by Lisa Mangum
The park glistened in the hot afternoon sun, the verdant oaks and elms incongruous against the riot of colors from the 3-Decals that adorned the city. Gwen wiped sweat from her eyes and headed toward the path leading to the playground. The shade called to her. Part of her mind saw the black lines on the concrete where the sun’s brightness died before it met the ground, having been absorbed by the leaves instead. She pulled up short.
Her mouth dropped open. She would get so angry at Asher when he pulled away from her at the edge of the park. “You love the park, Asher, stop fighting me!” She’d start calm, but by the fourth time she repeated it, her words would hiss, slapping the concrete and the leaves.
It scares him. The change scares him. How did I not realize?
She’d spent every day of his life studying him, in turn infuriated and mesmerized by him, and she’d never recognized that the shade frightened him. The realization of how little she truly knew her son made her heart ache. She didn’t know how to remedy that, but damn it, she was going to try.
A force pushed into her mind, making her feel faint. Gwen’s body disappeared, and she was lost, adrift in Asher’s mind. The sandbox fell away and she—no, Asher—ran into the woods, screaming. A small conscious part of Gwen’s mind recognized the concern on an unfamiliar woman’s face as Asher tore past her, but her mouth moved meaninglessly. Asher pushed the stranger away, clawing and tearing at the fear and containment and confusion.
Gwen’s experienced mind translated the feelings and jumbled chaos.
Leave me alone! Who do you think you are? This is wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
Asher, I’m here. Gwen tried to push through the scattered images and emotions and fear, but he didn’t slow his run—and she couldn’t find her way back to her body. Where am I?
The chip should have given her access to Asher’s communication centers, his visual cortex and auditory processors, but it wasn’t supposed to go the other way. She’d wanted to communicate with him, but this was too much. How had he looped back into her mind? Her plea didn’t even make sense to her own mind; it was all just noise and intrusion and wrong.
The distantly awake part of Gwen’s mind saw the ripples of water, the glistening sunlight, and joined the panicked screaming that dominated all else. Not the pond, Asher, stop running, stop!
Fear pulled her back to herself. Images of Asher’s body floating still and limp—imagined now, but with a prescience that chilled her—forced her eyes to focus. She retched, but pounded into the park toward the pond.
Gwen found Asher huddled under a park bench, soaked from the waist down and muddy from the waist up. She fell to her knees, barely processing the sting of rough gravel amid the waves of relief she felt. She’d been trying to reach Asher for so long, trying so hard to free a mind she could see had brilliance within, that she’d never considered he might not be in a prison at all. To Asher, the world was a thrashing hurricane and his mind was a safe port against the unrelenting storm.
Tears streamed down her face as she scooted toward him. She still hoped the chips would allow them to connect, at least in their minds.
Asher rocked back and forth, humming a monotone buzz, hands pressed over his eyes.
Gwen reached out to touch him but stopped when her hand was inches away from his shoulder. Her own skin writhed with horror at the thought of an unexpected caress. That would only panic him further, and this level of fear—this heart-pounding, heavy breathing, tears-behind-the-eyes fear—had nearly driven Asher to drowning. She’d been so distracted that she’d run into the path of an oncoming car. There had to be some way to bring the two of them more in sync, some way to reach an equilibrium.
Gwen could feel Asher’s emotions, but he couldn’t understand her words. Maybe he could understand her emotions if she focused them in his direction.
She took deep, calming breaths and visualized Asher’s blocks, the leaning tower in alphabetical order, connecting with the wall. Flipping the blocks free one by one. Building the tower again.
The rocking slowed. The humming stopped. Asher peeked at Gwen between splayed fingers. His eyes sent a jolt through her like a spray of cold water—they looked right at her, holding her gaze.
Gwen smiled and opened her arms wide. With feelings, not words, she projected herself toward him: the swell of love in her chest, the calm that came from having found a safe place to relax, the soothing warmth of every hug she and Asher had ever shared.
Asher smiled shyly and climbed out from under the bench. He crawled into Gwen’s arms and knelt in her lap, pressing his face against her chest. Despite the wetness of his clothes, Gwen felt an echo of warmth in her soul that complimented—no, magnified—the feelings she’d sent toward Asher. He was responding in kind, and the love that poured from his heart burned hotter than any flame.
Gwen spent the next week working on a new version of the comm-chip. She debated removing the prototype, but every time she thought about it, Asher burst into tears. Once the shock of the increased connection faded, he’d reveled in being able to express himself.
Even though it wasn’t the way Gwen had expected them to communicate, she relished it too. Asher experienced everything so keenly, with a fervent intensity the likes of which Gwen had never felt, even as a child. By the time the week was out, she barely felt the need to speak—emotional symbiosis was so much more primal and evocative. Asher’s presence, their level of connection … This was what she’d imagined when she’d brought him home from the hospital. No more confusion. No more barriers.
