“More than you because I was sober the whole time.”
“Hey, that was only because she...” I stopped myself, figuring the rest of that sentence wasn’t appropriate for mixed company.
“Oh, like you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t. Are you mad at me or something?”
“No, why would I be mad at you?”
“I don’t know, but you seem mad.”
“Yeah, you do seem mad,” Andy said, coming out from the sidelines to stir the pot.
Desiree shot him a murderous glance. “Well, I’m not. I’m fine.”
Everyone returned to their pictures. There was a tension in the air that I’m sure everyone felt but no one tried to constructively defuse.
“It was a hell of a party,” Blaine said to the table.
After class, I walked quietly with Desiree to Mr. Gordon’s classroom. It was Tuesday afternoon and we had our scheduled meeting. It was nice having someone else to share the meetings with, and I think Desiree was glad to be included. But keeping secrets was not her best skill.
“What are you aware of in this room right now?” Mr. Gordon asked. The three of us were sitting around the table in the basement-like Room of Enlightenment.
Desiree looked at me, and I felt obligated to go first. “Do you mean like what can I see?”
“What can you see, what can you hear, smell, feel, sense? What are you aware of?”
“I see the three of us, the table and chairs, the lights, the stairway leading back to your classroom. I don’t smell anything and all I hear is myself talking.”
“Do you feel anything?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I can feel the table and chairs and the floor...”
“Can you feel what I’m feeling? Can you feel what Miss Behring is feeling? Can you get a sense of what’s going on around you, outside of yourself?”
“No, I guess I can’t,” I said.
“Remember our promise to never say can’t,” Mr. Gordon said. “What you can’t yet you soon can. What about you, Miss Behring? What are you aware of?”
“Apart from everything Oliver said—I also see the walls and the paintings hanging on the walls. I also feel a...I’m not sure how to describe it...a thick tension coming from Oliver.”
“What?” I asked.
“That’s very perceptive. I’m impressed. What concerns you, Oliver?”
“I don’t see anything on the walls—”
“You can’t see the paintings?” Desiree asked.
“Look at the walls, Oliver. Focus. The paintings are there, but don’t look for them, look at them. What do you see?”
I stared intently at the wall ahead of me. “I don’t see anything,” I said, agitated.
“Don’t worry and don’t doubt your ability. But this little experiment goes to show you that everyone doesn’t see exactly the same thing. We take in billions of bits of information into our consciousness every second, and most of us are only aware of a few thousand. When you learn to expand your awareness, you find out there’s a lot more going on than you had originally thought. A lot more going on than you can ultimately comprehend. The difference in awareness between you and Miss Behring shows that awareness is on a continuum. Everyone’s awareness differs slightly, but is relatively close together on the continuum.
“I put those pictures slightly out of sight for most people. The difference between you, Miss Behring, seeing them, and you, Oliver, not, is actually a small gap in awareness. Closing that gap and expanding awareness further down the continuum will change your whole life. What if you could see your path in front of you and you knew where you were going? Have you ever heard of someone sensing an event before it happened? What if you could see people for who they really are—see through the stories and lies and really see them?
“What do you see, Oliver? Don’t strain, don’t try—just see.”
I stared at the wall. I blinked my eyes. I closed my eyes and envisioned the paintings in my head and opened them again hoping the paintings would suddenly be there.
“Here’s something else to remember: It’s not your eyes that see. Your eyes are just instruments. You don’t see with them. Those billions of bits of information, which come in through your eyes are interpreted and filtered by your brain. All that information is filtered based on your beliefs, historical patterns, frames of reference, social conditioning, and so on. Your brain filters that information based on all that conditioning from throughout your life to make up your perception of the world around you. Your brain filters out all the information that doesn’t fit into your current perception. And so you see what you’ve always seen. Your brain acts as a surge protector to protect you from a sudden sensory overload of everything going on out there. Now imagine training your brain to filter less and interpret more. That is how you expand your awareness. Don’t strain, don’t try—just see. Oliver, the paintings are there. Instruct your brain not to filter out that information. Interpret it and behold the paintings.”
I closed my eyes again and tried to relax. I tried to remember what the paintings looked like when I had seen them last. As I sat in my pensive state, Desiree put her hand on my back in a gentle gesture of reassurance, welcoming me to join her in her elevated state of awareness.
I opened my eyes slowly and this time I did see something. The paintings were there and they weren’t there. They were phantom shadows hanging on the walls. I was astonished that I was seeing more than I was just a few minutes prior. The excitement must’ve shown on my face because Mr. Gordon and Desiree both looked at me with the thrill that I was progressing.
I closed my eyes once more and gently remembered the exquisite detail in the paintings on the walls. When I reopened them, the paintings emerged from the walls clearer than before, but not yet fully visible. I repeated the sequence several more times, and Mr. Gordon and Desiree sat patiently while I ventured into the visual unknown.
“I see them!” I shouted finally.
“Clearly?” Mr. Gordon asked.
“Clear as day.”
“Great job, Oliver!” Desiree exclaimed. “I didn’t know I was seeing anything special. I assumed I was seeing what everyone else was.”
