by Jacob Long
Although my eight-year-old self doesn't have the knowledge that I possess, I still would have done a lot better if I had just kept my gloves up to block most of the shots. It's too late. He lands a left hook to my jaw. As my head swings to the side, my body follows with it only slower. I nearly drop to the floor. I barely manage to regain a small amount of composure. It is short lasting. As I come back to a standing position, something catches my eye in the crowd. A bright dress amongst dark colored training uniforms. It's her. Elena is standing next to her dad. She's so beautiful. She looks down at me for a moment, and just as our eyes meet Gabriel sends a roundhouse kick to my head. I barely see his foot in my peripheral vision before everything turns black.
2
I look around to realize that I'm at the clinic on the first island. I'm sitting on the examination table. How did I get here? I look down at my small hands and realize that I'm still eight years old. I look up to see Doc on the computer. I look over to see six-year-old Elena looking at me from the window. She seems concerned, worried about me, I think. I remember this. Years later, after we started dating, she told me that she was there, psychically, at least. She projected her consciousness there allowing me to see her. I was so shocked to learn that she started liking me about the same time that I started liking her.
Why am I still dreaming? I shake myself around to wake myself up but I can't. Elena just giggles at my antics as if I'm crazy. I keep my eyes on her. I don't want to lose her. From the side, I see Doc look up from his computer. "Are you all right, Mr. Lancaster?" I look at him, and he holds his thumb up and then down in a questioning manner. I remember that. At the time, I thought I was dreaming. Now I know I am. It feels like I traveled back in time to inhabit my eight-year-old self. However, somehow, I know that's not the case. It's just a weird dream. I give him a thumbs up, and as I form a reassuring smile, my entire face bursts into excruciating pain. Now I know why he was using the thumbs up sign.
I reach my hand up only to touch a swollen face. Doc is watching the whole time. He wheels his chair closer to me."Yeah, it's best not to move your mouth too much. He got you pretty good there," he says.
I look back up to Elena. She is crying. I give her a thumbs up sign, and she smiles. I vow to myself to keep my eyes open and to not take them off of her again. My eyes begin to water. I swallow my fear and do my best to speak without moving my mouth too much. "Where are my parents?" I ask Doc. He gives me a strange look as if I should know. "They're just finishing up with some paperwork with Dr. Buford. They'll be back shortly. Oh yeah. At this point in time, Doc was still in medical training. And this is the very end of the visit. He eyes me curiously. He probably thinks that I should get a brain scan since I didn't remember where my parents were.
He turns and writes something down on a notepad. He pushes it back toward the computer. I know how it all works out, and yet I still can't help but experience the same wave of emotions that I did back then. "Hey there, you did well." Doc says, reassuringly. "This is how it goes for a lot of people for their first fight." "Yeah," I reply. "I'm sure it's about fifty percent, huh?" He chuckles and lets out a small snort. I look up to see if Elena is still there. She's smiling as if she heard my comment. "There you go," Doc says. "It's good to have a sense of humor about these things. Don't worry; you'll get better at fighting. And there are plenty of other things that are more important than fighting." I smile, very faintly, and look down at the ground. Doc has always been good at reading faces. I often wonder why he didn't specialize in psychology. "Fighting is really important to you, huh?"
I look up with a confirming expression. "And why is fighting so important to you?" he asks. I hesitate. The last time I told people about my ambitions, I was made fun of. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but this is a judgment-free zone." He waves his hands around in the space in a somewhat goofy manner. "And if you want me to keep it a secret, I will." I take a deep breath in and out. Doc waits patiently in silence. "I want to be an ISF Commando." His face lights up with a smile. He nods. "That is a very noble pursuit," he replies. I feel hopeful. "And those officers need to know how to fight." I feel discouraged. "And I know for a fact that they didn't all start out as great fighters."
He turns and points to a plaque on the wall. "You see that plaque there? That is Dr. Buford's. It is proof that he is qualified to be a medical doctor. Next month, I'm going to receive mine. When I started out, I was bad at a lot of things. I didn't even know that I wanted to be a doctor until I was sixteen. That's twice your age. By that time, I had a lot of catching up to do. In order to become as good as or even better than the other students, I studied more than anyone else, and I practiced the necessary skills more often than anyone else. My friends thought I was crazy because I spent so much extra time but it was worth it to me, and it will be worth it when I receive my plaque."
He points to my chest with emphasis. “If you want to be a good fighter, you have to practice a lot, and you have to keep practicing over a long period of time.” “For how long?” I ask. “For as long as you want to be a good fighter.” He smiles. His words resonate deep in my heart. I feel a unique strength in my chest as if I can do anything. I am ready to go back and train to be the best. It's a good thing my spirits are high now because I remember what happens next. I hear footsteps coming toward the door. My mom and dad enter the room. "Jayden," my dad says. "You have a special visitor.
Captain Kurpatov walks in through the doorway after my mom and dad. He's carrying a strange object in his left hand. It's a red ball attached to a band with a string. "Captain Kurpatov wants to meet you," my mom says. I salute the captain, and we shake hands. "I heard that you want to be an ISF commando," he says. "Is this true?" "Yes, sir," I reply.
