Kaleidoscope

by Chariss K. Walker

  Chapter Three

  Part of my predictable routine is going to the gym every available night. Although I was never a jock in high school or college, I’d found that exhaustive workouts helped me fall asleep at night. With that benefit, strenuous exercise quickly replaced the sleeping pills.

  I’d always been lean and tall, rather gangly from ages thirteen to twenty. I’d grown six inches during the summer between middle school and high school. Any weight gain couldn’t keep up with that huge growth spurt. The only physical sports I’d ever participated in were the mandatory, one-semester phys. ed. classes: a little volleyball, baseball, or basketball, and a lot of running and pushups.

  The locker room was my worst nightmare. I suspect it was the same for most young men. In the gym, I was nicknamed ‘horse’ and ridiculed for being well-endowed. In hindsight, that was better than tagged with ‘skeet’ or ‘snake’—still those days were traumatic as classmates continually ribbed each other and me. Although circumcised as a newborn, nothing was sacred there. Everyone scrutinized each other in the worst possible light: raw nakedness. The mockery was torturous. Rumors spread around the school following me everywhere I went. Girls giggled, teachers cocked their heads sideways, and football players woof-woofed, when I passed by. I can still hear the taunting voices echoing against the tiled shower stalls.

  “Hey Mike, you ought to get circumcised and let the doctor cut off three or four more inches because that thing is huge! Hey guys, look! Jesus! He’s like a fucking horse! What girl is ever gonna take that?”

  My body didn’t begin to fill-out until I went to college, and even then, I was still slender. Girls never looked at me other than as a study partner or tutor. It was the end of my freshman year before my first kiss. I still vividly remember it today.

  Her name was Helen, and we were study partners. She was trying to cram for a big final, but I was there because she was there. Girls in general fascinated me, but Helen had me spellbound. We were in the main campus library when she asked for help to find a book. I obliged and followed her between the long rows of bookcases. She turned abruptly causing me to bump into her when I rounded the corner. It was instantaneous, but it seemed to happen in slow motion as every detail imprinted itself on my mind.

  Warm, slender arms around my neck, body pressed tightly against mine, and her lips, slightly parted, were deliciously sweet and passionate. For a first kiss, it was scrupulously long, soft, and wet. When we pulled apart, a slight trickle of moisture held suspended between our lips, like a spider web, as if prolonging the kiss. Helen stared at me in shock. Her eyes were wide with amazement and her mouth formed a perfect oval before finding the words to apologize for being so forward. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. That was the wrong thing to do because she avoided me for the rest of the term. Still, the experience was just about as perfect as I’d imagined it would be.

  Except when with a group of friends, I was brainy and quiet, standing apart from the crowd. During the second semester of my sophomore year, suddenly everything changed. I began to fill out and so did my dating opportunities.

  It was usually the older girls, seniors and grad-students, who sought my company. These girls had more experience and weren’t shy and virginal. I learned a lot from the older girls. It took a while to figure out that I was no longer that gangly, pimply teenager or embarrassed kid from the locker room; I was a man. By age thirty, and after discovering the benefits of exercise, I was six feet three inches and weighed two hundred pounds.

  Now, sitting in the warm sun that penetrated the deck, my eyelids closed for a second, and the kaleidoscope images repeated their prophecy. Like Jack’s beanstalk, the plants grew quickly and effectively blotted out all life to the earth’s surface below. I startled upright, sloshing the now warm bottle of beer onto my pants leg; the cigarette had extinguished itself in the ashtray.

  I grabbed a gym bag and walked to a favored diner three blocks away. When in town, I ate there at least four times a week. The food was always good and spicy while the atmosphere was quaint. The meals, served in courses, allowed time to savor each dish. Although the owners were Indian, the menu offered many cuisines from around the world, and the variety was another reason I frequented the place.

  After a light dinner, I went to the gym for a grueling workout. It was something I did nearly every night of the week. When on a jobsite, I bought a temporary pass to the nearest gym. My body was lean and hard from the punishment I gave it, but that’s what I needed to find restful sleep.

