Bitter Sixteen

by Stefan Mohamed

  ‘That was amazing,’ said Connor. ‘Really impressive, I’ve never seen anything like it. Can you do it from a standing start?’

  I shrugged. It had worked once, but I’d had trouble recapturing it. ‘I’ll try.’ I shook myself, letting my elation seep away, and concentrated on leaving the ground behind, on swimming through the air. The air was water, the air was a pool. Bending rules, breaking laws, just because I could. Again I opened my eyes and I was floating again, about fifteen feet above the ground, and Daryl was jumping up and down yelling, ‘Yes! Yes! That’s my human!’ and Connor and Sharon were staring, open-mouthed. I felt pretty astounded as well. Excitement flared in my head and for a split second I was afraid. My perfect calm was going to evaporate, I was going to fall and break something . . .

  But I didn’t. I stayed there. And I started to realise that it was nothing do with calm, or anything like that. What had Daryl said, so long ago? That negative emotions helped? That wasn’t it. That was just overthinking. There was no ideal state of mind, it was just something I could do. It was a fact. Running isn’t dependent on your mental state, is it? Obviously it helps, but ultimately running is just a thing you can do. This was no different. It all dawned on me at once, a revelation that I could do this any time, regardless of how I felt, and I knew, just knew, that I’d broken a barrier. I could feel it. Just like that. Snap.

  So I did it. I propelled myself through the air, and now I was finding that I could move with complete ease, Superman-like. I just spread my arms – and I flew. I stayed up for several minutes, swimming in the sky, and as the wind slipped loving fingers between every hair on my head, as though I were a child returning home, I felt an overwhelming, perfect joy envelop my entire being. This was where I belonged. This was the gift. This was freedom, pure and simple. And although I didn’t venture too high, I knew that one day I’d be surfing clouds like it weren’t no thang.

  It felt absolutely incredible.

  When I touched down Connor and Sharon were speechless, and Daryl was laughing hysterically. ‘That was the coolest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen,’ he managed to say, before collapsing from the sheer intensity of his laughter. Connor stood up and held out his hand, and we shook. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I seem to be fresh out of superlatives.’

  I grinned, feeling lightheaded and hot and slightly unsteady. I needed to get some strength back so I sat on the bench, and Daryl trotted over and sat next to me. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Your turn, Connor.’

  Connor smiled. ‘I thought you might say that.’ He shook himself, focusing, laser-like, and ran straight towards a lamppost. He planted his feet on it and for a second I thought he was going to backflip off, but he didn’t. He ran all the way up, then put his feet on the underside of the glowing orange light and walked along it, upside-down. When he reached the end he walked around it, righted himself and walked along the top of the lamp, put his feet on the top of the post and walked vertically downwards. At the end he somersaulted and landed on his feet. He did a little bow as I clapped. ‘How did you do that?’ I asked. ‘It’s not flying, is it?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Sharon. ‘It’s like . . . like he can shift his centre of gravity. All he has to do is plant his feet on a surface – vertical, horizontal, upside-down, it doesn’t matter – and he can walk along it just as easily as he’d walk along the street.’

  ‘I’ve tried flying,’ said Connor as he walked back over to us. ‘Didn’t work. Must say, I’m a wee bit jealous of your skills . . . but I’m pretty happy with mine, all the same.’ He looked pleased with himself without being smug, and I found myself liking him more and more.

  ‘That’s not everything,’ said Sharon. ‘He’s also incredibly strong and fast.’

  ‘Like Eddie?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ said Connor. ‘Not quite as good as Eddie. He’s ridiculous. Blistering.’ I wondered what might have happened, what scrape or misadventure they’d been involved in that had required Eddie to be ‘blistering’. It felt as though there were stories to be told. ‘What about you?’ I asked Sharon. ‘Your powers?’

  ‘She makes a kick-ass Sunday roast,’ said Connor.

  Sharon shot him a withering look. ‘Thanks, because I definitely don’t get enough sexist banter at the hospital.’

  ‘Sorry, darlin’.’

