Read Memories from a Different Future: Jump When Ready, Book 2 Online
Authors: David Pandolfe
Memories from a Different Future: Jump When Ready, Book 2 (19 page)
Pajama Boy and the
Resonant Object
That night, my parents make me go to one of Caitlin’s dance
recitals. Caitlin’s only thirteen so I understand the part about being
supportive. And it’s not like I stare into space while she performs. I watch
and I’m truly impressed with her skill. At the same time, dance isn’t really my
thing and it’s not like I force my music on my parents or sister. Most of the
time, they ask me to turn down my amp when I’m practicing and my parents won’t
let us jam in our garage. That part, I’m used to. But I have a ton of homework
and should be studying for exams next week. Still, I wait it out, not
complaining. I know better.
We get some dinner after and it’s pushing nine by the
time we’re heading home. I stare out the window as we cruise through the dark,
past all those big houses and bright lamp posts. I’m sure many people would
think Edmonds is a perfect town. Safe, good schools, pretty parks and annual
community events. But I grew up here, so I know this town is a little too
perfect. There’s not a whole lot of acceptance if you deviate from the norm—the
norm being white, straight, conservative and superficial. There’s also no
shortage of money in Edmonds so almost everyone lives in giant houses and
drives shiny new cars.
We’re no different and maybe that’s the part that bothers
me. We too have plenty of money and a giant house on a huge piece of property.
My parents drive shiny new cars. We have lightning fast internet and massive
televisions. Pretty much, you name it and we have it. After all, my father runs
a law firm named after him three times.
Sometimes I imagine being part of a different family. In
my imaginary family, my parents are creative people who sometimes forget to
comb their hair. They wear faded jeans and sweatshirts and splatter paint while
working on artistic projects. They make sculptures in the living room. My
imaginary parents listen to current music on alternative radio stations.
Sometimes they listen to jazz and blues too (I’m totally fine with that). I
picture them being well-educated, but at the same time doing what they love
rather than what they think they should to keep up with everyone else. In a
word, they’re cool. I’m on the fence about having siblings in my imaginary
family. I’d probably be okay with that too but I just haven’t spent a lot of
time imagining who they might be.
Where have these images come from? A fantasy, obviously.
And it isn’t like it matters. My imagination can do whatever it wants but I’m
still stuck in my actual life. At least I get to be around Doug’s and Justin’s
families sometimes. Maybe it’s ironic that they’re both from families on the
outside of the whole Edmonds affluence thing. Doug’s dad is a carpenter and
Justin’s family owns a pizza and sub place. But the thing is, I’ve been around
their families enough to know they’re way happier than we are. They actually
smile and laugh. They have favorite shows they watch together. At the same
time, being around their families sometimes just reminds me how much I feel
like an outsider in my own.
When we get home, I spend an hour plowing through math
and drafting an essay on
The Scarlet Letter
for English, which is at
least in keeping thematically with my earlier thoughts about our conformist
town. It’s after ten when I’m staring at Lauren’s number and wondering if it’s
too late.
I drift off, thinking about the way her
hair frames her face and the intensity of her eyes. I think about her full lips
and the curve of her hips. I wonder what it would be like to kiss her. I force
myself to stop fantasizing. I’m not doing myself any good and it’s also not
getting any earlier.
I send a text.
are you up?
(Not exactly a
brilliant start, I realize.)
Of course.
sorry. wasn’t sure
(Kind of pathetic. I’m on a
roll so far.)
Do you know how to form capital letters? Use the shift
key.
Are you stalking again?
no!
To which, stalking or forming capital letters?
neither. I mean Neither!
Seriously? Never mind. Is this about the guitar?
Yes
(Face burning, but proper capitalization.)
Sentences end in a period. Even short ones. For
example: “Yes.”
(She hates me, for sure.)
My phone buzzes and I jump. For some reason, I ruled out
that possibility. “Um, hello?” I say.
“Um, hello to you too,” Lauren says. “You know, you could
have just called. A quaint custom, I realize.”
I wish I could see her expression. I think I hear a smile
but I’m not sure. “But it’s kind of late.”
“It’s ten-fifteen. But okay, in this town that’s
considered late. Are you like all in your jammies?”
