Catharsis (Book 1)

by D. Andrew Campbell

  "I don't remember that. I don't remember any of the fight. I remember being at the restaurant, and I remember ordering, but then it all gets...fuzzy." This explains him still being awake and angry at me. That part at least makes sense.

  "So you want me to believe you have amnesia? Is that it? And I'm assuming your memory didn't return until just a few minutes ago when you were lying on the floor. Is that what you want me to believe? That you aren't responsible for anything that happened tonight?"

  While listening to him, I finish the rest of the cold noodles. I wouldn’t say I feel the least bit satiated, but at least my stomach has calmed slightly. Enough for me to think moderately clearly.

  I don't want to fight with him. Not after all that's happened tonight. I just want him to believe me and put his arm around me and console me and explain what's happening. That thought comforts me while I start to speak, and I hope some of my wishes come across in my voice. I want him to just be a father to me right now and not be an angry parent. But I can't ask that out loud. Not after what I've put him through. I can’t ask it, but I can still want it.

  "No," I begin. "My memory begins much earlier than the kitchen." Do I tell him everything? Or just most of it? Is throwing in a dead gringo a little too much? Maybe I should hold off on that part. See how he reacts to everything else before I drop that little knowledge bomb on him.

  "So where does it begin then? Care to enlighten me?"

  Breathing deeply, I stare longingly at the empty foil pan of Moo Goo remains. It didn't taste good, but it gave me something to do aside from talking.

  "I was trying to organize my thoughts. Sorry. A lot has happened in the last few hours. The first thing I remember tonight was waking up in an alley. It was somewhere in the city (I can remember exactly where it was, but I don't think that will add to the narrative right now.). In a bad part of the city. I don't know how I got there or why or when." I pause and try to read his reaction, but his stoic expression gives me nothing.

  "But that's not the weird part. That's actually in the realm of normal compared to the rest..."

  From there I proceed to tell my father everything I can remember about the night (Which, with my memory, is everything.), including my newly-heightened senses.

  And the guy who tried to mug me.

  And running all the way home (This, by the way, was the first part that seemed to legitimately surprise him. The rest he could grasp. But me running? And for miles in a row? That he scoffingly laughed at. Sheesh.).

  And climbing the outside bricks using my fingers.

  And how my stomach won't leave me alone, and how its nagging brought me to the kitchen where the fridge light surprised me.

  I told him about all of it. Except for the old guy. I still couldn't bring myself to mention that, yet.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dad doesn't yell at me. Once I finish my story, it’s nearly time for my mom and sister to get up, so we don't have long to discuss the events. I think he picked up on the please-be-on-my-side-and-don't-yell-at-me vibe that I was trying hard to send out. As I spoke, I had felt his anger ebb away and be replaced briefly by doubt. But even that mostly dissipated as I spoke and needed for him to believe me. The more I wanted him to believe me, the more he seemed to do it (I wish all our previous arguments had gone this way, but they never had. Probably for a reason.).

  "Do you want to go to the police?" he asks me once I've completed telling him everything I'd planned to say. "I'm not sure exactly what we can tell them. You don't seem to have been abducted as far as I can tell (Only because I left that part out. And I don't think the police would have been any help to me. If anything, they would have been a hindrance.). You seem to be relatively healthy. No cuts, bumps or injuries. But we can speak to them if it'd make you feel better."

  "No. I don't see any point in going to them, but thanks,” I say. “I really appreciate you offering. I don't know what happened last night, but I doubt they'd be able to help."

  "So what do you want to do about today, then? Do you need to stay home and sleep? Do you want to go to school still? After all that you went through, I'll trust you to decide on what would work best. You're a big girl." He smiles at me, and I can see the smile reflected in his eyes. It’s nice to see that softness return to him after being absent the last hour.

