Some Faraway Place

by Lauren Shippen

  “How do you know I did it in person?” I asked.

  “A father always knows.” He tapped the side of his head and winked.

  “Try again.” I rolled my eyes. “Did Mom see something?”

  “If she did, she hasn’t said anything to me.” He shrugged and I knew he was telling the truth. Outside of important “need-to-know” stuff or the little things that don’t matter, Mom’s rare-vision-sharing policy extended to Dad too.

  “But I know you, Rose. You don’t seem to text very much, unless you can do it entirely in emojis. So it had to have been in person.”

  “Okay, yes,” I admitted, “I asked her out in person.”

  “See?” He was victorious. “That is the classy move! I’d say you’re ahead of the curve already.”

  “Okay, yeah, sure, but what do I do next?”

  “Have you picked a date yet? A date for the date?” He chortled at his own … I hesitate to call it a joke.

  “Yeah, she suggested Friday.”

  “Friday is a very good day for a date.”

  “I guess … I don’t think it really matters,” I said. “I’m not working right now and she’s in college, so it’s not like she has to get up early or anything—”

  “Still, Friday is a classic. I know some people would argue for Saturday, because you have the whole day to relax and prepare, but Saturday is a good second-date day. You want the first date to be on a Friday, because you get the person fresh off their week.”

  “And that’s a good thing?” I asked skeptically. I don’t know anyone who is “fresh” after a full work or school week.

  “Absolutely,” he said, nodding vigorously. “The Saturday version of a person is its whole own thing. Some people are incredibly active on the weekends, picking up a million hobbies. Some laze about all day and watch TV. Others sleep in so late they barely have a Saturday.”

  “If that’s a shot at me, it’s not appreciated,” I said. “The restaurant business has terrible hours.”

  “All I’m saying is that Saturday is its own sacred thing.”

  “I don’t know if Emily is Jewish, Dad,” I said, before adding, “Don’t tell Mom.” Though I guess there’s a chance she already knows.

  “I think your mom will just be thrilled by you going on a date with anyone,” he teased. “And you know the only thing we really care about is you being with someone who treats you well.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” I mumbled.

  “But I don’t mean actually sacred though, yes, that too,” he added. “I just mean that you have to work up to sharing the intimacy of a Saturday. On Friday, there’s no shortage of conversation points, with work or school still buzzing around in your head. And, if the date is going badly, you can very believably claim that you’re tired and cut the night short.”

  “You’ve thought about this a lot,” I said.

  “Your mother and I had our first date on a Friday,” he said, smiling at the memory.

  “Yeah, and you met when you were, like, twelve—”

  “Twenty, actually—”

  “So when exactly did you have a need for this very weird and specific dating philosophy?” I tilted my head and squinted at him, and was surprised to see him blush, just a little.

  “All right, so I have to be honest,” he said and part of me got worried for a second. Was there some horrible infidelity in my parents’ history that I was about to find out about in this very silly conversation?

  “I did not originate this philosophy,” he said and I relaxed. “It’s something Aaron and I have discussed.”

  “Ugh, are you serious?” I groaned. “I come to you and I still end up getting dating advice from Aaron?”

  “He has a lot of experience to draw on,” he said, completely nonjudgmentally in the kind of way that only my dad has ever been able to achieve.

  “That’s exactly why I don’t want his advice!” I said, throwing up my hands. “I think I could actually really like this girl and I really want there to be a second and third date.”

  “Then just be yourself, Rose,” he said. “That’s all you really need to do.”

  “That’s even worse advice than Aaron’s,” I said.

  “Okay, here’s some practical advice, because I know you like steps you can follow.” I nodded in agreement at that. “Don’t do dinner and a movie unless you already know she’s a film buff. You can’t talk during a movie and it’s too much of a dice roll to pick one out that you’ll both like. Dinner is great, but make sure to tell her the restaurant first so there are no surprises, and don’t get dessert at the restaurant.”

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t want to stay in one place the entire date, or it will feel just like getting a meal or coffee with a friend. If things are going well, go to a different bar and get a drink—”

  “I’m nineteen,” I reminded him.

  “Oh right.” He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. “Ice cream then. Or frozen yogurt or whatever you kids are into. Get it to go and go for a walk.”

  “A walk?”

  “Yeah, take her out to Cambridge or Boston Common and go on a nice walk after dinner. You can talk without having to stare at each other over a table in a restaurant, plus you can walk her home depending on the area you’re in.”

  “Dad,” I said, mock-scandalized, “are you suggesting I try to invite myself in?”

  “Absolutely not, young lady.” He pointed a finger at me. “I know you don’t face the risk of getting pregnant, but STIs are very real—if overstigmatized—and I really think you should get to know someone before—”

  “Oh my god, please stop,” I begged, mortified.

  “I just think it’s the courteous thing to do,” he said as we both ignored our red-hot faces. “If the night is going well, walking someone to their doorstep can be a lovely way to end the evening.”

  “Okay,” I said, focusing on the bits of un-sex-related advice he’d given me. “Dinner, dessert, and a walk, I can do that.”

