Awakened

by K. G. Duncan

  Kinsey: You’ve been talking to shamans for thousands of years? Help me understand this.

  A.B: Oh yes, not just shamans, but priests, prophets, seers, and many a good king and queen of old. Simple farmers and peasant folk, too—rank and station never matter—if you are open and connected enough to the world around you, then you can find us. You can slip through the fold.

  Kinsey: The fold?

  A.B.: That’s my term. Call it the multiverse? Infinite dimensions? Our conscious reality is like a piece of holographic film… We live in one piece containing all of the others through time and space. One point bursting forth into infinite others. Or infinite points converging into one? I’m actually not sure which one is the truer… Maybe both are correct? (Giggles.) At any rate, you make choices in the infinite possibilities of the multiverse. And life unveils itself. I call it “the fold.” Simple, but fitting.

  Kinsey: I see… but that doesn’t explain why you come to us in the form of a dragon.

  A.B.: The form and shape we take is purely incidental. When Abby first encountered me, she chose the figure of the dragon. It was the form and expression that came from her mind—I’m so glad it wasn’t a unicorn or Tinkerbell. Too girly. (Giggles.) No, she chose the dragon, and it’s been a long time since I have been a dragon. Let’s see, the ancient Babylonians called me “Tiamat,” and that was one of the few times I’ve come to humans in the shape of a dragon. I do so love being a dragon…Usually I’m just a snake, and sometimes even just a vine or a rope or a ladder made of hemp. Dragons and serpents are so much more intriguing! Look to the strands of DNA. In their shape you will find some answers.

  Kinsey: Hang on… How do we get from strands of DNA to Tiamat? You’re talking folklore and mythology, now. I’m very skeptical, A.B..

  A.B.: Yes, and your skepticism is precisely one of your greatest strengths as well as your primary weakness. At least when it comes to phenomena such as myself and the improbability of the way I manifest in your perception. (Giggles.) Okay, let’s try this: One of the great flaws of the scientific, empirical process is the very fact that you believe that you must separate yourself from that which you are studying or observing in order to objectively understand it. But we never fully understand something unless we are a part of it. Your PhD’s and scientists have forgotten this. But you, Joanne, as a medical psychiatrist, know, reluctantly perhaps, that this is true. Even though you pride yourself on whatever code of ethics stipulates that in your practice you are to remain personally or intimately separate from your patients, you still have to wonder about those moments of insight when you have a breakthrough and come to a better understanding of your patient. It wasn’t your objectivity but your inevitable connection to the subject that made your insight or the revelation of truth possible.

  Kinsey: Maybe I will concede your point, Abby, but we aren’t here to talk about me or the nature of my insights. You changed the subject and redirected the focus of our conversation. We were talking about the nature of the dragon inside of you and the dimension beyond time that you call “the Fold.”

  A.B.: Well, we’re going to need more than the remaining 15 minutes of our session today, Joanna. Much more than that! Shall we make it a working lunch? (Giggling.)

  Two Months Earlier: April 18, 2022.

  “Dancine Willoughby needed to have a tumor removed.” The woman who spoke glanced nervously at the young girls, Abby and Olivia, who were sitting in front of the TV watching an episode of Spongebob Squarepants.

  “Yeah, right!” That would be Olivia’s mom talking now. “And that tumor just had to travel across the county line and turned out later to be a seven-pound baby boy!”

  “Oh, you hush, Georgina!” Momma Bea laughed and then turned towards the girls. “Abby?” She called out to them. “Why don’t you and Olivia go outside and play?”

  Abby switched off the TV and turned toward her mom and her two friends. They were sitting at the kitchen table having coffee. Pat, the woman who spoke first, was nervously fiddling with her shirt collar and glancing down at her coffee, which she was slowly stirring. She had one of those tight-lipped smiles that was used to hide secrets. Only some secrets couldn’t be hidden so well. Georgina, Olivia’s mom, was staring right at her and grinning from ear to ear. She looked just like an older version of her friend—the same frizzy hair bordering an impish, round face. Momma Bea was sipping her coffee and peering over the rim of her cup expectantly at Abby.