  It’s not an easy question to answer. I don't really want to deal with school today (Or any day for that matter. What kid does?), but at the same time a little normality and structure might be nice. Plus, I’m not tired. At all. My stomach’s still growling, but it isn't as bad as it was previously. Maybe a couple of bowls of Lucky Charms will calm it down, or maybe being at school will serve as a nice distraction and keep my mind off of whatever’s happening to me. There’s no way to be sure, but it’s worth a try.

  "I think I'll go to school, but thanks for letting me stay home if I wanted to. After last night, I just want to get back to normal. And school is most definitely, and unfortunately, normal."

  "Ok," he says. "But call me if anything gets worse. I'll make sure to keep my phone on me today."

  He has stayed surprisingly calm throughout all this. I know I had wanted him to stay calm, and I had been thinking about it, but I didn't think he'd actually do it.

  "And Cat," he says and stands up. "As far as your mother and sister go, let's not tell them anything about this. For all they need to know, you came home late, were yelled at, got grounded, and now you're remorseful."

  Grinning, I nod. "I can agree to that."

  He turns to leave the kitchen and to let me get ready on my own when I notice light coming from the far window in the living room. Daylight! And my eyes. That won’t be good.

  "Hey dad!" I stop him before he gets through the archway. "I could use a favor for today."

  "Yes?" His voice has a patient, but slightly exasperated tone to it.

  "Could you write me a note to wear sunglasses today at school. I'm worried about the lights and my eyes. I mean the teachers might not accept it, but I'll take it to Mrs. Pritchett, our school nurse. Maybe if I let her check out my eyes and I give her a note from you, she'll write me something to let me keep them on. With how my eyes were last night with streetlights and headlights, I'm a bit leery of the light in the classrooms."

  "I can do that," he replies. "And get something more to eat. I can hear your stomach from here."

  I hadn't been paying attention, but now that he’s mentioned it I also notice my gut has been singing its own lonesome song. I’m not thrilled about putting more tasteless gruel into it, but I feel fairly certain that ignoring it won’t fix it either.

  Grabbing a box of leprechaun-inspired cereal and a bowl, I prepare myself for school.

  And my last day of formal education. Ever.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The old pair of dark glasses I find under my bed do help with the light. I still have to squint a bit when in direct sunlight, but the autumn cloud cover helps the situation. At least nature is on my side. For now.

  Dressing in a comfortable pair of old jeans, I dig out my purple smiley face graphic tee and an old, hooded sweatshirt that’s worn and extra soft. The sweatshirt’s a bit warm for the weather, but the hood might come in handy for light or sound dampening.

  Apologizing to my mother and sister for my behavior the previous night (I'm still not sure what I did, but my apology does some good will toward placating them.), I get my backpack together for another rousing day of learning. With last night's clothes still crammed into the bottom of the bag, I make a plan to dispose of them at some point when it’s safer.

  As I lay waiting on our plush, stuffed brown couch for my sister to finish primping her hair and curling her nails - or whatever it is prissy younger sisters do in the morning that takes so long - I notice that when I’m still and not moving I can hear where everyone is in our house. I can hear them through the walls and doors. With some concentration, I pick out the soft tap of my sister’s fingers on wood as she opens and closes dr
awers in her closet. I even pick out her mumbling to herself about some boy at school she wants to impress.

  Shifting my concentration, I hear my mom's hairdryer in her bathroom. Under that sound, I hear my father talking to her about his meeting with his boss in the afternoon - something about a new contract with a loan agency that he feels will go strongly in his favor. Along with my father's voice, I can hear a sharp snip followed by a tic - sounds that repeat intermittently. I focus on that until I realize it’s his nail clippers. I’m hearing him trim his nails. Through several walls. Over the sound of him talking. Talking over the sound of a hairdryer. That shouldn't be possible.

  Stopping myself, I shake my head; I don’t want to hear these sounds. I try not to think about them, but now that I know they’re there I can’t stop hearing them. It’s aggravating. If this continues, it’ll drive me insane.

  "I'm going out," I yell over my shoulder and stand up. "I'll be outside. Love you. See you this afternoon."

