Union

by John Darryl Winston

  “I don’t need my eyes to see that,” said the woman.

  It had never occurred to Naz the woman was blind even though her focus, or lack of, never changed. He and D exchanged sheepish grins. They rode without talking for a bit until the train slowed. Naz didn’t notice the man sitting next to the lady until the train stopped. He helped the woman up, and the two exited the train.

  Naz and D sat near the door where the blind woman and her escort had been sitting. She immediately grabbed his hand as he stared out the window at nothing in particular. He let out a deep sigh. He had never skipped school before, could never even remember missing a day of school for any reason, other than his five-day suspension for bullying Dill and Denali last year at Lincoln Middle. He had never had a reason to miss school—until now. He smiled.

  “Telekinesis.” She squeezed his hand.

  He looked at her.

  “That’s what you’re talking about … telekinesis, right?”

  “Something like that, but it’s actually called M-cubed for mental molecular manipulation, but telekinesis is good enough.”

  “But it doesn’t exist … right?”

  “You just saw what I did with the quarter.”

  She turned in her seat to face him and grabbed both his hands. “But that was a trick … right?”

  “Noooo …”

  “I don’t get it.” She let go of his hand and faced away from him, pouting.

  “You get it; you just can’t handle it.”

  “Show me again.” She turned to face him again, her eyes wide.

  “What, here, in front of all these people?”

  “Half the people are gone.”

  No one was standing, but most of the seats on the train were still full.

  “You see the hand-straps?” Naz looked straight ahead and then nodded toward the row of hand-straps that hung from the ceiling.

  D looked up. Five of the straps upended and touched the ceiling as if gravity reversed itself. No one noticed until a little boy said:

  “Look, Mommy.”

  Naz smiled. Then, he made the straps twirl and bounce together as if they were dancing in sync. Other passengers pointed and murmured. One lady let out a shrill scream while a man holding a Bible made the shape of the cross in front of his heart.

  “Stop,” whispered D.

  The straps fell back to their original position.

  “Satisfied?” said Naz, still looking straight ahead.

  As the Helix approached its next stop, many of the passengers lined up to get off the train. Naz suspected some got off earlier than their intended stop, mainly due to the dancing hand straps, but he hadn’t paid close attention to any of the passengers in particular. The train stopped, and the murmuring passengers exited in a hurry. The last passenger in line, a man, hesitated.

  “Naz Andersen.” The man stood over them dressed in business attire. The top buttons of his shirt and his tie were loose as if to give himself some breathing-room in the stuffy, crowded train. He switched from his right hand to his left, the briefcase and suit coat draped over it and then extended his right hand to Naz.

  “It’s been a while, young man.”

  Naz reached out and partook in a flimsy handshake.

  “How are things at Union. Too bad about International Academy. Their loss, aye!”

  “Ahem … yes, sir.”

  “How’s Coach Fears, Mr. Tesla, and that pretty Dr. Hornbuckle?”

  “Fine, sir.”

  The train made a short tone, signaling the doors were about to close.

  The man released Naz’s hand and adjusted the brim on his black fedora. He looked back at the hand-straps and then to Naz again. “I see you’re coming along nicely.” He smiled and exited the train.

  The man disappeared down the platform as the train took off again.

  “Hey,” D called.

  “Huh?” Naz answered, surprised.

  D had apparently called him several times. “What’s wrong?” She asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Wasn’t that Principal Pauling, from Lincoln?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He must be skipping, too.” She laughed.

  Naz laughed, but his mind was on Pauling—here we go again.

  They got off at the next stop, putting them only blocks from central downtown, where every weekend after the winter months, weather permitting, there were festivals of every kind. Today there were trucks everywhere, setting up for the next day’s weekend festival kickoff. As Naz and D crossed the street, a patrol car pulled in front of them.

  “I thought you said—”

  “Shhh … let me handle this,” said D.

  “Aren’t you two kids supposed to be in school?” asked one of the police officers.

  “We’re out on an independent study field trip,” said D as she squinted into the patrol car.

  “A what?” The officer fiddled with something on the dashboard, obviously half-interested.

  “An independent study field trip.”

  The man leaned over to his partner and said something Naz couldn’t hear. He had a feeling D’s course of action wasn’t working. He focused on the officers in the car and summoned their thoughts—I’m not looking forward to this weekend, thought one of the officers. Are you serious? This is the easiest beat in town, thought the other officer. Naz was getting nothing from this, so he decided to try something new, something he had been wondering for a while now about the mind. Could he control the thoughts of another?

  The officer turned back to Naz and D.

  Naz waved his hand and said, “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”

  “What?” asked the officer.

  “You don’t need to see her identification.” Naz focused and waved his hands again.

  As if he just caught on, the officer burst into laughter and said to his partner, “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”

  The other officer shook his head then buried it in his palm.

  “They can go about their business,” the officer barely managed to say and then, “Move along,” he finished through his laughter as the squad car sped away.

  What was that?” D asked. “Someone looking for droids?”

  Naz shook his head, incredulous. “It’s from Star Wars.” It had worked, although not how he had expected.

