Day 107 - Secret Words

 Secret Words

 Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

My father used to whisper little secrets; just for me. It made me feel special, like I was his favorite. He had chosen to share with me and only me.

I’ll never forget the look in his eyes when I asked him why he was always telling me such private and intimate things. He had no idea what I was talking about, even after I explained further. He grew scared. I wondered if I were insane. But when I heard more secrets from him, I realized he had never been telling me anything, rather I had been picking his thoughts.

It made my remaining teenager years challenging. We rarely were in the same room and he found excuses to work longer and longer hours. We never spoke of it again, but I suppose it could have been worse. He could have killed me as I heard him think about more than once. He never laid a hand on me, which looking back I guess I should be more respectful of. I have no idea how I would handle such constant invasion. I can only imagine the torture I put him through. I’ll never know if he told anyone else about it. It’s far too late for such questions.

Things got better after I moved out. I couldn’t hear him nearly much. The older we both got, the more distance between us, additional time apart, the voices grew quieter. He was still uneasy when he’d see me. I hate that for him. I hate that he had to view me so differently, that our relationship was ruined. He never got to know me, and I knew far more than I should have about him. It wasn’t fair.

I often wonder why him. Perhaps I was the world’s worst actual psychic – maybe the only real psychic on the planet, but with a range limited to one. The most impressive power reduced to the worst party trick. If I could have been better, if I had control, I don’t know what I would have done. But at least I wouldn’t have hurt him.

I get gut feelings about people sometimes. I’m a pretty good judge of character. I wonder if it’s the same thing. I wonder if I was a little stronger, a little more focused if I could do the same with them than I did with him. But I don’t want that. I don’t need those secrets. I don’t want the voices. I couldn’t stand the look of fear in other people’s eyes.

I keep to myself. I don’t talk much. It seems better that way. I hate what I might do to others, but truthfully, I’m more afraid of what could be done to me if I met the wrong person who didn’t have the same restraint.

I mediate now and try to clear my thoughts. If there is someone else out there, I don’t want them hearing me and trying to find me. One of us is enough. And God forbid they be better at it. I can’t imagine the nightmare of someone knowing me but me being unable to discern a thing. It was hell for my father. I imagine it might be maddening for me as well. And madness doesn’t end well. Sadly, he knew that all too well.

Day 106 - My Song for You

 My Song for You

 Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

Gary ran as fast as he could.

Helena sang her strongest, most passionate note.

Irene began to cry on stage, in front of a full audience.

 

 

Irene woke in her hotel room. She couldn’t remember finishing the concert. Her mouth was pasty and dry and throat was tender and sore. She wondered if she were sick, perhaps with some sort of lymph node problem. There were no notes. No one waiting in her room. No medical personal. Nothing to indicate that anything was wrong. Why, then, did she fear the worst?

Suddenly her memory was full of nightmares. Old friends, dead. Her mother walking out the door. Her home turned to sand. She wasn’t one for fears or anxiety. Having nightmares, remembering them, was a strange and new occurrence. Her heartbeat too strong, too quickly. This was new too, bringing her sleep into her new day. The worst dreams were the ones that seemed so real, you had to question reality.

Irene walked the room, looking for a note, a sign anything. Then there came a knock on the door. She was scared, but couldn’t tell why.

To her surprise, a familiar face was at the door – a man she was sure she knew, but couldn’t quite place.

He hugged her and they spoke quickly and tried to say too much. She couldn’t understand it all, but mostly she didn’t know why he seemed to know her and she had no idea who he was.

He said his name was Gary and they were old friends. He said he had learned of her fame and traveled cross country to find her. It was imperative as he had some foreboding sense that she was in danger.

It seemed crazy, but he was so serious. Of that Irene could be sure. Everything else, not so much. She could see the sadness in her eyes when she said she didn’t remember him. She wondered what else she couldn’t remember and why.

 

 

Elsewhere, Helena slumped down into her bed, exhausted, drained. She felt she could sleep for a week. She hummed a little tune to try and calm her spirits and help herself heal. She had won, for now. She was sure she had. But she also knew that she hadn’t finished the battle or closed off the dangers that still lay ahead. She knew that for as powerful as she was, Irene was naturally more so and it would take every ounce of Helena’s ability to put and end to things.

But she was tired. She almost passed out on the way here. She could feel her legs grow weak and nearly buckle out from underneath her. She fought to stay awake long enough to get somewhere remotely safe. Anyone with any formal training might still be a threat. Anyone who knew the secrets would have figured out they were being attacked and would have found a way to tack Helena down. But she was sure that Irene didn’t have any of those skills yet. Helena had time to rest and regroup. The others would come. They could plan together. There was still time. There had to be.

