Clarity

by Myanne Shelley

Chapter 10

  Sam’s arrival brought summer with him. My spirits lifted, and I felt youthful and silly, staying up way past our normal bedtime the first night to catch up. Nothing profound, just our regular roundabout conversations. He had, for years now, enjoyed telling me about what he was working on in school – particularly the things that reached beyond the scope of my understanding. Even the programming he’d done as a high schooler seemed complex, and the advanced studies of computer engineering work he now spoke about might have been science fiction to me.

  But still, as ever, he could interrupt himself with funny asides or witty observations about his fellow students. And himself. It was a great relief to me that Sam, unlike many smart people, was easily capable of mocking his very own seriousness.

  His third or fourth night back, after our initial catching up and assured he was in for the evening, I just broached the topic of my newfound odd abilities with him. Doug had gone upstairs, and I was yawning, but determined not to let the moment disappear.

  “This will sound kind of strange, I know,” I cautioned, before launching into the initial stories. For his sake, I jettisoned the description of the miscarriages and just talked about the sensation of feeling what my mother felt. But I described the sensing of emotions, and some of the dreams, the recent one and some from way back. The dream voice, always calm and female, and always bearing bad news.

  Sam – ear buds out and devices aside – listened with flatteringly rapt attention. “Whoa,” he murmured a couple times, and “no way – really?”

  I wound down, and watched him. “Wow, that’s crazy, Mom,” he said. “You’re, like, deciding you’re psychic? You?”

  “Not deciding. Not psychic. Just – I’m understanding I have some unusual abilities.”

  “Yeah, no bull.” Sam grinned. “Is this driving Doug nuts or what?”

  “You can tell that? Just from observing him?” I asked, wondering now if Sam had inherited the so called abilities. If there were things he already knew, already took for granted.

  He laughed. “No. Just from, of course it would bug the guy. I mean, he’s mister black or white, you know? Remember when Heather was here and she kept talking about finding new spiritual planes? He had to leave the room.”

  I nodded. “He doesn’t like it,” I acknowledged. “But I’ve asked him not to just write it off. I’m asking that of you too, buddy,” I added.

  “That’s cool,” he said. His hand strayed toward his iphone, and I wondered how much faster he would be than I had been in finding relevant info online.

  But I saw his eyes track mine. He drew his hand back and stood up, stretching. “I’m still kind of hungry from dinner,” he said. “Is it okay if I have some more ice cream? You want any?”

  “Sure, honey,” I said. “We purposely got your favorite. None for me though, it’s almost eleven.”

  He blinked, as if this observation was completely unrelated. “I’ll be up for awhile,” he added gently.

  I could hear him in the kitchen, opening and shutting drawers, still a bit of a bull in a china shop in the smallish room. His tone had been so considerate though, I thought. Asking for, not demanding the food, offering to get some for me. Explaining his hours to me as if I was some elder who couldn’t conceive of such a thing.

  Sam sat down again with his bowl. He’d even brought a napkin. And he spoke, in a lowered tone – so as not to disturb Doug, I assumed – about some of the weird dreams he’d had on his recent camping trip. Nothing cosmic, he assured me with a grin, but he did think that being out in this remote place had an affect on his sub-conscious mind.

  I listened, nodding, pleased that he had easily made this connection. He wasn’t denying or questioning what I said, just making note of his own experiences.

  “The brain is amazing, Mom,” he added. “I mean aside from the stuff you’re talking about, just in general. When you learn about advanced computer systems compared to the kind of every day tasks the human brain can achieve.” He took a bite and gave a little blink of satisfaction. “Learning to talk, for instance,” he continued. “What a baby does while its brain and body are developing at this incredible pace – I mean, it’s taken scientists decades and they can’t even replicate on a machine the way a baby learns about language.”

  “I don’t know if that makes me feel good or less unique,” I told him, musing on how little I really understood about anyone’s inner workings. Hadn’t I read somewhere that we only use ten percent of our brain’s power?

  “I’m just saying, the biochemical connections in the brain and nervous system, even in a child’s or a primate’s, are mind boggling. See, the mind boggles the mind! Creating something like that mechanically is like the holy grail for a lot of the people I’m around at school.”

  I narrowed my eyes, wondering how much of what I had told him he had really taken in, and how much he was lost in his normal sci fi induced mental games playing. Building the ideal robot and so on. “So – does any of that explain why I heard a voice in my dream tell me Yvette was gone a couple hours before Mags called to tell me? Could my neurons have zipped into the future and back for a couple minutes?” I did recall reading about biochemistry and enhanced perceptions, both online and in Daniel’s material, but nothing in the way of a clear here’s how it functions, here’s how impulses become thoughts type description.

