Chapter One: Mutants Alike
It was only a few days later that I met two people who would change the course of my life as dramatically as that first fateful incident.
Rumors had been swirling about Richie's death, and I was a wanted woman. I had barely been able to live the house for fear of some kind of verbal or, possibly, physical attack, so at the time I was sitting in the living room watching a movie. I suddenly heard the purr of an engine outside. I turned to see a sleek maroon-colored Mercedes-Benz slip into our driveway and was instantly curious. Mom and Dad weren't expecting company, at least that I was aware of, and I didn't recognize the vehicle anyway.
I watched with childish fascination as a tall woman with dark skin got out of the driver's side of the car and came around to the other side. She had the most unusual hair, long and wavy and snow white. I thought she was most beautiful person I had ever seen. As I watched, she opened the back door and took out an object, which unfolded to become a wheelchair. She then opened the front passenger door and helped another person into it.
When she stepped away, I got my first look at him. He seemed old, much older than, say, my parents, but had none of the decay of some grandparents I had seen. He features were sharp and noble, and he was bald. Whatever had happened to take away the use of his legs, it hadn't sapped any of his dignity. I though that if he were sitting on a throne instead of the wheelchair and had on a fancy cape instead of the dark gray suit he wore, he could have passed for a king in any of the historical movies I had seen.
Frozen in wonder and curiousness, I didn't move from my place by the door as the two moved toward the door, the man pushing his motorized chair forward with purpose and determination as the woman followed respectively behind. The feeling was only broken when interrupted by the sharp ding! of the doorbell. I hastily jumped to my feet to answer it.
Cautious about the strangers, I only opened the door a few inches before asking, "Can I help you?"
A look of annoyance crossed the woman's face but was quickly smoothed over. "You weren't expecting us?" she asked carefully.
The man's expression didn't change as he looked up at me. There was a perpetual air of calmness about him and also a sense of sternness - he wouldn't accept nonsense when he had business to do.
"Hello, Megan," said, and that startled me beyond imagining. Not because he had used my name, which he didn't have any reason to know, but because I realized that the man hadn't really spoken at all. I had been looking at his face at the time, and his lips hadn't moved. The communication had been in my mind.
I jumped back reflexively as a tremor swept through my body. "H-how did you do that?" I demanded, my voice shaking.
A slight smile slipped across his face. Because I am a mutant, Megan, just like you. We both are. He was referring to the woman with him, I knew.
At first, this relieved me. Of course I had heard about mutants on the news, but I had never met any in real life before. Then what he had actually said hit me: a mutant, just like you.
"Me? A mutant?" I cried. "No way!"
He nodded solemnly. "How else do you think you controlled that dog and ended up causing the death of Richie Anderson?"
"I…I…" I stammered, at a loss for words. "I thought that was just an accident…A coincidence."
The man shook his head, looking a little sad. Not so, my dear. It was very disconcerting to have him constantly switching between speaking aloud and communicating inside my mind. I wished he would stop, but I wasn't about to say that. It's nothing to be ashamed of, Megan.
"How do you know my name?" I asked him. "And what are you doing here, anyway?"
He smiled again. "You learn the answers to those questions in due time. For now, are you going to invite us in?"
I blushed and murmured, "Sure," as I pushed the door open wide. The woman rolled her companion inside, and just as I was closing the door again, Mom and Dad came into the room.
Both of my parents' mouths immediately fell open in surprise. "Megan Lilyana Barnes," my father asked sternly, using my full name which meant I was in trouble, "who are these people?"
"Allow me to explain, Mr. Barnes," the man in the wheelchair supplied. "My name is Professor Charles Xavier. I run a school in upper New York for mutants, like your daughter, and I've come to tell you about it, and possibly take her back with me if you agree to let her attend.
Dad's mouth dropped open, and I knew what he was thinking. He had suspected that I was some kind of mutant all along, but it was a totally different thing to have someone else confirm it aloud.
After a moment, he recovered enough to say, "And how do you know that Megan is a mutant, Professor? I've never seen either you before in my life. How did you find us?"
"Being a mutant myself, Mr. Barnes," Xavier answered calmly, "I have my ways of discovering things that are important." He was silent for a moment, and I had a feeling that he was demonstrating his mental powers to my father. A quick glance at Dad and the look of utter and complete shock on his face told me that I had been right.
"Now," the Professor continued. "Allow me to tell you about my school."
Mom and Dad looked at each other for a few moments, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, my mother said hesitantly, "All right. Please come in," and led the way into the living room.
Once there, my parents sat down in two arm chairs while the white-haired woman pushed the Professor into an open space before sitting down on the end of the couch near him. There was no where else to sit, so I seated myself on the opposite end, still more than a little intimidated by our two strange visitors. She flashed me a look that was half amusement, half sympathy before turning back to her companion.
"My school, the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, is essentially a haven for mutant children. Here your daughter would be given a general education while also being taught to use her powers responsibly and not be danger to others or herself. She will have to opportunity to meet new friends of her own kind and learn to be proud of who she is."
"It sounds wonderful," my mother said. "Tell us more."
He did. We learned about the specific courses offered, how the teachers were all mutant themselves and experienced in the field, extra-curriculars, student life, and costs. The Professor's companion, Ororo Munroe, who tuned out to be able to control the weather, told us about her own experiences growing up at the school and that she highly recommended it.
I listened to all of this with great interest. Of course I would have liked to go, and my parents seemed interested, but I didn't know if it was possible. After all, New York was a long way from the little town in Wisconsin where I loved, and an education, even a mutant one, wasn't free.
When my parents had finished asking all of their questions, they turned to me. "Megan, dear," my mother asked softly, "what do you think?"
I wasn't sure how to answer at first, but when everyone else turned to look at me expectantly, I answered, "It sounds great."
"Would you like to go?" my father asked seriously.
I could only blink at him. My parents had only just heard of this school, and they already wanted to send me there? "I suppose so," I answered slowly, really thinking about it. "It might be fun."
I saw a fleeting look pass between the two of them and suddenly realized something. Mom and Dad wanted me to go to the school - and not just for my own sake. Sure, they wanted for my happiness and security, but they also had to think of themselves. I wasn't naïve. I had seen the news, the lynching and pipe bombs directed not only at mutants themselves, but also at the friends and family who sheltered them.
I could let that happen to my parents, and so my decision was made.