I remind myself that I haven’t done anything wrong. She didn’t exactly stake a claim on Cody.
Of course, neither did I.
“Cody wanted to help me with the … you know. Practicing,” I say, all too aware of David and Becca sitting just a few feet away. “He found some information on the Internet.” I wave the papers Cody gave me.
“Ohh.” Mikaela relaxes visibly. “Good for you. Cody is a fountain of obscure information.” She bumps his arm with her shoulder.
I can’t tell anything from her expression, but what does it matter? Mikaela was the one who kept encouraging me to talk to him, saying he’d understand.
“It can’t hurt to try,” I finally say.
“Damn straight,” she answers.
I think of our awkward truce, the fight that preceded it, the realization that she likes Cody, too. I try again to read what’s behind her enigmatic smile, but I can’t.
That night, I look at the printouts Cody gave me. “Opening Your Chakras, Step-by-Step,” says one. A laugh slips out, but I did promise to give this an honest effort. The other printout has a drawing of the body’s meridian lines and talks about things like chi and the flow of energy along invisible pathways.
There’s something about the drawing that strikes me: a simple black-and-white line diagram of a person’s head, but the line representing the top of the head is dotted rather than solid and there are wavy arrows labeled “energy” radiating in and out of the top of the head. The expression on the person’s face is serene, their eyes half-closed as if they’re at peace with the universe.
I know it’s just a drawing, but that’s how I want to feel.
I close my door, sit on the floor next to the bed, and light my black-cherry candle. The printout says to try to focus on something simple and hold it in your mind, something like a candle flame flickering or the sound of the breath. I concentrate on feeling my lungs fill, then empty, over and over. I start to relax, my eyes closing. I can still see the image of the flickering candle flame against the backs of my eyelids, dancing. It absorbs my attention; the pale yellows and richer oranges, the tiny dark heart of the flame.
I try to release the tension in all of my muscles, still breathing evenly, focusing my attention on that one spot in my mind’s eye with the slowly fading candle flame.
Then, on impulse, I try something completely new. It wasn’t exactly mentioned in any of Cody’s printouts, but it seems right. My eyes still closed, I picture the top of my head as … less than solid, open to the universe, to whatever feelings or images or sensations might flow in and out. When I inhale, I imagine energy is flowing in through the top of my head as well as into my nostrils and lungs; when I exhale, I picture those wavy lines in the diagram and feel almost as though I’m breathing through the crown of my head.
I get a strange, light tingling sensation in my scalp, traveling down to my eyes and ears. I almost imagine that the top of my head … isn’t there, somehow. There’s a slight humming in my ears, like electricity through wires.
And then the humming grows louder, and it becomes a voice, just out of the range of my hearing; but my room is quiet, and I know it’s not the sound of somebody speaking out loud. It feels familiar, though, and there’s a crackle, almost a smell, that’s sharp but not unpleasant, like pine needles. It’s a male voice, and I feel something like frustration? Exasperation? Is it my dad? Who else would be close enough for me to hear? Then it all fades. I open my eyes.
But I’m not unhappy. More like jubilant. Amazed.
Unlike Shiri, lost in the face of her unwanted ability, I feel powerful.
I can’t help the huge grin that spreads across my face. This time, it almost worked.
From Shiri Langford’s journal, June 15th
Our backpacking trip is already almost over. I can’t believe it’s been two weeks. Last night we sat at the edge of the lake, all seven of us just watching the night sky, talking, laughing. I’d been so scared that something would go wrong while I was there, that THAT would happen while I was in the tent with Brendan and I’d have to explain why I went so still, why I was shivering and exhausted afterward.
But every night was like a party. We’d drink, get high, and stay up until the sun came up again and it was time to go, or until we were so tired we just passed out. THAT didn’t happen once. I didn’t even need my medication.
Sometimes I would just walk out into the woods, so different from the hills and shrubs, beaches and deserts back home, and lose myself for a while in the complete silence. I wish my head were silent like that all the time.
eighteen
Cody saunters into my front hall, wearing his usual black coat and smiling slightly. He takes in the old photos of me on the walls, the shiny brass vase on the hall table, a few pairs of shoes lying haphazardly on the floor, in fidgety, quick glances. His eyes finally settle on me, and my stomach jumps.
“How goes it?”
“I’m good,” I say cautiously. “Listen, I think we should do this … somewhere else.” I glance furtively into the kitchen, where Auntie Mina is busy going over paperwork for her new job. Her stuff is everywhere, and the house has seemed too full the past few weeks, like I can’t get any privacy.
“Okay,” Cody says, agreeably. “Whatever works.” After a rushed explanation to my parents, something completely made up about a writing assignment that has to be done outside, I hurry us back toward the front door.
“I was thinking we could go over to the park,” I tell him, grabbing my backpack. He nods. I don’t explain to him that I’m not ready to underhear my family yet. But I do have a plan.
I lead the way out, hyper-conscious of Cody behind me and the unfamiliar tread of his boots on my front steps. We walk most of the four blocks to the park in edgy silence, dodging four of the eight Abronzino kids playing a game of tackle football in their front yard, and then getting chased half a block by somebody’s loose Chihuahua.
I’m shocked Cody’s being so docile. I’d expected at least one crack about my house being smack dab in the Land of the Clones.
“Here we are, home away from home,” I say as we walk onto the damp grass of the small neighborhood park across the street from Spike’s house. There are a couple of bundled-up toddlers with their parents in the playground area, and two girls are kicking a soccer ball around, but nobody’s at the picnic table under the trees. We go over there and I deliberately sit facing away from the Doherty house. I look at Cody, feeling awkward, shy. He perches on the edge of the table, smiling at me.
I can’t help smiling back. “I have to tell you something.”
“Uh-huh.” Cody drums his fingers against the table, sort of like he’s anxious to get started. He eyes me, looking down from his perch and making the butterflies start all over again. I wonder if he notices I’m wearing the necklace he gave me, the little sun charm.
“I tried last night. Some of the stuff you printed out for me. It … ” I swallow. “I think it almost worked.”
“It did?” Cody sits up straighter.
“Yeah. Well—at least, I heard something. A voice. Maybe my dad. I couldn’t make out the words. But I think … I think I’m almost there.” I’m a little awestruck at the thought. I describe what happened, from the visualization exercise to the moment I heard the elusive, not-quite-there voice, the moment I felt the ghosts of emotions passing through me.
Cody gets up and starts to pace back and forth in front of the picnic table. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” I can practically see the gears turning in his brain. “So, I think what we should do is repeat the conditions of however you did it last night. As closely as possible. If you want, I can try to prompt you, you know, verbally.” He takes off his jacket and tosses it carelessly onto the table. “And I think we should try for somebody you know really well.” He looks at me expectantly.