Broken People

by Scott Hildreth

  “Well, I kind of have two, so let’s go back and forth, how’s that? Me, you, then me again,” I said, laughing.

  “Fine,” she said sharply.

  “Well, I guess I will just get to it then,” I stopped and took a breath, then started again. “As I told you on the phone, I had one of my dreams. After years and years of nothing, I had one. It revealed several things. Most importantly, Britney is going to wake up, Michelle. She is going to wake up and I think she will be fine.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You came here to say that? I don’t know whether to tell you to fuck off or what. Jeez, Kid. I can’t tell her parents that. Do you really expect me to believe that? I mean, I know you have certain gifts, but Kid. Seriously. You had a dream that you really think is going to come true? Really? I don’t know what I think about this,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Listen Michelle, I have never had a dream like this and not had it end up being true. Or real. Or whatever you want to call it. And I don’t want to tell her parents anything. If everything goes as I think it will, she will wake up while I am here today. I want to leave as soon as she does. I do not want to be here after she wakes up. There will be too much embarrassment and lack of trust on her part,” I said, extending my hands across the table to hold her hands. She was beginning to shake. As she reached out and held my hands, she began to speak.

  “That makes sense. I never really thought about it that way. Kind of admitting to her parents that she talked to you about suicide, and didn’t talk to them, right?” she said, holding my hands.

  “Exactly. Oh, and the drive was great. Most of it at between 120 and 160 miles per hour. Well, except for when I got pulled over in West Virginia. Potentially, I could have received ten tickets, but the cop let me go,” I said, smiling.

  “I hate cops,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “This one was nice. Made me look at things differently. I will have to tell you the story later. So what’s your surprise?” I asked.

  She let go of my hands, and sat back in her chair. A smile began to appear on her face, and she looked intently into my eyes. With her eyes, she smiled almost a prideful smile. She stood from her chair, turned to the side, and began to speak as she started to lift her shirt from her waist.

  “After all of this happened, my parents, and, well… all of the parents started to pay more attention to their kids. To listen, ask questions, probably in fear of their kids having suicidal thoughts. My parents apologized for the tattoo comments, and said if I wanted to get one, I could. So, I did. I couldn’t wait to tell you, and to show you,” she said as she lifted her shirt and revealed her new tattoo.

  As I looked at it, I tried to act as if I had no idea what it was going to be. It was done in a fancy script, but it was clear what it said. Still swollen and apparently new, the tattoo was gorgeous. This kid was a piece of work. Her first tattoo wasn’t going to be a butterfly or some flower. As she held her shirt up proudly, I read the words out loud.

  “‘Stay Human’.” That is absolutely gorgeous Michelle. And I must add, quite appropriate. Where did you get the idea?”

  “Well, I had a dream one night. It was the night my parents made me so mad. There was this guy, he was in prison, and he was mad at the authorities. It was a really weird dream. But it was like I could actually sense what the man was thinking. The dream was clear and vivid. Not like any other. He got out of prison, and there were all of these rules. One rule said he couldn’t get a tattoo. He said fuck it, and went and got one. And when he did, it said this. It just fits, don’t you think?” she said, beaming.

  “It certainly does. More than you know. Kind of puts everything in place,” I said, as I stood up.

  “Well, what’s your other surprise?” she asked, lowering her shirt, still glowing with pride.

  I reached into my left pocket and retrieved the post-it note, and handed it to her, folded in quarters. She reached toward the note, and took it in her hand, rolling her eyes. As she looked at it, I noticed that it was covered in pocket lint and dirt. It had been in my pocket for several days, and it showed. She began unfolding it, and turned it over to read the two words I had written on it.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? But. How did you…Kid, what the fuck? What’s going on? This is crazy. It’s freaking me out,” she said, looking at the note.

  “I had a dream. In it, Britney woke up, and I saw that. Clear as day. I wrote it down to prove it to myself, and to you,” I said in a somewhat apologetic tone.

