Sam's Theory

by Sarah Mendivel

  I repositioned my tent, placing it closer to the water in case any future ships wanted to visit it. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s sort of been the only reliable thing I’ve ever had.”

  “Tell me more about that.”

  I looked at Theory, nearly forgetting what we had been talking about earlier. “Well, it’s like, no matter what’s happened to me, it’s still a place I can escape to. My imagination is this place that no one else knows about or can touch. It’s safe, and,” I paused for a moment, thinking of all of the interesting worlds I had created in my lifetime. “well, it’s just mine.”

  Without responding, Theory levitated her hand over the landscape I had built. A breeze scooted the paper tent back a couple of inches and the sun outside shifted behind the trees, making the library darker all of a sudden. Focusing on the outlines of the map below Theory’s hand, I noticed the walnut brown edges of land begin to rise into tiny bumps. Not believing my eyes, I leaned in closer.

  Theory slowly tilted her hand back and forth, creating wrinkles of movement in the table. The designs on the map began to gravitate toward Theory’s energy, growing gradually into three dimensional structures. Distinct shapes of mountains, tiny waves of ocean, and thick sands of beach appeared, bit by bit. My simple tent rocked back and forth over the movement of changing paper.

  My heart raced in excitement and wonder. How was this possible? How was this woman bringing regular, inanimate things to life like this? What else was Theory capable of?

  “What else did you see?” she asked quietly, careful not to break her own concentration.

  Still shocked by all of the movement in front of me, I whispered. “Trees, lots of them.”

  With a dip of her finger, she plucked from the paper mountains a sprinkling of tiny pine trees. Rows and rows of triangular olive trees arose and livened the sides of the hills.

  “What else?” she asked, still punctuating the scenery with landscape.

  My heart raced. “Deer! I saw a deer.”

  Suddenly, a small group of paper trees near the tent shuddered and out stumbled an origami deer. It walked stiffly on four chestnut legs, bowing its head to smell a budding grove of wildflowers. I bent over in awe, watching this newly animated world. “And fish! There were fish in the water.”

  With a papyrus splash of water, a school of fish flipped only inches away from my tent’s beach. My jaw dropped. “Oh my gawd, that’s crazy!”

  My laughter cracked through the weight of magic and I reached out to pet the deer. It shook its head and leaned into my finger, seemingly happy to meet me. Still shocked, yet even more intrigued, I leaned back down to peer through the hole of my tent. I saw now, a crackling paper fire burning comfortably in front of it.

  Theory lowered her hand and gave me space to enjoy the playground that we had built. “There you go. It’s yours now.”

  “Unbelievable,” I mumbled, watching over all of the moving pieces. Red miniature columbines and yellow arnica sprouted to life.

  Trying to lean in closer to capture the detail of wizardry, I misjudged my footing and tripped into the table. In an effort to catch myself, my hands fell flat onto the surface of the map and startled the origami deer into a gallop across the campsite. With the swift bolt of its legs, it pushed a lit campfire log into the grass of wildflowers and set the entire meadow ablaze.

  “Oh, no!” I yelled. “Theory, the map’s on fire!”

  “It’s okay, it’s yours now. You control it.”

  “Theory, no! It’s on fire, we need water,” I yelled again, helpless and desperate for her to take control of the map again.

  “This is your world, Sam. You have what you need to save it.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair in a panic. “Theory, I don’t know how! I need water!”

  Theory wrapped her hand around my wrist and placed it firmly over the fire. “Then make it, Sam.”

  The map continued to spit orange and yellow flames into the air, hastily consuming soft groves of carefully planted trees. The burnt ground it left behind was raven black and silent. I held my hand motionless over the map, grieving the beauty that it once held and feeling guilty for being so clumsy.

  “Sam, you’re focusing on what’s been lost and missing what’s left to save,” Theory pushed.

  Worried and overwhelmed, I watched the fire creep closer to my tent. “I don’t know how…”

  “Who was that tent for, Sam?” Theory demanded.

