Part .19
Two days. Two days of sitting in some idiotic room, waiting for my body to stop betray me and to get back on track with the whole, Hey! It's a guy! Let's hurt him! theme of life. Two days of stretching out on a too soft bed that sags in the middle, trying to keep my mind off of dangerous topics . . . and danger in dangerous topics. Topics that weren't usually on my top ten list of things I thought about suddenly dominated my thoughts. It was very, very horrible for me. And oh so very good.
I managed to keep my mind off of the forbidden topics by watching public television and the news. If watching Generation Teletubbies wasn't enough to calm me down, I reasoned, then Po wasn't worth the stuffing put into her fat little head. Besides, I thought that the openly gay Teletubby -- Tinky- Winky -- was sort of cool. He had a rockin' purse and purple is a color that looks good on everybody. (Well, except ugly people. You know who you are, don't you? You go to put on a purple or even lavender shirt and you drop it in a heap on the floor, because you know it's useless. You are just too ugly to look good in purple.)
I walked back and forth near the end of the second day, trying to not turn into a giant tubber. Root vegetables are not my type of me. Across my room over and over again, I walked. Half asleep, I listened to the news drone on and on with the volume on the television set just high enough to annoy the skank ho next door with the kids who were doing the doorbell ditch thing.
It scared me when it happened. One minute the television was on to the station with all of those really ugly old broads who wouldn't have tempted me if I was in a heat ten-thousand times worse and wore too much rogue and the next minute there was this really loud pop and the TV was dead. Okay, dead might not be the best way to describe it. It sort of went FIZZLE and then the screen turned bright blue and it was then all static-y. The things I had sitting on the TV -- a hairbrush, several hair ties, and a tube of lip gloss -- were all floating -- (or would it be levitating?) -- several inches above it.
Slowly, I walked over to the television and studied my predicament. Obviously -- in my mind, at least -- there was some sort of electric current keeping the objects in the air. I reached over and touched the television; nothing happened. I reached down and yanked the plug out of the wall, waiting for the items to drop with soft plunks on the set. They didn't even thud down. I wondered if, perhaps, I had something to do with it.
Breathing suddenly thickly, I closed my eyes and tried to see the door that I had locked months -- or was it a year? -- ago. There it was, on the right. I could see it as plain as day. It was closed -- tentatively, I reached out and pushed slightly against the door, then jangled the handle. It didn't budge. It was still locked, then. Why, then, were these objects . . . . I looked further down the hall. There was a door there that I didn't remember. Or was it perhaps that it hadn't ever called attention to itself before? It stood ajar.
Where had that come from? I strained my memory, trying to recall my lessons from home four years ago. Had there been another room there? I thought I'd dealt with one room -- it was only after I left the relative safety and normality of Manticore that I had gotten more than a few windows and a door. Was this new door interfering with the locks on my many other doors? I tested them, going down the hall silently, pushing slightly on the doors that were shut; checking how wide the openings were in the ones left unchecked; turning the handles on the ones that were locked. They all were as I had left them. Good, then, the new one wasn't hurting anything.
Lookethere. I had a new room to play in. One that didn't mess with thoughts. It was a room where I didn't have to worry about the wrong memories flooding me. It would be fun . . . and it would be a distraction. Enthusiastic? No, not quite enthusiastic. Bored to tears? Yes. That was what bothered me.
How had I done it? I certainly didn't consciously say, Oh, gee, let's get this thing working where things fly up around me. And while I'm at it, let's make it so that I can't control it; maybe something will go zooming towards someone and get them in the head. In fact -- and this'll be the kicker -- let's do it at random times in her life! I sighed. What exactly had triggered it? Let's see . . . I had been surprised, that's for sure. Sort of scared, actually, when the TV went kaboinks . . .