  “Can we go down to the crick?” Abby replied and stood up, pulling a reluctant Olivia to her feet.

  “Don’t go too far into the bayou,” her momma answered. “Be back before dark. We’re gonna have supper early tonight.”

  “Early supper?” Olivia asked, suddenly perking up. “The best kind!” She turned toward the front door, and now she was the one tugging on Abby. “C’mon, let’s go!”

  The two girls exploded out the screen door and raced down the stoop. It was a glorious day, with blue skies streaking between ragged grey clouds and sunlight dancing through the trees and warm on the grass. It wasn’t too humid—a perfect Spring day to get outdoors and away from the women and their talk.

  “Hold up!” Olivia stopped and crouched down to tie her shoe. She looked up at Abby and smiled.

  Olivia Fist. Abby looked down and grinned back at her. It had been over five years since the tornado incident where Abby had earned her fame. Of all the kids that Abby knew, Olivia was the only person that never seemed to pay that no nevermind. She got all of that out of the way the very first time their paths had crossed.

  She thought back to that day over two years ago when she and Olivia had first met. It was the first day of fourth grade at her new school, just after Momma Bea had moved them to Houma, and Abby was sitting alone at lunch, having quietly endured the taunting catcalls of the other children, with their cruel looks of scorn and their ceaseless, vicious whispering. Olivia had approached Abby and plopped down across from her, and in a direct and frank demeanor without hesitation (which Abby soon learned was a consistent characteristic of Olivia Fist), she said, “You’re that girl who got sucked up into that twister out on Lake Ponchertrain, ain’t ya?”

  Abby, sat quietly and looked back into the freckled, pale face of a nine-year-old girl with wild and frizzy auburn curls shooting out every which way. The girl had a look of such earnestness that it left Abby quite speechless.

  Olivia studied Abby’s face for several moments before continuing, “Well, shoot a biscuit. I think that must be the coolest thing that ever happened this side of Kathmandu.” Then Olivia grinned, showing her missing front tooth. “And listen,” she gestured over at some of the other kids who were nearby and watching, “Any of them turd balls give you a hard time, well, you just let them know that Olivia Fist is your friend, and they gonna have to come through me if they got anything to say about it.” She held up her clenched fist, still grinning. “Yeah, my last name is Fist. I kind of like it, and it gives me license to knock a few heads from time to time.” She stopped suddenly, pulled up her brown lunch bag and set it down next to Abby’s dinged up tin lunch pail. “So, what you got in there, Miss Rubideaux? Are you in the trading business?”

  And from that moment on, Abby had found her best friend. And for the past two years, Olivia had never mentioned the tornado incident again, but she sure could talk about everything and anything that was known to man upon the face of this earth.

  So, on this day, back on the driveway of Abby’s house, Abby waited while her friend tied her shoe. Olivia had that look in her eye, and Abby just knew that she was about to launch into one of her verbal tirades bemoaning some perceived injustice or stupidity that was the plague of mankind, or more specifically, a direct assault to the very refined sensibilities of one Olivia Fist.

  “Why do old people even talk at all?” She growled and then harrumphed back to her feet. The two of them began quickly walking toward the line of cypre
ss trees that was down at the end of the driveway and marked the beginning of the bayou.

  “What do you mean?” Abby asked, knowing that in her friend’s following response she would be lucky if she could get a word in edgewise.

  “Well, what I mean, dear Abby, is why do they think they can talk around us, the children, like we’re not even there, and then suddenly remember that we are in fact there! “Dancine Willoughby’s tumor. “Whatever.” Olivia snorted and barked out a laugh.

  “Well,” Abby began slowly. “I find it kind of colorful and creative. I mean, it’s not every day that a seven-pound tumor can become a living and breathing baby boy.”

