Seers

by Kristine Bowe

  Once in my apartment, I lay my book bag down by the door. Homework will wait until I clear my head. I pour a glass of water, grab a bag of soy crisps and my journal, and cross the kitchen to my chair. The night is clear and noisy. I hear the honking of a horn, the barking of a dog, and the scratchy voice of a guy yelling on the street below before I settle into my usual position. I maneuver the throw pillow into the right corner. My left elbow finds its place, half on the pillow, half on the arm of the chair. My left leg bends, knee up, heel down on the seat. My other leg remains on the hardwood floor, but I tilt my foot to the side, bending at the ankle so that the outside of my foot feels the smooth, cool wood. I open the bag of soy crisps—always the same cheddar flavor—and place the bag in my lap. My water is on the windowsill to my left so that I have to extend my already supported left arm only a couple of inches to grab it. I reach into the bag with my right hand only.

  For the first time I seemingly float outside of myself, watching this. Realizing the extent to which I am a creature of habit. I am almost robotic. A droid. Programmed to follow the same patterns of behavior, the same movements to achieve the same result every time. No wonder this ever-changing Luke and Eri thing is bothering me so badly. I can’t even sit in a chair without turning it into a process of repetition. I allow myself to assess this further. I need to get to the root of my discontent. What is really bothering me about this mission?

  As I record the facts of the day, I think on my previous missions. Even though the faces changed, the schools were different, and the information I was searching for was never the same, the one constant was the fact that I knew I was getting in, getting information, and Navigating for a desired result. Then getting out. There is a comfort in that. I was in a routine. The down changed but I was still running the same play. Somehow in the constant upheaval I found a pattern that made me feel secure. Now, with this mission, it’s not only a different down; it’s a whole new play, one that I haven’t rehearsed for.

  I am supposed to be running this show. In my other missions I always felt like the director on the set. I commanded my actors’ performances and worked them according to my desired result. After all, I am in control of the level to which these mission relationships develop. Aren’t I?

  I feel a pang in my chest. That’s it—I’m getting close to the root of the problem. I feel like Luke repeatedly wields the upper hand. And Eri. I should be getting the dish from her by now. She should be telling me her innermost secrets and every detail about the problems she is having with her father. The more time I spend with her, the closer I feel to her, and the more I learn about her. But it’s always on her terms. She let me into her musical world today by opening up about the cello and playing for me, but she has yet to truly open up about her dad.

  And then a final thought, a last tugging as if the clouds of confusion part, and I see the center of my problem. I see what I have been too confused or too busy to see.

  What will Navigating Eri’s dad really do? Even if I can get her father to back off, it will never really end for her. Sure, he may let her have a little more breathing room, but he is never going to say, “Sure, honey, just be yourself and anything you want is okay.” No. Dr. Arashi Kuono is always going to want his only daughter to achieve professionally. He is never going to stop pushing. So that leaves me with a gaping question. Why am I on this mission? Why has it not occurred to the other Seers that this mission’s success is too subjective? Sure I can Navigate Dr. Kuono to find the root of why he pressures Eri, but that does not mean that he will stop being involved in her life, stop caring about her success, stop wanting the best for her. It makes sense to assume then that I am the only one who measures the success of this mission by Eri’s comfort level. Tobias is only concerned with Dr. Kuono getting back to his work.

  None of this would be a problem if I didn’t like Eri. Or the rest of them. I like them. I’ve broken Tobias’s rule: don’t get attached. And now I’ve taken it one step further by admitting to myself that I am attached. That’s so much worse. I am not even denying it to myself anymore.

  Even without proper reference to help me gauge my feelings for people I know, I feel connected to Eri, and I’m infatuated (yeah, I may as well admit that, too) with Luke. So I have broken the rules. No. I have torn up the rule book and set it on fire.

