The Black

by D. J. MacHale

  Looking back, he was right, but I didn't realize that until my new "friends" set me up with the bogus Yankees tickets. Yes, they were the guys who gave the fake tickets to Mikey Russo, knowing full well he would come to me. I'm not even sure why they did it. Maybe it was a game to them. Maybe they didn't like me after all. Or maybe they were just dirtballs. Whatever. They sent me straight to Trouble Town... and I got even by giving them up to the police.

  So much had happened that the idea of going fishing or exploring hidden coves didn't hold the same interest for me as it once had. I wish it did. I guess my hope was that bringing Marsh to the lake would help me recapture some of the old magic. If nothing else I wanted Marsh to know why I had insulted him. It was because I was angry.

  Not at him, at myself.

  I sat alone for an hour before I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself and make the best of the situation. There weren't a lot of options for fun in Thistledown. I could go for a swim. That would eat up a solid ten minutes. I could drive into town and play mini golf. There was a word for that: pathetic. I could see what was playing at the drive-in, but sitting alone at the drive-in goes beyond sorry and straight to weird. It was looking like the best option was to hang out with my parents and play Uno. Yeah. It was that bleak.

  I was headed inside when I heard a distinct thump sound come from farther along the shore. It was so distinct that it actually made me stop, though there was nothing to see but our old boathouse. I figured the thump was our fishing boat banging around inside. It didn't dawn on me that the lake was totally flat. Still, the sound made me think of the old boat, and that sent my mind racing to other possibilities. I realized that I had one very good option for the evening and decided to take it. I ran inside to tell my parents but they weren't around. Just as well. They would probably have tried to talk me out of it. Before they could get back I grabbed my red Davis Gregory High football jacket and ran for the boathouse.

  The structure was nothing more than a double-wide shed that was built half on land, half over the water. I'd like to say we had a super-hot ski boat that could tear up the lake, but what we had instead was the Galileo. Marsh named it after the shuttle craft of the USS Enterprise from Star Trek, though there was nothing futuristic about it. It was your basic wooden fishing boat that was held together by the many coats of paint we'd slapped on over the years. It may have looked like a clunker but it had a sweet 85-horsepower outboard that always got us where we wanted to go.

  I kicked off my Pumas and stuck them behind a cooler on the shelf. People think I'm nuts but I swear I have a better feel for the boat and navigate better with bare feet. After throwing off the stern line and pushing off, I hurried to the bow and reached out before the boat hit the large double doors that led out to the lake. I unhooked the door latch and pushed one door open while pulling the boat through. Dad had me trained to keep the doors closed and locked. He was afraid that if they were left open somebody might be tempted to steal our stuff. I didn't think any scurvy lake pirates would be interested in pilfering rusty tools and a cooler, but I always humored him and locked the place up tight. After two vicious tugs on the manual starter, the engine sputtered to life and I was on my way.

  The sun was already casting a deep orange glow on the calm water. It always got dark early in Thistledown because of the mountains that surrounded the lake. I hated that when I was a kid because it cut down on playtime. As I got older I didn't care much because I played different games that didn't necessarily require sunlight. Part of me wanted to turn the boat north, open it up, and motor over the glassy surface for a couple of hours with nothing to keep me company but the low rumble of the powerful outboard. It was tempting, but I had a better plan in mind. I turned south toward town and the marina at the foot of the lake. Things never seemed to change much in Thistledown. I hoped that meant the same family was still running the marina . . . and that their daughter still worked there.

  Her name was Brittany and she was my summertime girlfriend, though she probably wouldn't appreciate that I called her that. We first met when we were eleven but didn't really hit it off until two years ago. I'm not sure what took me so long to make a move. She was cute and there weren't a whole lot of other girls in Thistledown. Most came and went with their families on vacation, and very few were over age eight. I started hanging around the marina asking for boating advice I didn't want and gas I didn't need. Brittany wasn't a fool. She knew I was interested but she made me work for it. At first she was all business and I thought I was out of luck until the day she asked me to play mini golf . . . the Thistledown equivalent of a big night on the town.

