The Healer

by Donna Freitas

  “Well.” The breeze from the open windows floats between us. “It depends on how you mean. The brain is always changing, remaking itself, depending on how we use it. Kind of like the colors that light up differently in the scans, depending on what a person is feeling.” She pulls her phone from her pocket. “For example, these things are changing our brains in ways we’re only now starting to comprehend. We have a long way to go in understanding this, and no idea what the long-term consequences will be. How they might literally remake our brains.” She sets the phone on the ground next to her. “But that’s not what you were asking me, is it?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess I wonder if we can will our brains to change.”

  “Say more,” Angie says.

  I search for the right words. “Like, let’s say there’s a part of your brain you’re drawing on all the time? And suddenly you stop drawing on it? Will it forget how to be used in that way?” A thought occurs to me. One I don’t like. “Will it go dark of all its color?”

  “You’re thinking about how your break might affect the way your brain works.”

  I nod.

  “The brain doesn’t change overnight, Marlena. Not like you’re suggesting.”

  Angie sounds so sure, like even the possibility it might is just magical thinking. But then, Angie is a scientist, even though she’s also a scientist who dabbles with the mysterious and the unbelievable. “Okay,” I say, somewhat relieved, but not entirely convinced. I am somehow lighter today than I was yesterday. It’s as though the anchor of my gift has been pulled up from the ocean floor, allowing me to float out to sea.

  “What would really help to answer your question is if you allowed me to do an MRI,” Angie suggests, yet again.

  Before I can answer, the door opens and Finn pops his head inside Angie’s office. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” Angie says.

  Finn’s eyes dart to me. “Are you ready, Marlena? Or should I come back later?”

  “Finn is giving me a ride home,” I explain to Angie, and as a way of giving Finn an answer that yes, I’m ready. I watch for Angie’s reaction. I don’t want Angie to think that Finn and me leaving together is a big deal, even though it’s the hugest deal. The biggest deal in my entire, sheltered life.

  “Okay,” Angie says, the wheels of her mind clearly turning. I wish I knew what it was telling her. She stands up and so I do. “When will I see you next, Marlena?”

  I bite my lip. “I don’t know.”

  Angie looks at me hard. “Don’t forget, I’m here if there’s anything you need. If you have questions. You don’t even have to call.”

  I nod. We hold each other’s stare a moment longer.

  Then Angie goes to her desk, picks up a book, and flips through it, looking for something, as though Finn and I are already gone. But as he and I exit the center and cross the parking lot toward his truck, I wonder if she has made the connection, the one that has to do with my break from healings and Finn and me spending time together. This thought prompts me to glance back. When I do, I see Angie standing by the windows of her office, watching us. I can’t make out her face. The shine on the glass obscures her expression.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The envelope of money cracks and crinkles in my pocket as I hop into the passenger seat of Finn’s truck, like it keeps wanting to remind me that it’s there. The driver’s side door slams shut and Finn looks at me. He’s in jeans again, and a black T-shirt, sleeves long enough that no ink from his tattoo peeks out from under them. “So, Marlena, I had some thoughts about our outing today.”

  The sound of his voice is like an on button, erasing everything else in my mind. I’m with Finn. He said outing, but we both know what this really is. We’re going on a sort of date. “I’m up for anything.”

  “I thought we’d start simple, from your list.”

  “Oh?”

  We are both acting casual. I don’t know about Finn, but I don’t feel casual right now. I feel like there’s a million things I want to ask him. That I want to know.

  Finn puts the truck into gear and soon we are on our way out of the parking lot and driving down the road by the sea. “An afternoon movie, and then maybe something to eat?”

  “A movie in a movie theater?”

  Finn laughs. “Yes, since you said you’ve never been to one.”

  “I haven’t. We don’t even have television in my house. Or a computer. Well, my mother has a tablet, but I’m not allowed to use it.” But my life is changing. Maybe soon I’ll have this, too, and more. Oh yeah, and Finn, you have a photographic memory, huh?

