Gravity

by Amanda Miga

  The page I drew of my Goddess, a line across her face, her eyes still not complete. I stare at her eyeless face. Without them, it’s a face without a soul. My hands pull at the paper’s edge.

  I can't do it.

  I grab a pencil from the floor and start to erase the deep imbedded line that scars her. She'll be okay. The motion of the erasing makes my breathing even out. Wiping my wet face and sweeping the eraser shavings away, I soothe her, "it'll be okay."

  Taking my glasses off to clean the tear stains, I see the blurry image of her. This allows me to see her differently. It always surprises me the way things look without my glasses. I glance into the full length mirror leaning against the wall. Without my glasses, I see a blurry mess—just the way I feel. Placing them on, I sees myself. Light brown hair flopping over my face—I'm in dire need of a haircut. My olive green eyes look brown from the distracting glasses. I'm not even born to see in this world the way others do. Ironic I'm legally blind. Life looks like a Monet painting; shapeless colors blending together like it's been raining all my life. Lots of people have glasses, but I'm sure I can fix myself. I promise that one day my eyes will match the mind behind them and see a new world. Right now everything is broken.

  “Hey, you feelin' okay?"

  My older brother, Cedric removes his shirt and leaves it on the floor adding to the eyesore that is his side of the room.

  “The laundry basket is just inches away.” I admire my brother’s body and wish I was more toned. I'm nothing more than a bag of skin and bones.

  “Yeah, you're fine. I thought I was walking in on another one of your dramatic fits.”

  My face heats up. So what if I'm sensitive.

  "Well, I guess I just missed it." Cedric points to the hole in the wall. "Dad's gonna freak when he's sees that hole."

  "No he won't. He hasn't step foot in this room since I was eight."

  Cedric digs out another shirt in the clean folded pile our mom placed for us to put away but we never do. The pile eventually shrinks until our mom demands our dirty clothes and I have to collect my brother’s things because he’s never around to do it himself.

  Cedric sees the torn pages littered around me. He picks up a half torn page of the owl I worked on earlier. “This is awesome. Did you show Mom and Dad?”

  “Why would I show them? They’re too busy.”

  “Yeah.” Cedric takes a tack from a playboy poster and pins the two pieces of the owl together. “It’s pretty sweet, Dash,” he smoothes out the wrinkles.

  My cheeks flare up again. It's not often anyone sees my drawings, unless it was stolen from under my mattress or taken out of the garbage. My brother is the only one that's ever sees my work and compliments me.

  Cedric begins to scavenge for something under his bed.

  “Hey, I was wondering if maybe you and I could—"

  “Have you seen my wallet chain?” Cedric says, pulling out more clothes from under his bed.

  “Yeah, it’s on the dresser. Um, I was wondering if we could talk. I kind of need someone—"

  “I was supposed to tell you something.” Cedric eyes squint. “Oh yeah, Mom said dinner’s up if you’re feeling it. If not she’ll bring it up for you.”

  “No, I’ll go downstairs. Where are you going?”

  “Out.” Cedric loads his pockets with a few items from what I like to call the sex draw. “And no you can’t come.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.” I collect my torn pages off the floor.

  “But you were thinking it.”

  That's true. I've hung out once but only because Cedric was too drunk to notice he dragged me into his friend's car. I got to ride around town with his friends while Cedric made out with his slutty girlfriend, Charlotte, in the back seat. I saw her boobs. It was the best night ever. “Is it Charlotte?”

  “Nope. Don’t worry I’ll tell you about it when I get home.” He smirks.

  Cedric always says that, and I'm always asleep when he gets in. Sometimes I wake up to find Cedric not in his bed at all. No one ever seems to notice but me. It must be his way of dealing with a big family—disappear.

  Cedric opens the window and climbs on the sill.

  “Hey Cedric? You didn’t hear anything weird happening at school, did you?”

  “I don’t know. I cut today. See ya!” He disappears and leaves the window open.