Oh. My. Looking for Lezli. Leaves that had blown all around me with no apparent wind. The back of my mind scared. But mostly I was angry at Lez. Angry and frightened for her. These things had happened when I'd been emotionally drained -- or emotionally full, more like to say. I am such an idiot. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it beforehand! Maybe it had happened in Paris? What, was I some sort of Rainman? Why did I freak in' know some things and other things be totally dense about? When I was done with me, my mother wouldn't want to treat my wounds!
Frustration at myself caused my hairbrush to burst. Suddenly it was hovering, it was flying. Pieces of plastic and metal went everywhere and I screamed a short bursting screech that a banshee would have been proud of and flung my hand in front of my face, expecting to be at the very least horribly disfigured and therefore never able to have fun during my heat.
Nothing it me. I lowed my hand a fraction of an inch, still wary. I glanced around the room. I could see in a five foot circle around the television set -- embedded in the wall behind it, actually -- small pieces of the hairbrush littered all over the floor. It really looked sort of cool and for a moment I praised my art-y abilities. Then I turned and realized something was wrong. Behind me there were brush pieces on the floor -- and I mean directly behind me as well as to the side behind me. It was exactly as if I hadn't been there.
How had that happened? I looked down at my arms and legs, searching for some . . . I don't know, some hurt on me. Something that would say that I was just imagining things and that I needed to stop imagining things or else I would get onto the track of imagining a certain steward without his . . . anyway, back to the original topic. I didn't find anything damaged on me. I just found me, unhurt. Me and nothing else.
Creepy. I grinned. This was something interesting, no doubt about it. I had done something totally cool, I was sure of it. I wasn't quit certain what I had done, but that fact just made it ten times cooler. Without telling my mind what I was doing, my body had . . . done something to keep me safe from flying sharp stuff. I paused in my thinking. It would almost be like putting a stick in a small stream of water, how those things hadn't hurt me. The water went goes on either side of the stick out front and meets up again out back.
But how? Did I somehow create a field of energy . . . I shook my head, grinning. Ty, I said to myself, you've been watchin' too many scifi flicks. Time to cut back on it. Time to turn off the good ol' television and read a book. No McCaffrey, King, or Card for you. Better stay away from the Brothers Grimm, too. They have a warped outlook on life.
Carefully, I closed my eyes and looked down the hall at the rooms again. When I found the one with the door opened a bit, I nudged it closed. Then I reached up and snagged a window open. Just a crack open, but it was enough to let me shimmy in and play. I zipped forward to the very back, where I could feel my emotions surge at me, and shut some of the several window that were high up. I heard several thunks, and I knew that the floating thingies had dropped.
Opening my eyes, I grinned. This was going to be so much fun. Some fun is just there -- fun, but not especially memorable. You know, like your mom taking your to the park every day. That's sure a lot of fun. But say your uncle takes you . . . anyway, it was gonna be fun. Ignoring the slight headache I had, I tried to lift up the television remote again. I waited with baited breath.
Nothing happened. Careful to keep the windows to my emotions both closed and opened properly, I tried again. This time I concentrating very hard on lifting up the remote. Lift, lift, lift, I told it. Just move up. You can do it. I stared at the remote, willing it up. Behind my eyes, I began to get a pain. I winced, closing my eyes. Instead of the pain going away, like I thought it would, it sort of intensified. I clutched my head and groaned. This felt like somebody had attached some jumper cables to my ears and then revved it up.
"Oh my God," I whimpered not-so-quietly. "This is not fair." I reached up toward the remote -- manually, not with the horrible headache-causingness -- and turned off the television. The sound had been up way too loud -- it had been pounding around and echoing in the empty hallways in my head.
I walked slowly to the bed with my eyes half-closed and lay my head down on the ratty little pillow. I tried to sleep, tried to will it on myself like I had learned so long ago as a child back at Manticore. It wouldn't come. I couldn't clear my head, clear my thoughts. When I tried to enter the hallway with the doors, it was like a bright light was shining in there. I couldn't get comfortable enough to stay and do things.