He sizes me up as physical trainers do. I'm used to being observed, but this time it's different. Captain Kurpatov is the head trainer of the ISF. He is the head trainer for the entire island, for our entire civilization. And he also happens to be Elena's father. "Hmm," he says. "That's excellent news. I just have one question, for now." He pauses for a moment. "Do you know why you lost the match?" he asks. "Aside from outside distractions," he adds. I smile, embarrassed. "Because Gabriel is a better fighter than I am?" I ask.
His expression causes me to question my answer. "Yes and no." He kneels down to slightly below my eye level. "Gabriel's fighting skills are perhaps slightly higher than yours. However, the main thing that lost you that fight was your temper." I look down at him in surprise. "That's right. I saw you get angry, and when you got angry, you dropped your gloves. You tried to throw some punches and ended up getting hit more in the process. Now sometimes, you can punch them while they punch you, but that like every other fighting skill takes practice." I briefly look at Doc and smile while thinking about the conversation we just had. “Are you willing to put in the practice time?” Kurpatov asks. “Yes,” I say nodding.
"Good," he says. "In that case, I have a gift for you." He holds up the red ball and the band. "What is it?" I ask. As he stands up, the band, the ball, and the string float into the air. Using his mind, he places the band on his head. Kurpatov is a telekinetic as well as a telepath. He is the most powerful telepath and telekinetic on the island. He lightly punches the ball, and the elastic string sends it back to him. He hits it a few times and evades it a few times so that I get the idea. He stops and takes it off. "Here. Put it on." He places the band around my head and adjusts the size. "Go ahead. Use it." I make several attempts before finally hitting the ball. It's not a clean hit. I keep going. I start to get frustrated, and as usual, I can feel the anger building inside of me.
"Okay, stop," Captain Kurpatov says as he grabs the ball. He gestures to the expression on my face. "There it is. That anger." He levitates the band off of my head and places it and the ball in my hands. "Practice this every day for half an hour taking as few breaks as possible. When you practice, I want you to focus first on your breathing. Step one; make sure that you are breathing, and step two; keep your b
reathing as steady as possible. Deep breaths. This will help you to overcome your weaknesses.
This will prevent you from preventing yourself from winning. It may not make a lot of sense right now, but remember this: First, we must conquer ourselves. After the breath is taken care of, focus on hitting the ball as well. Will you do that?” “Yes, sir,” I reply. He smiles. “Good.” He pauses for a moment, scanning my soul through my eyes. “It may take you longer, and it may take more of your free time, but you can become the best fighter on this island. I'll be contacting your parents soon to set up a time for us to train together. Until then, keep breathing and keep hitting that ball.”
Captain Kurpatov and I salute each other. He turns to Doc, and they salute each other. He and my parents salute, and he leaves the room. After that brief meeting, he didn't contact me for a training session until one year later. I later learned that he did it on purpose. He kept in contact with my dad who, along with my mom, would observe to see if I trained with the ball for half an hour every day. To their surprise. I did. I didn't always focus on my breathing though. Some days I would practice with the ball just so that I could hit it, and work out my frustrations.
After three months passed by and no contact from Kurpatov, I asked my dad to teach me some moves. I decided that it didn't matter whether or not Kurpatov had time to train me, I was going to get good at this no matter what. I remembered what Doc said about practicing all of the time. I even started sneaking around the training facilities of the different military branches and watching them fight. That is how I picked up new moves. When Kurpatov finally contacted my dad and set up that training session, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go. I was angry at him, but my dad reassured me that Kurpatov was a busy man, and if he was making time for me then I should take it.
I think he was astonished to see what I could do. I had come a long way. Although, I still had a long way to go. The workouts that he put me through for the next few years made that first year seem easy. For the first few years, I would meet with him at his house once a week. He would also give me workouts to do at home. The sessions at his house are where I formally met and started talking to Elena. He had to take a phone call one time, and she and I started talking while I took a water break. Looking back now, I'm almost certain that he knew about my attraction for her. If it wasn't obvious for a regular person, it had to be for a telepath.
Elena and I started hanging out whenever we had free time which wasn't often. She was usually busy with practicing her telepathy and telekinesis which she, of course, inherited from her father, and I was busy learning how to be an elite soldier. We were both very dedicated to our goals so that may have been why our parents never got in the way of those rare times that we could spend time together. As soon as I turned seventeen, I became enrolled in the Commando Training Program or CPT. That meant that I would train with Kurpatov in a group setting three times a week. From then on, I only met with him for a private training session once a month. That's how it is with all of the CPT recruits, and favoritism is not allowed...
At this point, I realize that I've been lost in reverie for quite some time now. I don't know where I am. I've just been thinking so much; I haven't been paying attention to my surroundings. I can't see anything. It seems that I am nowhere. I can't tell if I am awake or asleep. I must be asleep. If I were awake, I would be somewhere, seeing something. Right now, I'm lost in my thoughts. I've been thinking about so many things. I'm wondering when or maybe even how I will wake up. I'm not sure I want to wake up if I can dream of Elena more.
