Lancer Park was about ten minutes outside the King town borders. I saw the large lake before we even turned into the park and tried not to think of what lived in it.
We parked on the grass at the edge of the beach and walked toward the lake. The water sparkled innocently in the late afternoon sun, but I was still wary. Michael took my hand and pulled me down on the sandy lakeshore.
“You’re safe here. Nothing’s going to jump out of the water and get you.”
I raised an eyebrow skeptically. “It’s on your head if a gator grabs me by the leg and drags me out to the middle of the lake.”
He smiled slightly. “I’ll take that responsibility.” My heart beat a little erratically as my cheeks felt warm. Without meaning to, the wall I kept between us slipped slightly, and I heard, “So pretty… what am I doing here with a girl like her? She’s going to see that I’m not good enough for her…” I pulled my gaze from his face and concentrated on not listening.
“What’s wrong? Are you really that freaked? We can go if you want.”
“It’s not that. I am just trying… not to listen. Sometimes it’s hard when it’s a more one-on-one situation.”
This time it was his face that reddened. “Are you hearing something you don’t like?”
Oh, great, Tas, I thought, way to help things out here. I decided it was better to lighten the mood.
“Not yet, I didn’t. Maybe I wasn’t listening hard enough?” I put my fingers to my temples and struck my best mind-reader pose.
It worked, and he laughed, bumping his shoulder against mine in a friendly way. I did notice, though, that he was still holding my hand from when he had pulled me down onto the sand. He followed my gaze.
“Does it bother you?”
I didn’t have to drop the wall to know what he meant. But I couldn’t quite articulate with my heart thumping and my throat suddenly feeling tighter. I just shook my head. He smiled then, and gripped my hand just a bit tighter.
We looked out over the water in silence for a few minutes, and then he began hesitantly, “Can I ask you a few things? About… you know, your talent.”
“Sure. Ask away. I don’t know how much I can explain, but I’ll try.” I bit the side of my lip and frowned slightly. I saw a reflecting frown on Michael’s face and his brow was furrowed.
“I don’t have to ask anything. You don’t have to tell me anything. We can just hang. It’s cool. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” I could feel waves of uncertainty coming off him—he thought I was afraid he couldn’t be discreet.
“It’s not that. It’s not that I don’t trust you to keep it to yourself. It’s more—” I took a deep breath. “It might change how you feel about me. You could start seeing me differently. Acting differently around me.”
He was silent for a moment. I could tell that he was thinking about what I said, and it was a relief that he didn’t just offer me assurances.
“I don’t think it will make any difference. I already know the biggest part—I think, anyway—” he threw me a swift glance and I nodded in agreement, “—and it doesn’t make me like you any less. I just kind of want to know… more.”
I nodded again and took a deep breath. “Okay, so fire away. Unless you want me to just pick the questions out of your mind?” I meant the last part to be said flippantly, and he rolled his eyes at me.
“No, let’s do this the old-fashioned way, if you don’t mind. So, how long have you been able to read minds?”
“First, I’ll tell you it’s not really mind-reading. It’s more like hearing. Reading implies will; you don’t just walk around accidentally reading stuff, but you can definitely hear things you might not mean to hear. That’s more what it’s like with me. And it’s been all my life. As long as I can remember.”
His eyes widened. “Really? So even when you were a little kid? What was that like?”
I laughed without much humor. “It was just how I was. For me, it was normal. It was what I knew. So I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t remember any time when I couldn’t hear people.”
“How did your parents figure it out?”
I sighed. “It wasn’t easy. I wasn’t born with it stamped on my forehead, so my parents didn’t really figure anything out until I was old enough for it to affect my behavior. Although my mom thinks in hindsight there were clues when I was a baby.”
“What kind of clues?”
I stretched out the hand that wasn’t being held and used it to support myself as I leaned back a bit. “I guess, when I would cry, I would quiet down as soon as my mom would get up to get me—before I could even see her, but she was probably thinking about me and somehow I heard that. And also if she woke up in the middle of the night, hoping I would stay asleep, right after she thought about me, I would wake up. My mom figures I could hear her thinking my name and it woke me up.”
He laughed then, delightedly. “Your poor parents. They must have loved that.”
I chuckled too. “Let’s just say they never meant me to be an only child, but my early childhood was such a challenge that they decided I was enough for them.”
“So when did they realize that you were not the average kid?”
I felt the familiar pain from those early years. “It didn’t take too long. I talked really early, probably because I was hearing so many more words than other toddlers. I started to repeat things that my parents had never said to me, and they had no idea where I could’ve picked up the phrasing, the words. And… I was very easily upset. I could pick up all my parents’ thoughts about me and about each other, and believe me, you don’t want to know what parents are thinking all the time. It wasn’t bad, but if they were the least bit impatient or tired or whatever, I knew that, and it upset me, because I didn’t know how to process what I was hearing.