I settled back on my pillow with my head pounding, realizing that I had to just wait it out. Let me tell you, that is one of the most boring things in the entire world to do -- wait to fall asleep. Or, more accurately, waiting for your head to stop being the dance floor for overweight elephants -- who am I kidding? all elephants are overweight -- so you can pass out from sheer exhaustion from trying not to think about boys, boys, boys, and the occasion boys and girls when you were seriously hurtin'. I think I passed out maybe at four that morning.
When I woke up that afternoon at like three, I was still pretty wiped out. I felt like I'd run miles and miles on the track back at home, trying to keep up with Ekko or Frannie. It was as if I was just getting over a bout of the flu. I was all wobbly-legged and stuff. My head only bounced, though, and it didn't throb at all. Okay, maybe a little when I saw up too fast.
Since I wasn't exactly in the form to jump up and find Ally, I decided that it was the time for some serious thinking. I'm pretty good at serious thinking when I want to settle down and actually think. Of course, I usually don't want to think. That is probably why I get into so many stupid situations. I guess I can fix it, though, later on. I can always fix all my mistakes -- at least, the ones I wanna fix.
Today was one of those days when I didn't want to settle down and think, though . . . it was one of those days when I wanted to play. It gave me pause when I realized that I wasn't in the mood to go and find something with three legs to play with. I grinned wildly. I had survived my first heat! I was so freakin' proud. I had done it all by my lone self and I was still intact! I hadn't torn out any hair or gotten unhymenally-challenged or anything! Score one for Tyron! Go Tyron! Icha birthday!
I started giggling madly, falling back on my old nickname in my giddiness. Tyron -- I hadn't used that in forever, actually. Tyron . . . it sounded too much like tearin'. Not that it wasn't a great nickname, but I just hadn't used it in so long that I'd almost forgotten it was there. How'd that happen? I'm pretty sure here is where I got my Saint Bernard look. I have a pretty good one of those -- you'll have to check it out later, if you ever see me, which I doubt you will. I sort of get this puzzled look on my face that totally says, I'm not sure why I'm here, but I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be.
{vivid thoughts}
Gee-sus. H. Christ. There are a million old records on my desk! Why in the hell haven't they been taken care of? I can't believe the help around here! Doesn't anybody realize that I'm working on an important project? I sigh and pick up a folder labeled THE PROJECT. I snort. My project is so damn important, they call it just that. The Project. Sometimes I'm so damn important and so damn ignored I want to scream.
These are the pictures of that crip from that wrong shooting! Damnit, can't anyone throw anything out here? I reach down and pick up the picture, ready to toss it away. I pause, though, and take a look at the crip's nose. Crip has a nice nose. I have a thing for noses. See, when I was a kid, I fell out of a tree and broke my damn nose. I like to watch noses now. They're pretty unique, you see.
I sigh. I've been seeing this damn crip so much that's he's clouded my mind and kept me away from my project. I need to sleep and then kill David. Sounds like a plan to me.
{/vivid thoughts}
Immediately after Casey Billings sighed, I sighed. I was getting pretty peeved about the whole memory blocking disaster thing and the fact that he was so prominent in my freakin' head. He must have been like right next to me! I grabbed that memory as it flitted by and shoved it, roughly, into the one of the memory cabinet that lined the walls of the common room of my head. My starting point in everything. Just a room lined with cabinet filled with files of thoughts and memories, many of them not my own. And these are only the most accessible ones -- there are rooms filled with older ones that I don't need anymore, but are still just a door away.
I like that feeling of power over my thoughts. I don't like it when Casey Billings enters it. Maybe, if he gets too close to Dad, I'll talk it over with my parents. Right now, though, I think I'll just keep it to myself. I'm okay on my own. I have been deft at it all my life, especially since I was eleven and I went to France with . . .
The thing is, I take care of my siblings and I take care of myself, nothing more. I'm good at taking care of myself; good at taking care of others. I just have to figure out when taking care of others is a liability to taking care of myself. Then I'm perfect. I may be short, but by gosh I'm pretty damn good at what I do.