  Olivia snorted again and laughed for real. “Well, you got that right,” she snickered and continued. “But I don’t think you’ve thought this one all the way through. There’s much more to it!’

  “Oh, do tell,” Abby replied drily. “I am simply all a’twitter with anticipation.”

  “You sure do talk funny,” Olivia looked both ways as they reached the end of the driveway, then they crossed the road and into the woods. “How can you be some kind of Mensa smart and yet at the same time be such a dummy?” Olivia paused to leer at her, but she was just warming up.

  “What all of that really means can be explained,” Olivia continued rubbing her hands together. She bent over to pick up a fallen tree branch and peeled off a few leaves. “D’you ever stop to think why Dancine Willoughby had to go clear across the county line to see a doctor about birthing some baby?”

  She paused as she extended the stick out in front of her and peered down its edge, admiring its firm line. It was a perfect walking stick. She didn’t really wait for Abby to respond, and she continued, “Well it’s as clear as the nose on your face! Our dear Dancine doesn’t have a husband.”

  Abby let in a dramatic breath and turned to the smug grin on Olivia’s face. “No! You don’t say.”

  Olivia chuckled. “That’s right. Dear Dancine Willoughby was living in sin.” Olivia continued with a gleeful glint in her eye. “But that’s not all.”

  Abby paused to grab Olivia’s stick that was being waved in a slicing and dicing manner in front of them, and they watched a blue jay squawk and hop across a water-logged ditch.

  “There’s much more,” Olivia continued in a hushed tone. “Dancine Willoughby probably has a demon child, now. A child not born of this world.”

  The two girls continued on as the trees thickened around them, shutting out the sounds of the cars on the highway behind them. Soon the shimmer of the bayou appeared in front of them. The day was brightening, and the gray clouds that had been there moments before all seemed to have magically streaked away. The skies were clear and blue above the tops of moss-strewn cypress and tupelo trees—here and there a lone pine or oak tree stood out taller, spreading limbs majestically. The sunlight glittered on the water. They took a trail that paralleled a small waterway and continued on.

  “Well,” Abby replied with a smile. She was used to her friend’s wild flights of fancy. Buried somewhere within the imaginary embellishments was usually a pearl of wisdom—or an outrageous fabrication—and it was always a pleasure to get to the bottom of these things with Olivia.

  Abby went on, “Have you met or even seen this child not born of this world? I must endeavor to admonish you for unsupported speculation! Be careful if you know not of what you speak. Stranger things are known to this earth.”

  “Ha,” Olivia snorted. “That’s why I like you so much, Abby-liscious. You are so delicious!” She suddenly straightened up and spoke in an excellent imitation of her friend: “I must endeavor to add relish to your what…what… what? You know not of what you speak.” Olivia slapped her knee and snorted again. “Bless your heart.”

  Abby peeked over at Olivia and smiled herself. “That’s what they always say. “Bless your heart” or “Bless her heart.” You know? When they talk about someone but can’t say what they really want to. Cuz, it’s like that person is right in front of them, and maybe the person has some kind of deadly disease or is like a cripple or something…”

  “Or a retarded person!” Olivia interrupted enthusiastically.

  “Or just a simple innocent child,” Abby added with a giggle. “Maybe someone who is too dim-witted to understand.”

  “That’s exactly right!” Oliva stabbed her stick into the ground for punctuation. “That is talk for just plain stupid people. “Well, bless your heart…” Makes me just wanna roll over and die!”

  Abby laughed at her friend’s sudden and vehement disdain. She added, “They say it like it’s an expression of compassion or sympathy…”

  Now it was Olivia’s turn to laugh and interrupt. “Yeah, but what it really means is that folks are just too chicken to speak the truth about what’s really on their minds.” She paused, then glanced sideways over at Abby before continuing in a more serious tone. “Abby, you can never let them know that you are paying attention. You should just play dumb. Like we never think about things. That’s what they are counting on. Us not listening or thinking about things. Never let them know that you can be a little meta-spherical, too.”