“And that’s how it works in the normal variation of perception. People see things slightly different from one another, but typically go through life not knowing they are. You wouldn’t go around pointing things out asking, ‘Do you see that?’ We assume that if we see something, everyone else does, too.”
“This is incredible!”
“And you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Mr. Gordon laughed and suddenly the pictures disappeared from the walls.
“What happened?” Desiree asked.
Good. I’m not the only one for whom they disappeared.
“I put them a little further out of reach, so now neither of you can see them naturally. Oliver, use that same technique again. The paintings are still there. And Miss Behring, now you get to focus and find the paintings for yourself.”
Desiree looked frustrated. She had lost her upper hand and now had to work for it, too. She glanced over at me and tried to follow my lead.
“Just think of the paintings as still being there,” I whispered and closed my eyes. It didn’t take long for the paintings to reappear. “I see them!”
“You suck!” Desiree said, attempting to now catch up to me.
“Be patient, Miss Behring. Remember what they looked like and see them as if never having left,” Mr. Gordon said.
I looked around the room in awe, seeing all of the majestic paintings and knowing that the fact that I was seeing them was something special. I wanted to know what else I was missing, but unlike the paintings, I didn’t know what else was around and beyond me.
“I see them, too!” Desiree erupted.
“Excellent work you two; truly magnificent. This is just the beginning, but the beginning of your new lives. Know now that the world will never look the same again.”
I put my arm around
Desiree, and she leaned into me. We were excited about our accomplishment and thirsty for more. I wanted to find something else I hadn’t seen before that had been staring me in the face the whole time. Instantly, my mind shot to Anna.
Desiree and I walked home in the autumn afternoon sun and marveled at the world around us. I couldn’t tell if I was seeing anything new, but everything I saw looked crisper and clearer, like I was seeing in high-definition for the first time. I felt more sensitive to the air blowing across my face and the sounds around me—instead of sounding like white noise, they were distinct, separate, and clear.
“Are you seeing and hearing what I am?” Desiree asked.
“I hope so. I think so.”
“It’s marvelous. Who knew what we were missing?”
“Mr. Gordon.”
I left Desiree at the usual intersection and walked peacefully home. Jeremy was standing in front of the garage, with the door open and Mom’s car inside. He stood there talking to a bald man dressed in a dark suit coat and hat. And I couldn’t see him clearly. He seemed oddly fuzzy and almost translucent. It was like Jeremy was talking to a ghost. As I drew nearer, the mysterious man left Jeremy and walked through the garage into the backyard.
“Who were you talking to?” I asked Jeremy as I pushed my way up the driveway.
“No one. I just got back from walking Frolics. How are you feeling? Made a full recovery yet?”
“I just saw you talking to someone. He went into the backyard.”
“Go see for yourself, there’s no one back there but Frolics. I don’t hear him barking, do you?”
“I know what I saw!” I growled.
“I think you may still be drunk from the party. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
I didn’t answer him. Instead I marched into the backyard in search of the mysterious bald man. When I got back there, I found Frolics panting and lying on the grass. He beat his tail against the lawn and tensed up like he was readying himself to pounce. I knelt down and patted him on the back, prompting him to immediately roll over and expose his flabby stomach. When I stood up, Frolics stood up and followed me around the backyard like a four-legged shadow. I didn’t find the man.
“Where’d he go, Frolics? I know you saw him, too.”
I stood at the edge of the pool looking around, and Frolics sat down beside me, staring up with his foolish grin and tongue hanging out.
“What did I say?” Jeremy said, walking around the corner of the house.
“I know what I saw,” I said again.
That night, I lay in bed holding my phone, flipping through the phone book. I had a feeling I needed to call Anna. I needed to take the uncomfortable step forward. I thought about hearing her voice on the other end of the line and where our conversation would go. But the more I thought, the more nervous I was to call. It would be another first in a long string of firsts with her: First party, first dance, first kiss, first drunken experience...I was making this harder than it needed to be. I stopped on her name and pressed Send.
“Oliver, I’m so glad you called. I was just thinking about you.”
“I thought you might not pick up. I had no idea what I was going to say in the message.”
“Of course I’d pick up,” Anna said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I dunno.”
“How are you feeling? You haven’t talked to me much since the party. You were kinda distant at lunch.”
“So were you. I didn’t know what to say.”
“Just say what you feel,” she said.
“I feel closer to you more than ever, even though now we’re the furthest distance apart.”
“I wish I could just lay with you right now and not worry about anything.”
“That would be really nice,” I said.
We didn’t talk long, but I felt at ease by the end of our conversation and when I put down the phone, I sighed and sunk deep into my bed.
As the night pushed on, I lay in bed trying to see more. Maybe TJ was always here and I just couldn’t see him. Maybe certain events broke into my field of vision and others didn’t. Maybe he’d been trying to communicate with me the whole time and I didn’t know it. Maybe he was trying to talk to me now and I wasn’t listening closely enough to hear him. I lay and listened, but only heard the faint hum of my fan. I tried to listen beyond the hum and suddenly noticed something. I heard the faintest of melodies coming from somewhere in my room, but I couldn’t pinpoint as to exactly where. The slow, somber notes sounded like they were coming from a phantom violin. It was like I was in a movie and I could hear the score playing in the background. It was haunting. It was beautiful. It was so close to the edge of my consciousness that it was hard to tell if I was really hearing the music or if it was just a tune in my head. If it was something I was creating, then I hoped I would never forget it.