  Over the years, I discovered I had a small talent for boxing. I’d started working out in the ring because I needed something new to find the level of exhaustion required. One of the regulars at the gym suggested I try boxing. I don’t know why, but I like it. I try not to over think it. I have no illusions about becoming a fighter and I never think about boxing after I leave the ring. I’d never been in a fight other than the occasional shoving that took place in high school. Still, I liked the idea of having a few protective moves and found it rewarding to give as good as I got in the ring.

  After working out on all the equipment, I wandered over to the boxing ring and suited up. I nodded a greeting to Troy, a favorite partner, ready to fight. I didn’t know much about Troy other than as a sparring partner. It was rumored that he wanted to go pro and was working up to competition, but he never mentioned it.

  Troy, in his late twenties, had blonde hair, blue eyes, and freckles over the bridge of his nose. He was Greek god handsome and women flocked to him. In fact, there was always a line waiting outside the gym when he exited the building. Troy was shorter and younger but outweighed me by at least twenty pounds. He was what critics call buff. I was on the lean and hard-as-nails side. Overall, we were a good match in the ring, but it wasn’t always that way. In the beginning, I ended up on the rails, slaughtered by Troy’s hard, fast punches. Still, what we did in the ring was merely exercise. It certainly wasn’t strategy or defensive and offensive tactics. Under the circumstances, I didn’t know how long Troy would last with a real pro.

  Chapter Four

  Monday morning, I drank a fresh coffee on the deck and thought about my life, wondering where-the-hell it went wrong. There was tightness in the pit of my stomach as I thought about the appointment with Nelson. Although I can’t discount that unsettling feeling, I know I need change. I stubbornly cling to the notion that Nelson will either assist me or point me in the right direction. I finished the coffee and went inside to get ready. Maria would arrive shortly, and I wanted to stay out of her way.

  Maria has been the housekeeper since I returned to live in my parents’ home. She cleans every Monday morning from eight to eleven whether I’m in town or not. She tidies up the place, picks up and drops off laundry, and makes sure the home doesn’t smell musty while I’m away for extended periods—not that there’s any real dirt to clean. As a dedicated bachelor, I’m tidy. I subscribe to the rules left over from childhood: if you open it, close it; if you break it, fix it; if you get it out, put it back; and so forth. Nevertheless, dust accumulates, and any home takes on a stale odor when windows and doors remain closed for long intervals.

  Maria has the energy of a bumblebee, buzzing busily around to set things right. Trustworthy, she’s been a godsend who supports my traveling lifestyle. From the first month of employment, I’ve paid her exactly what she wanted and increased her wages ten percent each year. She’s worth every penny.

  Once Maria began the cleaning routine, I went upstairs to the study and closed the door. She dusts and vacuums that particular room while I’m away, never when I’m home. For lunch, I returned to the Indian diner for a spicy meal before heading to the appointment with Nelson.

  As I sat in Dr. Nelson Fitch’s plush office, I could tell my good friend had done well over the years. The waiting area, lavishly furnished with Italian leather, said it all. The front office was staffed by a receptionist and file clerk who each had finely grained mahogany desks. I arrived a few minutes e
arly and had yet to see Nelson’s private office, but the receptionist, a petite brunette in her mid-fifties, had buzzed to let him know I’d arrived. A few minutes before two, the door to the inner office opened and Nelson walked out with a patient. The young man, probably in his early thirties, kept his head close to Nelson’s and listened intently, “I’ll see you next week, Josh.”

  “Shalom, my good friend, it’s great to see you,” Nelson greeted loudly with a warm smile after Josh was gone. “Sarah and I have been meaning to invite you to dinner, but time slips away doesn’t it?”

  I nodded and stood up to shake Nelson’s hand. He gestured for me to follow him inside. The mention of Sarah brought back memories of the sassy and confident girl from college who’d been part of my group of closest friends. We were nicknamed the ‘College-Five’ by my parents, Dawn and Patrick Lewis. Sarah and Nelson affectionately called it ‘our mishpocha’ or family. I’d seen Sarah less than a year ago, and she hadn’t aged a day other than laugh lines at the corners of her bright green eyes.

