reflection 01 - the reflective

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  We stepped outside, and my eyes locked on Jade.

  She wore a tight pink cami covered by a chocolate-colored T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and little strappy sandals. I loved a girl who dressed like one. She smiled when she saw me, and it was all I could do to not pick her up and spin her around.

  John cleared his throat, and I waved off. He nodded in understanding with a lopsided grin but didn’t follow me over to Jade.

  I took her hand, and we talked about unimportant stuff on the way to the park at the opening of my neighborhood.

  ***

  Dappled sunlight struggled through the canopy of trees. Little more than a drainage area when the development was first built in the 1970s, over time, the park had become a small oasis with structures on three sides. The city park bordered on the fourth, separated by an ugly cyclone fence. Huge indigenous evergreens lined the area, broken here and there by a lone Alder tree. These too, cast pools of shade in the late afternoon light.

  Jade and I sat on a well-worn bench just inside the entrance to the woods. A patch of sun found her, slanting across her forehead.

  Our hands were still entwined when she asked, “What's going on Sunday, Caleb?”

  I evaded the question. “Maybe you should pulse your aunt and let her know when you'll be home.”

  Jade pulled out her pulse, which was slathered in iridescent lavender hearts. “Good idea.” She sent the message then leaned against me.

  “What did ya say?” I asked.

  “I told her I was hanging out with a friend.”

  It occurred to me that maybe not all kids would just blurt out their romantic details to their parents. I couldn't imagine Jonesy or John telling their parents anything. Especially John's, they had a sphincter factor that could produce diamonds.

  I gave a small smile. “Did you tell her about me?” I asked.

  “Well, I didn't tell her a name. I just said I liked a boy at school.”

  “What's your aunt's name?”

  “Oh... Andrea,” she responded absently, as if her mind was already a million miles away.

  I studied her face, wondering about her thoughts. “Anyway, my mom says you're welcome to come over anytime.”

  Jade looked down, her long hair falling forward like ink spilling.

  She twisted in my embrace to look at me. “You told your parents about me?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it's no different than you telling your aunt that you like somebody.” I shrugged. “But I gave them your name.”

  Jade shifted against me.

  “Do they know about... my dad and all?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I didn't tell them, but they already knew.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments, not awkward but like people who fit together like puzzle pieces.

  “I love my aunt,” she said suddenly.

  I gave her a little squeeze. “My parents don't care, and neither do I.”

  “Really?” she asked shyly, looking up at me through her eyelashes.

  “Really.”

  A huge grin appeared on her face, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. I grinned back. The moment held, grew, and became a perfect memory.

  She shivered a little as I gave her a side hug. I was diggin' that response.

  “So about Sunday,” she said.

  Oh yeah, that. Mood-killer.

  I cleared my throat. “Okay so, the APs are coming up on Monday. And… well, I found out that I have AFTD.”

  I expected shock, surprise, something, but Jade just looked back at me calmly.

  “I already knew.”

  I gaped at her. “How?”

  “Because I'm an Empath.”

  It was like the mystery being solved. Everything instantly fell into place. I understood her behavior. She already knew about my “problem” because she had one of her own.

  The knowledge made me self-conscious. She knew stuff about me that maybe I hadn't wanted her to know, like how much I dug her.

  Couldn't a guy have a few secrets?

  She must have sensed my tension. “This is why I haven't said anything.”

  I tried to relax. Couldn't.

  I took a deep breath. “You haven't told anyone but me?”

  “And Sophie. I was thinking about telling Andrea, but she may tell my dad.”

  I was surprised. “Why would she do that?”

  “I don't know. She knows he's crappy, but she thinks he has a right to know important stuff. She'd think this was.”

  “Well, she's gonna find out after Monday.”

  She nodded.

  “My dad's got a cerebral inhibitor that I'm gonna take so I won't hit the radar as a corpse raiser.”

  “Caleb, they're gonna know you're AFTD.”

