This isn't working.
Scott's jaw was set with irritation and he swore inwardly as the white cue, stained with blue chalk, rolled past the orange striped ball he'd been aiming for. He leaned up from the table and wiped the sweat that was beading on his forehead. The family had gathered around to watch John and him play, and he was losing. Horribly. I just don't understand it, he told himself. What is wrong with me?
He knew what the obvious answer was—he'd simply lost his ability. But he almost found that more difficult to believe than the fact that he'd lost his optic blasts. Isn't there anything left of the life I used to know?
"This just isn't your night," John said as he approached the pool table. He was wearing a confident smile. "I guess that coma took more than your memory."
"John!" his wife Lydia cried out.
He simply laughed and bent over, carefully lining up his shot. With a crack and a smack, the balls made contact, and then his target fell quietly into the mesh pocket. "That's how it's done, partner," John declared proudly.
Scott was not new to competition. He had, in the past, reluctantly allowed the X-Men to coax him into playing games with them. So he understood that some people needed to "talk trash." Under his current mood, and his feelings towards John being what they were, he was finding it very hard to keep his cool.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He started when a hand touched his back. He turned, only to see Julia's face smiling back at him. "It's okay," she said softly. Her hand circled slowly on his back, and it sent chills down his spine and they spun behind his knees. Goose bumps jumped to the surface of his skin where she'd touched him, as her touch was cool and relaxed whereas he was nothing but tension and chaos within. "Don't let him get to you."
"He isn't," Scott said, though he knew he was lying. His hands were wringing the pool cue like he was choking the life out of it. "I just thought I could do better."
"You can," Julia said, giving his shoulder a final light squeeze. "Just relax."
"Don't sweat it, Scotty boy," Jeremy called out. With all of the excitement, Scott had almost forgotten the man who claimed to be his partner had ever been at the party.
He took another breath, letting it escape slowly from his pursed lips. There were a couple yells of excitement as John's next shot rolled dangerously close to the pocket. The shouts reached a crescendo as the cue dropped in.
"Damn!" John exclaimed. He yanked the ball from the pocket and tossed it in Scott's direction.
There was a loud smack as the hard cue hit Scott's palm, but he caught it securely. His hand immediately began to throb, and he focused on the pain, letting its rhythm accomplish what he wasn't having any success doing himself—clear his mind, find direction.
He placed the ball on the green felt, sliding it gently across the soft surface. Alright, he told himself. This is it. For a few seconds, he stared at the balls, trying to see each ball's location and relation to the others, and then he focused on the table as a whole. He closed his eyes, allowing the image spread before him to linger in his mind's eye.
With all of his concentration, he separated himself from his surroundings. He removed the people: their eyes on his back and their voices. He closed his mind to the music playing from somewhere. See the balls, he told himself, and the various colors floated in darkness, in empty space in his mind. See the table. At his mental command, he saw the empty green plane, though it spread into eternity in every direction. See the pockets. Holes appeared in the plane, glowing a bright yellow, and the green around them disappeared.
His brow furled as he struggled to put them all together. The mental image came back, with all of the different elements again visible in his mind. See their connections, see the consequences.
A sharp pain struck Scott in his temples, but he didn't drop the image. He pushed through the rush of pain that only seemed to intensify as his concentration increased. Finally, slowly, he could see them… In his mind he could see the cue ball moving, he could see the lines connecting the balls, angles and figures, and then he saw it. The shot. It seemed to glow in white on the green, and then the table, the balls, and the pockets disappeared, and there was only the white path.
Scott opened his eyes. For a split second, he could have sworn the room was blanketed in red. He blinked, and the red was gone, but the path was still there. He bent, pulled back his cue which was balanced on rock solid hands, and struck the white ball. This time, his aim was true. In fact, the shot that followed was nothing short of miraculous. Before the ball came to rest, it had struck all four rails and knocked in three of Scott's striped targets.
There was a resounding shout of applause and praise. Scott felt arms wrap themselves around him in a warm embrace, but he wasn't ready to celebrate yet. His face was locked with determination. Rumblings of excitement swarmed in his stomach, yet he was only marginally conscious of the effect. In fact, as he walked around the table, again forcing his thoughts to focus, the room seemed to fall into silence.
He repeated his previous process, breaking down the layout of the table, only this time his eyes were opened. Everything seemed to be easier, and to go much faster, until he tried to calculate the angles, to see the spatial relationships. The second he forced his mind in that direction, stabbing pains again rammed into his temples. His stomach heaved with a sudden burst of nausea. He gripped the table, his teeth grinding in a snarl, but he forced himself to continue. Gradually, slower than before, the shot he needed to take illuminated before him.
He lifted his cue, pointing to each ball as he called them out. "Twelve ball in the far left corner. Nine ball in the right side corner, and the eight in the far right."
"You gotta be kiddin' me," Scott heard John say as if the voice were a ghost's floating behind his ears. His attention was singular as he hurriedly bent and sent the cue ball rolling, eager to rid himself of the headache and discomfort his efforts were causing him.