  My stomach growls while shutting Cedric’s escape door. I brush my finger over my goddess before putting the drawing pad under my mattress. Too many kids in the house means things that I don't want discovered get discovered. I'm lucky to have the room to myself most of the time because Cedric’s never around. It’s the only sanctuary I have, but even being alone takes its toll.

  I head down stairs and see dinner started without me. I'm adopted along with my six siblings. My parents have two of their own, plus one on the way. I'm the second oldest son out of the three girls and three boys; all adopted. The table is always crowded and noisy at dinner. With everyone talking all at once, no one ever pays any attention to one another. I have nothing to share. Even if I did, no one would listen. My parents have their hands full with their lifelong dream of a big family. An extra chair for Cedric isn’t placed, like they forgot he even exists. I wonder if I didn’t come down for dinner would my mom forget to bring dinner up for me. Cedric is the lost son and I'm the invisible one.

  Staring at my dinner plate, I don't feel so good. My sister is shouting at my younger brother across from me. Dad is laughing at a joke I didn't hear while feeding the baby who is throwing food at another sibling, who then cries that her new skirt is ruined. Mom is super pregnant yelling across the table at someone or everyone.

  My chicken is dry and cold; I've waited too long to come down for dinner. There’s nothing to drink and my corn is half eaten by someone else.

  Imagination takes a lot of focus around a noisy family. But I've learned the art of tuning them out. The corn kernels change from buttercup to canary yellow. The blue budded flower design on the plate blooms. Pollen floats out to season my potatoes. At least it looks real. I swear that sometimes I make things happen. Like school today, the windows imploded and the lights flickered, the lock and my locker moved without me touching them. I did those things. I've done it before.

  I wish it to be quieter, but I can’t will everyone to disappear.

  "Put it away." My sister tells my twelve year-old brother, Brian, as he tucks a book under the table. The wire spirals look familiar. I reach over the table and grab the notebook. Brain tugs it away.

  "Were you in my room again? This isn't yours, Brian."

  "Dad! Look what Dash drew! There are naked girls in it." He waves the book around, opening it to one of my nude sketches.

  "Ew!" My younger sisters say in unison.

  "It was for class." I blurt out.

  "Your face is red, liar," Brian shouts.

  "Shut up, Brian."

  "Dash, we don't say 'Shut Up'!" My mom shouts.

  "Ha! Ha!" One of my sisters sings.

  My baby brother Lucas laughs with them, splashing gravy all over the place.

  "There's nude models in class?" My dad takes the drawing pad and adjusts his glasses.

  "Uh—um.."

  "Busted. You're a perv," Brain says.

  "Shut—" I hiss.

  "Dash! What did I just say? Brian, stop instigating."

  "Daddy like naked girl." My sister Ashley points.

  "Oh, my God! Put that away." My mom shoos the notebook away like it's the most hideous thing she's ever seem. My dad's still eyeing the sketch like he's never seen a naked woman before.

  "Boobs!" Ashley, points to the picture on the reverse side. My dad flips it over.

  "Dad, j-just close it." I beg.

  "The good stuffs on the other side, Dad," Brain smirks.

  I stumble my way to my dad before he turns the page. Ashley tugs at my shirt and Baby Lucas smear gravy on my arm.

  But it's too late.

  "Oh my Lord!" M
y dad shuts the notebook. "What kind of class let's their students watch—"

  "Dad, the notebook. I'll put it away." I stretch out my hand.

  Mom wipes the mess off baby Lucas' face. "George, they don't have classes like that in school. Your son is just at that age."

  "My son! Well, I don't remember being this... imaginative at sixteen."

  "Maybe Dash is just horny as hell," Brian chuckles.

  "Shut up you little asshole." I shout across the table.

  Brian stops laughing. Baby Lucas stops crying. Ashley's mouth forms an 'O'. Everyone is staring at me.

  "You go to your room without finishing your dinner," my dad clears his throat.

  "That notebook goes in the trash," my mom says. I don't bother watching her dump it into the garbage. It doesn't matter how beautiful I think the female body is; how much time and effort I put into those pages; how much imagination it took to draw the acts depicted. Humans have sex not just to have babies. My parents should know that.