  Sharon shook her head, although she did look amused. ‘Well, you’ve seen that I can move things with my mind,’ she said. ‘Like you. But I also have a sort of awareness of people’s thoughts. Sorry, that sounds stupid. Everyone can be aware of people’s thoughts. It’s . . . I can sense emotions on a deeper level than people normally might. I . . . it’s quite hard to explain.’

  ‘Can you read minds?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s not that. I suppose it’s . . . empathy?’ She laughed. ‘Super empathy. That sounds silly, but it’s the best way I can think of to describe it. Put it this way, even someone who was a good enough liar to fool a lie detector wouldn’t be able to fool me.’ She looked slyly at Connor. ‘As he’s found in the past.’

  ‘So,’ said Daryl. ‘We’ve got two telekinetic types. I think that calls for a bit of a demonstration?’

  Connor laughed. ‘I thought it would come to this. So I devised a little game.’ He reached into the sports bag and pulled out a tennis ball and a pair of rackets. ‘You any good at tennis?’ he asked me.

  ‘I have no idea,’ I said.

  ‘Nor do I,’ said Sharon. She eyed Connor suspiciously. ‘What is this, Connor? Brain tennis?’

  ‘Got it in one,’ said Connor. ‘You hold a racket each – with your minds, of course – and I throw the ball, and you bat it to each other.’

  Sharon shook her head and laughed. ‘Trust you. This is because I wouldn’t let you watch Wimbledon, isn’t it?’

  I liked the sound of this, and immediately levitated one of the rackets and practised swinging it for a minute. It was easier than I’d been expecting. I’d definitely broken a pretty major wall; things were already coming much easier and faster. I stood about fifteen feet from Sharon, who lifted up her bat without even looking at it, and we faced one another, grinning.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Connor.

  ‘Sharon!’ cried Daryl, in a Scottish accent. ‘You will go on my first whistle! Stanly —’

  ‘Shut it, Muttley,’ I said, sticking my tongue out.

  ‘You shut it.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a “ready”,’ said Connor. He tossed the ball to me and I swung the racket, and now I was grateful for the hours I’d spent on Eddie’s handed-down Sega Mega Drive all those years ago, because my hand-eye co-ordination was pretty damn good and this was basically the same thing, except it was more brain-eye co-ordination. And brain and eye are much closer together. I hit the ball and it flew towards Sharon, and she thwacked it straight back to me. The rally lasted about sixteen hits, and then I swung and missed and the ball hit me in the head. ‘Ooh!’ cried Daryl. ‘Wipeout!’

  ‘Do you want to go on?’ called Sharon cheekily, her tone full of humour and . . . affection? Already? It was funny, I had known her and Connor less than a day, and we felt like old friends. I grinned cockily. ‘Just warming up,’ I said, and served.

  We got home at quarter past twelve. The house was pleasantly warm after the cold world, and I hung up my coat and leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, feeling the psychic exertion. ‘So,’ said Connor. ‘How d’you think that went?’

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Fantastic.’

  Connor laughed. ‘Enthusiasm. A rare and beautiful thing.’ He yawned. ‘Well, I’m going to turn in. I have to go to 110th Street for about half ten tomorrow. Does that suit you?’

  ‘Fine,’ I nodded.

  ‘Excellent. Goodnight.’ He mounted the stairs and headed up.

  ‘’Night,’ I said. ‘And again, thanks a lot.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

 
Sharon was leaning against the door, looking as worn out as I felt. ‘You OK?’ I asked.

  She nodded. ‘I’m fine. Just tired.’ She took off her coat and hung it up. ‘Are you?’

  ‘You’re the empath, you tell me.’ It was supposed to sound humorous, but it came out sounding almost pleading, and I looked at the floor. I didn’t know how to answer her question. I’d been so engrossed in playing superpowers that I’d forgotten everything . . . but now it was coming back. Peace and quiet had opened the floodgates, and all I could see were those horrified faces, hear Miss Stevenson yelling Ben’s name, feel Kloe’s lips and tears . . .

  Sharon’s eyes were full of concern, and I felt embarrassed for being so obvious. ‘I don’t need to be empathic to tell you’re not all right,’ she said. ‘Do you want to talk?’

