For I Could Lift My Finger and Black Out the Sun (15 page)

13

Just before bed that night, I saw the scissors still on the floor and thought,
I should get a bandage
. Then I laughed. More of a scoff than a laugh, I suppose. What was there to bandage? Nothing was wrong with me.

At least on the outside.

I was a teenager, but of course my mom still tucked me in like I was five. I suppose she needed those rituals then more than ever. I did, too.

In a low, ragged whisper, head ducked down toward the floor, she spoke as she stood in the doorway. “Good night, John. I love you.”

“Mom,” I said, sitting up in bed, using that tone kids get when they’re not sure how to start a conversation with a parent. “Are you okay?” It was the best I could do.

She shuddered a bit, still not looking at me. “Not really, John. But I’ll be okay. We all will.” She reached up and wiped at her eyes. “I’m not going to stop missing your dad. Or stop loving him. But we… you, me, and Holly… we need to keep going.”

I sat still a moment, then nodded. I simply couldn’t tell her. I fell back into my pillow and Mom closed the door, leaving me in a darkness that couldn’t compare to what was inside my soul.

* * *

Lying awake for over an hour, I did nothing but think.

And I made a decision.

I would never —
never
— use my mental powers again. Clearly, I couldn’t stop my body from protecting itself. I should have been in a hospital, slashed to pieces by the scissors. But I showed no injury. So my body would do what my body would do. The thorns were alive and kicking. But I was in control of my mind. I would never do it again.

Even the sad, the angry, the hateful, the scared… even they have to sleep.

So eventually, I did.

* * *

I woke up to a sunny new morning, feeling oddly good about myself. The previous night’s distress, while painful and traumatic, must have done me some kind of good. Or maybe it was my decision to stop using my powers against other people’s minds. Whatever it was, I felt like a page had been turned. Like I could overcome what happened.

I hadn’t expected it, but I was still just a kid, and so intense pessimism could easily be replaced with something else. Not joy. Not happiness. Not quite. But at least the absence of anger and sadness. It was a start.

I got dressed, made my bed — Mom demanded this daily — and headed for breakfast. Mom and Holly were already there, Holly chowing down on some cereal.

“Morning, John. Did you sleep well?” Mom asked. I nodded. I guess I actually had. “What do you want for breakfast?”

I pressed my forehead against Holly’s for a moment. Our little thing. Then I pointed. “What’s she eating?” My mom nodded toward a cereal box on the counter with a colorful cartoon monkey plastered across the front. “Okay, I’ll have that.” I grabbed the box, found a bowl and some milk, and soon I was eating contentedly next to my sister.

For a moment, my mom looked… happy. Or at least she looked like she understood what she still had, despite her loss.

There was nothing else remarkable. It simply was a
good breakfast
. At the time, that seemed like a big deal. I headed to the bathroom feeling like a cloud had lifted.

As I brushed my teeth, I heard a commotion outside.

“What the heck…,” an adult male voice said, surprised.

Normal human curiosity called me toward the window, where I brushed back the thin curtains to see what was going on.

There, out on the sidewalk, was Mr. Cooper, one of my neighbors. He was standing, body twisted, looking way off down the road. I followed his line of sight…

…and saw Bobby running down the street, headed away from my house.

14

It burned me the whole school day.
What the hell were you doing, Bobby?
We shared classes, but Bobby avoided me in between, and after school as well.

I had to follow him.

I could tell he was walking intentionally fast, well ahead of me, on his way home. I called out to him once or twice, then watched as he left the normal route, heading instead toward the shops in the center of town. Just as I realized we were right there, at the building where Bobby tried to jump his bike, he turned and ran down the alley. Startled, I raced after him.

As I rounded into the back parking lot, I realized I was alone. Bobby had vanished.
What’s he hiding? Why was he at my house? Why is he running away?
It didn’t make sense.

But I knew Bobby’s abilities, same as mine. Invisibility wasn’t one of them, at least as far as I knew. I stood still for a moment. And felt something above me and to the right.

Bobby was motionless on the fire escape.

As soon as our eyes met, he let loose a gush of air and started up the ladder, fast. Running to the dumpster, I leaped up to the lowest rung to follow suit. “What the hell are you doing, Bobby?” He didn’t reply. “Why were you at my house this morning?” He continued to the roof.

He turned once, looking down at me. “Go home, Johnny.” Then he disappeared from view.

