by Fawn Bonning
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Beams of light surrounded her—a rainbow pulsating with energy. It was breathtaking. She reached out and watched the colors shift with her movement. The colors were speaking to her. Not in words exactly, but they spoke of warmth and love and caring. And then the rays of color began to pulsate with more radiance, the colors becoming even more vivid, something she didn’t think possible. She was weightless. Floating. Floating through a thick liquid.
There was movement to her right, a figure approaching, but he was distorted through the opaque fluid. As he drew closer, she made out the clothes: beige pants; white, satiny shirt with long puffy sleeves and pearl buttons up the center. She couldn’t see his face past the huge colorful lollipop…
She awoke with a moan, clutching the comforter to her chest as she struggled to catch her breath.
“Wha…what is it?” Jeff whispered sleepily, rolling toward her. “Is it the baby?” he asked, placing his hand on the swell of her belly.
“Yeah,” she whispered, forcing the word past numb lips. “It’s a boy.”
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Shrink
(Things on the Shelves)
Julio wriggled his toes in the socks. Maybe she wouldn’t notice they were dirty. Maybe she wouldn’t notice they smelled bad, too.
He shifted on the couch. He felt funny laid out on it like a sack of potatoes. It was leather, cocoa-brown, and very soft. Nice. Too nice for him. His clothes hadn’t been washed since the day he stole them off the line. Could be a year. Maybe more.
Clutching tightly to his feather, he grinned at the fine lady doctor at her desk, keeping his mouth closed so she wouldn’t see his rotten teeth.
“You’re fine, Mr. Perez,” she said. “Just relax. Do you think you might put the feather aside for a few minutes today?”
Julio felt his breath catch. She’d never asked him that before. “Uh…no. No ma’am. It must stay pointed to the heavens.”
“And why is that?”
“Is sagrado.”
“Sagrado?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sagrado.”
Sliding a book across the desk, she flipped through the pages and ran her finger down to the word in question. “Oh. The feather is sacred.”
“Yes, ma’am. Is from a angel wing.”
“I see. And how are you so certain it’s from an angel’s wing and not a bird’s? It looks like a duck feather to me.”
“It fell from a sky with no ducks. And when I picked it up, I could feel it.”
“So…it gives you a certain vibe. A good feeling.”
“Yes. Good feeling.”
“Tell me, Julio. When I see you walking around town, you’re always talking to it. Do you think the feather can hear you?”
Julio clutched tighter to the feather. It was blanco…white. It was very beautiful where he held it at his stomach, pointing to the sky. It was a gift from a angel and he took it with him always. He could talk to it and it wouldn’t look at him like he was basura—like he was garbage. It was there when he went to sleep. It was there when he woke up. And it never laughed at him.
“It’s okay, Julio,” she said, pulling the notebook back in front of her. “Just relax. What do you talk to the feather about?”
Julio swallowed. “I…I talk about my life, about my mama, my papa, my brothers. I tell it about where I grew up in San Luis, about the chickens I used to have, the food mama used to cook. I even talk about you, ma’am.”
“Really. And what do you say about me?”
The leather squeaked as Julio shifted. “I say you are a fine doctor. Very smart.”
“Why, thank you, Julio. Does the feather…talk back?”
Julio shook his head from side to side. It felt funny. Heavy. Like it was filled with rocks. Like it might snap off his neck and roll on the floor and out the door. “No ma’am.”
She grinned.
She was such a fine lady. He watched her at her giant desk as she scribbled notes with hands so smooth and white. They were speckled with brown freckles like a flour tortilla. His mama used to make flour tortillas, would fill them with rice and beans and cheese and a hot chili sauce that would make his ears sweat. But that was long ago. Over thirty years. He wasn’t a boy anymore.
He could smell the treat she had waiting. The brown bag was sitting on the desk next to the cup of pens and pencils. Empanadas, hopefully filled with apples. His favorite.
His stomach growled.