  Sam’s eyes widened and dilated. Noticeably and almost comically, I thought. I was trying to be aware of my perceptions, but I thought even Doug would have picked on this vivid reaction. “Whoa, that’s—that would be an amazing concept,” he exclaimed. “If there was some miniscule slippage, something the conscious mind was unaware of, but some tiny bend that allowed just a bit of communication, at the neurological level. Would it be the same ones in the same spot over time—no they’d have to be slightly different, maybe mis-aligned just for an instant?”

  “Don’t go all Star Trek on me, honey,” I laughed.

  Sam laughed too. “Okay. But you know, think about how some of those things are real now. You know this British team had almost perfected material that can make what’s behind it invisible. Like the cloaking device?”

  I nodded. If someone had told me before I had a child that some of my best memories would involve the two of us giggling together over DVDs of that 60s TV classic, I wouldn’t have believed it. When in fact it was true – the adventures of Kirk and Spock had ignited numerous frank discussions in addition to the sheer fun of it all, from politics to history to Girls. “Well, anyway, I don’t know how to explain this stuff,” I said. “My stuff. But I wanted to you to know. That’s what’s new, I guess.”

  I could see the wheels turning with him. But he was distracted too, and I guessed he was waiting till I turned in to start texting some of his pals. And not about anything I said, I was pretty sure.

  It struck me anew, as each visit of Sam’s had since he had left for college: Sam truly was his own person now. Still comfortable here in his old places and making our lives seem so normal. But growing up. Mostly grown up.

  I told him good night, and headed for the stairs, making a point not to check the kitchen (where just a few years ago I could have counted on dishes strewn about and maybe the ice cream left out). Rather I was conscious of how slowly I moved after I’d been sitting for awhile, and the way I tended to lean on the railing, dragging myself along at this late hour. Yes, it was great having the boy home. But nothing like his vibrant youth and fast maturity to emphasize my own aging.

  I went into work tired the next couple days, but also feeling reinvigorated. And more outwardly focused, which I’m sure was good for my coworkers, and myself as well.

  By the end of the week, a summertime pattern was already emerging. Doug and I toning it down but not really worrying about waking Sam as we got ready for work. Clark coming in for his breakfast, then hurrying back to Sam’s room, where he could be assured o
f the company of a big slumbering person for hours to come. And Sam, regressing back to his high school self, eating and watching odd things on TV in the night, ducking out with a mumble to see his friends, even wearing some of the old clothes he had left here. Apparently this was his pattern now – to wear everything possible before bothering to do a load of laundry.

  I hurried off to work and hurried home right after on the days he was home, happy to see him, and glad he was actually getting some time off. Between school and his internship, he deserved a respite.

  Friday, he was scheduled to leave for Keith’s. I made us lunch at least, and tried not to nag him to get his bag ready and everything. I knew Keith had taken the afternoon off and was expecting him and would be hurt to think Sam didn’t want to go there right away. But – Keith’s emotions, not my problem. Nor was Sam’s timing. As I had so many times these last few years, the best I could do was practice stepping back.

  Eventually, he ambled out, with a vague acknowledgement to call if he got delayed and would miss dinner upon his return in a week. I nodded, ever casual, though his nonchalance in leaving gave me a pang.

  My eyes traced the room after the door shut behind him. Several things were out of place – he had moved the coffee table to use as a footrest, and left one of his oversized books overturned on it. A sweatshirt hung on the railing at the foot of the stairs. In the kitchen, I knew I’d find a few things put away slightly wrong, and changes in appearance just from the sheer quantity of extra food we’d bought.

  But that did not have to be a bad thing, I admonished myself. In fact, I should view everything about Sam’s visit as more ways to shake things up.

  I had plenty of fodder for my weekly conversation with Mags at Hillside. She had not known Sam very well as a child. Keith and I had lived farther away then, and just been busy with our insular little lives. As she had with hers, with Liza’s kids when they were little, with her volunteer work on the community garden, taking care of her husband his last years.

  But Mags was one of those enthusiastic people who could become acquainted with just about anyone in a short time. And our friendship meant a person close to me was automatically important to her. I drove over and parked, brimming with Sam stories.

