Into the Deep (7 page)

7

Beneath the Surface

T
he next day I convinced my mom that I was coming down with a cold and needed to stay home from school. She’d agreed without any argument. I wasn’t known for skipping or faking illness and so she assumed I really was sick. And, in fact, I felt like what I was experiencing was a sickness, just not in the way she was thinking. For a moment I heard her worry about me with true concern, her thoughts focused on wondering if this was something serious. I assured her the best I could that this was only a bug and she went off to work leaving me alone in the house.
     I slept in a few hours later than I would normally but after that I was up and wide awake. I wandered around my house for a little while, enjoying being alone with my thoughts. I poked through the fridge, finding nothing to eat, and then flipped through the channels on TV, finding nothing of real interest. Sitting on the couch, I sighed in frustration. I was trying to avoid the real issue that I had. I needed to know how to control this ability that had afflicted me, needed to know how to get rid of it if I could. I didn’t think that was possible though. Still, I knew I couldn’t hide away in my house for the rest of my life. I had to learn how to live with it.
     I felt like my accident in the pool had knocked something loose in me. It had broken down some barrier that kept everyone else’s thoughts out, and I didn’t think that that barrier could ever be restored or replaced completely. I just hoped that I could learn to close up whatever doorway had been opened, even if only for a little while.
     In search of answers once again, I went up to my room and pulled out my laptop. Lying on my queen size bed, I wrapped myself back up in my yellow comforter and pulled up a search engine. My fingers hovered above the keys for a moment and my brain raced trying to think of what to type. I didn’t think there was anyone else out there with the same ability I had and my searches the week before had shown that if there were others like me, none of them were advertising on the World Wide Web. I thought about what it was that I wanted. I wanted to know how to block the voices out that I was hearing. I wanted to close the door on them.
    
Doorway to the mind
, I typed and hit enter. At first there was nothing that seemed like it would help. After scrolling past a number of links, however, I found one that talked about opening doorways in the mind. I clicked it. It was a site devoted to meditation. I read on. The site discussed training the mind to induce a certain state of consciousness. It was talking about getting to a state where the mind was more open. I started to think that maybe I could use what they were teaching to train my mind to be more closed instead. All I knew was that I needed to do something to try and learn to control this thing that had taken over my life, so I gave meditation a try.
     A short while later I was sitting on the floor in my room. My legs were crossed, my back was straight and my eyes were closed. My hands rested loosely on my knees and I focused on my breath as it slid past my lips. I had never tried to meditate before and at first the experience was uninspiring. I couldn’t focus. My ears zoned in on the ceiling fan. It was broken and made a clicking noise, spinning and creaking like a door with a rusty hinge. Incessantly, eternally, round and round, rotating on an uneven axis; an involuntary metronome keeping the tempo of my silence in key.
     I grew bored, unsure of what I was supposed to be doing, but I stuck with it. I sat still and silent and tried to relax. After some time, I did. After a while I stopped thinking about what I was doing and just let my mind go blank. I stopped focusing on the clicking of my ceiling fan and started to focus on me. It was then that I became aware of myself. I was aware of my lungs expanding like an eagle’s wings preparing for flight and constricting like a snake smothering its prey. I was aware of my heart and every beat it made as if each were purposeful like the beats from the percussion section of an orchestra. I felt every part of me, even those that I had previously thought insignificant, in a new and fascinating way. I was aware of the blood flowing through my veins and the synapses between neurons in my brain. I felt composed, unified and serene. Meditating was like a drug. It made me feel euphoric and at peace.
     I don’t know if my experience was similar to what other people go through when they meditate, or if it was specific to me because of my ability, if maybe the openness of my mind allowed me to reach a place that other’s only get a taste of in a dream. But it made me feel like I was floating on a cloud. In that moment, I felt like I could control any part of my body if I chose to. I felt like I could have slowed the blood in my veins or told my skin not to feel. I could have stopped my heart from beating just by thinking it. It was in that moment that I realized I could choose not to hear the voices. I just had to will my body not to. I simply hadn’t known how to do that before, and I still wasn’t sure that I knew it then, but I did know it was possible and that I could figure it out.
    
