You Found Me

by Joel Cobbs

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  The Dark Knight was as amazing as everyone had said it was. Heath Ledger did the best Joker I'd ever seen. There were parts when chills went down my spine, just from watching him. He was creepy, vicious and, at the same time, had this air of power and admiration about him. It was almost nonstop action through the whole thing. I was awestruck, as were my friends.

  “Man, that was intense,” Max said when we got in his car. It'd stopped raining and was now barely misting. Wasn't much of an improvement but certainly wasn't that bad. It made the ride home a lot easier.

  “That was fun,” I said. We'd made it to my house in a decent time. “Have to do it again sometime.”

  “Hopefully you won't go on vacation before it.”

  “Don't worry,” I said with a smile. “Don't think I have any planned.”

  “Good to know. See ya later,” he said, and drove off

  When Max pulled out of the driveway, I had a funny feeling. I was tearing up. I realized how much I'd missed my friends. I felt like I hadn't given them the respect they deserved, which was true. They'd been there, I knew that. They'd been there the whole time, I just wouldn't see them. Well, maybe I did seem them, I just didn't...I don't know.

  I went inside and banged out some scales on the piano. I was getting better, not as much pain and I didn't sound like I'd just started. When Dad told the doctor about it, he said that was good exercise and would help me build strength in my hands and fingers. I played on and on. I wanted to get back to playing songs. I hadn't tried yet, but I wanted to. I hadn't even tried playing any yet. There were several I wanted to start off with, but didn't know what would be best. Right now I was just concentrating on playing. Dad could stand to be in the same house now, since I was able to play them with so few mistakes.

  That night I took my meds like I was supposed to and took a shower. The cold water was starting to feel good, opposite of what I was expecting. It wasn't ice cold, but it sure wasn't what I'd been used to; what I'd always used. Though I missed the hot water, it wasn't bothering me a whole lot anymore.

  I stripped down and got in bed. The day had worn me out. The movie was a little more than I'd expected. It'd taken a lot of my energy. Between that, Dr. O'Nassis, Dad, and my friends, I was wiped out. I drifted for a minute, then fell asleep.

  Chapter Ten

  “Robert,” I heard. The voice was distorted, irregular, yet somehow familiar. I knew who it was, but at the same time I couldn't tell if it was someone I knew or just a voice I recognized from TV or the radio or some other way. It was as if someone had disguised their voice, knowing I could figure it out.

  “Robert,” it called again. I didn't wanna open my eyes. This was too much for me. I just wanted to sleep. I was sick of all of this. “Go away,” I said. “Be quiet, I wanna sleep.”

  “Robert!” it shouted.

  “What?!” I yelled and opened my eyes.

  I was sitting at a park bench, my head laying on the table. It was hot outside. I blinked a few times and tried to figure out where I was and how I got there. What's going on? I said to myself.

  “This is where it all started, isn't it?” I heard the voice and I knew. I knew immediately where I was and who was with me. I didn't wanna look. I didn't need to look. This was all fake, there's no what it could be true. For some unknown reason, I turned my head.

  I started shaking. She was there in front of me. The woman I'd known my entire life. The woman I'd fought with, cried with, yelled at, and hugged every time I was down. The woman who'd died almost four months ago. My mother.

  “This is impossible. You're dead.”

  “Am I?” she said. “How do you know, Robert? How do you know that I'm the one who's dead and it isn't you?”

  “I can't be dead,” I said. Even as I said it, I wasn't sure it was true. “No. No, I can't be dead. You died in that wreck four months ago. I wasn't there, I was at home. You-” I stopped.

  “'I'm'?”

  “You're not here...” She looked around.

  “Looks to me like I'm here. What makes you think I'm not here?”

  “Because you're dead,” I said again. “I hate repeating myself, but you're dead. I got the text message, got the phone call, went and saw the body for myself. I went and spoke at the funeral for crying out loud. This is impossible.” I covered my eyes with my hands and wished it all went away.