  Hurrying down the bright, loud corridor, I was relieved to spot Teilah at her station as usual. The regular ladies were there too, everyone appearing calm and cheerful. Maybe that was just a reflection of how I felt, I thought. It wasn’t so much that anyone looked happy – just no one complaining out loud or clearly stressed out made for a soothing image.

  Mags was up and alert in her chair when I tapped at her open door. “Clarissa,” she exclaimed. “My dear, I’ve been trying to see out the back window here and it’s just useless. You’ll have to tell me what’s blooming instead.”

  She was several feet from her window, which was mostly shaded by a long, gauzy curtain. Liza had brought it to give the place some class, she said, but I thought it was hard for Mags to manage. “Let me at least move this back,” I said, grabbing a frothy handful and tucking it into its loose cord. That left at least a pocket of window visible, and a bit of green within her sight line, though I wasn’t sure how well she could see things at a distance anymore.

  But I described the local flowers here and in my garden, and Mags guessed what would be coming up at the community place. And before I could burst out with it, she asked me to tell her everything about Sam, how he looked these days, what he was working on and if he had a girlfriend.

  I said as much as I knew, and we jointly extrapolated the rest. It amused me to recall Mags and my mother on some occasion, years back, having a somewhat similar rundown on the mostly mysterious life of Curtis. He may have still been in college, or recently graduated. But I remembered Mags’ dreamy tone, spinning out the sort of girl he should marry (independent, smart, wanting to build a good home first then start their family). My mom agreeing, egging her on, and probably somewhere in the back of her mind, I thought, wishing she too could acquire a dutiful daughter-in-law.

  I didn’t really picture Sam settling down to such a conventional life, any more than Curtis ever had. Yet it was pleasant to imagine how he possibly could. Or how his life might stay as it was, Sam with his head in computing and science – but still achieving the simple pleasures of lifelong companionship. I sat forward now, observing Mags and marveling at how well she had adjusted to Curtis’ rootless existence. You’d never know, from hearing her talk to or about her son, that she had ever wished him to have any other sort of life.

  “Oh my,” she said. “I do hope he can stop by before he leaves again for school. I promise not to tell him anything of our schemes for him.”

  I laughed, and assured her she was on his schedule. (Never mind he was half a head taller, I would haul him in by his belt strap if I had to.)

  She sighed. Then lifted her head, twisting a bit awkwardly in her chair. “Can you see that clock?” she asked.

  “It’s a little after three,” I said.

  She sighed again. “Well, my therapy was moved to this afternoon, but I wasn’t clear if it was at 3:00 or 3:30. It was one of those young people who mumbles. Maybe they just forgot about me.”

  “Want me to run down and check?”

  “Oh no, frankly I could do without it. I know, it helps,” she added, before I could object. “Just wanted to mention it, in case someone suddenly comes to fetch me.”

  They tended to run late, especially in the afternoon, or if people’s times had been shifted around. She was right about the habit staff here had of moving people around – if it was time for therapy or a quick trip to just about anywhere for anything, the wheelchair bound were abruptly strapped in and delivered, never mind what they happened to be doing up to that point.

  “Well, I’m doubly glad we already had some time,” I said. “It does me good to talk about Sam instead of nagging at him directly.”

  She waved me off. “You were never a nagger,” she said. “But you should drop in and see Della. I think she was hoping for a chance to chat. We both enjoyed meeting the young man, your friend? I’ve forgotten his name.”

  I blinked at her, puzzled. Sometimes when she was quite tired, she would mix up who she was talking to, in reference to someone else. But she seemed perfectly lucid. “My friend?” I repeated.

  “The fellow doing the research,” she said. “With his itsy bitsy computer.”

  “Wait— Daniel was here? Asking about psychic stuff?”

  Mags leaned forward, her eyes sweet and sly. “If you must know, I didn’t follow the exact conversation,” she murmured. “He seemed more intent on questioning her. But I gathered it was about the, um, the things you two shared. The way your mother was sometimes.”

  Mag’s regular aide appeared suddenly in the doorway, advancing toward her with a firm, no nonsense stride. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he boomed, “but we’re late with PT already.”

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered. “Do stop and see her, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” I stood, lest I be run over by her quickly maneuvered chair. It was tempting to dash down the hallway after her, singing out the first of several questions that were racing in my mind.

  Rather, I paused to catch my breath. And review recent conversations in my mind – I had spoken to Kylie a couple times before Sam got here, and exchanged an email with Daniel about an article he forwarded. No one had mentioned, nothing had come up about his coming here. Was it really even him?