  I managed a weak smile. ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Just . . . need to go to bed.’ I took off my shoes. ‘Thanks for everything.’

  She smiled. ‘It’s fine. Sleep well.’

  ‘Thanks. You too. Come along, Gromit.’ Daryl followed me upstairs and I shut the bedroom door behind us, got changed and lay down on the bed, flicking the lights off with my mind. Daryl curled up at the foot of the bed and whispered something that I couldn’t hear. ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure you don’t want to talk about anything?’ he asked in a louder whisper.

  I shook my head. ‘No. I just want to sleep.’

  ‘OK. ‘Night.’

  ‘’Night.’

  ‘Hey, Stanly?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were sick out there.’

  I laughed. ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘Great, kid. Don’t get cocky.’

  As I lay there in the dark, a thought struck me. Shit, forgot to ask Sharon about Smiley Joe.

  Ah, I’ll do it tomorrow.

  Best to wait until Connor wasn’t around, probably. What had Sharon meant, ‘until someone makes us fight it’?

  What was going on here?

  I re-lit Connor’s spliff for him and watched as he inhaled, then exhaled, the smoke rising up his nostrils in a spectacular multi-coloured Irish waterfall. He inhaled again, and blew the smoke out of his ears, and it rose up towards the ceiling, and I watched it mingle with the patterns there. Connor stared into me and laughed. ‘Taken by a big giant head?’ He shook his head, and the patterns shifted, and I shrugged and left the room, walking into a dimly-lit kitchen with a sink full of dirty dishes. Kloe was there, sitting on the counter, jamming with Eddie on a ukulele. Eddie had a clarinet. They were playing ‘Life Is a Minestrone’ by 10cc. Daryl was eating chilli out of a bowl on the floor, grumbling the whole time. A spider scuttled past him, the sharp, scuttling movement making me jump.

  Suddenly the song stopped, as if sucked back into the instruments, and Kloe grabbed Eddie and started to kiss him violently. I felt myself getting angry. ‘And you don’t want to see him angry,’ said Daryl, over his bowl. Kloe kept on kissing Eddie and he was kissing her back. Really hard. They were groping each other. They were using their tongues. I was so far beyond furious that I couldn’t help myself. I eviscerated Eddie with my thoughts and was about to decide what to do to Kloe when the kitchen started to collapse around my ears. Kloe was standing in front of me, sobbing, and Sharon was watching, shaking her head, her arm around a little girl in red pyjamas. Kloe looked at me. Deep into me. Deeper than anyone was allowed to look. ‘Don’t go,’ she said. Then everything was fire, and —

  I sat up in bed, my face wet with tears and sweat. It was still dark, and I could hear the city groaning outside. I fell back against the pillow and made myself calm down, and pictured comforting things until I slept again. A rainbow. A lizard on a leaf. A plate of spaghetti and meatballs. A wide, lush meadow. Ben King inside a giant flaming wicker man. Usual happy place stuff.

  Chapter Fourteen

  WHEN I WOKE up again it was just before nine, and I didn’t have a clue where I was. Panic rose in my stomach and I sat up, looking around the room for something familiar. Daryl was there. That was good. That made me feel better. Where the —

  Come on.

  Calm down.

  I took several deep breaths, and willed myself to remember. London. Connor and Sharon’s.

  Safe.

  No need for panickings.

  I rubbed my eyes, and now the dream came drifting back into view, blown on an uneasy mental wind. Kisses and fire and evisceration. It sounded like the title of an awful concept album.

  ‘You all right?’ asked Daryl. I jumped, not having realised that he was awake, and didn’t answer for a moment. He repeated the question, and I shrugged. ‘Going slightly mad.’

  ‘Knitting with only one needle?’

  ‘You got it.’ I got out of bed and opened the curtains. The city was festering under a thin mist, and the sky threatened rain. I looked at myself in the mirror and ran my hands over my cheeks and chin and the skin under my nose. I badly needed a shave. I’ll go out and buy a razor today.