  He shifts gears and the truck goes a little faster. I roll down my window. The breeze is cool and soft.

  “So you decided to take a break from healing,” he says.

  I watch him as he drives, so relaxed at the wheel, and wonder if I’ll ever drive like this one day, if it will feel second nature. “I told my mother that I’m on vacation. And, surprisingly, you were right. I told her I wanted a break and now I’m on one. It’s weird, how it was so easy.” The movie theater comes into view ahead. It’s a huge gray cube of cement designed to keep out the light. The very opposite of Angie’s glass-windowed center. The sign next to it boasts sixteen options for what we might see.

  Finn turns into the parking lot. “I’m hurt you’re surprised I was right. You do know I’m pretty much a genius.” He smirks a little. “Seeing that I’ve got a photographic memory and all.”

  “Yeah, I did hear that.” I try not to smile. “But we’ll have to see. I have a lot of questions and I’m just not sure if I believe in your genius or not. Yet.”

  He laughs as he drives down an aisle looking for a spot, then pulls into one not far from the entrance. “Touché, Marlena.”

  By the time the theater goes dark, I am holding a bucket of buttery popcorn, my second candy bar of the day, and a large sugary soda. So much to take in, to eat, and so very gluttonous of me. As Finn and I sit down in the middle of one of the rows, what I really want is to hold his hand. We decided to see some romantic comedy that I’ve never heard of, because it’s not like I’m up on the latest movies. I pop the crunchy, squeaky puffs of popcorn into my mouth to give my fingers something to do, in between sips of Coke, eyes on the screen, not really seeing anything. My brain can only process Finn, Finn, Finn, the nearness of his shoulder, his skin, his palm on the armrest, so close. I want to touch him, turn my head and stare.

  At one point I actually think, My mother was right about boys. Having an interest in a boy, desiring his attention, just wanting one can apparently become so all-consuming that I can think of nothing else. I don’t know if it’s just because Finn’s my first crush or if it’s specific to him, but I do know that I am consumed by Finn in a way I’ve never been consumed by anyone in my life. I mean, who could perform miracles in such a state?

  My insides are fluttery and woozy and drunk. Teresa of Ávila believed she had to shut out the world so she could wind her way to the center of her soul where she believed God awaited her, while all sorts of creatures and obstacles battled her progress. In Teresa’s visions, she fought her soul demons with sword in hand. But I feel like I’ve been residing at the center of my soul for years, and my task is to fight my way out, push past Teresa on my way.

  The darkness of the theater makes everything surreal and magical, makes me bolder, like how my anger yesterday made me throw mugs and call Finn and get in his truck. I set the bucket of popcorn on the floor and shift just a little in his direction, tiny increments, closing some of the distance between us. I lean on the armrest.

  What will happen if I touch him, this time? What will I see? Something? Anything? Nothing at all?

  His cheek is so close. If I turn my head my lips will brush his skin.

  The movie plays in the background. I hear it like music in a restaurant, distant and faint. “Is this really happening?” I ask Finn, and I don’t mean the movie.

  He turns. The two of us stare at each other in the
shadows. “This is really happening,” he says.

  “Can we go?” I ask.

  “But the movie,” he starts, yet he’s already up out of his seat.

  I’m up in a flash, too, following him out of the theater, my heart tripling the speed of my steps, my breath doubling it, the air and my mind fizzy and sparkling. The light of the theater lobby is blinding, my surroundings a blur as we push our way through the doors into the afternoon, returning to Finn’s truck. He drives out of the parking lot without speaking. It isn’t until we are on the road by the sea that he asks, “Where to, Marlena?”

  “I know a place,” I say. And I do. I want to share something of me with Finn. No, I want to share everything. “Just a little farther down the street, there’s a place to pull over.” Finn lets me guide him where to go. He parks in a narrow lot along the low-lying park by the ocean. “This way,” I tell him after we’ve gotten out of the truck.

