Untethered (9 page)

Mom turns to us and throws up her arms. “I was worried sick about you! Going out so late! You two never go out. Where were you?”

That’s it. We’re toast.

But for once I’m glad for the tension between the two of them. My dad stands up straighter and says in a steely voice, “Nicole, they’re my responsibility on the weekend.”

Mom looks from him to us. She drops it for now.

“Why’re you here?” I ask.

She pulls an army green backpack off of a folding chair Dad has in the living room. “Sam, you forgot this. I figured you’d need it to do your homework.”

Sam shrugs. “I finished it all; Mrs. Leonard wasn’t there fifth hour and then I had study hall.”

Mom looks almost crushed. “Well, then.” She puts the backpack on the chair again, but doesn’t make a move to go.

When we’d walked in, the anger in the room was palpable. Now, though, it’s dissipated into something else. Dad shuffles his feet and sighs. “Did you want to stay for a drink? Not long. Just until the kids are ready for bed.”

Mom pretends to hesitate, but she’s not fooling anyone. Least of all Dad. “I suppose I could.”

Dad still doesn’t have a table, just the bar with stools. Mom gets on a stool, her legs dangling. “I’ll have tea, please Michael.”

“No tea here.”

“All right, then. Fizzy water?”

Dad’s lips get tight and a muscle in his neck pulses. “There’s coffee, beer, Coke, and milk.”

Mom is lactose intolerant. She doesn’t do coffee. Or Coke. I wait for her to ask for tap water but she surprises me and shrugs. “Fine. Give me a beer.”

While Dad’s taking the cap off the bottle, Sam and I get Cokes out of the fridge.

“What are you doing?” Mom looks from me to Sam. “It’s almost midnight. You are
not
drinking Coke this late.”

Sam puts his back, but I open mine and take a long swig. I don’t know why. I just can’t help myself. I want to piss them both off. I want them to scream at me.

“Sylvie, caffeine will aggravate your condition!” Mom yells it.

“Sylvie!” My dad says it through his teeth.

“No prob. I’m done anyways.” I set the can on the sink, burp and go to put on my pajamas.

In my room, or Dad’s office, really, I listen at the door. I hear the door to Dad’s bedroom close. That’d be Sam. Sent there since Mom and Dad are discussing or fighting or whatever. Sam is supposed to sleep on the new sofa bed in the living room.

I can hear Mom crying. Every once in a while her voice gets high. I hear Dad say, “You don’t know me anymore, Nicole. You haven’t even noticed me for years.” And then I crawl onto the new inflatable mattress and pull the blankets over my head. An emptiness eats its way through my insides.

If it were just Sam, they’d still be together.

From my jeans pocket comes the beep-beeping I get when someone texts me a message. I grab my jeans from the floor and pull my cell phone out: Cassie.

“Got mssg frm Kevin 2 go 2 mvie 2morrow. I said NO.”

I blink at the screen and at the same time I blink back tears.
Why the hell is she telling me this? To ruin my night? Just in case it’s not bad enough the way it is?

I turn off my phone.

I hear my mother’s tinny voice and then the front door shutting. Then the sound of the clang of a bottle as my dad grabs another beer from the fridge. Pretty soon, I’ll smell cigarette smoke seeping through the crack under the door.

I lie down on the mattress again, but can’t get comfortable. I roll onto my stomach and then onto my back. But nothing helps.

I’m not even comfortable in my own skin.

October 28
^th

“Help,” I whisper to Cassie, again.

This time she pulls away from me and searches my face. “What? What did you say?”

“I need your help. I’m not who you think, Cass. I’m not. I ... ” I swallow, hoping I can spit it out. I’m not sure I can voice what’s really happened. But I don’t know what else to do. “I’m ... I’m Sylvie ... stuck ... in this body. I got stuck and I tried but I can’t get out. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s true. And I’m freaking out, Cass. You’ve gotta help me.” The words sound far away, almost distant. Like someone else is saying them.