  “Please take a seat anywhere you like,” Nelson said, indicating one of four tufted armchairs or a sofa. He closed the door and I sat in one of the chairs facing his large ornate desk. The room was spacious and held all the furniture and accents pieces without feeling crowded.

  I recalled Nelson as he’d been when we first met at Columbia University. Then, he had a mop of curly brown hair with very little beard and a slender build for his five-foot nine-inch frame. The years had added a few pounds, mostly around his midsection, but this enhanced the overall persona often associated with college professors and therapists. His hair was still curly brown with smatterings of gray throughout. There was a shiny spot on top of his head that resembled a small satin kippah, or the platter-shaped hat worn by Orthodox Jews. The wire-rimmed spectacles, perched on the bridge of his nose, completed the scholarly look.

  We’d been close friends for twenty-five years and it was because of this enduring relationship that I’m sitting in his polished office about to spill my guts. I’m about to share something dangerous and implausible; but, on the other hand, if anyone would believe me, Nelson would. After all, he’s a psychiatrist and deals with psychological issues and abnormal brain patterns all the time. Although he might not have any experience dealing with the paranormal, I’m here because I need his help.

  “Why’d you want to see me today? What can I help you with, Mike? Is this an official visit or time to schmooze, just two old friends catching up?” Nelson, curiosity getting the better of him, started the conversation.

  “Shalom, my friend. It’s official. I called asking for an appointment, and I appreciate that you’ve made time to see me while I’m between assignments. I have an issue, a problem, I need to discuss with a professional and a friend—that’s you. I hope you can help me,” I replied.

  “Of course, Mike. I’ll be glad to see what I can do. Tell me why you’ve sought my professional opinion.” Nelson smiled encouragingly.

  “What I’m going to share with you is a confession of sorts…I’ve never told another living soul about this, not even my parents. There’s a phenomenon in my life that I need to understand.” I paused briefly and took a deep breath. At that moment, the hair on the back of my neck rose and I wanted to run. I considered leaving without saying another word, but something had to change. I was miserable and the desire for something different kept me seated and suppressed my instincts.

  “Mike, whatever it is I’m sure we can find some answers,” Nelson softly interjected.

  “Ok, here it is in a nutshell,” I rushed to explain. “Every time I close my eyes, I see a vision of some future event in a kaleidoscope. It’s not the kaleidoscope of childhood filled with pretty-colored glass. It crackles and sparkles like the one I had as a kid, but this one shows broken images of terrifying future events. The visions torment me. They’re reflections and fragmented, not clear pictures. It uses the same principle as all kaleidoscopes where reflective surfaces are placed at an angle to one another.”

  I briefly paused again unsure how to give the best description. Nelson remained eerily silent, his lips pressed tightly together, as he considered what he’d heard. I didn’t know how to take his silence, so I rushed on, “I can’t shut it off without opening my eyes; it just happens even when I blink the images are there, distracting and penetrating. I’ve learned to compartmentalize what I see with whatever I’m doing, but it’s taken years to learn the skills required to live with this ability.”

  Nelson still didn’t say anything. He appeared to be either stunned or eager; I couldn’t quite determine the look. I continued my attempt to explain, “In the beginning, it almost drove me to the edge of madness. In the beginning, well, let’s just say that I have a better handle on it now. The images are horrifying events and I can’t do anything to prevent them from happening. What I see through the kaleidoscope doesn’t affect me personally. None of the visions I’ve seen are of people or places I know.”

  Nelson’s expression had changed from stunned to disbelief. His eyes widened in response and he rubbed his chin in perplexity. It pissed me off immediately and my reaction was heated, “Don’t think I don’t know how crazy this revelation sounds! I know you think no one can see the future. I’ll give you a taste, a sample, of what I see through the kaleidoscope. Take a few notes so that when it unfolds you’ll have written proof of what I’m telling you.”