 

 

Irene stared at Gary. He had such kind eyes. She felt comfortable with him, at ease. She stared at him and could feel her headache going away and her mind fog clearing. Something was in the air, and she wasn’t quite sure what, but it made her want to sing. Which song, she didn’t know, but there was that nervous buzz in her mind that made her think she was going to figure out something new and that it would be glorious.

Day 105 - Sing a Song for Me

 Sing a Song for Me

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

Gary sat trapped in his hotel room. He didn’t want to leave. He couldn’t leave. Which thought came first, he did not know. Chicken or the egg? There was a ringing in his ears, it would fade in and out, growing louder at staggered intervals. It made it difficult to concentrate. He wanted to remember something, something he had forgotten, but it was so hard to focus, he couldn’t recall what he had forgotten to remember. He thought he heard a new tone, but the room had no doorbell. Perhaps he was going crazy. The low hum returned and Gary began to sweat and soon he was warm and cozy and falling asleep. His eyes clouded over and he was gone.

Helena hummed a little tune to herself while making herself a crochet pattern. Not her finest skill, but she wanted something to wear to provide extra protection. The more she watched Irene, the more Helena realized how powerful she was. Ear muffs to cancel some sound seemed like a good idea, but she really wanted something to protect her throat. If she were due for a battle, she wanted her weapon safe and secure. She had contacted a coven north of Los Angeles, but traffic was terrible this time of night and there was no telling if they would make it in time for the concert. Helena wanted to confront Irene as soon as possible, before Irene fully realized the powers she possessed, but also realized going alone could be suicidal. Perhaps she would simply observe this evening.

Irene entered the stage in darkness and began singing without accompaniment. Just her and her microphone. A show of strength, something electric to get the crowd excited. It was the first song of three shows all held at the Greek Theater. She wanted the crowd wild, something for the blogs and twitterverse to talk about in the days to come. She was ready for the next step. She knew she was. She was going to be a star.

The lights came up on cue. The band erupted. Irene sang the loudest hardest tune she could belt out. It was electric. Cheers and screams and people singing along. One woman in the crowd seemed to tremble a bit. If anyone had noticed they might have thought she was scared.

Gary woke up. He was awake. Awake for the first time in, well, he couldn’t actually remember. He had gotten to Los Angeles, intending to find his old friend, Irene. But that felt like it had been days ago. What had he been doing?

He grabbed his phone and called her. Voice mail again. What was she doing? Where was she? And what day was it?

Why can’t I remember, he wondered.

Gary grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He paused, momentarily, as if he was afraid to touch the door knob, almost as if he were expecting some immovable force to prevent his exit. The thought quickly passed and he headed outside. No time to waste, he had to find her.

Day 104 - Simple Song of

 Simple Song of

 Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

“Irene, I need help. Pick up the phone, Irene. Irene! Pick up the phone!”

Gary left a message. Irene was not home.

Years ago, Irene would sing little songs and Gary would feel better. Gary thought she had a magic voice. Irene would wink and say he didn’t know the half of it. Gary thought she was cute, and considered her his best friend.

That was years ago. Life pulled them in different directions and time was the great divider.

A friend of a friend sent Gary a video and that was how he discovered Irene was singing her songs, but now to much larger audiences. Irene was a storyteller and her songs touched the heart and pierced the soul. She sang slow and she sang fast, soft and loud. Each song was a new chapter, a new style, a new message. He never knew she had such talent or such desire to pursue such things.

Some people have dreams. Some people chase them. It seemed as if Irene was making them true. Gary thought to reach out, but something always stopped him. He had a perfect memory of who she was and how she fit into his life and he didn’t know who this new woman was, but he didn’t want to spoil the past.

Helena mumbled little verses under her breath and hummed little tunes as she walked. Her mother had taught her to sing, but she didn’t want to be loud and she didn’t want to be noticed. She had goals that were best left secret until fruition. She was happy to influence the world around her, without great effect to the rest of the world. But then one day she learned of Irene.

Helena was impressed, but baffled as to why she would put on such an ostentatious display. It was one thing to learn to sing, it was another to do it so blatantly in front of the whole world. Perhaps it was arrogance, thought Helena. Or naiveté. Irene was rewriting lives, building emotions, creating dreams in others, and she was doing it where anyone could notice. Helena didn’t stop to consider that Irene might not know what she was doing. That was an inconceivable thought. Anyone with such skill, such power must be aware of who and what they are.

Helena decided that in order to protect everyone else, Irene had to be stopped before any outsiders realized what she was doing. Helena had never killed, but if Irene couldn’t be reasoned with, she might have to learn how. There was a song that was rumored to exist, and perhaps it was time Helena start practicing.