  “Kids lost in the forest,” I managed to yell back.

  “And where will they go now if it’s gone?” she challenged.

  Suddenly, a flash of Nova wafted past me. Where was she? Would she ever find me out here, in the middle of nowhere? I had to keep this place safe in case she came.

  Images of smaller faces of children I had met at rez surfaced. I could hear Dodger, very decisively, yelling at me from behind them. “Just use your imagination, Sam. Hurry!”

  I levitated my hand over the map and closed my eyes. The warmth of the forest fire brushed against my palm and I took a deep breath. I remembered the splash of water the school of fish had made and summoned their power to splash harder now.

  With a single gesture of my hand, a large group of paper fish rippled ferociously under the map’s opaquely colored waves. As if pulled to the surface by invisible strings, the fish leapt from the depths and barreled back into the surface of the ocean. A textured tsunami of water rose as tall as the paper mountains and crashed into the heat of the wildfire.

  Just as fast as the fire had raged into power, it had been snuffed out. Silly strings of smoke lifted from the crispy afterthoughts of its mess. The deer poked its head out of a group of trees, cautiously surveying the land for safety. As it reacquainted itself with its landscape, I exhaled a sigh of relief.

  With the same grace as the dainty paper deer, Theory approached the table and stood quietly beside me. Without moving, I glanced to the side of her to try and measure a reaction. She held still, nonchalantly letting the corner of her mouth splinter into a smile. “Well.”

  Dumbfounded, I reciprocated her sentiment. “Well.”

  She turned her head toward me. “It seems things got a bit…heated.”

  Sensing the subtlety of her humor, I let the relief of the incident melt into a shared moment of laughter with Theory. We both shook off the tension and I rubbed the surprise from my face.

  With the casual swipe of her arm, Theory dissolved the three dimensional props of nature into dust, making the map appear normal again. For the first time since I had arrived here, the library table seemed regular and boring.

  “I didn’t know I could do that,” I said, feeling calm again.

  “There is a lot you’re still learning about yourself right now,” Theory offered, carefully normalizing the atmosphere.

  I looked down at my hands, cautiously pondering what else was waiting to come out. “So, imagination,” I stated, attempting to finish our conversation.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s the trait that gives power to all of our other traits. It’s like, the master trait.”

  “That’s right, Sam,” she answered. “Control your imagination, and you control the world around you.”

  Theory lightly picked up the paper tent and handed it to me. I tried to take it from her hand, but she held onto it firmly and made eye contact with me. “Your imagination, Sam, is your greatest ally. It can get you out of any problem you’re ever in. It is the one thing no one else can ever touch or take away from you. Remember that.”

  And with that, the library fell silent again.

  “If we start viewing people as lessons, then it can make their presence and absence in our lives easier to accept.”

  -Theory

  CHAPTER SIX

  I sat on the floor of the library, petting Sage and Cadence as they purred through their second nap of the day. I looked outside and watched the rain pelting off the trees. I couldn’t believe I had already been here for three weeks. I wondered if Theo
ry was getting sick of me yet, but she just kept asking me if I needed anything and offering to listen to different parts of my story. She had made it, in fact, really comfortable to stick around.

  I looked at the clock almost wishing it would go faster. I had come to love our 4:00 chats, especially the deeply philosophical ones about our purpose in life and the many things Theory believed we were capable of. I liked her view on humans, especially because it seemed so hopeful. Everything Theory said and did was the exact opposite of what I had grown up with so far; and it was completely liberating.

  I wondered what we might talk about today. I rested my face on the floor, studying Sage’s whiskers and admiring how they sprouted from her nose like a firework. I closed my eyes and focused on the rhythm of her purrs. They vibrated into the floor and onto the palm of my hand. I couldn’t believe how relaxed I felt laying on the floor of someone else’s house. It was as if I had grown up here all along.

  “Sam?”