Actually, I am like all in my jammies. Not that I wear
actual pajamas but I’m wearing the sweat pants and T-shirt I’ll be sleeping in.
But I fake-laugh and say, “No, I was just—”
“You’re totally in your jammies.”
“Why would I lie?”
“I’m not sure,” Lauren says. “Why would someone lie about
that? Kind of weird. Anyway, tell me what happened with that guitar you found.”
I tell her about being drawn to the Telecaster and how,
when I picked it up, the world around me basically vanished and I saw that
woman onstage. About that moment when it seemed like she looked right at me. I
hesitate, then tell Lauren how I imagined hearing her.
A few moments of silence follow. Then, Lauren says, “Why
do you think you imagined it? You experienced it, right?”
The thing is, I’ve given that part a lot of thought. In
that moment, it really did feel like she looked right at me. As for what she
said, it wasn’t like I actually heard her with my ears. I heard her inside my
head.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never experienced anything
like it before.”
“Fair enough. Let me ask you this—did your friends have
any sort of reaction to the guitar? You know, were they curious, did they get a
feeling about it? Anything like that?”
I think back to Gary talking about his past, trying to
recall if Justin or Doug even noticed the old Telecaster while to me it
suddenly seemed like the only thing in the room. “Nothing like that,” I say.
“It was just me. I had to check it out.”
A pause. Did she yawn? I think I heard her yawn. “Then my
guess is you’re the intended recipient. That part seems clear.”
“Recipient of what?”
“The resonant object.” By her tone of voice, I can almost
see Lauren shrug.
“Resonant object? What does that mean?”
A second or two ticks by. “Well, that would be an object
that resonates. At least, for you.”
Helpful. “But what’s a—? Never mind. I’m assuming you
mean the guitar.”
“Definitely. You need to get it.”
“How?”
“I guess you could buy it,” Lauren says. “Sorry, but I
should probably finish my homework. It’s getting late.”
“But you just said it wasn’t late.”
“Whatever. Have a good night, Pajama Boy.”
~~~
At first, I’m not sure why I wake up in the middle of the
night. I listen but the house is perfectly still. It’s just me, alone in the
dark. At least, that’s what I think until I notice the outline of a man
standing in the corner of my room—a dimly glowing silhouette that can’t
possibly be there. I close my eyes and open them again. He still stands there,
only he’s solidified a little. I sit up, heart hammering in my chest. I stare
across the room. He looks young, maybe in his late twenties, hair reaching
almost to his shoulders. I keep staring at him and he seems to be staring back.
“Is this about the guitar?” I say, even though it makes
no sense. But it doesn’t have to make sense. Obviously, I’m dreaming. Telling
myself this doesn’t help when he suddenly flickers forward and stands next to
my bed. I rear back, wanting to call out but my throat seizes. I sit there
gulping like a fish.
Then he’s gone. There’s just darkness where he stood even
as his image continues to fade from my retinas.
I don’t sleep after that. I stare at the ceiling, eyes
wide, until sunrise. I wonder if I should see a psychiatrist or ask my parents
to schedule a CAT scan. Maybe I have a brain tumor or something. I’m used to
unusual things happening but I’ve definitely turned some sort of corner. Finally,
I climb out of bed to the sound of birds chirping outside. I go to my desk,
pick up my phone and see a text from Lauren.
Don’t rule out spectral visits. Probably should have
mentioned that.
About David Pandolfe
David Pandolfe is the author of the
Streetlights Like
Fireworks
and
Jump When Ready
series. Reading his books, you'll soon
learn that he likes writing stories about psychics, ghosts, unusual settings
and characters who approach adventure with a sense of humor. He’s not sure
where the ghost obsession came from but he figured he might as well roll with
it.
Before becoming a writer, David did a few other things.
For example, he was once a bartender in Seattle, a singer/songwriter in a Los
Angeles rock band and a college writing teacher in Richmond (not all at the
same time, of course). These days, he lives near Richmond, Virginia, with his
wife, two kids and a dog who's terrified of thunder. Not the best situation for
their dog since it thunders from spring until fall in Richmond.
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1: A Voice from the Other Side
18: Waking Up From a Restless Night
21: Memories From A Different Future
Copyright © 2014
David Pandolfe
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Cover art and design
by Samantha Pandolfe.