  I know my parents hear me because their conversation shifts to me and my actions the previous evening. Not wanting to eavesdrop anymore, I quickly cross our small family room and take off down the front walk towards the bus stop.

  Being outside only slightly alleviates the problem. I no longer hear my family, but their babbling is replaced by the sounds of traffic on the road a half mile away. The chittering of squirrels under the maple trees and the honk of Canadian geese overhead is startling in its loudness.

  Walking towards the bus stop out of habit, I stop while still twenty yards away. I can hear the half dozen kids from my street’s stop as clear as if I was standing next to them. I don’t want to talk to any of them yet. To be more clear, I don’t want to hear any of them yet, and it troubles me that their noise can be heard from this far away.

  My first doubts about the success of the school day begin creeping into my head as I stand there on the sidewalk staring at my peers. If I don’t want to be this close to six kids, then how am I going to deal with several thousand all compressed into the square footage of a couple football fields of brick and mortar?

  Might as well ease myself in slowly, I think and grit my teeth as I begin moving towards them.

  Not having friends in the immediate area had always been a pain in the past, but this morning it makes my life easier. Conversing with people at the stop was not part of my normal morning M.O., so ignoring them now doesn’t really stand out. I walk up to within a few feet of the nearest kid, a younger boy named Nico, and do my best to look tired and distracted. My attempt at blending in would have been accomplished more easily if I wasn’t wearing dark sunglasses on a cloudy fall day, but that’s a thought I’ll just have to shrug off.

  Closing my eyes, I absorb my surroundings as much as possible with my remaining senses. At first, I just hear and smell chaos. Cars starting and doors slamming in the nearby driveways. Then the noise of the kids talking to each other in morning mumbles blends with the birds in the trees above which blends with the cars going by on the road in the distance. There are too many different things going on at once and focusing on just one is proving insurmountable.

  Mixing in with the sounds around me are all the things I can smell that I haven’t been able to in the past. The grass has been cut recently enough that I smell the fresh release of chlorophyll as people move their feet across it. The cloying scents of soaps and perfumes and mouthwashes and body odor wash over me every time a breeze kicks past the small group of kids standing a few feet away.

  As I try to sort out the smells and sounds I begin to pick up on emotions and thoughts as they bubble and pop in front of me like a witch’s cauldron filled with kid anxiety. Someone’s angry, but their anger is tinted with guilt. A girl to my left is nervous, and the powerfully tart smell of it causes me to shuffle away from her a few steps. A dark, bothersome scent I connect to lust punctuates the air with increased heartbeats and a change in breathing in the boys nearest me. Floating behind the boys' smells is a sharper splash of what I sense to be jealousy. I think about the scents for a moment and try to make sense of them (I'm not even sure how I can put the names of emotions to smells. It's just something my brain is doing.).

  "Hey Cat," a deep voice near my shoulder startles me. "Are you ok this morning? You look pale." I crack my eyes open briefly to see James smiling down at me. "And that's not easy for you to do."

  The emotions I had sensed before make sense now as I look up at the boy’s impressively large frame and dark brown skin. His appearance may be imposing, but it’s also gentle enough to attract any girl, and his personality is the type that makes other guys not only want to be friends with him, but want to be him, too. James is one of those rare kids who deserves every bit of popularity he has achieved.

  "Thanks Jay. It's been a long night. I'm sure I'll be fine." I consider his second comment a moment before replying, "And compared to you, I'm always going to be pale." But I smile as I say it.

  It's enough to make him laugh, and its soft boom is one of the few sounds I've heard this morning that hasn't attacked my ears.

  "Why the glasses, Cat? It's not sunny." He leans closer to me and frowns, but the twinkle of his eyes never dims. "Are you on drugs?"

  James and I are not what I would normally call friends. We know each other from school and the bus stop, but we don't move in the same social circles. But that has never stopped James “People just call me ‘Jay’” Stewart from having a conversation with somebody. It's one of the things people love about him. He's confident, and treats the world like everyone is just a simple "hello" away from being a close friend. How can you not like somebody like that? James and I have never really joked around in the past. We don’t have a "history", but that doesn't stop him from just approaching me and talking about my apparent unknown drug habit. The ballsiness of it just about breaks me. I smile for the first time that I can remember today.