I am pushed outside of this imperceptible area to see the words: As an agent of the Idem Security Force, I must be more than a serviceman. I must be a soldier. I must be a warrior. Sweat more in practice so that you will bleed less in battle. I can see the plaque on the wall of the inside training area at the academy. I look from the plaque to the punching bag in front of me. I start to hit it. I'm performing a drill where I duck to the left, throw a cross punch, and a hook punch, I dip to the right and throw another cross and another hook. I strike fast, and I strike hard. The bag rattles from each blow. Beads of sweat drip down from my forehead.
A buzzer goes off loudly, and I wipe the sweat off before it can run into my eye. I turn to see a seventeen-year-old Elena smiling up at me, waiting for me to finish so that we can go and spend a couple of hours together before we are separated again. The buzzing stops for a moment and then repeats itself. There must be a glitch in the computer timer. All I hear is continuous buzzing, buzzing-
- And more buzzing. I wake up on the floor, my shirt drenched in sweat. What just happened? Why have I been sleeping on the floor? Why is my manica on? I take a closer look at it. I remember everything after I spot Doc's old picture. That was the weirdest daydream pass out experience that I've ever had. I stare at the picture as I take a few deep breaths. Why does Doc have an older picture on his profile anyway? I remember the Throwback Thursday trend that began a few months before we escaped to the second island. At one point, the citizens of Idem did enjoy the electronic network that RT has created for us. Doc must have just left that picture on there, not feeling the need or perhaps desire to change it after everything that has happened.
I'm still kind of hazy and that buzzing is annoying. What is that buzzing anyway? I sit up and lean my back against the counter. I don't feel like standing up quite yet. I check the time. Oh, wait, the buzzing is coming from the door. Doc must be here already. He's early. I use the counter to pry myself up to a standing position. More buzzing. I can't believe he hasn't given up by now. As I step within two feet of the door panel, it slides open to reveal a somewhat worried Doc. "Sorry, RT helped me bypass your security code. He told me you were here, and I was getting a little worried after the tenth buzz."
“It's fine. I'm fine.” The words seem to assuage him. Even when worried, Doc has an all too positive demeanor. Now he appears to be almost joyful. Maybe he is joyful, I just don't know if I can accept that fact. “I thought I would come over a little early today,” he says smiling. He holds up a basket. “Mindy made some muffins for us to enjoy while we talk. Can I come in?” “Uh, yeah sure,” I reply.
He enters carefully. “You seem a little hesitant about that. Is this a bad time?” “Actually, I was just about to call you. Something has come up with one of the outposts. RT and I are going to check it out.” “Oh, I see. Well, we can just make this a quick visit.” He fully commits to his entry by heading into the kitchen. “Mainly I just wanted to check in and see if you have tried the exercises that I gave you,” he says. He places the muffins on the table. He tries to be subtle about noticing all of the bottles of alcohol. I think for a moment. “Oh, yeah. The breathing one. Yeah, I only tried it once. It seemed nice though.”
He looks at me with a genuinely sympathetic smile. "It's not an end-all solution, but it really does help. I hope that you'll try it out some more." Avoiding and ignoring Doc would be a lot easier if he wasn't such a good guy. "All right, Doc. For you, I'll try it." "Don't do it for me. Do it for you." "All right, I'll do it for both of us; half and half. That's the only way." "All right; half and half," He smiles. "Well, I will let you get ready for your job." He sits up from the counter and moves to the door. "Before I go, though, I do have one other question," he says as he reaches the doorway.
"This one is kind of heavy, so I only want you to think about it, and we'll discuss it next time. What do you think about taking a few days off from the ISF and the mining and working on projects with RT? Perhaps you and RT could go camping on the other side of the island- get away from the day-to-day. Break up the routine a little bit." Getting away does sound nice. Unfortunately, I don't feel like there is any getting away for me anymore. "I'll think about it, Doc." "I hope you do, Jayden. I know that taking care of Idem is important to you, but you can't do that if you don't take care of yourself first." "Thanks, Doc." He walks out, and I activate the sliding door to close. As much as I dislike having therapy sessions, I appreciate Doc for tryi
ng to help me.
I walk up the stairs and turn the corner into my room. I go into the bathroom and turn on the cold water in the sink. I let it run onto my palms, and then I splash it onto my face. After drying my hands on the towel, I run my hands through my hair. It's getting a little long. I grab the trash can, place it in the sink, grab my electric razor, and get to work. I put my finger at the back of my head to ensure an even cut. I make the sides and back shorter than the top, but the top is still very short. I like to keep it shaved down so that I don't feel the need to style it. I finish up, place the garbage can back onto the floor, and wash out the sink. I shower and head back into the bedroom to get dressed.
The closet is mostly empty. There are seven different pairs of the same pants, seven different pairs of the same shirts and a few casual shirts that I never really wear. Fortunately, the getaway ships on the first island were loaded with supplies including a lot of extra clothes. I slide one of the suits off of its hanger. The ISF shirts and pants are navy blue. They're both made of a highly resilient material that is capable of withstanding most bullet and knife attacks. Although, those features are no longer essential to me.