She stared at the new comm-chips for hours after she finished them. She’d programmed the emotional communication to be more distant, more controlled, so they’d be better able to distinguish their thoughts from one another. The chances of losing herself in Asher’s mind would be far slimmer.
But was that really what she wanted? Was that what Asher wanted? Gwen’s original plan had been to make Asher understand her, but she’d come to understand him instead. Now that they weren’t fighting to communicate, the input from the chip was much easier to process. Her focus still shifted in odd ways sometimes, but she hadn’t lost herself in days.
Asher tugged on her pant leg, then tilted his head and sent her the feeling of warm sand trickling through his fingers, of the weight of blocks and the tickle of paper between his fingers as he turned the pages of a book.
School! It was time to go to school. This would be Asher’s second day attending physical classes. The first had gone better than Gwen could have hoped. The teachers were kind, gentle, and understanding of Asher’s needs, and even at a distance, Gwen could be there for Asher. They were together now.
She’d helped him understand the shoving of a toy toward him was an invitation to play, not a threat, and encouraged him to redirect from his favorite blocks to the new experience of listening to a story on a circular rug. He’d enjoyed the soothing cadence of the teacher’s speech; perhaps, in time, he might learn to recognize the words.
Gwen took Asher’s hand with a smile. She threw the fresh pair of comm-chips into the trash bin and started the compacting cycle as they left the apartment. They walked in tandem down the hall, into the elevator, and out the front door to the bus stop.
In Asher’s room, a ship sailed on fair seas, a summer breeze billowing white sails.
About the Authors
M. Elizabeth Ticknor has been previously published in two anthologies: Heroic Fantasy and Epic Fantasy; she also received a scholarship for the 2020 Superstars Writing Seminar. She shares a comfortable hobbit hole in Southeast Michigan with her husband and their twin baby dragons. An avid reader of science fiction and fantasy, Elizabeth also enjoys well-written horror. Her other interests include drawing, painting, and tabletop roleplaying. Visit her at ticknortales.com or on Twitter @lizticknor.
Rebecca E. Treasure grew up reading science fiction in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. She received a history degree from the University of Arkansas and a Master’s degree from the University
of Denver. Her writing appears in the anthology, A Dying Planet, and she was a 2020 recipient of the Superstars Writing Seminar scholarship. She currently resides in Texas Hill Country with her family. Visit her at rebeccaetreasure.com.
Check Yes or No
Melissa Koons
4/28/1987
Jeanine—
I had a really great time on our date Saturday night. Thanks for letting me take you out. You looked really nice, and I’m sorry I tripped and splattered your milkshake all over your jean jacket. You still looked pretty. I guess you really can pull off anything.
I wanted to buy you flowers to go with this note I stuck in your locker, but I don’t have the money right now. They wouldn’t compare to you, anyway. You’re prettier than any flower and smell twice as sweet. I hope that’s not weird to say.
I’d like to take you out again, if you’re still interested. Maybe I’ll be a little less nervous this time.
Check Yes or No
Matt
* * *
4/28/1987
Claire—look what Matt left for me. I can’t tell if it’s sweet or creepy. He stuck it in my locker while I was in chemistry. It’s cute … but the date last night was a disaster. We met at the mall food court, for starters, and not only did he trip and splatter my milkshake all over my fave jean jacket—you know, the one with the rhinestones on it—he dumped our food all over the floor. AND he didn’t have enough money to buy it again, so I had to pay for us.
The conversation was so awkward. He kept stuttering and messing up his words and was so obviously nervous. He could barely string two words together. I’ve never seen a guy so tongue-tied around me—but I’m sure that’s something you’re used to. It was weird, though. Most guys talk to me really easily—then again, that’s because they typically just want to find out if they have a chance with you. Haha! Matt struggled with making conversation, but he listened really well. It was kind of cute. Or is it creepy? I don’t know. He was sweet. What do you think I should do?
—Jeanine
4/28/1987
Jean,
Girl, like, I’ve been on some bad dates before but none of them spilled a milkshake all over me. I love that jacket of yours! It’s so choice. I hope it’s not ruined. I wanted to borrow it for when I go bowling with Jack this weekend. Oh, wait, I didn’t tell you? He asked me out! Hopefully our date goes waaaay better than yours did.
He called you a flower? I dunno … that seems kinda creepy. He’s that lame, quiet guy in your lit class, right? The one who got all weird when you had to work with him on that book report thing and wouldn’t make eye contact with you? Yeah, that dude is a spaz. You’re probably better off, but it’s up to you Jean-Queen.
I’ll tell you all about my date with Jack on Sunday!
Claire
4/29/1987
Matt—Okay. But no milkshakes.
—Jeanine
4/29/1987
Dude! She said “Yes!” Where do I take her?
She said no milkshakes. That means she’s mad, right? I know the mall wasn’t the most stellar option, but it’s all I could think of in my price range. I’d seen her and her friends hanging out at the food court before, so I figured she’d like it. Obviously not. What do I do?