  "No," I tell him with a light chuckle. "I just have a migraine or something and the light has been hurting my eyes. I didn't want to miss school, though. Hence, the sunglasses." I gently tap the side of the frames next to my temple for emphasis.

  "Ouch. My cousin gets those. They're awful." His massive fingers land delicately on my forearm (My hair doesn’t even crest his shoulders. I’m so much smaller than he is. It’s like he’s a chocolate giant compared to my, I don't know, Minnie Mouse or something.). "Well, if I can do anything to help, then just ask. I hate seeing someone in pain."

  For all I can tell, and sense from him, he means it. He's that kind of person.

  "Thanks. I appreciate it, but I'm sure I'll be fine once I'm in class."

  "Okay, Cat." He smiles and walks over towards one of the girls who I'd sensed thinking about him earlier, and their conversation turns to some television show I’ve never watched. With James’ attention no longer focused on me, I allow myself to tune out again.

  Closing my eyes, I concentrate on what was my first pleasant experience since this whole ordeal began some nine hours ago.

  Was it only that long ago I was waking up in an alley? Wow.

  A deeper rumble than any of the cars I've been ignoring suddenly breaks my concentration, and even though it’s still several streets away I can tell the bus has arrived. I spend the three minutes before it arrives in a deafening roar of choking diesel fumes trying to separate and categorize as many sounds and smells as I can. My final count is close to thirty before I give up and submit to the bus's stench and cacophony of noise.

  Standing outside near a half dozen kids had been distracting, but it had become tolerable.

  The bus ride in a cramped space with almost fifty other humans all yelling at each other with their smells flinging about like invisible odor-filled water balloons? It’s too much. The olfactory overload is so debilitating that I'm pretty sure at one point I get a chance to knock on the door of insanity and peek inside the house. I feel sure I'll never make it to school, and I've never been so happy to arrive at the building as I am that morning. I swear to mysel
f I'll never get on that yellow coffin of sensory torture again.

  And because of what happens less than an hour later, I’m right.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  My first class of the day is Physical Education, and I believe I’m one of the few kids at our school that enjoys the class. I’m good at athletics, so that means I’m also good at what most of the subject entails. Even though I'm smaller than most of the other kids in the gym, I only take that as a challenge.

  Physical tenacity and a gregarious attitude have helped me form tight relationships with the coaches and P.E. instructors. Most of them are decent people when they aren't creating masochistic activities centered around running. It usually makes for a pleasant start to the school day for me. The early morning exercise helps invigorate me and offsets the several hours of sedentary motionlessness of most classrooms.

  Not every kid feels the same way I do about the class, though. Many of my peers are not fond of state-mandated exercise, and they don't get along with the instructors they do battle with on a daily basis.

  After the previous several hours, I’m really looking forward to starting my school day with a solid exertion of energy in some good-spirited, ball-centered competitions, but I don’t even make it past the inner locker room doors.

  Leaving my backpack in my school locker, I head down to the Phys Ed locker rooms to change. I had planned to see the nurse during second period when I had my least favorite class, geometry (I'm actually pretty good at it, but our teacher is insane. And it’s not a fun, ha-ha, what-crazy-clothes-he's-wearing-today insane. He’s the talk-to-himself-during-lessons-and-then-try-to-collect-homework-he-never-assigned insane. It’s the perfect class to miss.). The plan would have been fine except for the small problem of the locker room.

  The sunglasses-in-the-hallway look attracts some attention, but it's high school and most kids are used to ignoring me so I do my best to keep with that pattern. I decide to try and avoid people I know as much as possible and just keep my head down and get to class. The waves of sound washing over me as I push through the halls of the school disorient me. Because of that I have trouble focusing on walking and tuning out the rush of sounds that slap me every time I turn down a new hallway. Today is proving to be more difficult than I had thought.