Ivy
, I heard.
     If he had thought it or said it aloud I didn’t know. What I did know was that it brought me out of my meditative state. My eyes burst open and I felt like I’d come crashing down from the cloud I’d been sitting on to land ungracefully on hard cement. I suddenly felt like my bones were made of lead, and I took a deep breath to calm myself. Brant stood in my room and my eyes narrowed in on him. He stepped toward me and shut my bedroom door behind him.
     “What are you doing here?” I asked him.
     He held up a green spiral notebook, “Psych homework,” he said and threw the notebook into my lap, “wouldn’t want you to fall behind.”
     I stared at him skeptically.
     “’Kay fine,” he caved, “I was wondering how you were doing with,” he held his hands up to his head and wiggled his fingers, “the thing. You weren’t in class so…”
     “So you were… what, worried about me?”
     “
Please
, I’m… mildly interested in your… weirdness.”
     “Gee, thanks, but seeing as I don’t care about keeping you entertained with my freak-show abilities, you can leave.” I stood up then grabbing the notebook, tossing it onto my bed.
     “Hey, come on now, don’t be like that.”
     “And how should I be? The only reason you’re talking to me is because you think I’m weird. Before this you were just
that
guy
that got out of trouble ‘cause his daddy’s a big shot lawyer and screwed over one of my best friends.”
     His eyes narrowed, “What did Tiana tell you?”
     “Does it matter?”
     His lips thinned. “Look, I realize you don’t think very highly of me, and I realize that’s because I’ve… well I’ve given you reason not to think very highly of me. But I’m realizing that there’s a lot more to you then I used to think, and I’m not just talking about the mind reading thing. You’re not just some goody two shoes sheep following around Christy Noonan, you’ve got a mind of your own, you’re willing to stand up for your friends. You’re willing to leave Christy alone on a beach when she’s being a pushy bitch. Yeah, I heard about that, gossip you know.
     “I’m just saying. Maybe there’s more to me than you used to think too.”
     I sighed. He looked at me with bottomless eyes that were a turbulent blue. His expression was hopeful and he pursed his lips for a moment.
     “You haven’t told anyone else about what you can do?”
     “They wouldn’t understand,” I said and he nodded. “They wouldn’t believe me.”
     “No, they wouldn’t, but I do. Maybe you think I’m a dick and feel like you can’t trust me, but I haven’t told anyone about anything that’s happened to you. That should count for something… So, it’s up to you. You can kick me out but you’ll be alone in this; or you can talk to me. I’m not gonna lie, yeah, I think this is strange and interesting, but at least you won’t be alone.”    
     I sighed and thought for a moment. Brant’s intentions were far from noble, but he was honest. I looked at him, his eyes searching me, eyebrows just slightly downward turned and his lips drawn thin. He was waiting in anticipation. I didn’t want to be dealing with this alone. I didn’t want to be dealing with this at all, and Brant wasn’t the person I wanted to share my thoughts with on the subject. But he was right about one thing. He was the only person I had who knew about my gift, and he didn’t think I was crazy.
     “Fine,” I said.
     He smiled a cocky grin then quickly wiped it from his face. “Right, so… how’ve you been?”
     I shrugged. “I was peaceful until you showed up.”
     He looked at me confused.
     “I was meditating. I’m trying to figure out how to… control it, or block it out.”
     “Meditating?” He looked skeptical.
     “Yeah,” I said in a serious tone.
     He held up his hands in mock defense. “Alright, alright, did it work?”
     “I don’t know… I haven’t had a chance to test it yet.”
     “Okay, so, let’s test it now.” He seemed excited.
     “Alright, well… think something,” I said with a shrug.
    
Um, okay. Can you hear me?
    
“Yep.”
     “Alright, well try and block me out now.”
     I sighed and tried to focus. I felt nervous at first, worried that I wouldn’t be able to do it.
    
I’ll just keep thinking stuff and you let me know when you can’t hear me anymore.
      
I was trying to keep him out but his words kept flowing through my head.
    
And I’m guessing you can still hear me since you’re starting to look frustrated.
     It was then that I realized that I was never going to block him out like that.
    
Come on, Ivy, you can get this
.
     I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I let myself relax. I stopped focusing on what he was saying and focused on me, focused on what I wanted to do.
      
And I’m running out of things to think…
     And then it stopped. Like an infant learning to walk, one second I was sitting, and the next I was strolling across the room. It was almost instinctive, as easy as telling my legs to walk or my lips to smile. I just… turned it off.
     I opened my eyes. My lips curved up into a grin. I didn’t hear him. His eyes searched mine for a moment and he could tell that I’d figured it out.
     “I don’t hear you anymore,” I said.
     “You did it,” he said, seeming happy for me, but then he frowned. “What if you can’t turn it back on?”
     I thought for a moment about opening up my mind.
    