  “Kid, you are truly an amazing person. You just are. You’re different, this is crazy. Oh my God, she is going to wake up, isn’t she? When?” she asked as she placed the note on the table, and began walking in my direction.

  “Probably now, or as soon as we get back, if my dream was accurate, and it appears it will be,” I said as I hugged her again, and then continued, “We need to make sure we’re done talking, because when she wakes up, I have to go.”

  “Kid, it just blows me away, the reading people, as you say, the dreams, your ability to understand, to offer advice. You’re just so, well, I don’t even know how to say it,” Her voice trailed off as she started thinking.

  “Michelle, everyone on this earth is the same height. They all see everything the same. From their vantage point, they all see each other. A literal mass of people seeing only what is in front of them. They live unaware of anything they can’t see. And, they can’t see beyond the person in front of them. Every now and again, a tall person is born. They, from their vantage point, are all seeing. All aware, and they see all that there is to see. I am tall. I always have been. You are as well. You’re tall, Michelle,” I said, and waited for her to respond.

  “Kid, I am not tall. Not like you. You have the dreams, you have a gift. I may be smart, or intellectual, or intelligent, but I am a kid, and I know nothing compared to you. You have dreams that come true. You see what others don’t, you are taller than anyone. If I had those dreams, man. I’m telling you. If I did, then we could talk about being tall,” she said, rolling her eyes at me.

  “Stop rolling your eyes, you’re going to make yourself sick. Remember our broken people conversation?” I asked.

  “Yes. Why?” Michelle responded.

  “Well, I am, by most standards, broken. You say gifted, I say broken. I stand above others. I see as far as there is to see. And I could see you standing above the crowd from San Diego. You’re tall. You’ll realize it one day, you will. And when you do, it will flow through you like an infection. You will feel compelled to help others, open their eyes to what you know, and what they are incapable of seeing without you. But, Michelle, I am broken. And broken people attract broken people, remember? That’s what has drawn me to you,” I said as she listened intently.

  “Well, I don’t know Kid, the dreams. You’re way beyond what I can imagine,” she said as she straightened her shirt back into place.

  “Well, shall we?” I asked, pointing to the doorway.

  We both stood, and started walking to the doorway. I looked at the table, where the post-it note lay, my scribbling facing up. The two words I had written were clearly visible. Stay Human. As we walked by the cafeteria exit, I threw my coffee into the trash can, and chuckled lightly to myself, thinking of the trash can that I had thrown through my car window. We continued to walk down the hall without speaking. Michelle was, I was certain, digesting my tall people speech. She was thinking. Probably realizing that, if I was correct, Britney was going to wake up. As we got off of the elevator, and began walking down the corridor, our walk slowed slightly. Subconsciously, we were probably both a little reluctant to get to the room. An anxious fear, I assumed. As we rounded the last corner, we saw several staff rushing down the corridor. At the same time, we turned and looked at one another. Turning back to see the corridor, we watched as they rushed into Britney’s room.

  We opened the door, and the room was hysteric. Laughing, crying and praying. I stood in the doorway, knowing my time was done here
. Britney, half sitting up, spoke two words as we stood in the doorway.

  “I’m hungry,” she said.

  I don’t know what she may have said before that or after. I released the door and stepped into the hallway, and looked at Michelle, and shrugged.

  “I guess I am done here, Michelle,” I said, opening my arms for one last hug.

  “Oh my God, this is so exciting, but that room is insane, there are people everywhere. Why so many doctors, I wonder?” Michelle asked.

  “Who knows,” I said, still waiting for my hug.

  “Well, I suppose I could walk you to your car,” Michelle offered.

  “That would be nice,” I responded as I hugged her. We held the embrace for a moment, in a form of celebration.

  “So, what are you going to do now, Kid?” she asked.

  “I guess I am going to go to my brother’s house for a party,” I answered, smiling.

  “You’re actually going to visit your family?” she asked, with her eyes opened wide.