  We ended up having a great summer together. She taught me more about boats than I ever wanted to know and I made her laugh. When summer was over we texted every once in a while but I guess we both got caught up with our normal lives and it didn't last. But the next summer we picked up right where we left off and had an even better time. Neither of us talked about things we had going on at home. Good or bad. We had fun in the moment, which was exactly what I wanted back then . . . and wanted again.

  The sales office of the marina stood on solid wooden piles above water level. As I approached in the Galileo, I saw Brittany's car parked in the lot. Yes! The summer was looking better by the second. I puttered past the big sternwheeler boat called the Nellie Bell that they used for lake tours and rented out for parties. Britt and I used to sneak onto the Nellie Bell after closing and sit up top for hours . . . making out and talking and making out. Like I said, it was a great summer. I tied the Galileo up to the empty gas dock and made my way across the labyrinth of floats until I got to the door of the sales office. With a big smile, I stepped inside.

  Britt was behind the sales desk. She was as cute as ever with her short blond hair and freckles. When she heard me come in, she looked up from her paperwork with a big smile as if to say: "Hi! What can I do for you?" It was a warm, welcoming moment...

  ... that didn't last. The smile dropped from her face so fast, I could swear I heard it hit the floor.

  Uh-oh.

  Brittany was frozen in place, her eyes boring into my head. A long few seconds passed.

  I couldn't take the silence anymore and said, "Is it me or did the temperature just plummet forty degrees?"

  "You're kidding, right?" she said curtly.

  "Well, yeah. It didn't really get colder. Or did it?"

  She shook her head, obviously annoyed, and started clearing off the counter. It was a bad beginning.

  "You look great!" I exclaimed.

  "Don't," she commanded without looking at me.

  "Don't what?"

  "Don't think we're going to pick up again."

  "Oh. Got it. Uh . . . why not?"

  "You can't be serious," she said, exasperated.

  "What's wrong? Do you have a boyfriend back home or something? I'm sorry, I didn't know."

  "You wouldn't know because you didn't call. Or write. Or text. Or Facebook. Or acknowledge in any way shape or form that we spent a lot of time together last summer."

  "Oh. Right. I guess I should have poked you back, huh?"

  "Ugh! Good-bye, Cooper. Have a nice summer."

  She rounded the counter, headed for the door. I cut her off.

  "That's impossible. I can't have a nice summer up here without you."

  "My heart bleeds," she said, dripping sarcasm.

  "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't text because we did that last year and it just made me miss you more. So we both stopped and it got easier. Right? I didn't want to put either of us through that again."

  She looked me square in the eye. She softened. I saw it. I had her.

  "That's not only pathetic," she said. "I'm insulted that you think I'd buy it."

  I didn't have her.

  She went for the door again. I cut her off again.

  "Okay," I said quickly. "You're right. That was lame. I'm sorry. What can I say? Things happen. Besides, you have a boyfriend."

  "I don't have a boyfr
iend!"

  "Really?" I said with a big smile. "So, then, we're cool." She responded by pulling the door open and standing aside, clearing a path for me to leave. Glaring.

  Beaten, I stepped through the doorway onto the dock.

  "Last shot," I said. "Let me make it up to you. It's going to be a beautiful night. Let's go out on the lake, kill the lights, and count the stars. You know how much I like doing that."

  "Better idea," she said. "Find somebody who cares what you like."

  "Ow."

  "You're a selfish guy, Cooper Foley. I don't like selfish guys."

  "You're making a big mistake," I said. "It's going to be a long…"

  She slammed the door in my face.

  "Summer."

  She turned the lights off on the walkway. Ouch. It got so dark so fast, I had to grope my way along the railing or risk falling into the water. I had been totally, unceremoniously rejected and I suppose I deserved it. I decided to make a calculated retreat, then come back the next day and the next and the next until she forgave me. It would be worth it. I liked Britt. I should have texted.