I tried not to be alarmed with the thought that the song was not my own. I tried to think of the song as having a friend in the room. And with having a friend in the room, I felt comforted. The music was so faint that when I began thinking of other things, it vanished from my awareness. Without even seeing him, I still felt TJ there with me. I just knew he was there, and I knew he was my friend.
“You heard him? I don’t even know how to feel about that,” Desiree said, looking hilarious in her goggles as we stood at our chemistry lab table.
We were experimenting with mild acids and bases, and recording their reactions.
“I’ve heard him once before. I told you that, didn’t I?”
“Maybe you did, I don’t remember.”
“Remember the night in the cemetery? I think I know what he was trying to spell on the Ouija board.”
“Oh, yeah?” Desiree said, sliding the goggles down around her neck so they hung like a necklace. Her whole body seemed to tense up.
“Desire? He was spelling your name.”
“That’s crazy. You don’t know that.”
“How well did you know TJ?”
“Not that well.” She paused. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Okay,” I said, watching the chemical reaction in the beaker before me.
The bell rang, and Desiree hurried to help me clean up our station. Leslie said “hi” and “bye,” which had become her routine. Desiree and I parted ways, like every day—she turned right, and I turned left. I headed toward my locker to get my books for the next two classes. Turning the corner, I maneuvered my way through the chaos of students to reach my locker. I exchanged the book I had for the books I needed, slammed the metal door shut, and turned to leave. But suddenly a sharp pain sliced through my stomach, and then I noticed who stood before me.
“Do you believe in karma, Nut Grain?” Sasha leaned in close and whispered in my ear. His shaved-head lackey stood a few paces behind him, standing like a rock amidst the endless flow of students.
My eyes began to tear uncontrollably. My stomach burned. The world around me started spinning. Falling back into the lockers, I suddenly needed them for support and balance. I didn’t know how much longer I could stand. My knees shook violently.
Sasha stepped away, but kept his eyes on me like a hawk. Was I the mouse? Was I tiny and helpless? He wasn’t smiling, just watching.
Lightning bolts shot through my body every time I tried to move, which I could hardly bear. I fought the urge to glance down, but ultimately lost. When I did, what I saw horrified me more than I could’ve anticipated. The handle of a screwdriver protruded from a blood-soaked rip in my shirt, just above my navel. Blood poured from my wound, down my shirt, down my pants, and onto the ground. I could hardly move. I was frozen. I felt like I was going to vomit. I felt faint.
My knees finally gave out. I collapsed onto the ground—against the lockers—into my own blood. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I didn’t want to touch the handle of the screwdriver. It hurt just thinking about it. I didn’t know whether I should pull it out or leave it in. I didn’t know if I should close
my eyes or keep them open. I didn’t know if I was still awake or already dreaming. But the pain was sharp and constant and cut through everything.
I looked up at the continuous river of passing bodies. That was when the screaming started.
There were people all around me, but no one had actually seen the attack. A few students knelt down beside me, careful to avoid the blood, and were talking to me in muffled voices—their concern still apparent through the haze. Girls standing back were still screaming. I saw Sasha slowly slipping away into the crowd, attempting to escape unnoticed, which maybe he had originally planned to do and maybe he hadn’t. And then another voice, a familiar one, broke through the haze.
“Hey! You’re not getting away that easy!” Jeremy shouted as he burst through the crowd, grabbing Sasha’s attention before he could fully disappear.
“Jeremy...don’t...” I spoke softly and was probably only heard by the few students kneeling beside me. Students began to stop and gather as the conflict intensified. Cell phones were out. Whispers were traveling like electricity through a puddle.
“What do you want?” Sasha shouted back, with Greg at his side.
“We’re gonna finish this right,” Jeremy said and, without skipping a beat, turned his attention and pointed to one of the students kneeling beside me. “You, get the nurse and some teachers. Tell them there are some injured students here. And tell them to hurry ’cause this won’t take long.” Jeremy intensely turned back to Sasha. He moved forward with no hesitation. “I guess we didn’t get your attention last time. I will this time!”
Even with my vision blurred and through the blinding pain, I saw a shudder pass through both guys. Sasha gulped, but tried to still exude strength.
“How’s your hand?” Jeremy taunted and apparently added to the confusion. Sasha looked too dumbfounded to respond.
Jeremy was in Sasha’s face in a flash. Sasha swung first. I remembered the speed and power of his swing, what it felt like when it connected, and cringed when Jeremy made no attempt to duck. But, to my amazement, Jeremy caught Sasha’s wrist in midair. I think Sasha was just as amazed. Jeremy clasped tightly to Sasha’s wrist and they looked at each other for a long, brutal moment. Sasha must have felt something that no one else could fathom and stood seemingly helpless before Jeremy. I had no idea why and couldn’t see what was coming.
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