  Like the loud popping of a splitting log on a fire, three sharp knocks at the door jerk me to attention. I hurry to finish my entry. I add a few details to my bulleted list of things I did during my time at Eri’s house. Satisfied, I stand, stretch, inhale deeply, and attempt to remove any trace of care or concern from my face before I open the door. I follow Daniel obediently to Tobias and decide to keep my thoughts on Eri’s role in this mission a secret. I know the lecture my sentiment toward her will receive.

  When I enter Tobias’s office, his chair is already facing the door. He is waiting for me.

  “Good evening, Elise.”

  “Hello, Tobias.”

  I cross the room quickly and set my journal inches from his hands.

  “A prosperous day?”

  “Yes. It was.”

  He fingers the bookmarked page and motions for me to proceed as he begins to read.

  “I secured an invitation to Eri’s home today.”

  “I see. Very good. And what information did you gather?”

  “She is overwhelmed by the successes of her parents. She is worried that the life they have laid out will not satisfy her.”

  “How so? Does she not desire to be financially secure and respected in the field of her choosing?”

  “I think she does. I just think she worries that it will force her into a world of long hours and forced friendships. She seems worried she will lose herself.”

  “How can she worry she will lose herself if she already cannot find her way?”

  Tobias likes to speak in riddles. If his spoken word were printed sentences, they would appear on the page as circles instead of lines. He says things that are thought-provoking but only further question what has already been asked. I can never respond to these riddles, though Tobias never waits for my response.

  “You seem to be weighing her thoughts and concerns heavily.”

  I must have used the words “I think” too many times. My concern for her is what I want to hide. Again I don’t respond.

  “Elise, it is time to move beyond Ms. Kuono. Think of her father. Think of his thoughts, his concerns. The sooner you complete this mission, the sooner not only his daughter but Dr. Kuono will be at ease as well.”

  “Yes.”

  Tobias slides the journal out to my edge of the desk.

  “Do you have plans in place for tomorrow?”

  “I have some ideas.”

  Tobias draws the corners of his eyes toward his nose ever so slightly. That was the wrong answer.

  “We need progress on this. Calculate a move. See that you turn away from Ms. Kuono’s whims and toward Dr. Kuono’s work.”

  “I will.”

  As Tobias rotates away from me, I grab my journal and exit quickly. I have escaped a lecture, but his displeasure is evident enough.

  Back in the safety of my apartment, I know I should tackle my homework, shower, and then get some needed sleep. But I can’t. Tobias made it clear that tomorrow has to be pivotal. So instead, I head over to my chair.

  What can I do to get around Luke’s protective watch and convince Eri to open up? What about tomorrow will be different from today? I had the perfect opportunity today. Luke wasn’t around. I had Eri to myself. I was in her house. Still … no answers. I would need a perfect situation. It would have to be a moment of closeness where the two of us could bond about something, and she would feel comfortable enough and have enough time to open up. How can I be sure she will want to hang out again tomorrow? And what are the chances, if we don’t get together after school, that we will have time for a talk in between classes? This could be impossible. This would need a miracle or something.

&n
bsp; Or something.

  Wait. Couldn’t I make a connection happen? Couldn’t I make it so that she can’t help but give me the answers I know I need? Couldn’t I Navigate her?

  Could I? I feel my stomach bottom out as the idea sets in. It’s risky. It’s not technically part of the mission. When Tobias spelled out the nature of missions before he sent me on my first one, I likened mission rules to those of contract killing. A hit man has a subject he is after. He is not cleared to kill all who stand in his way. Limit the casualties. Make few waves. Missions have a target. Seers are not cleared to Navigate everyone associated with that target. I have been cleared to Navigate Dr. Kuono. But Navigating Eri would get me information quickly. And Tobias made it clear that his clock is ticking.

  I wake up the next morning before my alarm. I remember feeling clear and determined when I went to bed. I had a think session in my chair, came to a few realizations and a solution, and felt good about it. Now as I lie in the dark, willing myself to get up, I feel queasy and full of dread. Can I do it? Can I Navigate Eri? Today?