Finally, I reached the roof and pulled myself up onto the flat surface. Bobby was maybe 20 feet in front of me, waiting.

“Why were you at my house this morning?” I repeated.

He said nothing.

For a moment.

Then all of his built-up frustration came out at once.

“Because,” he said, mouth bursting open like flood gates letting loose a torrent of water. “Because you need to snap out of it. Because you need to stop pussyfooting around. You’re
special,
Johnny. You can do things no one else can.
Make something of it
. Stop blaming yourself and bottling things up. I’m sick of it.”

I was stunned, realizing what he’d done. Realizing that my newfound sense of peace that morning had been a lie. “You pushed my mind? While I was
asleep
? What the hell is wrong with you, Bobby? I thought we were
friends
!”

“We
are
friends, Johnny. And that’s why I can’t sit back and watch you do nothing. Watch you let your powers do nothing. I mean, I get it. Your dad is dead, and nothing’s going to change that, and it’s terrible. But it’s
not your fault
.”

“Yes,” I nodded vigorously, a manic smile on my face. “Yes, Bobby, it
is
my fault. I put the car in front of him with my power. I killed him.”

We began to circle each other slowly, neither wanting to get closer.

“No, Johnny. You tried to get back at a couple of punks. You had no idea your dad was anywhere near there. You can’t blame yourself.” His tone was half plaintive, half angry. It was like he was coming to the end of his patience with me, like a parent tolerating a belligerent kid.

I stopped, standing still, and Bobby echoed me. From the roof, the afternoon sun stared down at us, a few clouds rolling overhead among the blue. “I won’t use it again,” I said. “I won’t use the mind powers.”

Bobby’s shoulders fell, and a sort of weariness overcame him. “Ah, come on, Johnny. This is really getting old.”

“What?” I asked, incredulous.

Bobby looked up. “It’s really getting old, having to push and pull you to
do
anything. First the simple things, now this. I mean, I’m ready to move on. To move
up
. No one else can help me. Just you. You know, we should be a team. On the same page. Instead…” He waved a hand left and right.

“Bobby,” I said, having a hard time believing I had to explain myself, “my
dad died
. Because of something I did. I can’t just ignore that.”

Kids aren’t always rational. I wish I’d understood that, then. Bobby stepped within inches of me, looking me in the eye. I couldn’t read his thoughts. I didn’t see it coming.

“Ah, Johnny. Would you just
get over it
.” As he spoke those last words, his hand came up, palm outward, and he struck me, like a hard push.

My body tried to sluice away, but Bobby was faster.

It felt like when I’d been hit by the car. Like metal slamming into my body. Instantly, I knew.
He’s figured out how to do it. How to be a weapon.

I flew back, slammed into the brick half wall at the rooftop’s edge. Sure, I was used to being a punching bag for bullies my whole life, including Bobby. But now things were different. This was…
unexpected
.

I staggered back to my feet, shaking my head, brushing myself off. “What’re you doing?” That was all I managed before he came at me again. Standing so close to the edge, I felt vulnerable, so I dodged left. Bobby’s arm, still palm out, came down like a hammer.

Well that, at least, was something my body was used to. My shoulder sluiced around the blow as I dove to the side. “Bobby, cut it out!” I yelled.

He turned and struck again, this time a sideways slash into my ribs that my body managed to only partially avoid. The blow tossed me several feet. I could see Bobby was enjoying this. A real opportunity to show off his skills. He’d clearly been training, on his own, perfecting himself for a fight.

I hadn’t.

The only time I’d been a weapon was when Bobby tried to hit me in my room, and that was by accident. I didn’t even know if I could make it happen again. I tried to concentrate, and before I could bring my hand up, Bobby was there. Another blow, unavoidable, sent me flailing to the far side of the roof. On one knee, I tried to stand, wincing and tentative, hoping Bobby would see my distress and let up. He didn’t. Another punch fell. And another. And many more. Bobby could see that the blows, while connecting firmly, weren’t doing my body much harm.

Yes, each one hurt like hell, but my body twisted and sluiced and reformed.

Frustrated, Bobby increased the attack. He seemed determined to make me cry uncle.

Left, right, up, down, and again to the side, his strikes fell, and I was tossed about. But slowly, I came into my own.

I had been a weapon once. If I could only remember.