  “Is it, Rob?” The voice changed. I lowered my hands.

  “Dr. O'Nassis?” I asked in disbelief. “How did-When did- What's going on?”

  “What makes you think something's going on?”

  “I don't have time for these silly games, Doctor, now just tell me what's going on.” He stood up.

  “Robert, this is more important than you realize. You're right,” he said. “There is no time for silly games and this isn't one. Now is the time for some choices. You've made some and now you've gotta make more. Such is the nature of things.” I couldn't figure out why, but he didn't sound like his usual self. I mean, that was his voice, but the words seemed to be coming from somewhere else.

  “What do you mean?” I was both curious and confused. “Think of all the things you've done, all the choices you've made. Everything you have ever done in your life. It all has a meaning, and has had and will continue to have a lasting impression on you and your life, whether you realize it or not.” I stared at him for a moment.

  “Who are you?” I asked. He smiled knowingly, as if he'd expected this question and was glad I'd finally asked it.

  “Who do you think I am?”

  “I don't know,” I said. “That's why I'm asking.” “You know who I am.”

  “No, I don't. I mean, I think I know I'm just not sure. It doesn't seem...right.”

  “Does it matter?” “What?”

  “I asked 'does it matter?' What reason could you have that would show who I am is important? You know who I am, you've always known. You've just buried it far away because you feel as if you've been abandoned.”

  “'Abandoned?' I don't feel abandoned.”

  “Are you sure? What about everything you're facing now with no one there for you? That doesn't make you feel abandoned?”

  “Well,” I started. Whoever this was, it certainly wasn't Dr. O'Nassis. “Sometimes...but what does that have to do with who you are?”

  “I'm God.” I laughed.

  “No you're not.”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “How can you be God? God doesn't come here and talk to us. God just stays where He is and watches the world fall apart. His design is flawed and He refuses to admit it.” There was a moment of tension. I closed my eyes and massaged my head. This was just too much.

  “What makes you think my design is flawed?” The voice had changed. I looked up, startled, and saw Mrs. Madison there. We were in her office. I was sitting in the chair I'd sat in many times since Mom's death.

  I stuttered, trying to say something while at the same time in shock of what was happening.

  “How'd you get here?”

  “How'd I get where?”

  “Here,” I said. “I was just at Dr. O'Nassis's, and before that I was at the park.”

  “What was at the park?”

  “I don't see why that's important.”

  “I do. What was at the park?” I was being stubborn, I knew that. I didn't know what was going, didn't really care at this point. I wasn't crazy. I may be sick, grief stricken, even depressed, but I wasn't crazy, and I wasn't going to give in to this.

  “Nothing,” I said. “There was nothing at the park. I'm not even sure I was at the park.”

  “'Nothing',” she said. “Interesting choice of words. Why 'nothing'?” I was angry, confused, upset, and shocked at the same time.

  “Just...nothing. There was nothing.” I stopped. “Well, there was something, but I'm not sure it was the something I think it was.”

  “Yes, Rob,” she said. “It is exactly what you think it is.” “But that's impossible.”

  “Why do you
think that? Who are you to question me? This is what it is, and you know that. You've known it for a long time. There are no lies here, Rob, no hidden meanings behind things. Here, everything is exactly as you perceive it. This,” she motioned around her, “is what real is.”

  “But how-”

  “The question isn't how,” she said. “It's 'where'. Where is this going to take you? Are you going to let it take you or are you going to put up the biggest fight you can? These are the questions, here are the answers.”

  “She means where you are now,” Lisa said. I turned to see her standing in the doorway. Now I was really confused. “This place might exist, it might not. We might be here, we might not. This isn't about us, Robert. This is about you. This place, one way or the other, is what you're looking for.”

  “How can you know that? How can we know for sure this is what it is?”

  “Only you know that answer to that, Rob,” Mrs. Madison said. “We can only show you the way you're supposed to go, but only you can take the steps you need to.” I was quiet.

  “What's going on? Why me?”