  Night had come to Thistledown Lake. Though my plan was all about hooking up with Britt, I really did like being out on the lake at night. As I motored back toward the house, I saw that I wasn't the only one who had that idea. The lake was full of boats, all with their lights off. I'd never seen so many boats at one time. They all looked empty, but I knew that everyone was lying on their backs, gazing up at the sky. It was one of the great things about being in the middle of nowhere. On a clear, moonless night the sky would come alive with a billion stars. If you were lucky, you might see a shooting star. Or a meteor. Or whatever they were. Marsh had explained how it all worked to me but I hadn't been listening. I'd been too caught up in the spectacular show that was taking place right above our heads.

  People would turn off their running lights to make it as dark as possible. You wouldn't normally do that on the water at night but on Thistledown, where everybody else was doing the same thing, it was totally safe.

  The scene was incredible…and incredibly peaceful. There were more glittering stars in the sky than I remembered ever seeing before, so I decided to make the most of a bad situation and get lost in the heavens. I motored slowly through the floating boats, careful not to disturb anybody or cause a wake that would bounce them around. I had to go pretty far north before I found an empty spot in the center of the lake. It was across from a remote spot where we used to fish, called Emerald Cove. I killed the engine, then the running lights, and let the silence wrap around me as I stretched out on my back with my legs up on the driver's seat. It was a warm night so I took off my jacket and put it under my head as a pillow.

  There's something about being on the lake under a brilliant canopy of stars that makes the stress wash away. I thought about a lot of things that night. I wasn't all that happy with the way things had been going. I'd made some bad choices and was lucky that nothing worse had happened to me other than being arrested for pushing fake tickets. Maybe it was a warning shot. I'd been hanging with the wrong guys and paid the price. But it wasn't too late. As I lay on my back absorbing the immense universe, I understood that there was a whole lot more out there that I could do. I may have messed up, but life was just getting started. It was a good feeling. I liked being in charge of my own destiny.

  The sound of a far-off engine broke the moment.

  I couldn't get annoyed. I'd just done the same thing myself. I hoped that whoever it was would find a spot and kill their engine quickly so I could get back to my private meditation.

  The engine didn't stop. If anything it got louder. It sounded powerful, too. I didn't want it to ruin the night so I grabbed my iPod out of my jacket pocket. If I wasn't going to get total silence, it was better to have music. I picked a classic rock tune that Marsh had turned me on to. It was a song called "(I Know) I'm Losing You" by the Faces. I'd never heard of them, but the song rocked and had a great drum solo. I caught Marsh playing air drums to it once. Geek.

  The song didn't fit the peaceful scene but it drowned out the sound of the engine. I lay back down and laughed, picturing Marsh playing drums with chopsticks. There was no way I'd let our argument stop him from coming up to the lake. To me, Marsh represented a life I wanted back. I was going to hit the reset button and be good friends again.

  The guy in the boat was taking his sweet time finding a spot to settle in. I took a peek up over the side of the Galileo but didn't see him. In fact, I didn't see any boats at all. That was odd. Where did they all go? And so quickly? Maybe the sound I was hearing was actually the combined sound of a bunch of boats calling it a night and taking off. Fine by me. I lay back down and cranked the volume as the drum solo began. The wild pounding filled my head. My universe. I gazed up at a sea of stars. At the future. At infinity.

  I had the volume up so loud that my ears rang. It was too loud. I spun the iPod control to turn it down but the volume didn't change. If anything it got louder. The wild drum solo was coming at me like a freight train. My head throbbed. It felt like the boat itself was rumbling, but that was impossible.

  The last thought I had was that the sound had become so huge that it no longer sounded like drums.

  It was a thought that didn't last long.

  3

  Black.

  There's no better way to describe what I was experiencing. There was no sound. No sensation. No smell. No up or down. There was absolutely nothing but . . . black.

  I wasn't scared. Or confused. Curious, maybe. Even a little excited but I wasn't frightened because whatever it was that was happening felt right. I can't say how long I was in that state. It wasn't like I was looking at my watch. Assuming I had a watch. Or an arm to put a watch on. Or eyes to see it with. I could have been drifting for a second or a century.

