The Chasers part 2

Saturday night Rocky and I were out at the movies seeing some movie she wanted to see and was talking about all week, even though she and Greg had something going on, I knew what she had liked me, so as a comfort to her we go see a movie every last Saturday of the month just so that way her catch-phrase for the situation holds some water. Both of our boyfriends are ok with it, though it kind of freaked out Lugg when he first heard the news. As we were walking out into the lobby on our way to go get some pizza for out late night meal Rocky said the strangest thing, she said, “You know the feeling when there’s something right beyond your reach and you just can’t tell what it is?” I immediately blushed and was fuddling around to come up with an acceptable response to her question, when I say it, the look in her eye that said this was legitimate concern, she wasn’t just teasing me. This was the look the doctor gave me and Lugg when his grandmother was in the hospital right before she was diagnosed with cancer. So, I paused, taking a deep breath, then saying, “Is this another one of those things connected to your strange building dreams?” And as she opened her mouth to speak the song “I’m Like a Bird” roared chorus first into my mind, drowning out all other noise. Finally pulling my self back into my conciseness I ended her sentence with informing her of these phenomena that was becoming more and more common. With a concerned look on her face and her hand on the door to the pizzeria, she said, “I know Lugg and I had the same weird thing happen to us the night after his dad died, we should ask Greg, this is his forte, not mine.” “I know, but I can never seem to find him”, I said. Rocky responded with her sympathizing nod adding, “He only seems to show up when I want him really bad, you know, when you least need it.” Now I nod. Just then the devil himself appears, none the less humming the song stuck in my head while whistling the one that Roxanne told me followed her dream. This was a weird thing he did when he knew something that we didn’t and didn’t want to tell us with words. Rocky did a complete and perfect about-face, hair twirling and saying, “There you are, I was wondering when you were going to see if you could poke about in my business.” Greg chuckles, obviously getting a joke between only them expressing in his melodious manner, “This is neither the time nor the place to talk go poking around in that kind of business, but I do want to jump into your little conversation.” All the while not dropping his rhythm among his walking humming whistling or talking, all the while composing perfect metaphorical sentences and references to things I really don’t want to know about right now. Greg stops about four feet before us and speaking like the whole world is his stage says dramatically, “The edifice of which you speak, holds the answers which you seek. A change in one directs the other and holds the key to the fire smothered.” We stand about not saying a word, trying to remember exactly every one he said. Though he never can tell us exactly what they mean or why they end up being so important, his random spoutings usually end up being important. The look clears from his eyes as he wraps his slender and bony hands around Rocky’s waist, muttering into her ear the rest of the first reference he made. She obviously enjoyed this, her giggling and blushing kind of gave it away. I immediately shoved my thoughts into the conversation about the dream, not wanting to pick up on and of the other thoughts going through their heads at the moment. The last thing I needed was to picture those two having fun, especially after the move Roxanne picked. She has the dirtiest mind of anyone I’ve ever met and she’s never afraid to speak it.
5

It happened again, one of those crazy dreams. I mean usually my dreams are just like what I imagine being high would be like during the day as weird things happen; this though was one of the really strange occurrences. The dream seemed so real the colors so vibrant and the sounds so sharp; I can hear everything with insane clarity. I can feel every blade of grass tickling my feet, but more so than any of this is the feeling of ravaging hunger for something, though for what I’ve never been able to figure out before I wake. I wake in a sweat that is soaking my sheets, and pace my floor feeling as if I’m supposed to go do or find something. To comfort myself I hum a tune Greg sang to me when I was sad, that had pulled me out of the darkest reaches of my days. This time it worked but only after much time and trying, I kept having this strange feeling that someone was trying to contact me. Almost like they were screaming for help and I just couldn’t understand what they were saying, that is my worst nightmare, feeling that I can’t understand someone out there. Aside from being trilingual and being able to sense people’s feelings, I’ve never seemed to have trouble communicating with people; even the one summer at camp when this kid with some kind of mental disorder. She would scream and scream, yelling what was to all others, complete gibberish. I could feel her pain though, how she wanted to pain, despite the lack of control over her hands. So over the course of the summer I taught her how to use a computer graphics program Lugg had shown me. She caught right on making these unbelievable patterns that you just couldn’t look away from. And for the rest of the summer I never heard her scream or saw her throw a temper tantrum. The counselor said she just needed a friend, I knew that it was more than that alone. It just seems to follow me around, I’ll be walking down the aisle in a local store and suddenly be compelled to gently touch a passing old man’s shoulder and tell him that life will get better. I can feel the frustration of the teacher who knows the subject well and can’t seem to find the right words to convey just how important the lesson at hand is. I’ve found that the best way to handle these kinds of situations is to lead the other person to the answer I can see with a string of questions. Coming out and saying exactly what I see usually just results in anger and confusion not to mention them denying the issue all together. For whatever reason people seem to think that any display of any emotion or deeper thought is a sign of weakness. They don’t understand that these feelings and thoughts are like mental radar, sending back information that the rest of our brains miss out on. I just wish that for once someone could see and feel the things that I can, so we can share what we see, you know compare notes kind of thing. I guess that in time life will display the information necessary to understand this, is this a disorder or a gift? And more importantly why me, of all the people I know, why do I see things this way?