  “Because it's necessary.” I was angry now.

  “What do you mean 'it's necessary'? Haven't I suffered enough? Haven't I been through enough pain and trauma and sadness to last me the rest of my life? How can you do this to me?”

  “I know what you need, Rob. I've always known and always will. You have this deep inside of you, this anger you refuse to let go, and you need to.”

  “NO!” I screamed and slammed my fist down on the desk. Everything changed. I was at a wreck, the smell of fire and gasoline filled the air. I looked around.

  Firemen, police officers, medics, people of all kinds were there. There was a van there too. It took a minute to register. I was at the wreck.

  There was the van, the ambulance, the older car, the young man. Everything here was exactly what I'd been told. The young man had been thrown from his car and looked barely alive. I couldn't believe it.

  Where's Mom?!

  That was the first thing that came to mind. I wanted to see Mom. I wanted to know where she was.

  “She's not here, Robert,” a policeman said. “Who's not here?”

  “Your mother. The wreck happened about ten minutes ago and she's already been taken to the hospital.”

  “I thought she died here, at the accident.” He looked at his watch.

  “Nope, she still has about forty seconds before she dies.”

  “Forty seconds?! Then why are we here?! Let's go save her!”

  “There's nothing we can do. Your mother is going to die no matter what you want us to do or try.” I started shaking.

  “No,” I said. Tears were forming in my eyes. “It's not supposed to happen like this. Not again. She's not supposed to die. I'm the one that should die!” I fell down on my knees.

  “Why'd you do this to me?” I screamed. “This isn't supposed to happen! Why'd you take her away from me?” I fell face down into the grass. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Please, oh please.”

  “You didn't do anything, Robert.” I shot up. She was there again. My mother.

  “I'm sorry. Please hear me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do whatever it was I did. I won't do it again, I promise. I promise with my whole heart.”

  “I'm not sure you can keep such a promise,” she said. “Things are going to get tough for you, Robert, much harder than they've been this far. You're about to go through more than you ever realized you could handle. It's not going to be easy, even with all the help you're going to have.” I hugged her and laid my head on her shoulder. I was crying, tears going everywhere. I couldn't stop, didn't wanna stop.

  “Don't leave me,” I said. “Please don't leave me.”

  “Oh, Robert,” she said, “I haven't left you. I can't leave you. I've been here the whole time, you just haven't been looking. I have never left you and I never will. I'm going to be here no matter what happens. I promise.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  I looked at her. I didn't wanna say goodbye. I didn't wanna close my eyes and watch it all disappear. I didn't want any of this to come undone. I was happy here. She was here. That's all I wanted.

  “I love you,” I said, the tears falling like rain drops. “I love you too.”

  ------

  When I opened my eyes, I became afraid. What had happened? Was it all a dream? Did I really see what I'd seen? My mind was rushing, trying to understand what I say, while at the same time trying to figure out how I'd gotten back. How I'd managed to go from the park, to Dr. O'Nassis, to Mrs. Madison, to the wreck, back to the park, and here. How did I get back here? Is was just a dream, wasn't it?

  The sun hit my eyes hard and they burned. My bedding was completely soaked. I was worried at first. Worried I might have wet the bed. I didn't remember anything happening like that. Normally, when you wet the bed in your sleep, it's because of something in the dream. Maybe you were swimming, or it was raining, or you could've been dreaming you were using the bathroom. I smelled for urine, and I realized it wasn't that. It was sweat.

  What if what I'd dreamed of had really happened? Or maybe it didn't happen, but was so real I could feel it wearing me out and causing me to sweat like this. I didn't know. I didn't really wanna think about it too much. Whatever it was, this was embarrassing. I quickly got out of bed. I didn't know what time it was or anything, just that the sun was up. I had some extra bedding in my closet, just like always.

  I was shaking from the sweat. Chills were going down my spine. It had all been so real, so up close. I couldn't even begin to describe how it made me feel. I'm now sure I wanted to. It was horrific, and at the same time gave me some sort of peace.