  “I know, but I can be a lesser AFTD, and I won't be that important. Ya know, a two-point or something.”

  “How do you know you can raise dead things?” she asked.

  I told her about the cemetery then about the dog. Jade showed a lot of sympathy for the dog. Just thinking about him brought his emotions flooding into me.

  “Where is he now?” she asked.

  “I don't know for sure, but the impressions—”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Impressions?”

  “Yeah, if I think about him, he's like here with me.”

  “Like when I touch people...” she mused.

  “I don't know if it's like what you have. All I know is that I thought he needed to live, then he did. And afterward, I could sense his emotions.”

  “So, what do you know about people?” I asked.

  “Ah-uh, you're not getting off that fast!” She laughed. “No off-topic. Tell me about Sunday.”

  I plowed my free hand through my hair. “Well, Jonesy thought we needed to teach Carson and Brett a lesson.”

  Jade's brow furrowed into two, neat lines, kind of like a number eleven in the middle of her forehead.

  I rushed to explain. “He thought it may distract them enough during the aptitude tests that they wouldn't be paying attention to me or think to let a teacher in on what I can really do.”

  Jade tilted her head. “Yeah, but later, they're going to retaliate.”

  I shrugged. “I guess that's a chance we'll have to take.”

  Jade rolled her eyes.

  “Boys!”

  As if that explained all reason in the world.

  “Listen, they won't respect me until I dominate them. They're just that type. You see that, don't ya?”

  “Yeah... I guess so.” She bit her lip, looking uncertain. “Brett lives near me. He’s always been… difficult.”

  She actually sounded like she felt sorry for the guy. I looked at her, dumbfounded.

  She whispered, “His dad's worse than mine.”

  The silence rolled out, and I let it. I didn’t really know what to say. But I did know that girls always seem to want to fill silences with talking. Guys didn't feel that obligation.

  After a few minutes, she said, “When we were little and met at the bus stop, his dad would sometimes meet him in the afternoon, and right there, in front of all the kids, he'd be shit-faced drunk. Of course, he'd wait until the driver pulled away before he started hitting Brett.” She looked down at her hands clenched in her lap. “Then, he would drag him off to the car. The next day at the bus stop, Brett would be all beat up.”

  Jade looked up at me, tears shimmering in her eyes. “He had it worse than me. At least Dad didn't yell and beat me in front of people.”

  I gulped. That was horrible—her story and Brett’s. My life, even with the stupid AFTD was better than a lot of people. I didn't want to feel bad for Brett. He was such a raging dickhead, but I could see why he acted the way he did. Carson was still a mystery, though. He had everything going for him. It came down to choice. Jade had a similar background to Brett, and she wasn't acting like a jerk.

  Jade answered almost as if I had spoken out loud—duh... empath. “His mom never did anything to stop it. At least my mom is dea
d. I just had the one parent. When things got really bad”—she shuddered—“I would escape to Andrea's.”

  “Okay, so you, like, feel sorry for Brett?”

  “Kinda. I hate that he's mean to me. But at the bus stop, the other kids didn't know what to do to help him. His dad was über-scary, and their families were normal.” She smiled. “Well, more normal. Anyway, I knew what it felt like, how embarrassing it was to have a parent that out of control, the feeling of slippage, like you're hangin' on to the edge of the cliff and some maniac has a hold of the rope and you have to hang on and hope they don't let go. I just wanted him to know that I was hangin' on to his rope, too. That the maniac wasn't the only one that had a hold of it. So we were friends. Then, for some reason, last year when we started middle school”—she gestured back in the direction of school—“he started acting like he didn't know me.” She shrugged. “I just sorta gave up. He and Carson became friends, and that was the end of that.”

  We sat for a moment, and I chewed on what she'd told me.

  “I want you to come on Sunday,” I said.