  “If you say so,” said D as they crossed the street. She squinted at all of the activity before them.

  Naz had never seen the festival like this, bustling in a new way, everyone preparing for the next day’s events. They approached a table.

  “You should get your face painted,” D joked.

  “You go first,” said Naz. “You could get your glasses drawn back on. That way you won’t have to worry about losing them or pushing them up on your nose … all the time.” He mimicked how she pushed her glasses up.

  “Haha.”

  “You ever think about getting a tattoo?” Naz gestured toward the many tables of tattoo artists in their path.

  “Nope,”

  “But you’re an artist. It just seems like—”

  “There’s only one thing I hate more than spiders … needles. Darla has one, well she probably has more now, but the one I know about is a yin and yang symbol on her wrist. How ‘bout you?”

  “Maybe … one day. The guys talk about it. Soul’s too squeamish … like you. It goes against Harvis’ common sense code. Don’t ask me to explain that. Ham has two, I think—” Did I just bring up Ham?

  “Ham?”

  Naz waited for D to go into Ham, but she didn’t.

  “Wait!” She pulled him to one of the tables and picked up a magic marker. “May I?” D put out her hand to Naz.

  “What?” asked Naz, clueless.

  “Give me your hand, silly.”

  Naz stuck out his hand, and she wrote something on his palm.

  “What’s this? 34 … 26 … 10.”

  “My locker combination. Your turn.” S
he handed him the marker and her hand.

  “Harvis isn’t going to be too happy about this.” He wrote his locker combination on her palm.

  “Harvis? I wonder about you two. I remember what Juba said.” She looked her hand.

  “Haha! Whatever.”

  “Look.” She put her hand next to his. “Matching tattoos. Sort of.” She laughed. “Come on.”

  She grabbed his other hand and guided him in another direction. A palm reader summoned them and offered one free reading. Naz scoffed.

  “What?” D asked. “You don’t believe they can tell the future?”

  “No, I don’t; I think they’re scam artists.”

  She laughed. “So what do you have to lose?”

  “All right.” He sat down in front of the olive-colored woman. She had dark, thick, flowing hair.

  The palm reader insisted that D move away and that all readings were personal and private. Naz put his hand out to the woman. She grabbed his wrist, turned his hand over, and traced lightly with her fingers the lines on his palm. The sensation tickled, but Naz managed to remain still and attentive. He remembered his skepticism about his own abilities before they were fully revealed to him and tried to keep an open mind.

  “You have suffered much pain and loss, young one,” the woman said with a scratchy voice. “But you can rest easy; fortune has found you this day.” She raised her head to him, showing her discolored teeth in a crooked smile. She returned her attention to his hand, her smile fading. “Ah, but it is short-lived. The love you have found will nourish you.” She looked up to find D out of earshot, her attention elsewhere.

  Naz followed the palm reader’s eyes to D and smiled.

  “But it will come at a steep price,” said the woman.

  “What price?” Naz asked.

  “Someone around you is not what he seems. A great destiny awaits you, but you must be careful who you trust.”

  “Who? Who do I trust?” asked Naz.

  “Your instincts, trust your instincts.”

  “My instincts…”

  “You will lose someone close to you … again.”

  “What do you mean, again. How do you know—”

  “Soon!”

  “Who? Naz asked, a little too excited and concerned and then, “When?”

  The palm reader put out her other hand, at the same time letting go of Naz’s hand—she wants money. Naz had a better idea. Unable to resist, he summoned her thoughts. But the only thing he found was what she had told him. Either she was lying, or she hadn’t received the information she was trying to make him pay for, yet.

  Naz pulled his hand back and gave her the side eye. His phone buzzed on his hip, distracting him. “I gotta go.”

  “Well,” said D as Naz rejoined her.

  “Just like I said, scam. She came up with all this general stuff that pretty much applies to everybody. Talkin’ about, I’ve been through a lot of pain and loss. She can look at us and tell where we’re from. Who hasn’t had a lot of pain and loss in the Exclave? Duh.”

  “What else?”

  “She said something about love.”

  “Did you blush like you’re blushing now?”

  “Another joke.” Naz ignored D’s jibe. “Two kids skipping school together … educated guess.” He pulled his phone out to see who had texted him.

  “For someone who believes in telekinesis, you’re pretty skeptical.”

  “Two different things … the power of the mind has nothing to do with seeing the future.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Check it out.” He showed her a picture Soul had sent him. It was a picture of Harvis, Soul, and Ham holding a small poster that read,

  Happy Birthday Samson and Delilah.

  “Cute,” she said. “I wonder who took the picture.”

  “I know, right, and it’s not even my birthday.”

  “It will be in three months.” She started to walk away.

  “Wait,” he stopped her with his hand. “There’s another one.” He swiped the screen with his finger. “That’s who took the picture.”

  It was another picture, this time of Fears with a big smile, holding another poster that read,

  Skipping = Detention

  D burst into laughter. “You were right; your coach is really cool.”

  “Say that again.”

  “What, that your coach is really cool?”

  “No, that I was right.” He smirked.

  “What … ever. Look.” Workers were constructing a mini rollercoaster. “Do you like to ride?”

