She didn’t look away. She didn’t move, not believing what she saw. She’d dreamed this dream a thousand times, and if she moved he would disappear. He always disappeared. She’s barely breathing, afraid she might wake up if she did. She just wanted to sit there and look at him.
“Annie?” Her friends were staring at her. “Are you all right?”
He was still there.
So she stood. Each step was slow and steady. She took one step at a time, her hand sliding down the metal railing. She stood at the bottom step. The man was near the curb. Her heart pounded. She wasn’t breathing as she walked closer. Still she did not wake. Still, he was there.
Her throat tightened. Lips quivered.
She touched his face with one hand. Then the other. She was looking at the impossible, but there he was. He was real. He wasn’t a dream.
“It’s me, Chute,” Scott said.
She didn’t answer. She was a rational person, an educated woman that understood the mind and the tricks it could play. But there I was, standing in the flesh. It was my face. My eyes. Brown hair.
She slid her hand to his chest, felt his heart beating. Somehow, she knew that she hadn’t gone crazy. She didn’t know how, but she knew that it was me. She pressed her face against his chest. He hugged her while she wept, tears soaking his shirt while tourists tried not to look. Her friends were speechless.
Scott was thirty years old when my memories unlocked. He was fishing when the first one opened, a memory of going to a carnival with parents that didn’t look like his. He ignored it, figured it was a dream. But then another came the next day. More the next. He remembered people he never met. Then, walking around the town square, he saw kids skateboarding. He went up to them and didn’t ask, just took one of their boards and pulled a flawless heel flip. He had never skated in his life.
The memories burst forth, after that. He had two lives inside of him and figured he’d gone insane. He sought therapy and medication, talked with psychiatric professionals and clergymen. Even went to a Buddhist temple. No one would explain his condition, tried to convince him it was delusions and no one named Socket Greeny ever came to visit. But he didn’t go nuts. He remembered when he merged with me and while it still seemed crazy, he made peace with it. It was years before he began to accept the memories as his own, as if he was two people that lived simultaneous lives, even though they didn’t make sense. He, like Chute, found some measure of peace. But something was missing, like there was someone out there that needed him. And that’s when he decided to find Streeter.
Streeter walked him through the truth. It didn’t take much convincing because Scott remembered growing up with Streeter. He remembered that, somehow, Streeter was his best friend. Streeter helped him accept who he was. Scott Teck is Socket. Socket is Scott Teck.
Streeter planned on introducing him to Chute, but Scott couldn’t wait. Once things made sense, he went to the market and found her. And when he saw her, he knew that he’d found what was missing.
They married. Had two children and two dogs and a horse. Their marriage wasn’t perfect, but it was genuine. They brought peace to each other, their lives finally complete. And every year they took a trip around the world with Streeter to a remote manmade canyon buried in the mountains where barren trees looked like a graveyard. They journeyed through a weed-choked approach to an enormous stump where the grimmet tree once stood to pay homage to a good friend. To a brother. And a love. Chute would place a rose on the stump and would do so every year until they were too old to make the journey.
The vision, fulfilled.
I return to my body. Chute’s standing in front of me, leans her forehead against my chin.
“I told you I wouldn’t leave,” I whisper.
Sadness intermingles with love. Tears run. She died long ago, but she’s there with me. I close my eyes and sink into the sensation, wishing it could be real. Grateful to at least have this.
And while my eyes are closed and we’re rocking each other in an embrace, I hear the ocean. It sounds like waves are breaking just beyond the grimmet tree. I slowly walk up the slab, listening to it get louder. As I approach the ledge, my mother appears next to my father. And then Spindle. Pon is there and the Commander, too. They greet me with handshakes, hugs and more tears. But as I look past the tree, it’s not the Preserve I see. Everything is replaced by an ocean of people. It’s like the universe came to listen to a concert, pressed together and extending out to the horizon. And when they see me, they roar. Swinging their arms, all different sizes and colors, all cheering.
“Who are they?” I ask.
“That’s the universe,” Streeter says. “Chute and I may be digital reproductions, but those are real people out there.”
I look at my entourage. Mother and Father smile. The Commander nods. Pon looks on approvingly and Spindle’s faceplate splashes with color. The tree squabbles and hundreds of grimmets look down with golden, glowing eyes. Rudder drops onto my shoulder, wraps his tail around my neck, purring against my cheek. I can feel Pivot is somewhere. I can’t see him, but his presence is unmistakable. It feels like home.
“You’re a legend,” Streeter says. “They’ve been telling your story for thousands of years. They just want to say thank you.”
I’m vibrating with the essence of millions of souls, like I can feel each of their thoughts, their emotions, and their presence. It streams through me like water. I thought I had no soul, that I was a duplicate. But maybe Streeter’s right; maybe I became something else. Maybe not human, but something real. I understand the pain of suffering and the rise of happiness, too. I know the human experience.
The crowd cheers for me like they’re the lucky ones to see a legend. The sound is deafening and the ground quakes. Chute hooks her finger around mine. Her pulse beats into my palm.
I want to tell them they are wrong. They’re not the lucky ones.
I am.
About the author
Tony Bertauski lives in Charleston, SC with his charming wife, Heather, and two great kids, Ben and Maddi. He’s a teacher at Trident Technical College and a columnist for the Post and Courier. He’s published textbooks, novels and short stories. You can always find out more at bertauski.com.
Table of Contents
PART I
About the author
Socket 3 - The Legend of Socket Greeny Page 21