  “I don't know. What if Carson and Brett get really mad and something bad happens? I don't like Brett getting it. It feels wrong. If it backfires, they'll be more determined to make sure the right adults find out what you can do.”

  “Speaking of that, how did you know… about me?”

  She started wringing her hands a little.

  “When you touched me, I just got a really strong... impression of… concern and... love.” She glanced up at me, probably to see if I was offended by the L-word.

  I couldn't say I loved her yet, but I cared. Maybe there wasn't much of a difference between the two.

  “Anyone can guesstimate,” she said, “but I know. People can't lie to me. I know who likes me and who doesn't. And that's not so great, believe me. But what can I do? It is what it is.”

  I felt the same way.

  “That still doesn't explain how you know that I'm AFTD.”

  “Well, each person has a 'flavor,' like ice cream,” she perked up at the analogy, “So there are paranormal flavors, and I started to recognize the differences, sometimes before the kids even know what they're going to have. Mostly, I just try to not touch anyone. I really don't want to know.”

  “Who else is AFTD?” I was stunned. I thought I was the only one for some reason. Like an island in and endless sea.

  “That girl in PE—Tiffany Weller.” Jade's voice modulation rose, do you know her?

  I thought about the name, and then the face came to me.

  I nodded.

  Jade said, “About a month ago, she was sitting outside the school, crying. I didn’t really know her, but I asked her what was wrong. She pointed at a dead bird just a few feet away.

  She had snot and tears all over her face, and she said something, but I couldn’t hear because was talking so soft. So I leaned in real close, and she said, ‘It whispers.’ I asked her what whispered. 'Death,' she said, 'death whispers.''' Jade shook her head. “It was so creepy that I sorta backed away real quick, but I lost my footing, and my hand touched her back.” She hung her head.

  I didn't push her for more, letting the silence imprison the moment.

  The sun began to sink, a hot crimson ball on fire balanced between the sky and the horizon. Seconds ticked by.

  “I felt it all then,” Jade said. “There was this echo. I could feel Tiffany's feelings of sadness and loss, but I could also feel, real faint, the bird's images, too.” She shuddered again then looked at me. “You're the same, Caleb. But more... you're so much more. With you, it's like static noise. There are so many voices.”

  The orb began to drown in the horizon, painting the sky blood red. The wash of color expanded like arms of light, reaching out for an embrace. I looked down at Jade and understood that she was horrified by what she could feel was going on with me, with everyone. It was something I always had to keep the iron fist of control over. Otherwise, it was simple misery.

  The dead spoke. They spoke to me all the time.

  CHAPTER 11

  Mom pounced on me the minute I walked through the door. I chucked my backpack on the chair and she gave me the mom-glare. I sighed, trudging back out to the foyer and hung it up on a tarnished brass hook. I followed my nose to the kitchen, my stomach giving an appreciative roar.

  Mom spoke the dreaded sentence: “You have to eat supper first.”

  That never failed to put me in a crappy mood. She knew that I could probably polish off the whole loaf of banana bread and still eat suck down supper.

  I glanced over to the cook top where the last of the chicken was frying up. Three pieces of her chicken, plus mashed potatoes, and I'd still have room for dessert.

  Mom was eying me critically.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Your eyeballs are taller.” Mom liked to point out that I’d grown by saying that, than whatever random day she had noticed before. Whatever, I decided to play along. After all, I was riding the happy wave of having been in the Presence of Jade.

  “Definitely. Let's go measure you.”

  “Mom, don't you have some potatoes to mash or something?”

  She gave me another death glare, so I stalked over to the bathroom door. On the casing that surrounded the door were a lot of horizontal pencil marks cataloging my growth, what little there was of it.

  I stood ramrod straight and put my heels against the molding, holding my shoulders back. Mom put a ruler on my head and made the new mark. A low whistle escaped her, and I turned around to look.

  Unbelievably, there was a whole bunch more space between the new mark and the last mark made only three months ago. I hadn't noticed at all. Mom measured the distance with a tape measure.

