunks of gravel stuck in my hands and knees, and I cursed as I scrubbed them out with a chunk of soap. Bandaged and stinging, I went to the kitchen and pulled a beer out of the fridge. I sat on the floor against the cabinet and drank. When my head got too quiet I turned on the TV and listened to daytime infomercials. 

Reviews

[Max64]

Ok – I’m still very interested. Please post again soon. Why does Sid run home instead of somewhere else for help? She’s scared, and that encounter would freak out just about anyone – so why does she run back home instead of looking for a cop – something? Does the man just disappear in her dust? I think you are trying to say she is just so freaked, and she is very much a thinking person, so her thoughts are on all of these other things that take her back home first? Do the voices/thoughts she hears spur her to run faster? Nice use of Johnny. A line or two more about here state of mind (more descriptive of her actions) and maybe another line or two about the voices thoughts … I re-read this section about 3 times, and the thoughts started to become real representative of the types of individuals who might have these thoughts. A description or two of the “thinker(s)” could add to the story, or just be fun for you or the reader … it would also tell us more about your protagonist. Thank you again for posting – sooooooo much better than most of the prose I have been reading through this site.

[Jennifer Johnston]

I appreciate the feedback! I'll take it into consideration. Very helpful.

[A. Amos]

you're tale is going great my friend...

[Jennifer Johnston]

Thanks so much!

[A. Amos]

You're most welcome my friend