The fine doctor looked at him over her glasses. “Have you eaten today, Julio?”
“No. No, ma’am.”
“Well, I have two apple pockets with your name on them when we get through here. What do you call them, empanadas?”
“Yes, ma’am. Gracias. Muchas gracias.”
He’d never been to a head doctor before. But he suspected she was much different than most. She cared. Really cared.
His eyes wandered about the small room—an office she’d made in her casa, her home. She had all the fancy papers in fancy frames on the walls. She was a smart señora. Very smart. She wanted to learn about the human mind, she said. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t pay, that he was nobody, that he slept on a park bench every night. He had a mind, a mind she could learn from. And she always had snacks. His mouth was watering. And it was making his nose run.
He sniffled loudly.
“Nervous?” she asked with a grin.
“Uh, no ma’am,” he lied, his grip tightening on the feather.
He didn’t like that she was going to put him under a spell. And the drink she gave him to relax was making his stomach feel funny. She was gonna put him under a spell to find out about his past lifes. It was gonna help him heal so he could get a job and make mucho dinero. It sounded loco, like crazy garbage.
“You think this is nuts,” she said, making him wonder if she could read his mind. “It’s okay. A lot of people don’t give credence to past life regressions, many of them my colleagues. But I happen to know that it’s quite legitimate.” She flipped a page in her notebook and scribbled something down. “It’s my belief that events which occurred in our past lives can greatly affect our current lives. Have you told anybody what we’re up to? Any of your… compadres?”
“Well, I…no ma’am.”
She pulled her glasses from her face. “Are you sure, Julio? I told you no one would understand. If you tell people you’re seeing a shrink, they’ll think you’re loco. You don’t want people laughing at you, do you, Julio?”
Julio scratched his head. He’d made a special trip to McDonalds to wash his hair. It looked good, all shiny and black. But the blue soap dried his scalp. “I have no compadres left,” he confessed. “Thomas froze in the winter. He was old and his blanket was thin. Noche was my last compadre, and she was a dog. She was big and black and furry and had a mane like a lion and was warm like a blanket. But I could not feed her and she ran away.
The corners of her mouth lifted. “Is that why you talk to the feather. Because you have no compadres to talk to?”
“Well…I…no. It is from the heavens. It is special…like you, ma’am.”
“You are special, Julio,” she said, pulling a tissue from the box to clean her glasses. “If you’d like, I will be your compadre.”
Julio felt his heart flutter, felt warmth flood through him. “I would like that. I have never had a lady friend.”
“Well, you do now,” she said, breathing hot air onto one lens before rubbing it with the tissue. “Though, I was a man in another life, you know. Yes, it’s true,” she said as she inspected the lens. “I, myself, was regressed. It’s been, oh…ten years ago now. And it was very, very helpful. I was too timid before that. Like a little mouse. I could barely speak to my patients. All that came out was squeak, squeak, squeak.”
Julio grinned his closed-mouth grin. “You speak very good now, señora. Strong, like a lion.”
“Julio, you’re very kind,” she said, sliding her glasses back on. “I am much stronger now. Wh
o I was in my past life has had a great impact on my present.”
“You are a very smart señora. I trust you with my lifes,” he said.
She smiled—white, perfect teeth that lit up her face. “And you have a very good head on your shoulders, Señor Perez.”
Looking to the ceiling, he grinned. He felt a bit dizzy. She said he was smart. And special. No one ever said he was special before. And she had smiled at him. She was a handsome lady. She was older than him. A few years, maybe five, maybe more. She could be forty, maybe older. It was hard to tell. Her skin had no wrinkles. It was so white, like a cloud, and with beautiful light-brown freckles. Her hair was light-brown too, and wavy. She kept it pulled back in a bun, but he imagined it was very beautiful down, spilling about her shoulders…like the mane of a lion. Muy hermosa león.