  “Only the big ones. Those are for little kids.” He nodded at the construction as they passed by.

  “Are you the hands-up kind or—?”

  He put both hands high over his head. “Is there any other kind?”

  “So you really believe in this telekinesis thing, huh?”

  Naz laughed. “Come on.” He grabbed her hand and led her to a row of six basketball hoops that were at least ten feet in back of a short fence.

  “Now this is a scam,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone make three in a row. They say the rim is smaller than a regular sized rim.”

  “That’s right; it’s a lot smaller, but I can make it anytime I want. You asked me how come I didn’t play basketball for Union. The biggest reason is that it’s not fair, and that’s something even Harvis doesn’t know.”

  They walked up to the fence. A scruffy, unkempt man with thick glasses swept the ground between the rims and the fence.

  “You mind if I take a couple shots,” Naz asked the man.

  “Hep yaself, but dere ain’t no prizes yit. Won’t be comin’ ’til tomorra monin’, jus befoe dis starts. Not dat ya gonna win.” The man laughed. “Nobody eva wins.”

  “See,” said D.

  He continued laughing and handed Naz a basketball. He opened the gate so Naz could retrieve his own shots and then continued sweeping.

  “Now watch this!” Naz got ready to shoot, then faked and dribbled around the area at a frantic pace.

  “Why are you being so silly?” She laughed.

  “All right,” he said, poised to shoot again. He closed his eyes and fired away. The ball went straight into the hoop, not even touching the rim. Naz stood with his shooting hand still in the air over his head and his eyes closed.

  “Did it go in?” He peeked out of one eye to find D running inside the gate to get the ball.

  She handed it back to him. “Do it again.”

  This time Naz didn’t hesitate; he threw the ball toward the hoop, and again the ball went straight through without touching the rim—swish. D retrieved the ball again. The next three times, Naz bounced the ball at the hoop, threw it behind his back, and finally turned away from the rim and threw the ball over his head. The results were always the same. Swish! Swish! Swish! The man continued sweeping, not paying attention to any of it.

  “Come on. I wanna show you something.” The disbelief in D’s eyes changed to excitement.

  “Tol ya,” said the man, sweeping. “No one eva wins.”

  They looked back at the odd man, laughed, and frolicked their way to a half circle of tents with the other half still being constructed. “This is my favorite place in the world,” said D as she looked dreamy-eyed at some of the paintings and exhibits being mounted and assembled.

  “Really. This was my mother’s favorite place, too … only, I don’t know why ’cause I never saw her paint or draw anything. She never bought any of this stuff either … just kind of stood in a daze going from tent to tent, never even looking at the art.”

  “You never talk about your mother. What was she like?”

  “I didn’t know her that well. She was very religious, which probably didn’t go with my dad being a scientist. They split up when I was two or three, and I didn’t see her much again until I was ten when I came to live with her. A year after that, she was …”

  “Did she know about your … powers?”

  “Powers?” He laughe
d.

  “You know what I mean.” She eyed a painting of an exotic landscape with a castle in the distance and a fiery red sunset.

  “She never said anything, but I think she knew. She always said I was special … to everybody, and ‘he’ hated it. But I thought she meant special in the way that everybody’s special. I didn’t know she really meant ‘special.’”

  They walked into another tent with sculptures of all shapes and sizes being unpacked, sorted, and displayed.

  “I didn’t find out about my … ‘powers’ …” Naz made air quotes. “until about a year ago. Everyone thought I was sleepwalking and hearing voices when I was actually moving things with my mind. Dr. Gwen and Meri helped me figure it out.”

  “Do you still sleepwalk, or move things when you’re asleep?”

  “No, I guess that stopped when I learned how to control it when I was awake. Dr. Gwen says she thinks puberty had something to do with it.”

  “Now, what about hearing voices?” asked D as they entered another tent that featured futurist art designs.

  “What voices?” Oops!

  “You said you were sleepwalking and hearing voices?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Uhhh, yeah, you did.”

  “Nothing really, a side effect of the telekinesis probably.”

  “But it’s still so hard to believe.”

  “Why? You must’ve known. You drew that picture of me spinning the basketball … I tried that, by the way as soon as I got home the next day. Thanks for the idea.”

  “You’re welcome. I know, but that was my imagination, some crazy dream, not real. This … just seems so impossible.”

  “You said your sister could do things, too.”

  “Yeah, walk around in the dark. That’s not like telekinesis. Stevie Wonder can do that.” She laughed. “So who all knows … about this gift you have?”

  “Only Harvis, Harvis’ dad—he knows everything—and Dr. Gwen.”

  “What about Soul?”

  Naz shook his head.

  “And don’t forget about Mr. Pauling.”

  “Pauling?”

  “Uh … yeah, that was obvious on the train.”

  She’s right, but how can he know? As he looked out from one of the tents, Naz realized he was facing the Chess Master’s lair; the place where the homeless genius would come to annihilate all challengers, nine against one, but not against just anyone, against the best chess player in the world. He had never lost a game, something once upon a time Naz didn’t believe. But that was then.