“And then I started having trouble sleeping. My parents would get me to sleep, but I would wake up, screaming, probably because I heard them thinking, or I heard the neighbors thinking or whatever. I didn’t have any way to tune it out. And the lack of sleep, and dealing with what I was hearing all over the place—it didn’t make me a very pleasant toddler. The worse I got, the more my parents worried, and then I picked up on that, too.” I swallowed hard, unable to go on for a moment.
He squeezed my hand for just a second and then raised our joined hands to my face. I was surprised to feel that my face was wet.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “If you want to stop…”
I shook my head. “No, it’s just difficult. These aren’t really my memories, or even totally things my parents told me. They’re more the memories I’ve picked up from them over the years, and they’re kind of painful ones.” I took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m all right. So there I was, a troubled two year old. My parents didn’t know what to do. They took me to doctors, had me tested, and basically, they were told it was either a phase I would grow out of—or it was more serious. One doctor told them that he was sure I was emotionally disturbed, that I would probably end up living in some kind of group home for kids who were violent. That about killed my mom and dad. I think it was then they realized they couldn’t have any more children; some of the doctors were warning them that I might be physically abusive to any siblings.”
He whistled softly under his breath. “That must have been tough on them. What finally clued them in?”
I smiled shakily. “My grandmother figured it out. I spent a lot of time with her. She was the only person my parents would leave me with, and when I stayed there, I could actually sleep. See, she lived out on a farm, pretty far from her nearest neighbors, and she lived alone—my grandfather died before I was born. So it was very peaceful with her. She was a calm and restful person. And because of that, I was a calm and restful child when I was with her.
“She figured out gradually what I could do. She said there were lots of hints, and when she finally accepted that I could hear her thinking, it seemed the most logical answer.”
“Wow, what did she
do? Was she freaked?”
I shook my head. “No, she wasn’t. She just dealt with it. My parents were harder to convince, but she asked them to hear her out and not jump to any conclusions. And to their credit, they did just that. I think they were so relieved to have an answer that didn’t involve me being in an institution, they would have accepted just about anything.”
“What happened next? Did they go back to the doctors?”
“No, because they knew the doctors wouldn’t listen and then the more they thought about it, they were afraid people might be interested in me for other reasons than to help me. So they kept it quiet, and they just started to focus on ways to deal with my issues. Like the sleeping. My mom started playing music in my room at night to block the thought noise, and they also started giving me a light sedative, just until I was old enough to learn how to deal on my own.”
“Did that help? The sleep, I mean?”
“Oh, it made a huge difference. So did the fact that my parents were so happy now and that they understood me. They worked, too, on ways to block their minds from me—trial and error, of course. And that helped. Immensely.”
I was finished for now, and he was quiet. I waited, wondering, and tempted more than I usually was to cheat and hear what he was really thinking. I didn’t, more out of cowardice than manners.
Again he tightened his grip on my hand, and again he raised our two hands. But this time, instead of bringing them to my face, he pulled them to his own, turned them over and brushed his lips over the back of my hand, as he had today at lunch. I shivered, even in the warmth of the late afternoon sun.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, still holding my hand near his face, so that I could feel his breath against my fingers.
“Don’t be,” I breathed, still not sure why he was sorry.
“I don’t feel sorry for you, not now. But I am sorry for the little girl you were, and it makes me sad to see you remember, and hurt.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. I cleared my throat. “So, what else do you want to know?”
He cocked his head, thinking. “Can you hear everything, all the time?”
“If I just opened myself up and let it be, I would be able to hear a low buzz that would be the thoughts of everyone within a certain radius. I’m not sure how big a radius that is, but the closer people are, the more clearly I can hear them. I don’t test it often, at least not on purpose. If I’m startled or stressed, sometimes the wall drops suddenly, and then I get a rush of noise. And as you learned, if I’m very emotional, sometimes I can’t distinguish between the spoken word and the thought word.”
“How did you learn to block it all?”
“My mom and dad taught me, as much as they could. They figured out when I was concentrating, I didn’t hear so much. We practiced, and they also taught me that it was impolite to listen in on other people who hadn’t given me permission. They made me realize that private thoughts are just that. And that even if I did accidentally hear something, I shouldn’t respond or comment, because that wasn’t polite or safe.”
“Safe? So you really think you could be in danger from this?”
I hesitated. “Maybe. I don’t want to sound all X-Files or anything, but even if you’re not talking government stuff, there are companies that would be very interested in someone who could give them that edge. Anyway, I don’t want to open myself up to anyone who might exploit me, at all.”
He gazed at me intently, silently. He still held my hand near his face, and now he shifted to wrap it tightly in both of his, subtly pulling me slightly closer.
“I would never, never violate your trust in me. I want you to know that.”
I wanted to make a silly reply, lighten the mood, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his. I nodded, barely. “I know.”
We were quiet for several minutes. The sun was slowly going down, still warm against our backs. Twilight had settled across the lake.