She tucked a loose strand behind her ear as she continued with her notes. “I discovered that I was once a warrior, if you can believe that. A member of the fierce Shuar tribe. I crept through the Amazon jungles with a poison-tipped spear in my hands. I saw it plain as day, the thick canopy of trees overhead, the mass of tangled vines dripping, the colorful birds perched high, their raucous squawking echoing.”
The sound of her voice was like music. He wanted to dance, to hold her close and sway real slow. “You are still a brave warrior,” Julio said, emboldened by his earlier success. “Your spear is just smaller now.”
She stopped writing to eye the pencil in her hand. “Yes. Yes it is,” she said, giving a chuckle. “Aren’t we a witty one. That’s good. That’s very good. You impress me, Julio. Bravo. How are you feeling, more relaxed?”
With a sigh, Julio looked back to the ceiling. The couch was so soft, like a mattress stuffed with feathers, like the one he slept on as a boy. When he was five, his papa had showed him how to snap a chicken’s neck, how to cut off its head and drain out its blood and pluck its feathers. He had plucked many feathers, had stuffed many mattresses. “I am feeling very good. Very much relaxed. I think I am ready…ready to meet my past lifes. Maybe I will be a witty warrior…carry a…a pencil.” He rubbed at his temple. Thoughts were all jumbled in his head.
She grinned down at him. “Maybe.”
He blinked his eyes to make certain she was really standing over him. He didn’t see her get up from the desk and walk across the room. Maybe the fine doctor really was a león. She moved like one, fast and quiet.
“You have the coloring of the Shuar people,” she said, running the backs of her fingers down his cheek. “The same bronzed skin. And your hair really is quite striking,” she added, caressing it softly. “Silky and black. You will make a magnificent tsantsa. Come,” she said, grabbing his hand. “I want to show them to you. You can bring your feather.”
With some difficulty, she helped him to his feet. Being careful to keep hold of his feather, he leaned heavily upon her shoulders. She was tall. Taller than him. But only a little. And she was strong. That was good because his feet didn’t want to walk. He giggled at the odd feeling, like they were two heavy stones that he was dragging. His head was heavy too. He could barely hold it up. And it was spinning, but he was happy to be touching her. He had never touched her on his two other visits. With his arm around her shoulders, he felt like he could be her love, out on a nice walk. She smelled good, like flowers. He’d brought flowers to a girl once. Sandy Akler. Fifth grade. She laughed at him and threw them in the garbage. The whole class laughed. He could hear them still.
He turned his head and came face to ear, mere inches away. Her ear was beautiful. Muy hermosa. He wanted to kiss it, but didn’t dare. “I love you, ear. Te amo.”
“This is my prized collection. You should feel honored, Julio. I don’t just show these to anybody.”
Julio tried to focus. They were in a different room. It was small and the walls were made up of shelves. He had been a carpenter once, had built shelves like these to hold a rich man’s trophies. “Ohhhh,” he sighed. “So many! So many…dolls.”
“Oh, no no, Julio, not dolls,” she corrected. “Tsantsas. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”
He swayed as he looked at the odd faces of her dolls, but she held him firm. His león warrior was very strong.
“Beautiful,” he said, though they weren’t beautiful at all. They were quite ugly. They did not look like Santa one bit. They did not even have white beards. And their eyes were so…sad. They were the saddest dolls he had ever seen. But he would not tell this to his bonita señora. He would not hurt her feelings. “Beautiful…like you, señora.”
“Oh, Julio, you are so sweet.”
He looked back to her, but she was busy admiring her sad Santa dolls. “You are sweet, señora, my love,” he spoke to her beautiful ear.
They were moving again, his feet of stone now heavy cement blocks that took great effort to slide. He couldn’t lift his chin from his chest, and was worried he would drop his feather because he could barely feel his hands, could not even feel his love’s shoulders where his arm was thrown around them. His beautiful, special señora. His león. His one and only león who thought he was sweet, thought he was smart. She even thought he would make a good Santa. He would not disappoint her and all her treasured dolls with their sad eyes. He would put on a red suit, would stuff it with a pillow filled with chicken feathers. He would say ‘ho, ho, ho’ and pass out presents to all the children. He would give her flowers and she would not throw them in the garbage and the class would laugh no more. No more laughing at Julio. Julio was in charge of the presents. And Julio loved a warrior, one brave and strong.