Gary didn’t have any special abilities, wasn’t talented musically and had never had any creative energy. But he did love the skills of others. He loved lending his support and helping the dreams of others come true. Over the years Gary found himself surrounded by a series of talented people. He was always meeting painters and writers and singers. Most of his friends had passionate hobbies, building or creating crafts of some sort.

Gary didn’t know why he attracted so many talented people when he wasn’t pursuing anything of this own. They would tell him what a great friend he was, a rock, an anchor, a foundation. He didn’t mind keeping them grounded in the day-to-day if it meant they got to do something incredible in their spare time. Many of them said it was his help that inspired them to chase their dreams, to achieve like they had never achieved before.

Gary thought more and more of Irene. She was the most successful person he had ever known. It broke his heart a little that he couldn’t share it with her, if only just a little. He wanted to be happy for her, and he wanted to tell her how much her music meant to him. She probably heard that a lot, but he meant it. He felt it and it was real.

Helena was on a bus to Los Angeles when she bumped into Gary. She could tell instantly that he was an amplifier of some sort. She took the empty seat next to him and engaged in casual conversation but could quickly tell that this man had no idea of the special abilities he possessed. During their three days together, she also learned that Gary was a childhood friend of a singer. How interesting, thought Helena.

As they reached the outskirts of Los Angeles, Helena hummed a little tune and Gary fell asleep. She didn’t need him interfering with her plans and couldn’t risk his innate ability accidentally strengthening Irene if they were all together.

Gary woke up to the bus driver nudging him. He was the last one aboard and it was time to go. He felt strange, almost sick. He wondered what happened to the woman he was talking to for so long. They seemed to be getting on so well. He thought that perhaps there was a bit of a spark there. Apparently, he was wrong.

Gary got off the bus and wondered how he would find Irene and what he would say when he did. He wanted to say congratulations. He wanted to say he missed her. He was worried she wouldn’t remember him. But he was getting ahead of himself. First, he had to find her. And that would require a bit of effort and luck in and of itself.

Day 103 - Old Year's Resolution

 Old Year’s Resolution

 Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

Jason would write out his New Year’s Resolutions and then stick the paper in an envelope and tear the envelope up and toss in in the trash. It wasn’t that he hated the game, or doubted he would ever finish. Perhaps there was a bit of superstition that by ridding himself of the pressure, he might actually make it possible to complete.

A dozen years ago he and his friend Michael were driving cross country and they picked up a hitchhiker. Ohio from Ohio was her name. It sounded made up, but she swore her name was Ohio. She was hitching cross country, which could be dangerous, but she was brave and had taken self-defense classes and thought she could handle any trouble that came her way. Plus, she had a hidden knife if she needed it. Jason and Michael were pretty tame nerds, not that she knew that when she got in the car.

Ohio taught them to make Old Year’s Resolutions which was sort of a combination of patting yourself on the back for anything you did last year while also being a chance to establish any start or end date for said resolution, thus guaranteeing that you could ignore any actual failings by simply moving the parameters.

Kind of a cheat. Kind of a good way to let yourself off the hook and be kind to one’s self. A dozen years later Jason wasn’t enacting the lessons Ohio had taught him, but he was developing his own methods of incremental unaccountable betterment.

Jason could still remember watching Ohio on a dance floor. He wondered if he could fall in love with a dance? A move or gesture? He’d seen other women dance and it wasn’t like that. He wasn’t in love with Ohio, but with some correct set of motions. She was dominant. Precise. She was captivating and he was infatuated.

A dozen years later Michael still believed something happened between the two of them. No matter how many times Jason protested. A dozen years later, Jason was still writing himself the same note – find Ohio.

Day 102 - Too Late Now

 Too Late Now 

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

Diana leaned her head against Jeremy’s chest and closed her eyes. Jeremy tried to press his body back and lean closer to her. He wasn’t in a good position to put his arm around her, but he wanted to try and make a pocket for her to lean against. Falling asleep sitting on a bar stool was not a good idea, but Jeremy was pretty sure he could support her weight from his current position. He told her to make sure she stayed against him and didn’t try to move. She nodded and mumbled something, but was nearly out of it already. Jeremy looked around the room trying to find Mack, her boyfriend. He was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps outside having a smoke. Diana was pressed against Jeremy and he would have to move her to access his cellphone. He sighed and resigned himself to sitting still for a while. Jeremy signaled the barman for another beer.