  We slip off our shoes and pick our way across the grassy bank and over the rocks, some of them round and difficult to cross, all of them ringed by seashells underneath, some broken, some whole, and small white pebbles, smooth from the ocean. The rocks are dry, the tide low, everything dusty with sand and salt. We keep going, me leading, until we reach three great boulders that rise up to form a wall of sorts, a tiny cove of granite and slate. Beyond it is a wide gray ledge. This is where we stop.

  “What is this place?” Finn asks.

  “I’ve always called it the healing rocks,” I tell him. “I’ve been coming since I was small. I love it here.”

  Finn nods, taking in the view of the ocean, wild with whitecaps, but far enough away to keep us safe from the crashing waves. Seagulls glide overhead, the air is brisk and tangy, the sun bright and high. The sky is blue, streaked with white cotton clouds. “It’s beautiful,” he says.

  I look at Finn’s hand, tempted to take it, but I keep my arms pinned to my sides.

  How do people do this? Is it always this fraught? This confusing?

  “Over here,” I tell him, tiptoeing across the wide, rough stone until I reach the edge of it and sit down. I’ve always loved how the tall boulders that shelter this place are close enough that I can lean back against them, like sitting in a comfy chair. A sofa made from the life of the shore.

  “You didn’t like the movie?” Finn asks after he’s settled next to me.

  “I don’t remember much of it, so I don’t know. Maybe I would in another circumstance?” I glance at Finn. “If I was there with someone else?”

  Finn’s eyes shift from me to the sea. “I don’t remember any of it, either,” he says. Then, “Can I ask you something?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  I pick up one of the smooth stones sitting on the ledge and begin to press it into the center of my palm. “Is it a Finn-and-Angie-research question, or just a Finn-who-is-curious-about-Marlena question?”

  Finn sighs. “Maybe a bit of both. I want to understand you better. If it’s something you don’t want to answer, then just tell me.”

  “Okay. But you can ask me something, if I can ask you something afterward. I have questions, too, Finn.”

  He smiles. “All right. It’s a deal. But me first.” Finn leans over and picks through the pile of shells and pebbles next to the rocks, and comes up with one that is small and flat. Perfect for skipping. “So, how did you end up this way? I mean, as a healer?” He laughs. “Let me be more specific. Did you sign up somewhere at church? Did you go to healer school?”

  I give a laugh, too, but it’s more of a nervous one. “No, it doesn’t work that way. Performing miracles is not a profession a person chooses. It chooses you, and you submit to it. You know the story of Mary, right? And the angel Gabriel? You can be a scientist and still know that story, right?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard it once or twice,” Finn says. “An angel showed up and told Mary she was going to have the son of God, like it or not, and she would end up an unwed mother. Not a very nice situation. God’s kind of an asshole like that, I think.”

  “Maybe.” The white stone in my palm is warm against my skin. “But, at least in theory, Gabriel gave Mary a choice, and she accepted it as a gift. That’s one of the reasons why people venerate her.” I pass the stone from one hand to the other as I continue to talk. “Being a healer, or a visionary, can work like that. There are famous visionaries who resisted their visions, or who thought they were sicknesses, but later came to accept and understand them as gifts. For me, it was a little different. I was just a baby when my gift revealed itself, or so I’ve been told, so there was no choice. I was too little to make choices. My mother made them for me. And then, the community around you sort of ratifies your gift, as they did with me.”

  Finn’s legs are longer than mine and they scrape the rocks below. “What do you mean, they ratify it?”

  While we talk I set my stone down and search for a perfect clamshell the size of a coin, pearly on the inside. Then I search for something else I like. It’s easier to do this than to look at Finn while I answer. “They confirm that it’s real, that your touch is miraculous, that you are capable of healings, and they tell others about your gift. Spread the word. I guess you could say they anoint you as holy, or sacred.” I select another treasure, this one a pale-pink rock. “Also, faith healers are a big business. Child healers can make money for their families, for the churches affiliated with them. It’s the same with me. It wasn’t long after I started healing before I became a business for Mama, for this entire community. People will pay a lot of money for hope. Even a little bit of it.”