  I showered, brushed my teeth and headed downstairs. Daryl was down there already, sitting at the table eating bacon. Connor was reading the paper. ‘Morning,’ he said. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Scrambled eggs OK? That’s about all I can do, Sharon’s the master chef. Plus, someone ate the last of the bacon.’ He shot Daryl a sardonic look.

  ‘Hey, you offered!’ said the dog.

  ‘Yeah, I know. Make the most of it. It’s Pedigree Chum for you from now on.’

  ‘This truly is the darkest timeline.’

  ‘Scrambled eggs is fine,’ I said. ‘I mean . . . are fine. Do you want me to —’

  ‘You can make the coffee,’ said Connor, crossing to the cupboard and rummaging around for eggs.

  I made coffee and drank two cups before the eggs were done. Connor looked fairly professional as he beat and stirred, serving up a perfect plate of scrambled eggs and toast which I ate with another cup of coffee while Connor and Daryl discussed music. It turned out they were united in their affections for The Beatles, The Clash, Pink Floyd, Nirvana and Queen. Daryl, however, did not share Connor’s love for 10cc. ‘They’re all right,’ he said. ‘“I’m Not in Love” is OK, in a soft-rock, smudge-eyed, drive-time-radio sort of way. But “Dreadlock Holiday” is overrated. And some of their songs just piss me off. Like “Life Is a Minestrone”. What a truly horrendous novelty piece of shit.’

  I stopped mid-chew. ‘Life Is a Minestrone’. A clarinet and a ukulele. Kisses and fire and evisceration.

  Connor must have noticed my expression. ‘You OK?’

  I nodded slowly. ‘Yeah . . . um . . . just a bit of déjà vu.’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Daryl. ‘It’s a gl —’

  ‘Not one word about glitches in the Matrix,’ I warned.

  ‘I was going to say it’s a glitch in . . . your face.’

  ‘Good one.’

  ‘Your face is glitchy.’

  ‘Yeah, good one.’

  ‘Glitchy face.’

  ‘Great.’

  Connor still looked concerned. ‘Are you sure you’re OK? You’re a bit pale.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Tired.’ I tucked into my breakfast and tried to clear my mind. When I’d finished, I shoved my plate in the dishwasher and stretched. The grogginess was finally lifting. ‘So when are we going to the shop?’ I asked, trying to sound decisive.

  ‘What’s the time?’ Connor looked at his watch. ‘Um . . . need to be there for half ten . . . we should probably leave in a minute. Take the Tube.’

  ‘Cool,’ I said, looking at Daryl, who was taking his turn with the paper. ‘Will you be all right here alone?’

  ‘Great,’ he said, not looking up. ‘Can I use the DVD player?’

  ‘I don’t know,�
�� said Connor. ‘Can you?’

  ‘He opens his mouth and hilarity ensues,’ said Daryl. ‘I’ll take that as a “yes, Daryl, make yourself at home”.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Connor. ‘Knock yourself out.’

  I suddenly remembered my chin. ‘Um . . . d’you think it’ll count against me if I look like this? I forgot my razor.’

  Connor laughed. ‘Don’t worry. Skank won’t mind.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Trust me.’

  As soon as we stepped into 110th Street, I saw what Connor meant. I assumed the guy in his late twenties standing there was Skank, and he didn’t look like he cared what he looked like, let alone other people. He had an epic, tangled black beard and messy hair, and he was wearing an oversized Boba Fett T-shirt, beige shorts and sandals. He nodded at Connor. ‘Morning, slugger.’

  ‘Hi, Skank.’ Connor nodded in my direction. ‘This is Stanly. Eddie’s cousin.’

  ‘Ah.’ Skank walked over and looked me up and down. ‘Good build. Ever worked in a shop before?’

  I shook my head. ‘No.’

  ‘Ever worked?’

  ‘A bit. Kind of.’

  Skank nodded shrewdly. ‘Cool. Coolcoolcool.’ He returned to the counter and spoke without looking back. ‘Take a gander at the premises. If you like what you see, come over and I’ll give you the test.’

  I looked at Connor. ‘The test?’

  Connor smiled. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as it sounds.’ He made to walk away but I stopped him. ‘Yeah?’ he asked.