  And I’m actually feeling like I can. I’ve plotted the whole thing out and already texted Emily the name of the restaurant—a new place they were talking about in the kitchen of Milton that’s trendy but not too trendy and nice but not too nice (I’m not making money right now, after all)—and have our route to a bakery and then the Common mapped out. I don’t know where Emily lives yet, so I’ll just have to wing that bit, but I’m feeling confident. Confident-ish. As confident as anyone with a sprained wrist can be when going on their first real date ever with a girl who also has a broken wrist and I keep thinking about how we hurt opposite arms so can still hold hands and christ I really should probably go to sleep now.

  I just hope I dream of Emily.

  community/TheUnusuals post by n/thatsahumanperson

  Jumping into this sub with a slightly different set of questions today.

  I went to sleep pretty late last night—got caught up trying to build a new website from scratch for my dad’s business as a birthday present for him and, despite his best efforts, I know literally nothing about construction, so it wasn’t as simple of a task as I expected. I dropped off pretty quickly, which isn’t always the easiest for me. When I’m falling asleep, I’m not making as much of an effort to block out thoughts, so if anyone else in the house is awake, sometimes a stray thought will worm its way in and wake me up. I usually try to go to bed after everyone else, but last night was even later than usual.

  I don’t dream a whole lot. Or, well, I guess I probably do, because I think most people do every night, but I usually don’t remember the dreams all that much. Last night was different.

  I was in a huge, black expanse. No walls, ceiling, or floors, just endless, eerily lit void. I’ve had dreams in darkness before, a recurring nightmare where a snake is chasing me and I can’t run fast enough to get away, but this felt different.

  Nothing was chasing me. I was just standing, completely still, waiting for … something. I’ve never had such clarity
of feeling before in a dream, outside of “run, oh god, run” and “please, let this be a dream and I’m not actually failing my junior year math final” but I just knew with absolute certainty that I was waiting for something. There was this strange, heavy breeze that kept moving across me, like it was trying to push me in one direction. But I couldn’t move my feet, I don’t think I was supposed to move my feet. And then, a light started to seep through a doorway, a doorway that wasn’t there before and it was growing brighter and brighter, humming with light, and the door was going to come to me when, all of a sudden, there was this terrible screech and I heard my sister’s voice say my name.

  Then I woke up.

  I know that there are some other Unusuals out there who had a similar experience to me when their telepathy first started. It’s different for each person, of course, but for me, it started with just a low, constant humming whenever I was around other people. I thought I had tinnitus or another hearing/neurological issue, but then the humming started to take shape. Now, when I do turn on the thought reading (which I promise I don’t do often, please don’t get on me about this, Chuck), it’s more like tuning a radio to the specific frequency of a thought train and then turning up the volume.

  The sound in my dream reminded me so much of that early hum and then, that screech, like the first time I met another mind reader when I was at … well, you know. That Place that people like us go that we’re not supposed to refer to by name on here in case they found this sub and shut it down for “safety” reasons. When I was there for my initial training/Unusual-onboarding, I met another telepath and when we were in the same room for the first time, I got that screeching feedback. It calmed down pretty quickly, but I won’t ever forget that sound.

  Then … my sister’s voice. I can’t make sense of it. I’m thinking maybe my sister is a mind reader like me, but … can mind readers share dreams? Or is this unrelated to her sleeping?

  I just feel really lost. Anyone have any ideas?

  iwannabelieve

  damnnnnn, man, these just get better and better! I can’t wait for the next installment—I hope we find out what’s going on with the sister!

  onmyown

  Christ, dude, we don’t want to ban anyone but c’mon, how did you even find this sub?

  iwannabelieve

  community/ZeroSleep!

  chuckxavier

  Crap. n/onmyown?

  onmyown

  Yeah, I’m on it.

  onmyown

  This might be a dumb question (I don’t know your relationship to That Place) but why doesn’t she just go there and find out for certain?

  thatsahumanperson

  I mean, my relationship with them is totally fine. My time there wasn’t exactly … fun? But it was definitely helpful. I know folks have mixed feelings, but, as tough as it was, I don’t think I’d be where I am today, have the control I do, without spending time there. I think my sister hasn’t thought about going because … what would she ask? I know that That Place helps Unusuals who are new to their abilities, but they don’t exactly diagnose someone who hasn’t actually shown any real evidence of having an ability. I’m not sure they’d know what to do with her.

  chuckxavier

  For anyone who might not take n/thatsahumanperson’s comment about The Powers That Be shutting us down seriously, that has actually happened before. If it hadn’t been for n/theneonthorn’s backups, we would have lost this whole community.

  onmyown

  Oh, is that why we’re the unusuals and not just community/Unusuals?

  theneonthorn

  yep. don’t mess with TPTB.

  tacotacotaco

  Sorry for using the throwaway, there’s some folks I wouldn’t want finding out I post on here. I’m a telekinetic and, while I’ve never experienced what you’re talking about, I totally have seen two … Unusuals (that’s the term you use on here, right?) with the same ability clash before. I work with people like us and it really does sound like something is going on with your sister (I read through your other posts). I think you should suggest that she goes to the place that helps folks like us, if you live nearish one that is, which it sounds like you do. Worst-case scenario, she goes in for one appointment and they send her home.