Two days. Two days of sitting in some idiotic room, waiting for my body to stop betray me and to get back on track with the whole, Hey! It's a guy! Let's hurt him! theme of life. Two days of stretching out on a too soft bed that sags in the middle, trying to keep my mind off of dangerous topics . . . and danger in dangerous topics. Topics that weren't usually on my top ten list of things I thought about suddenly dominated my thoughts. It was very, very horrible for me. And oh so very good.
I managed to keep my mind off of the forbidden topics by watching public television and the news. If watching Generation Teletubbies wasn't enough to calm me down, I reasoned, then Po wasn't worth the stuffing put into her fat little head. Besides, I thought that the openly gay Teletubby -- Tinky- Winky -- was sort of cool. He had a rockin' purse and purple is a color that looks good on everybody. (Well, except ugly people. You know who you are, don't you? You go to put on a purple or even lavender shirt and you drop it in a heap on the floor, because you know it's useless. You are just too ugly to look good in purple.)
I walked back and forth near the end of the second day, trying to not turn into a giant tubber. Root vegetables are not my type of me. Across my room over and over again, I walked. Half asleep, I listened to the news drone on and on with the volume on the television set just high enough to annoy the skank ho next door with the kids who were doing the doorbell ditch thing.
It scared me when it happened. One minute the television was on to the station with all of those really ugly old broads who wouldn't have tempted me if I was in a heat ten-thousand times worse and wore too much rogue and the next minute there was this really loud pop and the TV was dead. Okay, dead might not be the best way to describe it. It sort of went FIZZLE and then the screen turned bright blue and it was then all static-y. The things I had sitting on the TV -- a hairbrush, several hair ties, and a tube of lip gloss -- were all floating -- (or would it be levitating?) -- several inches above it.
Slowly, I walked over to the television and studied my predicament. Obviously -- in my mind, at least -- there was some sort of electric current keeping the objects in the air. I reached over and touched the television; nothing happened. I reached down and yanked the plug out of the wall, waiting for the items to drop with soft plunks on the set. They didn't even thud down. I wondered if, perhaps, I had something to do with it.
Breathing suddenly thickly, I closed my eyes and tried to see the door that I had locked months -- or was it a year? -- ago. There it was, on the right. I could see it as plain as day. It was closed -- tentatively, I reached out and pushed slightly against the door, then jangled the handle. It didn't budge. It was still locked, then. Why, then, were these objects . . . . I looked further down the hall. There was a door there that I didn't remember. Or was it perhaps that it hadn't ever called attention to itself before? It stood ajar.
Where had that come from? I strained my memory, trying to recall my lessons from home four years ago. Had there been another room there? I thought I'd dealt with one room -- it was only after I left the relative safety and normality of Manticore that I had gotten more than a few windows and a door. Was this new door interfering with the locks on my many other doors? I tested them, going down the hall silently, pushing slightly on the doors that were shut; checking how wide the openings were in the ones left unchecked; turning the handles on the ones that were locked. They all were as I had left them. Good, then, the new one wasn't hurting anything.
Lookethere. I had a new room to play in. One that didn't mess with thoughts. It was a room where I didn't have to worry about the wrong memories flooding me. It would be fun . . . and it would be a distraction. Enthusiastic? No, not quite enthusiastic. Bored to tears? Yes. That was what bothered me.
How had I done it? I certainly didn't consciously say, Oh, gee, let's get this thing working where things fly up around me. And while I'm at it, let's make it so that I can't control it; maybe something will go zooming towards someone and get them in the head. In fact -- and this'll be the kicker -- let's do it at random times in her life! I sighed. What exactly had triggered it? Let's see . . . I had been surprised, that's for sure. Sort of scared, actually, when the TV went kaboinks . . .