“Is there anything else you wanted to know?”
He pulled in a deep and slow breath. “Hundreds of things. But nothing that can’t wait. This has been a lot for you today.”
“I’m not used to it. I don’t share—I just don’t. And I don’t even talk much about this stuff with my parents.”
“Why not?”
“Unless there’s a problem, there really isn’t any need to talk about my—gift. I guess no more than you would talk about being blind or deaf. It just is, and we deal with it.”
“And no one else has ever guessed or figured it out?” He was lightly running his fingers back and forth over the back of my hand, but his eyes were squarely on my face.
“No, not ever. I try not to get into many situations where someone might get suspicious.”
“That’s the whole staying aloof thing. You said before that you didn’t have many conversations with girls or boys.”
I nodded. “And it’s not hard. When you have to concentrate on not hearing everyone, it can come off like you’re stand-offish or stuck up. Or even something else.” I smirked a little, remembering.
“What?” he demanded. “What’s funny?”
“I was just thinking about my last school, in Wisconsin. There was a rumor going around that not only was I a snob, I didn’t like boys either.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”
I laughed at the disbelief in his eyes. “Well, people look for an explanation for what they don’t understand, and I guess that was the best they could come up with for why I wasn’t interested in any of the local hotties.”
A smile curved his lips, and for the first time in over an hour, he released my hand. I felt oddly bereft for just a moment, but I didn’t have a chance to dwell on that, as he leaned closer to me and brushed the hair back from my face.
“How about here?” he murmured, so close to my ear that I shivered even as my face grew hot again. “Are there any local hotties you’re interested in?”
My heart was thumping so hard and fast that I could hardly hear my own reply. “Maybe,” I breathed. And my concentration slipped so suddenly that it seemed I could hear him shouting, “Do I kiss her? I don’t want to push. But maybe…” I closed my eyes briefly and shut it all out, but I knew I couldn’t be anything less than honest.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I could hear you, just now. It’s harder to concentrate when I’m—flustered, I guess.”
He didn’t pull back, didn’t seem at all upset that I had violated the privacy of his mind. Instead, he slid his hand from my hair down to my neck and cupped it softly. He leaned even closer to me, resting his forehead on mine.
“Why don’t you not concentrate for a minute? Why don’t you relax… and listen?”
My eyes widened as I realized what he was doing. This was such a rarity, that someone would willingly invite me to listen to their thoughts; seldom did even my parents condone it. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and carefully lowered the wall.
“Tasmyn, trust me. I won’t hurt you, ever, and if it’s in my power, I won’t ever let anyone else hurt you, either. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. May I kiss you… please?”
I was shaking ever so slightly as I nodded my head, barely. A smile spread over his face as he brought his other hand to my neck and gently tilted my head back. His lips brushed mine, and it was so tender and innocent that I felt tears spring to my eyes.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, and I moved my lips against his, lost in the sensation even as I heard him in my mind. “So sweet, so soft. Tasmyn…”
I don’t know how long we sat there, but at some point he lowered his hands to my shoulders and was holding me closer. I was so involved in the kiss that I barely even heard the quiet murmurs his mind was making. Suddenly I heard a loud, “STOP!” and I jerked back in surprise.
His breathing was ragged, and his eyes were closed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so carried away.”
I was somewhat breathless, too. “I only—you know, stopped, pulled back, becau
se I heard you. You thought STOP really loud, you know that?”
He looked at me for one solemn moment, and then with a shout of laughter, threw himself back onto the sand.
“What? What’s funny?” I was just a tad defensive.
He was still lying back, shaking with laughter. But I could feel that it wasn’t derisive or mocking; rather it was joyous.
Finally he lifted his head and looked at me, still sitting as he had left me. He dropped his head and chuckled again. “You. That you exist. That I found you. That I…” He raised his head again to look at me, but this time the laughter was gone. “That you let me kiss you. That you trust me.”
I had no words to reply, and the feelings rolling off him were too strong for me to comprehend at the moment. He sat up slowly, his gaze never leaving my face.
“Are you still listening to me? You know, like, listening, listening?”
“I’m… not getting precise words from you. Not complete thoughts, because I’m tuning into what you’re saying verbally. That’s normal. But I’m still getting waves from you.”
“Waves?”
“Yeah, even if I’m doing a good job of blocking actual thoughts, sometimes I still get these waves of feelings from people. Especially if they’re particularly strong feelings.”
He smiled broadly. “And what kinds of waves are you getting from me right now?”
I giggled. “Are you sure you want me to tell you?”
“No, on second thought, there are some things better left unsaid, right?” He stood up then and stretched. The sun was sinking ever lower behind us, and the puffs of breeze actually carried some chill. “Come on. I’d better get you home before the gators come out for their night time feed.” At my expression of abject terror, he laughed again. “Kidding, just kidding.”
He pulled me to my feet then, squeezing my hand as he gazed down at me. Hands still linked, we set out for home.
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