6

I get out of back into bed pulling a book off my shelf to read until I can distract myself back to sleep. Just then I feel it, a wave of emotional power that isn’t mine; its yellow, flailing like a cat stuck in a jar of peanut butter. Immediately I know whose it is, Lugg, he must be on one of his midnight techno spurts, whatever he is making will surely be interesting, I can’t wait until tomorrow. I think of calling him to see what it is, or trying to look through his eyes to see what he does. I decide against it, instead I sit cross legged on my mattress, knowing that reading will be useless, and decide to try to meditate. I close my eyes and breathe deep and slow, like the waves caressing the shore my breath brushes over my lips, smooth and calm. My muscles relax and I can feel my tendons release their grip on my bones and my mind’s grip on my body. As I begin to breathe more deeply I can feel my mind expand, like a bomb exploding in slow motion, the outer boundary expanding equally in all directions. It expands registering everything it perimeter passes over and finding its nature. I can then feel the emotion connected to every inanimate object, the pain of sacred books providing comfort, the strong and industrious thoughts in the toolboxes of neighbors. I can feel the joy emanating from the cookware from Ms. Betty’s cabinet, as she sings about the wonders of the day. The one I find hilarious is the anger Mr. K has left with his garden gnomes, they never do seem to stand up straight. I let my conciseness expand further feeling the trees in the park, the elephants at the zoo thirty-five miles away in Providence, happily sleeping. Sometimes I wonder if the animals can tell I’m watching them, they stir but and seem to recognize the presents, but they never panic. It’s almost like they appreciate the company of another entity that can understand what they feel. Unlike the people who panic anytime I try to share their mind and occupy their thoughts, screaming for release. I find this also ironically comical because of all the creatures on the planet; humans are the ones who are most equip to handle a mental intruder. They can imagine strange and twisting scenarios of mental mazes, not to mention they are the best at keeping control of their minds, they can hide almost anything. It makes my stomach churn when I’m forced to make them give me information; it’s like prying a chocolate bar from a toddler’s hand when they have had too many, you know that they need to let it go, but their sadness tears your heart. I breathe one more big breath and contract my thoughts, many times faster than they stretched, confining them into a single orb of blue light, so bright it would have blinded me in any other situation. Slowly and deliberately get ready for my day, bracing myself for whatever Lugg has up his sleeve today, unable to even imagine what would have drawn some much of his energy.