Someone else
is
saying them. In a way. Ha. If it weren’t tragic it’d be hilarious. I start laughing and can’t stop. Big hiccoughing laughs that hurt my stomach. My head. My heart.

“Why are you saying this? Why are you doing this? Stop laughing!” Cassie’s voice is trembling.

But I can’t stop. I can’t do anything.

“Shut up.” Cassie narrows her eyes at me.

Finally, my laughter dies and I take a few calming breaths. The only way to convince her is to list our secrets, so I do: “We’re blood sisters. Since age ten ... You collect butterflies ... Your parents—”

But Cassie cuts me off. “Stop talking!” She screams it, loud and clear for everyone on our street to hear. “I don’t know why you would do this, but if you say one more word, I swear I’ll scratch your eyes out!”

I open my mouth, then close it right away. She’s got killer fingernails. She could easily do it.

Behind her, her dad’s voice calls out hoarsely, “All right, I’m ready. Let’s go.” He steps out onto the porch, his hair mussed, a bleary, worried look on his face. “Your mom ... can’t make it right now.”

Hearing this, Cassie’s eyes flash like they do when she’s angry, but it lasts only a second. She turns to me. “I’m going to the hospital.”

“Take me,” I whisper. I have to get to my body. And maybe ... maybe he’s in there. In me.

“Take yourself.”

“I can’t. Please. I’ve gotta go there. Now.”

But she ignores me and walks to the car, sliding into the passenger seat. Her dad backs out the driveway. I hesitate, but only for a moment. Then I leap towards the moving car and yank open the back door. I dive in and slam the door behind me.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Both Cassie and her dad turn around to yell at me.

“I need to get to the hospital,” I say, my voice low and even.

Cassie glares at me. Her dad shakes his head.

But no one kicks me out.

Ten

September: Puttering with the Paranormal

I wake up Saturday morning with a start and look at my watch. 5 a.m.

Bryce’s party seems like it took place years ago and I wonder if I dreamt it up. Especially the bit about Kevin’s step-mom. I sit in the semi-darkness, thinking. I want to know more about what she did. About what
I
do. Now that I know I’m not the only one, I’m not so afraid anymore. My eyes drift to the desk and I can’t believe my luck. With all the Mom confusion, Dad left his laptop in here last night.

I can go on the net and research the whole thing.

I get online and take a deep breath, typing in
leaving your body
. The results aren’t what I was looking for:

Leaving Your Body to Science

Full Body Treatment: Leaving your Body Beautiful

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Then I try
outside your body
. The first link gets me:

Astral Projection and Out of Body Experiences: Traveling Outside Your Body

I click on it and tug at my hair, anxious and excited. The site itself has some weird mystical music playing. Right away I pound the mute button. I don’t know if Dad would be cool with me using his laptop without asking. There are pictures of a naked man lying down while what looks like his double hovers above him. They’re connected by a silver rope. I scroll down to the text and start reading:

Astral projection, sometimes called etheric projection or out-of-body experience (OBE): when one’s soul or etheric self leaves the physical body to enter the astral realms.

Okay. I read it twice without understanding but keep on. I finally get to:

In astral projection one consciously leaves one’s body – to bob about the room, to travel the earth, the universe, or different planes of existence.

That’s it. Holy crap. That’s it.

I keep scrolling down, then click on another link full of testimonials, my heart ramming against my chest. There are hundreds of accounts of people doing it, by chance or on purpose: a prisoner-of-war who left his body when he was tortured, a woman who ‘visited’ her sick brother in another country, victims of car accidents, high fevers and, like Kevin’s step-mom, women who had extremely painful deliveries.

It’s happened to other people. Lots of them. And this whole time I didn’t know ... I can barely breathe.

They’re not hallucinations. I’m not crazy. And I’m only one of many. My eyes sting with tears of relief. I tip my head back and blink at the ceiling until I know I won’t cry.

I click again.

Learn Astral Projection in Fifteen Minutes Flat! Double-click here to order your trip to freedom! Only $69.99!