  “I guess so.”

  “How long did it take you to get here,” she asked as we began to walk down the hallway, headed to the parking garage.

  “How long to get here?” I thought for a brief moment, and finished responding, “A lifetime, Michelle, it took me a lifetime.”

  Chapter 25

  Damn, that’s one tall bitch

  MICHELLE. Tall people. What I wouldn’t give to be tall. To have the dreams, to be both tall, and a doctor. That would put me in place to make a huge difference in this world, to make my mark. To do what so many others would not be capable of doing. As we walked to the car, my mind was racing the entire way. I was overwhelmed with all of what had happened. Meeting Kid. Our talks, long-winded discussions, his advice, and just meeting him in general. I thought of Britney’s ‘attempted suicide’, and how everything came into place. Kid’s dream. My tattoo. His knowing of my tattoo before I got it, and his knowing of Britney waking up.

  I thought about what Kid said when we were walking away from the room. He said ‘A Lifetime’ when I asked him how long it took him to get here. I think what he meant was that a lifetime of guilt, from his girlfriend that committed suicide, was all released when Britney woke up. Maybe, additionally, he was making progress in life through all of this. As we walked side by side, I realized that the entire time he had been here he had not eaten any chocolate. I looked at his khaki pants, and the left pocket. I saw that there was no rectangular bulge, and I wondered. A lifetime.

  Entering the parking garage, Kid pushed the button on his key, unlocking the car he was driving. He opened his arms, and we embraced for a minute. As I stood outside the car, he opened the door and got in. Quickly he started the car, and opened the window.

  “I guess, I better get going if I am going to get to this party. Bye Michelle,” he said.

  Standing outside the car, I leaned in, and spoke, “Bye, Kid. Will you, before you go, at least tell me your name? I know I have asked a million times, and a million times, you’ve said no. But, will you now?”

  “Well, I will tell you this. You can call me the same thing everyone else who actually knows me calls me. It’s not my given name, but it’s all I really get called by family and friends. My father hasn’t called me anything else since I was about fifteen, how’s that?” he said as he looked at me through the open car window.

  “Fine, Kid, fine,” I said angrily, appreciating that he would actually tell me anything about himself.

  As he started to back the car up, he spoke, revving the engine, “I got to get Michelle, or I’m going to be late. The next time we talk, just call me Hoot.”

  As he backed the car up, I thought, Hoot. I know that name from somewhere.

  Acknowledgements

  The contents and events depicted in this book are fictitious. The characters are fictitious as are the events. There are, however, some portions in this book that are a reproduction of items that Michelle Basilious provided (or stated) to me in conversations we had regarding life, living it, and what our respective thoughts were on any given day as they pertained to a circumstance or sequence of events.

  Michelle proved to be wise beyond her years, and as I attempted to assist people in their need to have someone to lean on, Michelle often provided an opinion from that of a female perspective. Frequently she would take some time to consider her responses, and take a few days to give an opinion. Other times, she would immediately have a response.

  Her opinion was always considered, but not always implemented.

  One weekend, I had a girl get in touch with me that I had never met. She had received my telephone number from a friend of a friend. Frantic, she attempted to speak to me initially, but each time she tried, she was overcome with emotion.

  This emotion filled silence continued for almost an hour, and then we then actually began to communicate, albeit slowly, and one-sided. I learned through the conversation (that lasted almost eight hours) that she was bound by her husband, and gang raped by his friends. This happened for a few days. Against, if I even need to state this, her will. She was in and out of consciousness for two days. Eventually, she was released. In shock and extremely poor health, she contacted me from a remote hotel room.

  I struggled with this event, and how to handle it. I struggled with this more than I have struggled with almost anything in my life. Vengeance. At what point does one administer justice to someone that the courts will undoubtedly not punish properly? The punishment for this particular crime, regardless of what was imposed by the court, would not be sufficient for the crime committed.