  My feet felt the first sensation. Something was pressing against them. The pressure traveled up my legs, making me tense up. It was alien at first, until I realized what was happening. Gravity. I was standing. Feet down. Head up. You know . . . standing. Got it.

  The black gradually turned to gray. I was surrounded by movement with no detail, as if I was standing in a dense, swirling fog. Colors came next. The clouds took on muted shades of purple and blue. Green came next, followed by yellow and finally red. I laughed. At least I think I laughed. I couldn't hear anything. But I was enjoying the show that seemed to exist for me alone. Whatever was happening had purpose. I knew that, though I can't say why. I sensed my own body. It was the first recognizable thing I could see. I was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and my Puma sneakers. When I first looked down at myself, there was no color to my clothes or my skin. It was like looking at a black-and-white picture. As the colorful clouds moved past, they filled in the blue of my jeans, the flesh color of my arms, and the white trim on my red sneakers. The same thing was happening all around me. I began to make out shapes. As each colorful puff swept by, it deposited another color to the environment like an animated paint-by-number picture.

  I wasn't freaked by any of it. It was actually fascinating to see an entire world being created just for me. I recognized what looked like trees and buildings. Something more solid than a cloud moved by. A car. It had to be a car because I heard the horn. Sound had arrived. And far-off voices. Music played somewhere but I couldn't tell what it was. Trees rustled in the soft breeze. I felt the warmth of the sun and smelled something delicious. Something fried.

  "Garden Poultry," I said out loud.

  There's something magical about smells. It's like your nose has a direct line to the memory center of your brain. When I got that unmistakable smell of cooking french fries, I knew exactly where I was. The colorful clouds finished their job and evaporated, leaving me standing in the pocket park next to the Garden Poultry deli in Stony Brook. As reality returned, so did my focus. Up until that moment I had been floating in a peaceful sea of detached consciousness. It was a magical dream…that ended abruptly.

  Along with
my peace of mind.

  How the hell did I get here? The last thing I knew I had been floating on Thistledown Lake listening to music. Why was I suddenly standing on the Ave in my hometown? I had on the same clothes as when I was in the boat, but with sneakers. Hadn't I left those in the boathouse?

  My heart started pounding. A block of time had been totally erased from my memory. Did I have a brain tumor? What time was it? What day was it? The sun was out. Did that mean I'd been on the lake the night before? I looked at my watch. It wasn't there. Had I suddenly snapped out of a coma? Had I been in a coma? What if I had somehow wandered out of the hospital and found my way there, drawn by the sweet smell of Garden Poultry fries?

  I dug in my pocket for my cell phone. It was gone. I felt naked without it. I took a deep breath and sat down on a park bench. Think. Think. My house was a few miles from the Ave. A long walk but no problem. Yes. That was the way to go. I'd head home and find Mom, and she'd tell me exactly what the deal was. Having a plan calmed me down. It was no use speculating on what might have happened. That would only work me up again. Answers weren't far away.

  Once I got my head back on straight, more or less, I began the long walk home. Part of me wanted to grab some fries, but I wasn't hungry. Normally I'd pound down a box of those fries even if I'd just eaten lunch, but there was nothing normal about what I was going through. I stepped out of the park and glanced up and down Stony Brook Avenue.

  I'm not a sentimental guy, but as I stood there looking at the main street of my hometown, I got a warm feeling. I had grown up in Stony Brook. I liked the town, not that I knew much about other towns, but it was a pretty cool place to live. Stony Brook Avenue was the main commercial street but there were no chain stores or fast-food restaurants. The Ave was lined with local shops, many of which had been there since long before I was born. It was a safe, familiar hometown. Fluffy white clouds drifted lazily across a deep blue sky; leafy green trees swayed gently in the warm breeze; people strolled casually along the sidewalks, shopping and generally enjoying the picture-perfect day. A few folks gave me a friendly smile and a nod as they walked past. I felt pretty lucky to be living there.