  “Two inches, Caleb. I knew it.” She pumped her fist, which seemed eerily like Jonesy.

  “So how tall does that make me?”

  “Five-six.”

  Mom looked down at me, but not by much. We grinned at each other until our faces hurt.

  Dad walked in, and Mom went back to the frying pan.

  “What's going on here?” Dad asked.

  “Oh, nothing much,” Mom flung over her shoulder. “But Caleb is two inches taller.”

  “Really?” Dad drawled. “It's just a matter of time before you're all grown up.” He opened his pulse-top carrier and extracted a small orange bottle—the cerebral inhibitor.

  Dad gave the bottle a little shake, the cargo rattling. Mom slid the glass pan of chicken into the oven. I sat down at the kitchen table, its surface tangerine from the setting sun.

  Dad loosened his tie and passed the bottle to me. The label read: Take one tablet in the morning after food with one full glass of water.

  I turned it around in my hand. The other side warned: May cause disorientation, slurred speech, listlessness, or dizziness.

  “Dad, I won't be able to do well on the AP tests. I'm gonna be a moron.”

  Mom gave me the glare, again. She hated the use of “bigotry” names. She thinks the handicapped need to not be identified in a negative way. Overweight people and anyone looked down on all fell under Mom's “treat equally” category, which meant everyone in the world.

  Dad glanced at Mom then rushed on when she grunted her annoyance. “No, I can give you a half dose, Caleb.”

  Dad held out his hand. I passed the bottle back.

  Mom sat at the table. “Kyle, are you sure that this stuff won't permanently harm him?”

  Dad rolled his eyes.

  “No. Even buying us some time to figure this thing out would not be sufficient reason for taking chances with Caleb’s mind.”

  Mom seemed to decide something. “Good.”

  Mucho-boring. “So let's talk about the dog,” I said.

  Mom smiled. “We've thought about it and decided that after this whole mess is over, we will try to transition the dog into our family.”

  A large breath of air that I hadn't realized I was holding blew out of me like a deflated
balloon.

  Dad nodded.

  “Your mom found out where the dog is being held, and she went to see him.”

  Wow! There had always been a No Pets rule in our house. But they were not only going to let me have the dog, Mom had actually gone to visit him.

  I grinned at her. “Mom, you didn't tell me.”

  “I know, but there's been a lot going on. It just seemed you didn't need another thing to worry about. And your unusual… connection with the dog seemed a touchstone of comfort for you.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He's at the King County Animal Sanctuary,” she said.

  I slumped in my seat. Good. They had a no-kill policy. I allowed a small amount of my control to loosen, and a wave of confused emotions washed over me.

  Wow. The dog's emotions and impressions were all over the place. Above all, he knew on some level that I was in his head, and that gave him a sense of peace. He also had a memory of another boy, but the image was faded, like a shirt washed too many times. I closed the small link.

  I didn't know if I was tired from the effort of not releasing all that pressing, eager energy that was always there, or if just allowing a small amount had taken more control than I had.

  My parents were leaning toward me with identical expressions of concern.

  I smiled at them. “I'm okay.”

  Dad sat back. “What was that?

  “That whole... fugue thing?”

  Dad frowned. “Oh, is that what it seemed like?”

  Mom nodded. “Yes, you didn't respond when I snapped my fingers right in front of your face.”

  I had been aware of my parents, but I had been utterly engaged with the dog.

  “I can feel the dog if I… let some of it go, just a little.”

  “And, Caleb, that's it. That is exactly what I wish to explore,” Dad said.

  I thought he'd say something like that.

  “I know you guys want to know how I do it. But there is really no way to explain it. I mean, the first few times it was a complete accident. It just happened. Now, I'm trying to control it, at least all the whispering and junk.”

  “Did the Parker kid have these same manifestations?”

  “Same,” I replied.

  Dad palmed his chin.