  In the shower I let the water cascade over me like a warm blanket. I fold into it and let it hold me. I imagine it as a bear hug or when I see a toddler, arms around her father’s knees, him arching down and over. The father’s hug is like a crested wave.

  I dress without bothering to take note of what I’m wearing. Some sort of jeans and shirt combination. But I blow-dry my hair with care. I sit on the edge of my bed, put my chest on my knees, and let my hair hang almost to the floor. I scrunch it and mold the curls. I don’t know why my hair has the power to change my mood and help me, but I know when I feel it surround me it becomes my shield, a mask, when I want to reinvent myself, and a cloak when I want to hide. It will be my shield today.

  In my truck I am distracted. I cross the Ben Franklin Bridge into New Jersey without remembering having taken the exit off 95 toward the bridge let alone crossing it. I look in the rearview mirror and see a stream of cars making headway and starting to move into the next lane to pass me. I realize I am barely doing the speed limit. I have to get it together. I have to be sharper than this. Eri is smart, and Luke never misses anything. If I am off this morning, they will notice.

  I pull into my usual space in the academy parking lot. The vision of Luke against my truck floods my brain. In an instant I am next to him again. Again the air is thick with tension and whatever else we create between us. I inhale deeply and glance at my knuckles. They are white as I grip the steering wheel. My shoulders are hunched, and I am lurching forward. How long have I been in this tense, unnatural position? I flex my hands and arch my back in an attempt to unfold. My back is stiff and my hands tingle. No wonder I can’t focus my brain. I can’t even control my body.

  The sight of Patrick breaks me out of it.

  “Hey, Lees!”

  Patrick is slinging a bag over his shoulder. I am glad it’s Patrick I see first. There is something easy and calming about him. Maybe it’s his steady smile or his constant positivity. Whatever it is, I am thankful for it. It’s exactly what I need.

  “Morning, Patrick.”

  “Looking ravishing as usual. Ready for the test?”

  His mantra is always the same. Compliment and connect. I know the trick. And yet I fall for it every time.

  “Thanks,” I say as I slide my hair off my shoulder with my free hand, “and you’re looking pretty fine yourself.”

  Patrick beams. One thing I know: people who dish out the compliments do so because secretly they cannot get enough of them for themselves. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles big enough for his dimples to show.

  “I’m ready for the test. You?” I ask as we fall in line beside each other.

  “Ready and willing …”

  Enough people have arrived that Patrick has to stop often to address his adoring fans. Shouts of “Never looked better! Love the shirt—is it new?” and my personal favorite, “There she is!” are called down the hall to our quirky, charismatic English teacher, who clearly looks forward to Patrick’s daily greetings.

  We part ways to our homerooms, but I am happy to feel that his infectious confidence has had lasting effects. I feel better, more resolved. I remind myself that gaining the information I need by Navigating Eri will benefit both of us. If only I can get past the fact that I feel like I am betraying her.

  I spend the rest of the morning focusing extra attention on assignments and lectures in order to pass the day. I need to get through lunch and get to art. Art is the ideal opportunity. No Luke. No hulking teacher. It’s just the two of us sitting across from each other. Perfect.

  I make it through the morning, but at the sound of the bell for lunch, I tense. With each step toward the dining hall, my gut tightens into a ball of rubber bands, wound around and around each other into a pointless mass. This knot is not about Eri. This is about Luke.

  This theme of us leaving each other at the height of emotional tension is causing us to start each subsequent meeting at a higher and higher point. We’re not idling anymore. We’re revving engines, waiting for the checkered flag to wave.

  As I head toward the table where everyone is already sitting, I notice he’s watching me. I’m less bothered by the fact that his eyes are fixed on me; I’m getting used to it. I am bothered by the fact that I cannot read his face. He doesn’t have the angry, kill-me stare he used to give me. But he doesn’t look like he plans on pulling a bouquet of roses from behind his back either.