  “Huh,” I grunted, lifting my face off the wool rug in the library. I looked out the window and saw that it had gotten dark outside. Wait, what time was it? Was I still at Theory’s house? Did I really fall asleep watching the cats nap? Oh man, this was embarrassing.

  I rolled over to see Theory standing over me with a cup of tea. “Hey, kiddo. Did you get a good nap in?”

  I sprung up, trying my best to shake the sleep from my face as I oriented myself to my surroundings. “Yeah, I, uh, I guess I fell asleep next to Sage.”

  I looked down and saw that both cats had long since left. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was 4:10. I had been sleeping on the floor by myself for hours. What in the world had gotten into me? I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept that hard, let alone without a nightmare to wake me back up right away.

  Theory smiled sweetly and offered me her tea. “Here, why don’t you work on that while we talk tonight.”

  I took the cup, still rubbing my eyes awake. “Right, yeah, thank you. Sorry about that.”

  “Sorry for nothing. If you were sleeping that hard, it means your body needed it. I’m glad you got some rest.”

  Still embarrassed that she had found me drooling on her floor, I avoided eye contact and sat in my chair quietly, being extra careful not to spill any tea. Theory patiently waited for me to settle in before segueing into a more creative topic. “So, we’ve talked a lot about teachers and the things they have taught you. But you haven’t mentioned two other people that have had just as much presence in your life.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked, hardly paying attention and already halfway through my tea.

  Theory tilted her head, revealing an awkward expression. “Your parents, Sam. We haven’t talked about them at all.”

  I gripped my cup, feeling a sense of fear race through me quicker than I could look up at the person who suddenly no longer felt safe. My body felt cold and stiff, as if the life had been knocked out of it. I wanted to run away, but didn’t feel confident standing up on my own. Instead, I tried to stay present to buy time. “What about them?”

  Theory sat looking me over for a moment. “Mm, well. I can see that they probably aren’t very comfortable people to talk about.”

  I couldn’t figure out whether I was mad, afraid, or going numb. Here I was, finally feeling safe enough to sleep on Theory’s floor because she had been so welcoming, and now she was bringing up the darkest parts about me that I thought I could ignore. Was she just waiting for me to get comfortable before ambushing me with this crap? What the hell did she want to know? What good would it do to talk about this stuff?

  The air seemed to be growing thicker by the minute and I chucked my words at Theory like a knife thrower. “Why would they ever be comfortable to talk about?”

  Her face grew serious and the room felt darker all of a sudden. “I wasn’t expecting this to be easy to discuss, Sam, but I was hoping you might be in a place to start considering it.”

  I wanted to throw my cup across the room. I was furious, but I knew it wasn’t meant for Theory. I couldn’t figure out who I was mad at specifically, just that I was. My anger seeped out of my soul and into the room. “What’s the point of obsessing over Them? What good would it do either one of us to talk about Them at all?”

  Theory sat unfazed by the rage I swore was surfacing enough to turn my face red. “I’m not sure I’m suggesting we ‘obsess’ over them right now. I think I’m just curious about where you came from. Sometimes if I have a bit more information about things that have happened, I can see more easily where we are headed. Hearing more about you helps me understand you better and helps me offer more sage advice. Does that make sense?”

  I stared right through her, trying to reorient my feelings just enough to take in her words. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Okay, well, let’s start simple. What was your father’s name?”

  My stomach twisted and I rubbed my forehead. The word “father” felt threatening and brought up images of blood, pain, and terror. I had decided years ago that I was an orphan, long before I ran away. I swore the universe must have dropped me into the wrong family. Why would it send an innocent kid into a situation that ugly? A kid who was too little and unable to protect themselves. A kid who did her very best to always do the right thing, but still got hit and raped no matter what. What kind of higher power would let the things that happened to me happen to anyone?

  The titles of “father” and “mother,” as far as I was concerned, were something that you had to earn. You didn’t get to be called a “parent” just because you were related to someone by blood. No, if you want wanted to be someone’s mom or dad, then you had to prove it.