Matt
4/30/1987
Bro, chill. You got this. You got her to agree to a second date so clearly you must be doing something right. I bet it was your flower talk. Girls love that crap. Write her some more of that. It’s cheaper than chocolates and actual flowers, right?
And yeah, the mall was a bad call. Girls don’t want to go on a date where they go all the time. They want something new and exciting. I know your dad is out of a job right now and you’re pickin’ up the slack at home, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have options. Take her to the skate park or something. You’ll figure it out. Just DO NOT take her back to the mall.
Derek
4/30/1987
Jeanine—
I’m looking forward to our date tomorrow night. I get off work at 8:00 and figured I could pick you up around 8:30? I have a plan but bring a jacket. It might get chilly. Have you been to Forest Park? It’s really pretty at night, and you can see tons of stars. I thought you might like it because your eyes always sparkle like stars whenever you talk about astronomy—I remember that’s one of your favorite subjects.
It makes me think of that poem we read in class by John Keats: “Bright Star.”
“Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—”
I don’t totally get it, but I like the way it sounds.
See you tomorrow night.
No milkshakes this time, promise.
Matt
5/1/1987
Claire—He’s taking me stargazing. In Forest Park. That’s romantic, right? Or is it creepy?
—Jean
* * *
5/1/1987
Jean-Queen,
Could go either way. I mean, you do love the stars. And he quoted poetry to you? I dunno. But it’s obvious he’s hella into you. It’s cute, I guess. Jack hasn’t quoted any poetry to me. He just tells me I should prepare to get my butt kicked when we go to the alley tomorrow. It’s starting to feel a lot less romantic compared to your date. Let me know how it goes! Call me right when you get home. I don’t care what time, my parents have their poker night so they’ll be out until way late and the ringer won’t wake anyone.
Claire
5/1/1987
Jeanine—
I’m writing this before our date to give to you to read after it, so I’m really hoping it goes well otherwise I’ll probably just throw this away so no one else will ever see it. Okay. Here goes nothing:
The stars seem dim
compared to the twinkle in your eye
when you smile
talking about them.
Your whole face lights up
like the sun
which is also a star
but closer.
You’re radiant.
* * *
Oh, God, I hope you like this and don’t think it’s stupid …
Matt
5/4/1987
Claire—I tried to call but the line was busy. All weekend. Did your sister make up with Frankie, again? Whatever. We both know how that’s going to end.
But Claire. CLAIRE. It was the sweetest date. Matt took me to the park, and we hiked not far to this nice little clearing where you could see the stars. It was perfect. He still smelled like french fries, but at least he’d changed out of his work uniform. He told me how he picked up the extra hours because his dad got laid off a couple months ago and can’t find work so all the money from Matt’s paychecks goes to helping his family. He’s got two kid sisters—twins! They’re, like, ten years younger than him because his parents didn’t plan on having more. Can you say, “Whoops?” Talk about a mega surprise.
Want to know the best part of the whole night? After actually TALKING with him (he was still so nervous, but he managed to get words out and string sentences together this time), he walked me to my door and slipped this note into my hand. He was all blushing and shy—it was legit adorable. It was a poem, Claire. He wrote me a poem about how I was like the sun. It was … not good … but so sweet!
I think I’ll let him take me out again.
How did your date with Jack go?
—Jean
5/4/1987
Derek, dude, it worked! I don’t know how, but it freaking worked! I took her stargazing, and we had just the best night. She’s an only child, which is why she spends so much time with her friends.
That girl you’re into—Claire, I think? Anyway, she’s Jeanine’s best friend since preschool, and they basically grew up together. She said they’re like sisters, which makes so much more sense to me now. No offense, dude, I know you like that Claire chick and you say she’s rad, but she comes off as kinda full of herself, to me. Which is why I was so confused that Jeanine was tagging along with her because Jeanine isn’t like th
e rest of Claire’s ditzy sidekicks who hang around her trying to soak up the extra attention.
Man, it was a huge relief to find that out. I was able to chill out and give her that poem I wrote. I almost threw it away because I was worried she’d think it was a horrible joke or something that she was going to laugh about with Claire later, and I so don’t need that right now. Not that I ever need something like that. A girl isn’t worth public humiliation.
My dad is on my case again about school. He was so pissed that I went out after work. I lied and told him it was for an astronomy assignment to get him off my back. Not having a job has him freaking out about me getting a scholarship for college in the fall. Man, he’ll flip if he finds out about Jeanine.
It might not matter for long, anyway. I chickened out and didn’t kiss her when I walked her to her door. I just kinda threw the poem at her and ran. I gotta come up with a plan to take her out again. Any suggestions?
Matt
* * *
5/4/1987
Dude. Bro. Claire is majorly bodacious. You’re just too shy to be attracted to a girl like her. But that’s okay, Jeanine is pretty radical, too, and hella into you if she is still agreeing to date you. It’s probably good you didn’t go in for the kiss—a girl like that isn’t going to go for it on the first decent date.