There was a dozen, maybe twenty, people there. Not a bad turnout, thought Jeremy. He didn’t know what a good turnout would be. Short notice. Week night. Not too many people could be found for a wake in such short time. Kristen would have been satisfied, he thought. Not that he’d ever talked to her about her funeral desires or afterlife plans. But he thought he knew her well enough to know she’d care about close friends and wouldn’t worry if acquaintances and long-distance relationships couldn’t make it. But maybe that was just something he told himself to try and make himself feel better.

They handed out programs at the funeral home and they misspelled her last name. Tskalotos instead of Tsakalotos. Kristen probably would have laughed. She had gotten it all her life and probably seen her name butchered a million different ways. Still, it sucked. You pay for a job, the family is mourning, you expect it to be done right. Fucking betrayal. Fucking incompetent and disrespectful. Jeremy pocketed additional copies despite it all. One last thing to remember her by.

Kirsten probably would have laughed at the fact that they were all sitting in a bar for her. She certainly had kicked back enough alcohol in her day. Too much. Too much of a lot of things. She tortured her body for reasons no one was quite sure of. Young and dumb turned into middle aged and dumb. But none of that meant much once she caught cancer. You worry about a person driving drunk, you worry about their liver, or them turning their mind into mush, but you don’t think about their colon. Why would you?

What an awful end it is for so many lovely people.

Diana shifted and Jeremy almost let her slide down his chest, but caught her in time. He propped her head back up and looked around the bar again. Still no Mack.

Rick had a painting at his house, and one night in passing told Jeremy that Kristen painted it. Jeremy was shocked. He had no idea. People keep so many secrets from those around them. He wondered now how many paintings there were in her house, stored in the garage, up in an attic. Paintings no one had ever seen. And never would now. He wondered how many of the other people here knew that she painted. The obits would say nice things, the people here would give nice speeches, but each and every one of them would really remember her by her troubles and probably none of them would know what she could have become if not for those demons.

Jeremy looked around again. He wanted Diana to wake up. He wanted Mack to take care of his girlfriend. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want another drink and he didn’t want to give any speeches. He had lost a friend, someone special, that he barely had time to get to know, but now would have to wonder forever just what he missed out on. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. It was all too fast and she was gone too soon. There was that night they almost kissed and then the one time they did and he’d have to remember that and try to forget about all the rest. He could have been nicer to her. He could have spent more time with her. He just wanted more time. Just a minute more. A lunch, or dinner, or a smile or a joke. Anything. Just not an extra shitty memory. He had too many of those. That was punishment enough.

Day 101 - Tijuana Connection

 Tijuana Connection 

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

Word slowly spread around the office that Ryan went to Tijuana once a month. It was true that he drove through Tijuana, but he wasn’t going there. There was a woman east of Rosarito that he liked to visit, but he didn’t feel the need to confide everything to his co-workers. As more people found out and more favors were requested, Ryan politely nodded and would say he would see what he could do. Some people wanted medicine. Others a special type of cigar or alcohol not sold in the States. A few asked him to return with something a little stronger, which he was not going to do. Buying a few things for friends was one thing, but risking his neck was another. Besides he really didn’t feel comfortable driving with a car full of stuff. Someone could break into his car, or he could be stopped at the border, and that would create a whole different hassle.

Michael was from New Jersey, but was the type to tell people New York and believe it himself. Michael flew back and forth from Washington DC to San Diego and worked with Ryan at a research lab outside of La Jolla. Two months out from seventy, a trophy wife and daughter back east, Michael learned of Ryan’s trips and began to hatch a plan. His wife was twenty-five, and theirs was a very neat and clear arrangement. Part of their agreement in having a child together was that she could see men her own age to satisfy certain needs. Michael loved her enough to convince himself that it was the right thing to do. He didn’t want to be there or ever see it, but he believed it needed to be done. Still, he had his own emotions and resentments and certain desires that were not often met. When he heard about Tijuana, Michael developed ideas about what he might find for himself during one.  

Ryan didn’t want to take him. Ryan knew the sorts of things that went on in some of the back rooms of bars in Tijuana, but he had no interest in stopping or being anywhere close. Men like Michael were just as likely to be mugged or murdered as they were to find any carnal delights. Michael wasn’t worried. He was from the east coast. He had been around the block and seen a few things. He was tough and could handle himself. Ryan laughed to himself and almost felt sorry for the old man. He was a co-worker and Ryan was torn between trying to give him what he wanted and trying to protect him.

Ultimately, he made a concession. Michael could follow him to the border in his own car and Ryan would drive them across and take Michael to a local area with the types of bars he was looking for. Ryan would drop him off, and Michael was sure he could walk back to the border and his car. Ryan would go about his business and go see the woman he had waiting for him a little further south. As Ryan dropped Michael off, he wondered to himself if he would ever see this man again, and felt a little sad for abandoning him here, even if it was what we wanted.