  I run upstairs and slam the door imagining it rocking the entire house. If it were an earthquake it would take out the entire block. The door shuts and nothing shakes—nothing but my body. How embarrassing. They think I'm just a horny teenage. They're so wrong about those drawings.

  I lay on my bed and think of my Goddess. Thank goodness the drawings of her aren't in that book. I wish I can make her come to life. She'd come over and come up to my room. I'll show her my telescope; the stars; Saturn is out, and the moon will be full and bright, lighting my bedroom enough to make each other out. We'll kiss. Oh God, what would that feel like? A real kiss.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dash

  She's sitting on Cedric's bed. Her face is veiled by shear fabric, only her pouty red lips are noticeable. Her dress is so long, it covers the entire floor of the bedroom. I can't help stepping on it. She's waiting patiently for me. I'm supposed to be prepared. I go to Cedric's dresser and pull the sex-draw out. There's nothing in it, but candy wrappers. I glance back at my Goddess waiting for me. I can't do it without protection. I close the draw, thinking maybe I really don't need one. I love her so it shouldn't matter. I kneel to the floor and I gather enough of her dress to slip my hands under to feel for her feet. She smiles when I slide my hands up from her ankles. Shoving aside the dress material I slide my trembling hands up her leg. I've never touched a girl before. She's soft. I'm getting hard. I reveal her shapely legs and lacey underwear.

  "Hurry," she says. "I have to go soon."

  My hands reach for her panties, but it's not any material I've ever felt before. It's cold and hard like metal but it looks like cotton. I try pulling them off, but it seems glued to her.

  "You need a special key," she says.

  A lock appears below her navel. Right. A key. "I can get one from town. I'll be right back."

  "Hurry," she says. "I don't know how long I can wait."

  I climb out the window like Cedric does and run to town. It's dark and I know I can't take too long. I have to take her home before her father gets angry. I check the hardware shop, but they're closed. All the shops are closed. I glance at my watch. I'm running out of time. I shake the door handle at the locksmith. I can't believe I'm going to miss my first time to make love with my Goddess. I peek in the window—the key I need is hanging on the wall. I ball my fists. If I breaks in and leaves money on the counter it would be okay, right?

  I look at my watch—it's too late. She's probably left by now. A light turns on behind me.

  An antiquities shop appears with a large painted We're open sign in the window. They might have the key. I can get a key for next time.

  I enter the shop and my vision blurs. I remove my glasses. Somehow it’s the opposite when I have them on; I can see without them. I fold them into my pocket and take a look at my dream environment. Suddenly looking for a key seems to be of no importance. Figuring out the strange environment feels like a priority. A lamp flickers with every step on the creaky floor. The ticking of wall clocks nearly cover the wall if it weren't for the landscape paintings dominating the other half. Cluttered table tops on either side of me make a narrow aisle. I like antique shops. They hold objects that were once precious to someone. Generations of history held in such a small space. I wonder about how far some of these objects came to sit on these shelves. How many hands they pass through to get here?

  I pass a large mirror and for a split second I thought I saw someone else staring back at me, but looking again it’s my own reflection without my glasses. I can see myself clearly. My eyes are the same color as before, but there's something there like they're deeper than they seem. I touch my face to make sure the perfected version of myself is actually me. Wish I was like this in real life. I move a few hairs from my face. Even in a dream I need a haircut.

  I continue down the aisle were a boy around my age looks at a broken hand mirror. Seven years bad luck, but maybe the seven years ended with the old object. I notice the reflection of the boy’s face in the mirror. Abstract from the cracks, the boy's green eyes are very attractive.

  A man I hadn't noticed before appears behind the counter. He looks up and smiles at me. The man's eyes are out of this world; changing colors like a pinwheel. I approach the counter, watching the transaction between the beautiful people. They look like mirror images of each other only one older than the other. The texture of their black hair reminds me of feathers. An image of a crow comes to mind.