I could feel it, Gretel’s presence sweeping over my mind as I placed some of my solders, just as I slid the circuit board into its place. In during another one of our weird dreams I had an idea; as I turned the corner opening a door to some kind of laboratory, it came to me. The whole thing all at once, the coils in their clockwise windings, compressed into the end of the remote shaped hand piece. The small acoustic tile piece being slid behind them to keep the resonance from breaking the arm, the old mp3 player connected to the plasma coil array. Cutting the casing in of the old remote to accommodate the new inners it had acquired, plugging it into the computer to charge the batteries, and load the tones that Greg gave me earlier. After about half an hour of loading the tracks onto my new contraption, it was ready to try. I lifted it and held it in front of me, pointing it at one of those novelty glasses you win at a carnival, playing Greg’s broken glass track I pointed the mechanism at the glass. It rattled, buzzing it until it shattered, so it worked, good. Time for trial two, I narrowed the beam and opened my window, pointing the new machine at the Hollywood style sign on the hill in the next town. I played the track again, waiting for anything. At first nothing, then the lights blinked there was an ungodly hum as the sign began to shake. Then as if waiting to do so since it’s forging, it exploded, arcing and shooting colored light in every direction. Glass flew in every direction, raining down on the forest below and drowning the entire hill side in darkness that it hasn’t see since the sign was erected almost seventy years ago. I threw the device onto my bed, slamming the window shut I wondered if I had woken Rocky’s parents. Standing silently for a moment, I couldn’t hear anything so, it must be safe. I landed roughly on my mattress and lay wheezing at the ceiling. Wiping the sweat off my brow I sat wondering what I had just done, no sooner had I thought the thought the answer jumped into my mind. Instantly, an explanation complete with picture demonstration and three-dimensional depictions came into my mind. I could see the interweaving lines of sound crossing each other at the sections exactly between their highest and lowest peaks, harmonic frequencies. Next the lines jump jingling up and down like they were trying to find something, finally resting in the harmonic like pattern they started with. A few seconds the representation of the glass waving, then cracking, jumped into my head in complete synchronization with the cresting of the last harmonic sound wave. I could see the arcs from the plasma speaker causing the air to vibrate and the pulsing of the air against the tube. I could see the tracing pulses of electricity emanating from the battery and sleekly sliding through the path ways the wires made for it. It spun through the coils and then returned to the battery for its final resting place. I knew immediately I had created a device that pointed really powerful sounds in a specific direction; if you had the right sound you could break anything. I guess that’s why Rocky told Greg to give me bunch of special tones. I tried some of the others, the ones that made you feel warm, the ones that melted the center of a pencil, like sand melting down the crack in the bed of a moving truck. I pulled on my socks, breathlessly running downstairs to tell Gretel, just as I reached the door I heard Rocky say, “I know we’re a bit lax about dress code here, but the rest of the world wouldn’t appreciate our style…” I looked up dumb founded, new gizmo in hand, standing in my socks and shorts at the front door. Though I was a bit startled at first, Roxanne was right the novelty had worn off, I’d almost run down the street looking like this. She however wasn’t fazed, standing there wearing even less than I was, eyebrow cocked to one side and looking curious. I shook my head, clearing myself of the transfixed mood clouding my mind; I had to remember that I was with Gretel. I bowed head to avoid further embarrassment and bolted up to the room I was barrowing. Pulling on whatever I could find I hurried into something, and then when I was barley done I scooped up the gadget and dashed back down stairs. Rocky was in front of the door, this time stern, saying, “Now I can tell that you’ve made something important, otherwise you wouldn’t be running to see Gretel at this hour. Now spill.” I was shuffled, not only by her sternness and her total nonchalant attitude toward her parents sleeping, but also her appearance. I stammered then managed, “… it’s a special speaker… why did it wake you?” “A speaker you say…” she said eyeing me suspiciously. “Well fine if that’s all it is go”, she said as she slid out of the way. “And by the way, I’m always up this early.” smirking with a hand on her bare hip. I look down noticing that I had pulled on some swim shorts and a stained A-shirt, not to mention the over sized slippers that were on my feet. I have to admit this isn’t the worst I’ve ever dressed though; this isn’t as bad as the pink and yellow zebra suit that my aunty Clarisse sent me for Easter a few years ago. Not to mention my figure didn’t add to the aesthetic qualities that I seemed to emanate, at least I wasn’t cursed with glasses to take care of anymore. Grams had made sure that for my sixteenth birthday I got that new laser surgery. She had suffered a life of those spectacles and said that I shouldn’t have to lug them around anymore. As I approached her door, Gretel came bounding out to see me all ruffled in her night gown, a big change compared to the high fashion skirt/blouse combinations she usually wore.





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