  Changing my bedding would be nothing. Dad would leave for work soon and I could get it all washed before he got back, thus avoiding any trouble. I could shower and get the sweat and stink off of me so he wouldn't notice that either.

  Maybe my medication was messed up and needed to be checked. Maybe my body was still adjusting to it and that was just an aftereffect. Then again, maybe it was all real. Maybe I had really experienced all of that. Maybe I had seen all of it, stood in those places, spoke to those people.

  Could it be?

  Was it even possible?

  I don't know. I just don't know.

  Chapter Eleven

  I kept the experience to myself. I didn't wanna tell anyone about it. I was worried they would lock me back up, take me away from this life I'd worked so hard to get back. I doubt they would really do that, but just the thought of it was enough to make me reconsider telling anyone about it. I didn't even write anything about it on my laptop. Simply put: I was paranoid.

  I took my stress out on the piano. I played it vigorously, stopping only to eat, sleep, and talk with Dad. I'd become obsessed with forgetting about it. Scales began to turn into melodies, melodies turned into tunes, and soon my fingers were aching for songs. I searched the Internet for something that wouldn't be too hard on me, but at the same time would be interesting enough to try and play. Seeing as it was the Internet, I knew I would be able to find something.

  Then, there it was. No One Else Knows, Building 429. I read the lyrics and realized it really was how I felt. Everything I'd felt since Mom died was expressed in the lyrics. I was the only who could relate to what I was going through, and the song expressed that.

  It was painful at first, taking me a while to really get the feel of it. I may've been able to play, but I wasn't a master at it. It was just as difficult to play as the scales had been when I first started out.

  The notes went slowly. The more I worked at it, the more it started to sound like a song. I know it wasn't the greatest playing in the world, but I liked it nonetheless. It made me happy to know I'd accomplished something, which is always a good thing.

  Nights had become much more difficult. I'd found that it was harder to get sleep now, harder to make myself get in bed and try. I was so torn up over what it was th
at'd happened. That dream. The dream that'd seemed so real it sent chills down my spine just thinking about it. It hadn't been that long since the dream, but at the same time it felt like centuries. Centuries since I'd been able to close my eyes. Centuries since I felt like everything was coming together.

  I'd given up on tossing and turning. If I couldn't sleep, I wasn't going to lay in bed and have that hanging over my head. When I laid there, it was as if it was mocking me, reminding me that I couldn't get what it was I wanted. That I could see it as plain as day but was unable to achieve it.

  Some nights I'd pace back and forth in my room trying to make myself sleepy. I wouldn't read, wouldn't write, would dare go downstairs and play the piano. I would just concentrate on walking back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sometimes it worked, other times it didn't.

  Some nights I'd sit in front of my laptop all night long. I'd talk with friends, mindless surf YouTube. Google things at random and see what it was I could learn. I'd really gotten into soundtracks at this point. Since Dad introduced me to John Williams, I became obsessed. I wanted to hear music from all sorts of people.

  Hans Zimmer. John Williams. Christopher Ward. James Newton Howard. Howard Shore. I'd found a taste for music I hadn't really noticed before. I realized that the music these men made is actually what made the movies so great. I hadn't really considered it before, that the music was so important to the movies, but it really was. Usually I'd start to wear down and need to get in the bed to rest at least a little.

  Some nights, I'd compose my own. I'd found a software online that allowed me to compose my own music. I'd be stuck awake and, since I needed something to take my mind off of things, I'd write some music. Often it was terrible stuff, things I wouldn't dare consider great or in comparison with my heroes of the music world.

  I'd use the computer keyboard and mouse and pick the notes out. I'd listen to it play, then make my changes. The music began to flow better. Sleep evaded me for quite a while. When I could, I'd nap during the day time. It wasn't enough of a deep sleep to have me dream and, if I did, I'd wake up in a tizzy and quickly get up from wherever it was I'd fallen asleep.