What if she’s just killed her gift
?
     “Didn’t kill it,” I said and he smiled.
     “Well, good, you’ve got it all figured out then. No more collapsing on the common.”
     “I don’t know if I’ve got it down pat, but it definitely seems like a step in the right direction.”
     We both smiled, looking at one another. Neither of us said a word, and then the silence became awkward and we both looked away.
     “Well, that’s, ah, that’s great. I should get going, but I’ll see you around,” he said and then walked out of my room closing the door behind him.

8

The Things You were Never Supposed to Hear

T
hat night at dinner, I practiced being able to control my telepathy. I would later come to regret that decision and would wish that I had left it turned it off. Understanding what I could do was helping me to appreciate what had happened to me, but there are still times when ignorance is bliss. Some secrets you wish would have stayed secrets. Some secrets are hard on you to know.
     Dad was home for dinner that night. When he walked through the door he set his briefcase down and grabbed Sadie, picking her up and swinging her around with a hug. Mom was in the dining room setting the table and the house was filled with the warm aroma of a home cooked meal.
     “Hey, Kid,” he said to me as I walked past.
     I smiled and he followed me into the dining room.
     “So, what’s Mom got cooking for dinner tonight? Smells good.”
     “It’s lasagna,” Sadie said with excitement.
     Dad was still carrying her. He set her down when Mom walked in with the pan of lasagna in her hands.
     “Hi, honey,” my mom said, setting the pan on the table and giving my father a kiss on the lips.
     We all sat down to eat. I kept my mind reading abilities turned off while Mom scooped lasagna onto Sadie’s plate and I waited for the spatula to be free. I was surprised at how easy it was to keep their thoughts out. It was like I had been standing in a bright room before, the lights there were so strong that I was blinded by them. They had hurt my eyes and strained my senses and then after meditating it was as if someone had led my hand to the light switch and I flipped it off. I just had to be shown where the switch was and then I knew where to find it from then on out. After discovering how to turn the lights on and off, I could do it with ease.
     So I left the lights off and had a normal dinner with my family. I listened to Sadie talk about her day in Mrs. Dean’s third grade class and the sound of my father’s deep voice as he laughed. Sadie had been telling a story about finger painting with a boy named Billy Frank in art class which my father had found quite funny. The sound of his voice was comforting. I realized then how little I’d heard it lately. Mom smiled as well, seeming just as happy as the rest of us that he was there. She talked about a house she was trying to sell and tried to convince my dad that they should remodel the kitchen. I gave an update to my parents about school and my grades, as well as slyly snuck in a comment about the winter formal and the need to go dress shopping. All together it was a nice dinner; it made me feel connected with my family, made me feel normal.
     Then my father’s phone rang. I watched him pull it out of his pocket and couldn’t help but hit the switch in my mind. I turned the lights on and as he looked at his phone his thoughts channeled into my head.
    
Liz,
he thought reading the text on his phone.
I’m missing you too, babe.
    
My brow creased and my lips bowed down into a frown as he slid the phone back into his pocket. I shut the light back off and it felt like a door slamming shut in my mind. My nice, normal family dinner shattered, sending shards of my broken respect raining down around me. I didn’t want to hear anything else.
     “Who was that?” my mom asked him.
     “John from work, he needs me back there for an hour or so tonight.”
    
Liar
, I thought wanting to scream it out loud. My stomach flipped and I felt like I wanted to vomit.
     “Oh really?” I could tell my mom was disappointed.
     “Yeah, I’m sorry honey, I’ll be back before you go to bed, promise.”
     He wouldn’t be back before she went to sleep. I would wait up that night to see.
     “Least you’re home for dinner daddy,” Sadie said before shoveling another fork full of saucy pasta into her mouth.
     I looked at her. She was so innocent and unassuming with her bright eyes and sauce covered grin, looking at our father like he were some kind of superhero just for making it to dinner. I looked at Mom. She was disappointed but still blissfully unaware of what Dad was really leaving to do that night. And just what was he leaving to do, I wondered? He was going to see a woman named Liz, but that didn’t have to mean that he was having an affair. He was just going to see a woman, a woman that he called ‘babe’; a woman that he missed, that he lied about. I bit down hard on my next bite of lasagna, grinding my teeth together and trying to push the thoughts away.
     I thought about never opening my mind up again after that. I thought about leaving the lights off permanently, about smashing the bulbs, or ripping out all of the wiring and living in the dark. Not that I could. Instead I was silent the rest of dinner and kept my eyes drawn down at my plate.
     I went to my room after Mom had gone to bed. The small TV that sat atop my dresser was off but I spent an hour staring at it, watching the numbers turn on the digital clock of cable box.