Oh. My. Looking for Lezli. Leaves that had blown all around me with no apparent wind. The back of my mind scared. But mostly I was angry at Lez. Angry and frightened for her. These things had happened when I'd been emotionally drained -- or emotionally full, more like to say. I am such an idiot. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it beforehand! Maybe it had happened in Paris? What, was I some sort of Rainman? Why did I freak in' know some things and other things be totally dense about? When I was done with me, my mother wouldn't want to treat my wounds!
Frustration at myself caused my hairbrush to burst. Suddenly it was hovering, it was flying. Pieces of plastic and metal went everywhere and I screamed a short bursting screech that a banshee would have been proud of and flung my hand in front of my face, expecting to be at the very least horribly disfigured and therefore never able to have fun during my heat.
Nothing it me. I lowed my hand a fraction of an inch, still wary. I glanced around the room. I could see in a five foot circle around the television set -- embedded in the wall behind it, actually -- small pieces of the hairbrush littered all over the floor. It really looked sort of cool and for a moment I praised my art-y abilities. Then I turned and realized something was wrong. Behind me there were brush pieces on the floor -- and I mean directly behind me as well as to the side behind me. It was exactly as if I hadn't been there.
How had that happened? I looked down at my arms and legs, searching for some . . . I don't know, some hurt on me. Something that would say that I was just imagining things and that I needed to stop imagining things or else I would get onto the track of imagining a certain steward without his . . . anyway, back to the original topic. I didn't find anything damaged on me. I just found me, unhurt. Me and nothing else.
Creepy. I grinned. This was something interesting, no doubt about it. I had done something totally cool, I was sure of it. I wasn't quit certain what I had done, but that fact just made it ten times cooler. Without telling my mind what I was doing, my body had . . . done something to keep me safe from flying sharp stuff. I paused in my thinking. It would almost be like putting a stick in a small stream of water, how those things hadn't hurt me. The water went goes on either side of the stick out front and meets up again out back.
But how? Did I somehow create a field of energy . . . I shook my head, grinning. Ty, I said to myself, you've been watchin' too many scifi flicks. Time to cut back on it. Time to turn off the good ol' television and read a book. No McCaffrey, King, or Card for you. Better stay away from the Brothers Grimm, too. They have a warped outlook on life.
Carefully, I closed my eyes and looked down the hall at the rooms again. When I found the one with the door opened a bit, I nudged it closed. Then I reached up and snagged a window open. Just a crack open, but it was enough to let me shimmy in and play. I zipped forward to the very back, where I could feel my emotions surge at me, and shut some of the several window that were high up. I heard several thunks, and I knew that the floating thingies had dropped.
Opening my eyes, I grinned. This was going to be so much fun. Some fun is just there -- fun, but not especially memorable. You know, like your mom taking your to the park every day. That's sure a lot of fun. But say your uncle takes you . . . anyway, it was gonna be fun. Ignoring the slight headache I had, I tried to lift up the television remote again. I waited with baited breath.
Nothing happened. Careful to keep the windows to my emotions both closed and opened properly, I tried again. This time I concentrating very hard on lifting up the remote. Lift, lift, lift, I told it. Just move up. You can do it. I stared at the remote, willing it up. Behind my eyes, I began to get a pain. I winced, closing my eyes. Instead of the pain going away, like I thought it would, it sort of intensified. I clutched my head and groaned. This felt like somebody had attached some jumper cables to my ears and then revved it up.
"Oh my God," I whimpered not-so-quietly. "This is not fair." I reached up toward the remote -- manually, not with the horrible headache-causingness -- and turned off the television. The sound had been up way too loud -- it had been pounding around and echoing in the empty hallways in my head.
I walked slowly to the bed with my eyes half-closed and lay my head down on the ratty little pillow. I tried to sleep, tried to will it on myself like I had learned so long ago as a child back at Manticore. It wouldn't come. I couldn't clear my head, clear my thoughts. When I tried to enter the hallway with the doors, it was like a bright light was shining in there. I couldn't get comfortable enough to stay and do things.