  I stepped quickly across the hall to Della’s room. A voice came from within, melodious and soothing – her latest book on tape. She sat utterly still, eyes half closed, like a cat in the sunshine, listening. But when she realized I was there, she leaned forward, fumbling for the stop button.

  “Come in,” she said, beckoning with her good arm. “This will wait.”

  I was sure she knew what I had on my mind, but she waited
calmly for me to ask. We quickly established that Daniel, “my” Daniel had been here Tuesday and had spoken with her at some length. Had apologized for already knowing her childhood story about fainting in tandem with her mother, but very much wished to hear it in her own words.

  I recalled the walk he and I had taken around campus. I’d mentioned it, I’d mentioned Mags and Della and Yvette, but in reference to my own memories. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “That did come up in a conversation I had with him, but I had no idea he would come and interview you about it.”

  “Yes, I wondered about that,” she said. “He was a bit, what’s the word, cagey about seeing us. Mentioning your acquaintance as if you were old friends, when I was quite sure you had only met recently. Making it seem as if you had sent him over, where I felt it more likely that you would have brought him on a Friday, made the introductions yourself.”

  “I would have,” I agreed. “And happy to do so, if he’d mentioned it. And I’d have checked with you first.”

  “Well don’t worry, dear, he was perfectly polite. Very charming and gracious, Mags was quite taken with him.” She smiled her small cat-like smile.

  I met her eye. “You weren’t?”

  “Well, I was, yes, at first. It’s not every day that I meet someone who wants to hear what an old lady has to say. Who’s so fascinated by my little stories.”

  I watched her as she paused, eyes circling the room. I waited her out, as I’d observed Daniel do rather effectively. I wouldn’t put words in her mouth.

  “It seemed to me that he wasn’t being quite honest, as I said. He presented himself as quite ignorant, you see, asking me to explain just what I meant in the things I remembered. Precisely how I had felt – which is rather a lot to ask about anything that happened decades ago. But as though he had no idea what any of this was about. When surely he had been investigating the whole thing for weeks now, maybe months.” Della paused, and took a deep breath. This was the longest speech I’d heard from her, I thought. “And he asked several questions about you. About what you’d told us of your abilities, and what we had observed. It just didn’t sit so well, if you see what I mean.”

  I gave a slow nod. “Well, he is thorough. He told me as much, and it’s obvious from the details he’s sought.” I tried to picture Daniel here, perched on one of Della’s small guest chairs. These two parts of my world didn’t mesh well at all. “I don’t see why he would need to come here without mentioning it, or ask about me – I’ve been perfectly open with all his questions.”

  “He may have, um, suggested that you were somewhat unaware of your own memories and capabilities. He had a nicer way of saying it, but that was the gist. That Mags, having known you so long, would have a better understanding of your abilities.”

  “And did she?” I demanded, side tracked with genuine curiosity.

  Della’s eyes crinkled a bit in silent laughter. “My dear, she had no idea. She gave a glowing summary of your many fine qualities of course. But this was not what he was looking for. I could see that in him easily, even now.”

  “Well, I guess it would help to get someone else’s perspective,” I said slowly. Had he spoken to Kylie about me? But she would surely have let me know. I felt a slight flush, just thinking about the questions he would ask. Or more to the point, about his determined interest in me.

  “And if we wheelchair bound folks couldn’t quite fit the bill, well, no harm done.” She gazed out toward her window for a moment, at the greenery just outside the window, and I imagined her wishing she could roam around freely out there. Just for a day or an hour even, lift the veil of isolation that kept her in this room. Her eyes returned to me. “It did give me a lift, that someone brand new understood what had happened to me, all those years back. Heard it and didn’t try to rationalize it away, just accepted my story.”

  I nodded. “I appreciated that too. About Daniel, I mean. His interest, how he listens.” I felt her peering at me and shifted in my chair. “Are you comfortable? It’s a little warm today, I could push that window up.”

  “I’m fine, don’t trouble yourself.” She turned back toward her window. “It is lovely today, isn’t it?”

  She knew I was changing the subject; she probably had a good idea of why. Perhaps she saw more than I did, it occurred to me. Saw me blush at the sound of his name, rationalize his unexpected behavior.

  Only later did another reason for changing the subject occur: my “good friend” Daniel, for all his flattery and ease with people, must have underestimated these old ladies. So many people did – wheelchair equals stupid, or at the very least unaware. Not something Della would want to call my attention to. But really, did Daniel think they wouldn’t mention his visit to me, that it would be gone from their daffy little heads just a few days later?