I try a different link. And another one. And another one. They all say I can learn astral projection. Several give general directions, saying to lie down in a darkened room and relax, but I can’t find anything detailed.

Most of the sites refer to books or DVDs to buy. It doesn’t seem like I’m doing more than scratching the surface on the net. They want to sell their books, not give the info away for free.

Click.

At Your Own Risk! Danger! The Dark Side of Astral Projection

Getting lost. Evil entities. Demonic possession. Death. All are listed. I think of the shadows. But nothing like that is mentioned here. Here they talk about astral enemies and demons with blood red eyes. No shadows that drain your energy and leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

Click. All the other sites refute the dangers.
There is no risk. Anything that scares you comes from your own imagination.

I’m not sure that makes me feel better.

But, hell, I’ve done it. I know it’s not dangerous. Not really. I mean at times it’s scary and strange, but other times it’s magical. Most of the time.

The next sites make voluntary astral projection sound easy. I just need specifics.

Someone turns on the shower in the bathroom. I look at my watch. Wow! 7:30. I’ve been on the computer for over two hours! The sun’s come up, but it’s barely visible. Dark, black clouds smother it. The first raindrops splatter against the windows, a sporadic drumming.

I stare at the screen in front of me, a rainbow-colored drawing of people flying in space. I exit the site and erase the history. Yet the image is still in my head.

When I’ve left my body, it’s been uncontrolled. Erratic.

But this. Astral projection. Knowing how to do it consciously would be like knowing the formula to give myself a superpower.

I can’t ignore it.

Sunday, I lie to Dad about having to do some research at the library for school. So he leaves me off while he and Sam go to play video games.

I love the library: the hushed voices, the smell of books, even the way the wrinkled old ladies behind the desk look at you like you’re up to no good. And the Racine library is great. Its ceiling to floor windows look over the football field and, beyond that, Lake Michigan. Today the lake is choppy and grey. The sky is like what’s called Ivory Black on my watercolor palette at home.

I set my books on a table near the windows and go to find the place in the stacks for the books on astral projection.

And plow right into Kevin Phillips.

“Oh ... uhh ... sorry,” I say, my voice a squeak. He’s got a bunch of books in his arms, but I look at his coffee eyes and breathe in the musky scent of him. I think of my dream and feel my face burn. I have an urge to run my tongue across his bottom lip.

“Hi.” He hugs his books to his chest. “What are you doing here? Studying for the Chem test?”

“No ... yes ... no, I . . ” I want to tell him that I think what his step-mom did is something I do, that I’m here to read about it. But I can’t choke it out.

“Or is this how you spend all your Sundays?” He gives me a wide grin.

“Just ... just today.”

He nods and glances over my head (like everyone else, he’s a whole head taller than me). “You here with Cassie?”

“Nope,” I say. His shoulders droop a bit.

“I gotta go. Swim team tryouts today. Gotta go through the drill every year. I don’t wanna be late and piss off Coach.” He rolls his eyes. “He’s such an ape.”

Ape.
That’s what he called Randy Lang when he stood up for me in grade school — a stupid ape. I feel my body sway at the memory.

I want to ask him to study with me sometime. Tell him I’ve got a system down pat for memorizing. I’d be a great partner. But I don’t get further than, “Uh ...”

“See ya,” Kevin says and walks off.

“Bye!” I call out after him and get shushed right away by a librarian.

I walk down three aisles, which is where the books on astral projection are. Half the titles listed on the library’s computer must be checked out since they’re not there. But there’s enough left to keep me busy. I don’t even go back to my table; I just sit on the floor next to the shelf and page through books.

I scan a story about a sleep-deprived woman who let her body sleep while her astral self checked up on the baby at night, skim through an outline of an experiment done to see if astral projection is real, and read through a detailed description of techniques to leave your body.

I stay for a good long time.

It’s only when I’m downstairs, by the main doors, that I wonder why Kevin was there. Didn’t he say something about a test?
Crap.
That’s right. I’d completely forgotten about Chemistry. The whole junior class gets a grilling this week.