  Although I could not speak to Michelle about the person, the events, or the intimacies of this conversation, we spoke for some time in general about God, about law and about the difference between what is right and what is wrong. I shared with her my thoughts of feeling a need to resolve this issue with the caller’s husband on my own. When the smoke cleared, I sat in a coffee shop and thought. I made a decision. “Put up again thy sword into his place; for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.” I decided, for once in my life, that it was not my responsibility to resolve this issue. I contacted the authorities, called in a few favors from some friends in law enforcement, and the issue was dealt with in a manner in accordance with law.

  Michelle, as always, proved extremely useful in her ability to convey her understanding of the message of God in a manner that I could listen to and accept. I have always struggled with attempting to do what is right (in my mind), and hoped that it was what was right in God’s eyes. I do not know that these things always were in line with one another.

  Until now.

  Michelle’s independence, stubborn nature, and lack of willingness to give up proved useful throughout the above described event, and many others just like it. I have spent my entire adult life running. Running from whatever it is that has made me feel uncomfortable. Often, if something made me feel too comfortable, I ran. Michelle and Michelle’s way of communicating got me to listen. And I stopped running. I stopped running right after I ran to the tattoo parlor and got another tattoo.An Arabic three on my left wrist. To me, a sign of completion…the trinity. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

  I have heard many times, and I do agree. God works in mysterious ways. His speaking to me through an eighteen year old female for six months got me to listen, consider, and ultimately apply his wisdom (and what I believe his intent was) to the above described event, and many others that followed it.

  Some of what was shared between the ‘real’ Michelle and I was used, with her permission, in the writing of this book. As I stated above, the events in this book, entirely, are fiction, every bit of it. Nothing depicted in this book happened in part or as a whole. Described below is my best recollection of what my reproductions are of Michelle’s ramblings to me.

  Depending on which version of the book that you are reading, and what manner you are viewing it may not necessarily correspond accordingly, but in the chapter en
titled “Fuck Oatmeal,” the ‘Stay Human’ tattoo (pp 47) was a tattoo idea that Michelle had. Although this phrase or tattoo idea isn’t copyrighted by her or anyone else for that matter, the idea of her getting the tattoo originated from her thoughts. I applied it to this chapter as a sort of dedication to her. In the same chapter, the sign on the door was of her mind and her making.

  In the chapter entitled, “Cups”, the discussion regarding the KKK, medicine, and prejudices between Michelle and David, for all practical purposes, happened between Michelle and I. It was reproduced in the book, in the best manner that my mind could recall, in the last paragraph of pp 62, and the first paragraph of pp 63. This was reproduced, once again, as a dedication to Michelle, and my agreeing with her very human understanding of these things that so many other people are incapable of grasping.

  In the chapter entitled, “Broken People”, the email between Michelle and Kid on page 78, which goes into a discussion Between Michelle and Kid regarding broken people is an exact reproduction of an email from Michelle to me, short of a name change. The name at the beginning of the email in the sentences, “You can read it when you get a chance. Shellie. If I met her somewhere…” That name “Shellie” was changed in the email of the book to protect the person that Michelle was speaking of, but the remaining email, as depicted in the book, was a cut and paste from an actual email Michelle sent to me.

  In the chapter entitled, “Dude, you’re creeping me out”, the list of “Things I’ve Learned in My 18 Years of Life” is an exact reproduction of a list of things that Michelle developed. This list was not made for this book, but developed throughout Michelle Basilious’ life… over many years, many tears, and much thought. This is a list that she holds dear to her heart, and for good reason. From what she told me, she spent many hours in her bed at night crying as she added items to this list and made adjustments.

  As I stated in the opening of the acknowledgements, the events, the conversations, and the opinions in this book are fictitious, and are an element of the imagination of the author. The sentences, emails, and list that the author described above are the extent of the items that were used from the author’s life, and applied to this novel. Remaining conversations in the book regarding these items, or reiterations of these events or items, are all fiction.