  I had my phone out and his number highlighted before I started second guessing again. Maybe he had counted on the ladies having gone over the whole thing with me, had anticipated the exact warm sensations I had indeed experienced, envisioning his queries. Maybe he just figured I would be flattered by the attention. That I would call him right up and make an excuse to see him again.

  And was that what I wanted? Or what he wanted?

  I set my phone down, and made myself take a couple deep breaths. All this exploration of other people’s emotional readings and decades old extra sensory knowledge, and I couldn’t even admit to myself this simple internal failure of understanding: that all of my perceptions of Daniel were colored by my base attraction to him.

  I stood, and made a slow circuit around the living room. I folded Sam’s sweatshirt and set it in the closet, and picked up his book, marking its place and gently pressing on the binding to close it. Good thing he didn’t have any inclinations toward this stuff, I thought with a barely suppressed giggle. How horrified would Sam be at his mom’s repressed carnal thoughts.

  But the situation remained. Not just the inappropriate attraction, but Daniel’s behavior, whatever his rationale. I clicked his number. I would play it cool.

  He picked up after several rings. “This is a pleasant surprise,” he said.

  “Well, I was just chatting with my friends over at Hillside,” I told him. “Wondered if you got everything you needed from them.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my barging in like that,” he answered, smooth voiced. Oozing charm, or so I willed myself to hear. “Long story, but I found myself right in the neighborhood, thought I’d save myself an extra trip.”

  At my noncommittal murmur, he went on to praise Della and Mags, and the facility, and the closeness we all clearly shared. Listening, I felt as much of two separate minds as I can ever recall. Track one was eating it up – he was right, we had such a bond, my mother would have been so proud, and how enchanting and sensitive that Daniel noticed all this. That he cared so much for all of us. At the same time cynical, pre-inknowing Clarissa was thinking, bullshit, how could anyone fall for this, what kind of snake oil is he going to turn around and sell me?

  “Well, just so it helped,” I finally said, fake cheerful, noticing he’d gone silent.

  “Absolutely. I can send you a write up of what I gleaned. Della—well, both of them were so charming. Or maybe,” he paused. “If it’s not too much trouble, perhaps we could meet in person again?”

  Like he was just now coming up with the idea. Which I doubted. But should I see him again, try to get to the bottom of all this? Or was I making excuses because I wanted to meet again and never mind why? I temporized with the need to check my calendar and told him I’d phone him back.

  Clicking the phone closed, I felt a bit empowered. I hadn’t left him time to object or ask when or ask anything more. And I had not let on that any of it bothered me – his presumptuousness in going to Hillside, that he had misled the ladies when he was there, what thinking about him was doing to my inner sensations of heat. At least I didn’t think I had. />
  I turned back to my half straightened living room, looking but seeing nothing past a whirl of inner thoughts. Focus on what’s real, I told myself, what’s in front of you now, not the who might be thinking what and why that’s really all in your head.

  Though I couldn’t help but notice that what was in front of me was a couple loads of laundry and maybe cleaning the bathrooms. These rooms that I had lived in so long they were invisible to me, just white noise to my thoughts. What was in my head – real or imagined – was more interesting, how could it help but be? Never mind about Daniel, the other stuff. Developing my innate skills, wherever I may find them. Paying attention, not alone in this room, but out there in the world. Getting back out in the world too, I amended.

  It’s important to recognize and prioritize your own particular talents, I thought, that’s true for everybody. Take some time out, put your routine on hold and figure some of this out, not just run through your life like it’s a rat maze and you can’t see beyond the cheese.

  That in mind, I came up with a whole series of things to plan for: we’d make sure that barbecue happened with Sam and his friends, I’d see Joan and the rest of that group and we would find a time where we could linger for more than a quick meal. I would make sure that Kylie and I both exercised our psyches, however that was possible. Doug and I could take a trip, see Heather in New York maybe. Or just go somewhere on our own, how long had that been.

  And I wouldn’t give in to the whispers of self-doubt that were nagging even now. About keep this all to yourself, and don’t be silly, don’t be foolish, you’re sure to fail at trying something new at your age. I stood and went to the kitchen. If I hadn’t exactly quieted the inner voices, at least I had stopped thinking about Daniel in any context, and counted that as positive. The only thing I hadn’t resolved, of course, was what to do about him.