  The rest of the group is chatting casually as I sit down.

  “So what was the answer to the last question?” Daisy is leaning toward Frances, sliding a piece of paper toward her. Frances makes a feeble attempt at another bite of her turkey salad sandwich, but Daisy is now armed with a pencil and is asking for a re-creation.

  “Daisy, let the girl eat!” Eri playfully shoves Daisy away from Frances. Frances is all smiles. Everyone at the table knows she would sacrifice food for the sake of feeding brains any day.

  I can blend right into the scene. Having taken the math test already, I actually am interested in the lesson Frances is giving us. Plus I can avoid Luke’s gaze without being obvious. By the time lunch is over, I have learned a couple things: Luke doesn’t bother to talk to me when the others are around, I am too focused on Eri right now to care, and I did fairly well, according to Frances, on the math test.

  As usual Luke sets Eri’s pace as they leave the dining hall at the end of lunch. I trail behind and watch them all. Patrick is complimenting a group of girls, who giggle and swoon in his wake. Daisy is laughing with her mouth open and head thrown back in her easy, confident way. Frances is a walking advertisement to her fellow students for assuming the role of a serious student. Even Luke and Eri look at ease as they walk, heads close, in conversation. I take in all of their quirks, funny faces, and starkly different personalities. Though I haven’t had them long I want to keep them, I want to let this sapling membership solidify and grow into a full grown tree.

  Suddenly I feel a pang of panic. I am about to betray Eri’s trust by Navigating her for information she has yet to give me. I am depriving her of the decision to entrust me with her innermost fears and insecurities. I am forcing memories out of her. The reason this group works is their commitment to honesty. They don’t pretend to be alike or into the same things or to have the same strengths. They accept and tease lightly and laugh and enjoy one another. They trust one another. How would the group view what I am about to do? I know the answer. I’d say if they were to rate methods of trust violation, they’d place raiding someone’s brain for information at the top of the list.

  Chapter

  I sit across from Eri in art class. She smiles at me as I sit down. She looks so at ease, so happy to see me. I have to remind myself that the end of our evening was awkward only for me. For Eri, it was just her sending me off with a compliment before shutting the door. You’re a good person, Leesie. Am I?

  Her calm smile, and maybe my own guilt, infuriates me. I hat
e when someone has it together when I am tense. The welling up and churning starts in my stomach and suddenly my face is hot. I take a deep breath.

  I decide in that second to utilize my agitation as fuel for Navigation. As soon as I secure my balance on the stool at our table, I square my shoulders. I stare with flared nostrils and clenched jaw into her left eye. I feel myself collect like water in a filled sink when the drain is pulled. The spiral starts wide and slow. As it builds speed, it collects and tightens.

  I am now inside myself, conscious of the split between body and mind. I can feel my body. I know that it sits across from Eri, stiff, and aside from the rise and fall of my chest, motionless. I have a connection to my body, but it’s as if the plug has been pulled from the outlet just enough to prevent the charge from flowing. The two have only the smallest break in connection. But now my body sits, the idle plug. My mind, my brain, is the electric current in the outlet. Eri is the outlet. I collect, tighten, gain speed. I spin up inside myself. I can hear it, the spin. It’s a tinny gurgle around my ears or somewhere in my head. The spiral narrows and narrows and spins faster and faster up into my face. I watch it surge up into my eye and then it’s out. I black out as it, or I, travel out and into Eri’s eye.

  The dull burning begins immediately. But I adjust to the discomfort and focus on getting in and down. Immediately, though, I know this is different. I am in. I know that by the ache in my eyes. But I cannot See. I cannot make out a thing. I am in what I know to be her first layer, the layer of most recent memories. This isn’t a layer that should be messy, gurgling, or sending obstacles my way. It’s not a layer with answers or one that will house repressed memories. It’s the easy outer layer, the couple of minutes to an hour ago layer. It’s the tissue paper of the wrapping job to get through.