  A mixture of shame, fear, and anger sat in my heart like ingredients in a blender. “He isn’t my dad. I don’t know what a dad is and I don’t want to say His name out loud.”

  “I see,” said Theory, her voice slowing down cautiously. “Then, what do you call the people that raised you?”

  I looked up at her, mildly comforted that she was following my lead. “Him and Her.”

  “Okay, Him and Her. Are They who you ran away from?”

  I looked down at the floor and closed my eyes, trying not to cry. “No, the cops took me away from Them and put me into a group home. But a few weeks after I was at the group home, He found me.”

  Theory’s eyes stayed on me. “What do you mean He found you?”

  I could feel my palms sweating and my eyes darted toward the front door, wondering if Theory had remember to lock it. “I don’t know. He’s always been really good at finding us. We tried to leave him a couple times when I was younger, but He always caught up to us and made us pay for it. He found me at the group home somehow and tried to kidnap me while I was walking there from my new school.”

  “How did you get away from Him?”

  I dropped my face into my hands and started to cry. Images of Him shoving me into his car flashed behind my eyes. Blurs of His hands choking, hitting, and undressing me flooded my brain and made me dizzy. I shook my head trying to forget what had happened. When I realized the images were too strong, I opened my eyes and looked at Theory desperately. “I didn’t.”

  I could see Theory’s face melt into sadness. She knew exactly what that meant, but it didn’t make me feel any better. I wish she could read my entire mind, so then I’d never have to talk about anything uncomfortable. I thought back to her asking about what I had learned from all of the people in my life. I bowed my head as my brain furiously wrote out a list.

  At five, I learned that my bedroom was a dangerous place at night if He was home. At seven, I learned that She felt more threatened by my wavering innocence than by the instinct to protect it. At ten, I learned that it was safer to accept Them calling you names than it was to try and believe you were worth something. At thirteen, I learned that you can still lose the only thing that had ever resembled parents, no matter how hard you tried to love them and keep them close. And at fifteen, I was learning that maybe being on yo
ur own was better than jumping around from place to place trying to figure out what “family” actually meant.

  Despite the smattering of sloppy people that took part in raising me, there was a tenacious optimism that flickered from deep within. It told me that goodness resided in the world somewhere, and it was something I was interested in being a part of. I thought I was starting to feel that here, but was suddenly afraid that it might disappear.

  “Okay, that’s okay, Sam. You’re doing a wonderful job. He sounds like He was a very scary person,” she said empathetically.

  “Yes He was,” I said, my voice shaking.

  “Here’s the thing, Sam,” Theory said, abruptly changing the subject. “No one ever teaches us about how to deal with this stuff.”

  I watched her talk, trying to focus on the motion of her hands instead of the sound of His fury that was still knocking around inside of my head. She leaned forward, locking her eyes into mine. “There is no book we can buy or course we all take that teaches us how to deal with really hard or scary things when they happen to us. We don’t take a course in high school that tells us how we should react when we lose someone, or how to fix an argument so you don’t keep losing friends, right? We’re just out there on our own, hoping and assuming that we will randomly pick up these tools from some magical source at some point. I mean, did anyone ever sit you down and say, ‘Hey, Sam, I’m sorry all this horrible stuff happened to you. I think you should just do this and that’?”

  I smiled a bit, letting Theory’s voice ground me. “Hmph, no.”

  “No, never! And, at what point did anyone slow down enough to see the pain you were in and say, ‘Hey, kiddo, what do you need?’”

  I laughed a little at how outrageous the notion of having someone see me sounded. “Ha, never.”

  “Exactly, kiddo. The truth is, people either don’t know how to ask others what they need, or are afraid they might not be able to provide it. It isn’t you, it’s just that no one has learned these things and they have a hard time stepping up. But I tell you what,” Theory said, reaching her hand out to me.