“You are…are…warrior, señora.” His words were slurred, but his love understood.
“Yes, Julio. You are a very smart hombre. I am still a warrior in my heart, in my soul. A Shuar warrior, fierce Ecuadorian headhunters of the rain forest. Infamous headshrinkers. Did you know that a human head can be shrunken down to one quarter of its original size? It really is quite fascinating. The skull must be removed, of course. You can’t shrink bone. But then, it’s really quite simple. You must first boil the flesh to make it pliable. Not too long, though, or the hair will fall out. Then, as it dries, you must carefully manipulate it back into the shape of a face. It takes a bit of practice. It’s artistry. Like a sculptor, almost.”
“My…brave…león.”
He tried to blink his eyes, but they would not. He didn’t remember falling into the hole. It was dark and the smell of moist earth was strong, like when his papa used to turn the soil to plant the corn seeds. He was flat on his back, but he was not afraid because his warrior was crouched beside him. She reached to his cheek. He felt the caress just barely, like a feather.
It was a feather. His feather. But he didn’t care because she was an angel and needed feathers for her wings. He could barely see her beautiful white face in the dark hole. This saddened him. At least he could still smell the sweet flowers. She had not thrown them away.
He looked to the blue skies. They were the color of his love’s eyes. A bird was circling overhead, its outstretched wings very white, very beautiful. The bird blurred and then cleared, and he knew that tears had fallen. He wanted to speak, but his words were gone.
She still had words. Not squeak, squeak mouse words. Strong lion words. He listened, clinging to each and every one.
“I will take good care of your feather, Julio, I promise. I’ll set it so that it’s always pointing to the heavens. I’m afraid I must sew your eyes shut, though, when all is said and done, otherwise your spirit will come looking for revenge. I will have to sew your mouth shut, as well, dearest Julio. Please forgive me. It’s tradition. But you will keep your beautiful shiny hair. You will keep it forever.”
He caught the glint of a blade. He knew this tool. He had been a working man once, a carpenter, had built many fine houses, had used a hacksaw many times to build them with his very hands. The boss man didn’t like him, though. Called him Chihuahua. Barked at him like a little dog and panted real fast with his tongue hanging o
ut, and they all would laugh. Were they laughing at Julio now? No. The laughing was over. No one laughed at Santa Claus.
He wanted to shut his eyes, wanted to picture his mama, to see her at the table rolling out tortillas. His mama made wonderful tortillas, but his mama did not know how to love. She would smack his head and drag him about by his ear and call him estúpido and laugh at him when he cried. Not like his angel, his angel who would never laugh at him, who had hands the color of tortillas and who always gave him empanadas with apples inside.
He focused on a cloud and saw her face there, so pure and white and beautiful. It blurred…then cleared.
“We must do this quickly, Julio,” she said. “Mrs. Goodman will be arriving soon. She’s a real patient, a paying patient, and she’s quite fascinating. She insists that nightmares can come to life. But you and I know better, don’t we? You’re not loco, Julio, just…unfortunate. Nobody ever intends to be nobody. You tried. You truly did. Mrs. Goodman doesn’t believe in past lives. She believes we merely inherit the memories of our ancestors. I would hate to think that that’s true, that we only get one chance to make something of ourselves. But don’t you worry, Julio,” she whispered, “I believe she’s wrong. I believe that one day you will be somebody great, somebody who can stand tall and proud.”
Ho, ho, ho.
He wanted so badly for her to hear, but she could not hear him laughing.
She leaned in, shrouding him in darkness. “Perhaps in one of your next lifes.”