  The waves roll into shore, rising and disappearing, mimicking the feeling of this day, my newfound freedom raising me up with possibility, then spilling me to shore and rocking me with confusion, complication, uncertainty.

  I look up from my growing pile of rocks and shells. Finn is watching me with a look I’ve seen before. Yesterday, when we were talking about my visions at the picnic table, he wore the same expression. “And you’ve become an image of hope, which is why you’re on T-shirts and candles and things around here.”

  “Even kites,” I say with a shrug. “Please tell me you don’t own any of them.”

  “Not yet.” Finn chuckles. “I have another question.”

  “Not fair, you’ve asked a lot! One more and that’s it. Then it’s my turn.”

  “Fine,” he agrees, a bit reluctantly. A tiny green crab scuttles across the corner of the ledge where we sit. “You called these the healing rocks. Do you, I guess, no, is it easier for you to heal here? Does it put you in the mood to heal? Do you want to heal right now?” His questions spill out in a jumble. There is something there, underneath his words. Something other than sheer curiosity.

  I shake my head, my eyes never leaving him. The smell of sea permeates the air and I wonder if the skin on Finn’s neck will taste of salt and sun. “No. It was just something I told my mother so she would let me come here. Healing doesn’t work like that. It’s just something I have inside me, like a treasure in a box I have hidden, but only I know where to find it. It’s hard to explain.” I change position, crossing my legs. “Now, you get to tell me about you.”

  Finn slumps further against the rock supporting his back, head tilted toward the sky. “My life is boring. I’m just a graduate student.”

  “It’s not boring,” I protest. “Not to me.”

  “What do you want to know, Marlena?”

  “Well, for one, what’s it like to have a photographic memory? Is that part of why you’re so . . . geniusy?”

  He reaches up and grips the back of his neck.

  Stalling.

  “I answered your questions, Finn!”

  “I know.” He sighs. “Fine. It has certainly helped me get where I am in my studies. And, I mean, it’s pretty much like it sounds. I remember everything I see, like a photograph. You know, snapshots. Images of what’s on the pages of books I’ve read.”

  “Everything?”

/>   “Everything.” He says this ominously, like it’s not always a good thing.

  “It sounds a little bit like having visions.”

  This makes Finn smile. “See, Marlena, I told you we were more similar than different.”

  I shift position so that I am facing Finn rather than the ocean. “Give me an example of how it works.”

  He’s thoughtful for a moment. “Have you ever heard of synesthesia?”

  “No. Is that, like, a disease?”

  Finn shakes his head, laughing. “It’s more like a condition, but a cool one. Sometimes I’ve wondered if you have some version of it, if that might explain your visions, and I’m wondering it now, especially since Angie said your visions look kind of like the brain scans you saw today.”

  Of course I want to hear his theory, but I’m torn. “Um, Finn, I hate to tell you this, but you just turned things back to me, which again isn’t fair, and you still haven’t answered my question!”

  He bites his lip. “Hmmm. You noticed that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You just need a little more patience, because I was about to return to me when you interrupted.” Now Finn is grinning.

  I try hard not to return the grin. “It’s also true that I’m intrigued about what you said. So? I’m waiting.”

  “All right. Photographic memory, how does it work?” He takes a deep breath, then starts to talk like he’s reciting something to a teacher who is quizzing him. “Synesthesia is a condition that affects the senses, where the stimulation of one of the senses has a corresponding effect on a different one. For example, a synesthete might say that they can ‘taste’ the round shape of an orange, or ‘hear’ the color of the sky. The way a synesthete’s senses blend together is usually consistent. The person will always ‘hear’ the blue hue of the sky, or will always ‘taste’ the round shape on an orange. If the person is a lexical synesthete, then each different word they hear or see will have its own particular color.”

  I wait to make sure that he’s done. Then I say, “You sound like a dictionary.”