I settled back on my pillow with my head pounding, realizing that I had to just wait it out. Let me tell you, that is one of the most boring things in the entire world to do -- wait to fall asleep. Or, more accurately, waiting for your head to stop being the dance floor for overweight elephants -- who am I kidding? all elephants are overweight -- so you can pass out from sheer exhaustion from trying not to think about boys, boys, boys, and the occasion boys and girls when you were seriously hurtin'. I think I passed out maybe at four that morning.
When I woke up that afternoon at like three, I was still pretty wiped out. I felt like I'd run miles and miles on the track back at home, trying to keep up with Ekko or Frannie. It was as if I was just getting over a bout of the flu. I was all wobbly-legged and stuff. My head only bounced, though, and it didn't throb at all. Okay, maybe a little when I saw up too fast.
Since I wasn't exactly in the form to jump up and find Ally, I decided that it was the time for some serious thinking. I'm pretty good at serious thinking when I want to settle down and actually think. Of course, I usually don't want to think. That is probably why I get into so many stupid situations. I guess I can fix it, though, later on. I can always fix all my mistakes -- at least, the ones I wanna fix.
Today was one of those days when I didn't want to settle down and think, though . . . it was one of those days when I wanted to play. It gave me pause when I realized that I wasn't in the mood to go and find something with three legs to play with. I grinned wildly. I had survived my first heat! I was so freakin' proud. I had done it all by my lone self and I was still intact! I hadn't torn out any hair or gotten unhymenally-challenged or anything! Score one for Tyron! Go Tyron! Icha birthday!
I started giggling madly, falling back on my old nickname in my giddiness. Tyron -- I hadn't used that in forever, actually. Tyron . . . it sounded too much like tearin'. Not that it wasn't a great nickname, but I just hadn't used it in so long that I'd almost forgotten it was there. How'd that happen? I'm pretty sure here is where I got my Saint Bernard look. I have a pretty good one of those -- you'll have to check it out later, if you ever see me, which I doubt you will. I sort of get this puzzled look on my face that totally says, I'm not sure why I'm here, but I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be.
{vivid thoughts}
Gee-sus. H. Christ. There are a million old records on my desk! Why in the hell haven't they been taken care of? I can't believe the help around here! Doesn't anybody realize that I'm working on an important project? I sigh and pick up a folder labeled THE PROJECT. I snort. My project is so damn important, they call it just that. The Project. Sometimes I'm so damn important and so damn ignored I want to scream.
These are the pictures of that crip from that wrong shooting! Damnit, can't anyone throw anything out here? I reach down and pick up the picture, ready to toss it away. I pause, though, and take a look at the crip's nose. Crip has a nice nose. I have a thing for noses. See, when I was a kid, I fell out of a tree and broke my damn nose. I like to watch noses now. They're pretty unique, you see.
I sigh. I've been seeing this damn crip so much that's he's clouded my mind and kept me away from my project. I need to sleep and then kill David. Sounds like a plan to me.
{/vivid thoughts}
Immediately after Casey Billings sighed, I sighed. I was getting pretty peeved about the whole memory blocking disaster thing and the fact that he was so prominent in my freakin' head. He must have been like right next to me! I grabbed that memory as it flitted by and shoved it, roughly, into the one of the memory cabinet that lined the walls of the common room of my head. My starting point in everything. Just a room lined with cabinet filled with files of thoughts and memories, many of them not my own. And these are only the most accessible ones -- there are rooms filled with older ones that I don't need anymore, but are still just a door away.
I like that feeling of power over my thoughts. I don't like it when Casey Billings enters it. Maybe, if he gets too close to Dad, I'll talk it over with my parents. Right now, though, I think I'll just keep it to myself. I'm okay on my own. I have been deft at it all my life, especially since I was eleven and I went to France with . . .
The thing is, I take care of my siblings and I take care of myself, nothing more. I'm good at taking care of myself; good at taking care of others. I just have to figure out when taking care of others is a liability to taking care of myself. Then I'm perfect. I may be short, but by gosh I'm pretty damn good at what I do.