  “Ok, Mike. Give me an example of what you see through the kaleidoscope,” Nelson said with a sigh of frustration, but his right hand thrummed the desktop near the phone.

  It seemed obvious that he wrestled with a strong impulse to pick up the phone and call for help, perhaps a mandatory psychiatric evaluation. That was a normal response for a doctor who’d heard such a shocking and unbelievable confession. Nelson wasn’t used to hearing such rubbish from friends, especially one he’d trusted in the past. It was natural to want an impartial colleague to observe me. Nelson couldn’t be objective or maintain any real neutrality, but he hesitated. It was an imperceptible pause where he struggled to give me the benefit of doubt. He’d never known me to lie. Accepting that, he reached for a pen instead of the phone.

  “Go on, Mike,” he encouraged.

  “The most recent images are of overgrown fields and crops completely ravaged and attacked by a plant or weed. It’s difficult to be precise because the clips I see are fast, similar to black-and-white time-lapse photography.” I paused again as I struggled with the words to adequately describe the vision. Nelson, showing some degree of excitement, gestured for me to continue. “The new plant is so heavy and fast growing that it covers the fields like kudzu. Everything underneath is choked out and deprived of sun and rain. I can’t tell you how, when, or where it’ll happen, but it will happen. One morning you’ll hear something on the news about this very scenario,” I finished rather lamely.

  “Tsuris!” Nelson exploded. I cocked my head sideways because my Yiddish was a little rusty, but he began again more calmly. “We’ve known each other for a long time and what you’ve described goes against all that I know about you personally. You’ve always had a sixth sense, Mike. You’ve always been able to see things that the rest of us couldn’t. In college, you saw clearly the things that were ahead, and you handled it with your own personal touch. You helped the rest of us when we had difficulties. What you’re describing now doesn’t make any sense to me. And why the hell did this begin fifteen years ago when I’ve known you for over twenty-five years, and… well, hellfire Mike, you’ve always had this ability.”

  “Nelson, I don’t have any recall of the things you’re saying,” I objected while shaking my head in confusion. I was shocked even though it wasn’t the first time I’d heard this. Adom had suggested this very thing. Was he right when he’d insisted that I’d used the gift my entire life? Were both men right about my ability? How did they know more about it than I did?

  Why can’t I recall it?

  “Listen, Mike, you’re tellin
g me that what you see isn’t clear and that it comes through a kaleidoscope… You have me in a quandary here. You’ve always seen things… when did you start to see them in a kaleidoscope? What in the world happened to you?” Nelson asked.

  What the hell happened to me? Why can’t I recall it?

  I didn’t know how to respond to Nelson’s line of questioning. I sat speechless in the tufted chair and wondered if I could trust him after all. In the meantime, Nelson studied me in silence, obviously trying to meld the two images of me—college and now. He took a deep breath and the questions took a new direction. He was trying to work things out, figure things out, and reconcile what he remembered with what he’d just heard.

  “Are these dreams? Are you sure you see these images while you’re still awake?” he finally asked.

  “I see the images when I close my eyes, Nelson, not while I’m asleep. Sleep is my only escape from them. I could close my eyes right now and see the images. Am I asleep?”

  “Help me to help you, Mike. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Nelson asked with a puzzled look on his face.

  “I can’t give you another set of images, Nelson. That’s not how it works. I see the same vision until it happens and then a new one begins. I can tell you things that I’ve seen in the past, but keep in mind that it’s a miniscule fraction of natural disasters and catastrophes. In the beginning, I saw about six images each year. Now, I see eight to ten visions a year. I don’t know why I see the ones I do. I don’t know why I don’t see others. I saw the meteor hit Russia. I watched that terrifying scene every night for over a month knowing there was nothing I could do, no one I could tell. I didn’t see the earthquake in China this year, or the one in Chile during 2010. I’ve watched tsunamis, earthquakes, and hurricanes. I’ve watched obscure, bizarre events from around the world. I watch the event over and again until it finally happens, but I didn’t see hurricanes Sandy or Katrina because I’d have recognized the locations.”