  thatsahumanperson

  Yeah, I think you’re right. I know that an actual research institution is probably the best place for her and when she first told us about the narcolepsy, I could hear her thinking about wanting to sign up for a sleep study, so it’s not like she’s averse to being poked and prodded a bit. But … I don’t know. I think I’m just hesitant about having that conversation.

  tacotacotaco

  Because you think she might be offended?

  thatsahumanperson

  No, not offended, necessarily. She’d never admit it, but I think she was pretty disappointed when I turned out to have an ability. We both thought it skipped a generation and then … me. I think maybe she’s just overwhelmed?

  onmyown

  I think n/tacotacotaco is right—and maybe you can talk to her and tell her you understand it’s overwhelming, but you’re there for her. Someone did that to me when I was first going through it, and it made all the difference in the world to just know that there was someone there for me.

  thatsahumanperson

  Yeah … these are all totally valid points and I know she probably could use someone right now … lord knows I really leaned on this sub when I was first going through it. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t found you guys. Even after I was done with all the inpatient stuff and had a better grip on it all, this community was really a safe haven. It’s a little weird that I’ve never actually met any of you—that I don’t even know your names—but it’s also easier to talk about stuff that way. My sister and I don’t really have the kind of relationship where we talk about stuff. We’re not exactly the heart-to-heart type. I don’t know … maybe now is the time to start?

  SEPTEMBER 16TH, 2016

  I really have always been the weird little alien that doesn’t quite fit into my family and tonight really clinched that.

  I had just gotten home from my date with Emily—oh my god, my date with Emily! Okay, the family drama can wait, first the good stuff. I want to remember every moment and I feel like it almost got washed away by the maelstrom that sucked me under when I went downstairs the next morning. I’d had the weirdest dream and was still half asleep when I came into the kitchen and, well, my head is still a little all over the place. Clearly.

  How do people do this? I remember in AP History, we had to do a project on, like, primary sources, and I read a bunch of personal diaries from ye olden times and how did people write so linearly? “I woke up and then this happened and now here’s my entire conversation with my comrade and also every single dollar I spent on mead today.” My brain doesn’t work like that. It’s always thinking of a hundred things overlapping at once, and then a hundred more things bubbling underneath all of that. I think that’s why I like cooking. It’s straightforward in the sense that it has a sequence and, especially in a professional kitchen like Milton, it can be downright militaristic in its precision, but it’s also the perfect sport for the multitasking brain. You have to keep track of so many things at once—timings of what’s on the stove, in the oven, what needs to be plated, making sure everything’s seasoned properly, making sure everything is going to come out the perfect temperature. Working in a kitchen rewards my scattershot thinking and lightning-quick attention jumps.

  Anyway. My dream.

  I was back in that black, impossibly lit place. The floorless, endless void that sometimes has a doorway I still haven’t been able to access. I woke up in the dream—I’m not sure how long I was there, but nothing was chasing me this time. I woke up and was just … there. Just standing. And there was this eerily beautiful hum, like siren song, like hearing a choir from very far away. The humming grew and suddenly I could move and I looked around and, off in the distance, there w
as a figure. Tall, wiry, pointy elbows. A figure I’d recognize anywhere. Even though I could turn my body to look at him, I still couldn’t step my feet forward. So I called out his name, shouting “Aaron” and his head turned sharply my way, like it was a shock that I was there. Even though, thinking about it now, it wasn’t a shock to me that he was there. It was like I woke up in the dream ready to find him. I was about to open my mouth again, call out louder, when I had a feeling like I was being kicked in the chest, and was sent hurtling backward through the black.

  I landed, hard, on soft ground. Instinctually, I stood up and dusted myself off, even though … do dreams have dust? As I took in my new surroundings, I noticed that I was in a similarly infinite space as before, but not the bottomless black pit where there are so many things to run from. This was neutral, with light coming in from all sides, bright but not blinding. Like a blank canvas. I stayed there, able to move but walking nowhere, for what felt like hours and minutes. I remember having agency, feeling lucid, but I couldn’t do anything, not even make myself fly like the lucid dreaming forums I’ve been reading say you can.

  Eventually, I woke up. Totally unremarkable and utterly baffling.

  Emily agreed.

  “That is so strange,” she said over her bibimbap, before biting into a perfect matchstick carrot. I still don’t really understand what compelled me to tell her about my dream of all things, the universally agreed upon subject that no one ever wants to hear about, but I’ll chalk it up to nerves. Thankfully, she seemed to be interested in my description of the blank canvas or, at least, was interested enough in me to pretend.

  “I wish I could lucid dream,” she said, her mouth quirking. Anytime I’ve seen that word in that context—a “mouth quirking”—I never understood what it meant. It always seemed like one of those made-up internet phrases to me. But over an hour spent eating Korean food, I began to understand. Whenever Emily finds something amusing, which it seems she often does, the corner of her mouth lifts and twists, like she’s got a secret. On anyone else—anyone with a sharper voice or colder demeanor—I think I would feel made fun of, left out. On her … it was mesmerizing, like she was bringing me in on the joke.