  “Meta-spherical?” Abby piped in because it was polite to let folks know that you were in fact paying attention.

  “Yeah, meta-spherical,” Olivia turned towards Abby and scrunched up her face in earnestness. “You know, like you was just sayin’, when you’re not supposed to say things directly so all you can do is talk in circles. It’s like you’re avoiding something that you can’t talk about, so you just dance around it and try not to hurt people’s feelings.

  Abby piped in, “So you just talk in circles. Meta-spherical! Huh. I guess that makes perfect sense!”

  “Of course it does!” Olivia was so passionate and full of zeal that she nearly tripped over a tree root that snaked across their path. Abby reached out to hold her friend up and prevent her from falling.

  “Watch out, rambling Sally! It’s not so easy to talk and walk at the same time, bless your heart.”

  “That’s exactly right!” Olivia nearly screamed. “I rest my case!”

  They both laughed and Olivia snorted, and then they both laughed harder.

  Abby cherished her friend Olivia—really her only friend. Abby was happy to have someone like Olivia to whom she could tell all of her secrets. Well, most of her secrets—she hadn’t told anybody, not even Olivia, about her dragon. That was a secret she would keep a while longer.

  Abby glanced over at Olivia striding beside her with a slight bounce in her step. She would occasionally lunge with her stick or whack at the bushes and tree branches they passed. It was a playful action, but there was a feel of aggression in the intensity of her sweeps and jabs. Abby knew it was a rough spell that Olivia was going through with her ma and pa getting a divorce, and she wouldn’t talk about it unless Olivia wanted to. But Abby was there for her in any way that Olivia wanted her to be. She never pried, and she didn’t gossip. When it came to personal issues, she and Olivia always played it straight with each other. And for now, she would let Olivia destroy the surrounding foliage without comment.

  Abby just wished that other folks would treat them the same way. Unfortunately, most people rarely applied the same rules of engagement that they so often touted in public. It wouldn’t have been so bad if folks were more genuine, but one thing the dragon had given Abby was the ability to cut through all the talking and fussing that people made and see right through to their level of intent. She could see through to their hearts, as it were, and most of the time folks were prevaricating, so full of lies that they were even lying to themselves. Most other people weren’t even aware of how convoluted and complicated the pathways of their own minds were.

  Other people. Well, that’s the down-side of growing up in a small town in the country. Even though they appear to be minding their own business, the gossip mill was always churning. Whether it was mo
ms having coffee in the kitchen, old men on the back stoop, or church ladies in their fancy hats at a social. There wasn’t much else happening in and around town. So, people loved to talk about each other.

  Abby’s thoughts were interrupted by the manic chirping of a woodpecker somewhere nearby. It was actually louder than Olivia who was still jabbering beside her.

  It brought another thought to Abby’s mind: When you remove other people from the equation, there are particular advantages to growing up country, particularly if there are woods and bayou nearby.

  And particularly particular if you had dragon senses.

  Abby reached out with her mind to really feel the earth beneath her feet. The ground was thrumming with the pulse and energy of nature. Critters tucked away in their burrows. Water moved underground, speaking the secret language of river, mountain, and stone. Yes, the whole world was alive and talking! You just had to recalibrate your mind and be open to hear it.

  Abby breathed in deeply and smelled the cypress nettles and the wet, boggy scents of the bayou. She focused on her feet and imagined that each step she and Olivia were taking were like little hammers on the strings of a dulcimer, adding to the rhythm and the vibrational song of the earth.

  Olivia, of course, was still yammering on and on beside her, a chatterbox of the first and highest order, oblivious to the language of the earth. “Oblivia” as others sometimes called her. She decided to interrupt her friend, who was currently breaking down the snorts and laughs of her extended family members, as well as their propensities for flatulence, trying to figure out which ones were most like her own.