Once again, the white cue ball followed the path he'd seen in his mind, bouncing off of rails and balls of phenolic resin until it came to a halt, directly after driving its momentum into the black eight ball, which quietly and with agonizing slowness dropped into the corner he'd called.
Only now did Scott allow a broad and genuine smile to spread slowly across his face. It was there. He was still here. He was still the man he'd once been. He couldn't understand where the pain was coming from, but at least one of his abilities, whether natural or mutant in nature, still existed.
He lay his cue stick onto the table, still smiling. "Good game," he said, looking at John.
"You are a certified freak," John said, throwing his cue stick on the table.
The arrogant man probably couldn't have made a poorer word choice. Scott sighed heavily, though, refusing to be baited by something he'd been called for all of his adult life.
"How did you do that?" Julia said. Her face was below his, and she was close, but Scott was barely conscious of Julia's words. His mind was still reeling with joy. Finally, he had something to cling to. Some reason for hope that he would find a way to return to the life he knew before.
"I don't know," was all he said.
Jeremy came up and slapped Scott on the back, congratulating him. Scott gave a polite nod, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was replaying the previous moments in his mind over and over again, making sure he wasn't dreaming and that it had all really happened as he remembered it.
When he receded from his inner thoughts, he found that he was seated and that Julia and Lydia were now competing at the pool table. John was on the other side of the room, sitting next to his father in the wheelchair. Scott caught them glaring at him unapologetically. He returned the stare for a moment, and then turned his attention to the table, though his mind began to wander.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Scott's mind was filled with a not-too-distant memory. He was sitting next to the pool at Xavier's, the outdoor one. It was a sunny day, exceptionally hot. He was chaperoning as several squads of students enjoyed splashing around. He remembered sitting on the life guard chair above them, watching them play, and longing for the days that Warren, Hank, Bobby, and he had been in that same pool, splashing and laughing. All of them stealing glances at Jean in her bikini when they thought nobody was looking. They had been good times. He even remembered a smile coming to his face as Mercury and Jubilee had climbed out of the pool and started dancing to some song that was blaring from the radio…
The same song that was playing now! Scott's mind snapped into the present, and he was on his feet, searching for the radio. I know that song, he thought. I've heard it before. But how long ago was that? That wasn't two years ago…
"What is that?" Scott asked.
"What is what?" Julia asked, not looking up from the table.
"Where's that radio?" Scott searched the room, which suddenly seemed three times larger than it had been just moments before. The music began to shift, and a different song altogether began to play. "Shit! Where is it?"
Finally, he found the small black tape player, sitting on a stool. It was empty. The song wasn't on a tape. It had been playing on the radio. Maybe the DJ will say the song's name. I need to find out how old that song is.
"What's wrong?" Julia said. She put down her cue and walked towards him with a concerned expression on her face.
"That song that just played, what is it called? How old is it?"
"Oh, shoot," she said. "I wasn't even paying any attention. Did you notice Lydia? What was that song just playing?"
"Ooohhh, I'm terrible with that kind of thing," she said with a dismissive gesture.
He turned to Jeremy, who was chatting with Julia's mother, only to receive a quick shrug in between excited sentences.
Calm down, Scott told himself. Just listen for the DJ. You might be on to something here, but it might be nothing.
"What in the world difference does it make?" John said. "I never took you for the dancing type, Scotty boy."
Scott's jaw clenched, but he kept quiet, focusing his hearing on the radio. John continued to talk, but Scott didn't reply. Finally, a man's voice came over the airwaves, but he only mentioned the name of the radio station and then started talking about the weather.
His fingers tightened into a fist. He looked at John. "Did you hear the song? Do you know it?"
"Boy, you are looney tunes," John replied and he turned away from Scott.
Scott Summers stepped forward, his voice deepening, unintentionally taking a commanding tone usually reserved for emergencies. "It's a simple question," he said. "Why don't you try not being a creep for two seconds and just answer it."
"It's a damn song. Get a grip."
"It's not just a song!" Scott yelled. He grabbed the tape recorder from the stool and hurled it. It whizzed past John's head, spinning like a boomerang, and flew into a dozen pieces when it smashed into the wall.
"Hey, that was my tape recorder!" Julia's father added to the sudden chaos.
John, who had ducked instinctively, turned and stormed towards Scott, his chest out and his face volcanic. Scott stood his ground, his fists readied but still at his sides. He'd lost control for an instant, but he knew better than to attack a man.
Both men were breathing heavily and fuming through their nostrils when Julia stepped between them, holding her hands out. "Enough!" she cried. "We're leaving!" She took Scott's hand and pulled him towards the door. "Mom, would you bring Rachel to the car? I'll be right back to get her things."
He allowed himself to be escorted out, until he finally pulled his hand loose when they were on the porch. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Just get in the car," Julia said as she unlocked the doors. She took the keys with her as she headed back into the house.