Bobby hit me twice, left then right hand smashing into me, sending me sprawling again. I found myself up against the edge of the half wall, for a moment tilting precariously over the side. The same one Bobby had jumped his bike over. Sure, he’d fallen and lived, but he’d been
flattened
. Ideas on what that felt like raced through my mind. I dodged another blow as Bobby approached. “Bobby, stop it!” I yelled, tumbling to one side. As I fell, I thrust one hand up, wishing it to become steel. Bobby fell against it, and let loose a loud
oof
.

“That’s it, Johnny!” He was actually smiling. “Show me what you can
do
!” And before I even knew it he was beside me, his entire body sluiced and he was on top of me. “I can do
this
!” He thrust both hands into me. Did he know my body could take it and live? It was really hard to know for sure. His hands battered into my stomach like freight trains; my skin and bones and muscles tried to outrun him but I was sent airborne. I saw the edge of the half wall approaching, knew I had to grab it or I’d be sent off the edge and plummet to the ground far below.

With both hands, I keyed on the top layer of bricks… and barely managed to grasp the edge. My feet dangled toward the street as I hung off the top of the building.

For a moment, the only sound in my ears was my ragged breath, in out, in out. I dared a single look below, and realized it was worse than I thought. Not only was it two stories down, but the flight path was obstructed. If I fell, I’d hit several segments of the fire escape, and then the side of the dumpster. It would be far from a smooth landing.

I have to admit, I was terrified. My eyes bugged out as I looked down. Then I heard him coming. Letting loose a loud yell as he ran toward me, Bobby was silhouetted against the afternoon sun. All I saw was a shadow, beams of blinding sunlight arrayed around him like a halo. Bobby’s hands were up, like a football player diving for a huge tackle. But I knew those hands weren’t going to grab on and pull me to safety.

They’d be like iron.

I watched as they descended in an arc toward me, the world slowing as it happened.

“No,” I said in a calm voice. To this day, I can’t be sure I even said it out loud, but I think I did. It didn’t matter. Bobby had made his body into a weapon. But I had my mind.

Bobby didn’t stop, he
bounced
back, like he’d hit an invisible wall. There was a loud thud as he fell to the roof. His body twitched, once, twice, three times. Then he was still.

I was certain of two things.

First, I knew that by using my mental powers, I’d already violated the promise I’d made myself, although my dad was less than a week in the ground.

And second, I was certain that my friend Bobby Graden was dead.

* * *

Staggering, stumbling, I half-tumbled down the fire escape, eager to be free. I ran toward home, raising eyebrows all along the way. Finally, as the sun was setting, I pushed the door of my house open. I slammed it behind me, gasping, startling my mom. “John. Be careful,” was all she said. Panting, looking through drips of sweat falling from my forehead, I nodded.

I walked into the living room and fell onto the couch, beside Holly in her chair. The TV was on, and I mirrored Holly’s stare, blankly taking in the screen. The nightly news. I knew Holly hated it. But I was too exhausted to get up and change the channel. The remote was nowhere to be seen.

Slowly I caught my breath.

He wasn’t dead.

I thought I’d killed Bobby with my mind, but he was still breathing. I’d knocked him out, which was just as well, because he’d been about to kill me. Or at least hurt me really bad. With him unconscious, I ran. Of course, he’d know where to find me. I wouldn’t be safe here for long, if he wanted to fight again.

I was thinking about where to go, what to do, considering what I’d need to do to make a truce with him. His attack was unexpected, yet expected. Was there a way we could work it out?

On the TV, a breaking news report took over the broadcast. The governor’s mansion, at the state capitol, was shown in a live shot via helicopter. I paid no attention to it. Bobby was the only thing on my mind.

He was strong. He was fast. He’d obviously been training without me. Even though he said he wanted me to help him, I had the distinct impression he might be happy with me gone. Once a bully… always a bully?

As my eyes wandered around the room, I saw something moving. Twitching.

Holly’s fingers on her left hand. It could have been nothing, but I thought it was a small seizure. I looked into her eyes, but she continued to stare at the TV.

I turned to follow her gaze, and my jaw dropped. The helicopter camera showed police and security all around the governor’s mansion, guns drawn, as a lone man walked from a balcony into the interior. He was only on screen for a moment, but I was sure.

It was Branco.

As I stared at the glowing screen of the television, the house rumbled slowly in an aftershock.