  The boy smiles and decides he'll take the mirror. The man gives him a photo. The boy thanks the man and brushes pass me. Our eyes meet briefly. A strange sensation washes over me. A force pulls me to follow, I almost lose my balance.

  The black haired boy turns around and thankfully waves at the man. The attraction is instant. That face something I must sketch. The boy leaves and I'm left with a longing that lasts only for a moment. I want to follow him, but the man behind the counter speaks.

  "Don't worry, Dash you'll get to meet him soon." His voice is soothing, yet there's a depth to the sound that makes my chest thump.

  The haze from the boy dissipates. I take in the details of the man. He looks young, but for some reason I can’t explain, I know he’s much older than he looks. I focus on the man's dilating pupils. He knows things. The strange eyes hold knowledge unknown to me.

  I want to know these things.

  The rest of the man's face is beautiful—if a man can be beautiful, this man certainly is. There’s an aura about him. He's a figure of authority of some kind. He’s to be feared for his power, yet there's a gentleness and kindness about him. Grandeur superseded this man's body.

  "You do that well."

  There is something in the shopkeeper's voice that calls to me. Its pleasing sound travels to an embarrassing area of my body. Only my Goddess has ever affected him that way.

  "I call it scanning."

  That makes sense to me because my eyes take everything detail in with precision and its copied to memory like taking a picture, only its more than what an average person remembers. I can also draw from a person a conclusion; hints and clues about a person just by looking close enough at the details within the details. It’s similar when I sketch too. I can see things three dimensionally without having to see the other parts. I'm able to invent the rest to perfection.

  "All of your senses are hyper-sensitive. You observe and absorb more than others. You see the world differently. You can use more cognitive training, though. With that, you'll be able take the information you receive and make them absolute. Eventually you'll manifest what you imagine easily and precisely. You're very special Dash."

  I know that I'm different, but not special. I'm always in my own world and cause things to happen when I get emotional. I never imagined I'd get better at it.

  "I'm Red." The man has a handsome smile. "You've been obsessing about a drawing of yours recently—your Goddess."

  My face burns up. How does he know about that?

  "How would you like to meet her in real life?" />
  The drawing in my thoughts suddenly appears with eyes. I've never drawn her with eyes. I could never get them right.

  "I'm not done," Red smiles. My imagination explodes when the memory of my drawing turns into a real person. Her eyes are so captivating. Lips so kissable it makes my mouth water. Her soft chestnut hair bounces when she moves. She smiles and it's gentle; a kind face that sends my heart racing. She disappears from my thoughts like wind blowing delicate petals away.

  "She's real, Dash. I need you to trust her when she comes for you. She needs your help."

  I nod. I'll meet her. I'm excited but I have to contain it or I may break an object in the shop. I place his hands in my pockets. It's a little hard to breath. My body is so hot.

  "Tell me how do you feel?" Red says.

  I shrug.

  "Don't be afraid to express yourself outwardly. You'll be very good at it, I promise."

  I used to keeping to myself. I'm not sure what to say to this magnificent man.

  "I have some things for you. Check your pocket." A hard circular object is suddenly at my fingertips. Smooth on one side and etching on the other. I pull out a pocket watch. "Objects tell stories, Dash. The very essence of them will help you collect the information you need."

  "What?" I open the ticking watch.

  The lights flicker and Red closes his eyes. "One more thing."

  I suddenly have a headache. A dizzy spell forces me to shut my eyes. My hand clamps the watch. Something feels like it's pushing through my head. The pressure is so sudden. A second wave of repeated pressure crashes inside of my brain. A force makes its way through, filling my head like when I haves a panic attack. The pressure subsides when my skull reaches its limit. I open my eyes. I oddly feel lighter for having gained something.

  "What was that?"

  “I won’t be contacting anyone for a while. The last of my ability is yours to use.” Red’s eyelids look heavy. “You’ll find your senses sharper.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do, Dash. I've given you what little I have left. Make use of your power. The other things are in my journals. Violet will show you."