“So
what does this mean for him?” His mother asked, worried.
“Well,
fortunately, there are all sorts of ways around the problem.” The
Doctor explained. “If this had happened twenty years ago, he’d
have no chance at a normal life.”
Morgan
looked down at the notepad the doctor had given him. There was a
scrawl of written words along the top of the page. He could tell when
someone else had written them, but he just could not comprehend the
story.
But
the pen was in reach. Almost as a nervous habit, he picked it up and
started sketching absently.
~~*^*~~
“But
I can’t draw!” Megan insisted. “I don’t know where it’s
coming from!”
“Give
it a try.” Her mother insisted.
Megan
picked up the pen, her hand trembling a bit, and she tried to slide
it across the page. She could see the image so clearly, unfolding in
front of her eyes. It wasn’t a photo or a half-remembered dream.
She could see each mark appearing in front of her, like an invisible
man was drawing it in front of her.
She
put her mother’s pen to the pad, and tried to make it trace the
lines… And her hand suddenly went sideways. The lines just wouldn’t
line up if she was drawing them. Megan tried again, turning the neat
sketch into a raw scribble… The failure made her want to cry. “I
can see it!” She insisted. “It’s… I don’t know, an office
somewhere! There’s a man in a coat, and three pictures on the
wall!”
Her
mother didn’t force her, pulling her into a tight hug. “It’s
okay, sweetie. You’re young. Who knows, maybe you’ll grow into a
real artist. But until then, don’t worry. Your brain is probably
remembering things you’ve seen. A TV show we flipped past, a
picture out of a book…”
Megan
didn’t really believe that, but she didn’t say anything. She
wasn’t getting a flash of memory, she was watching someone draw in
blue pen. But there was nobody there. She watched the drawing evolve
for a while, but it suddenly stopped, half finished.
She
waited a while, but after a moment it faded away completely.
Megan
noticed her mother staring at her, and the girl realized that she’d
been gazing at a blank page for almost five minutes. She immediately
pointed at the bookcase beside her bed. “Book!”
Her
mother smiled, and pulled it out. “Okay. Can you read it? Your
teacher says you should practice your reading as part of your
homework.”
Megan
smiled, because she liked this one. “Wise-d of ooze.”
“Almost.”
Her mother smiled, and traced the words with her finger. “Wizard of
Oz.”
Megan
nodded. “Chapter eleven.”
~~*^*~~
“Well,
the good news is, it’s not your eyes.” His mother said kindly.
“But I didn’t think it was. You can see every detail of pictures
and video games easily enough. And anyone who can sketch like you
can…”
“My
teacher says they’re the best in class.” Morgan said proudly. “I
get to use the good pencils, everyone else is stuck with crayons.”
“Worth
a thousand words.” His mother agreed.
Just
then, someone else spoke. “Even with eyes protected by the green
spectacles, Dorothy and her friends were at first dazzled by the
brilliancy of the wonderful City.” A voice said. It was a
little stilted, a little awkward, and the voice had to repeat things
once or twice, but Morgan could hear a girl his age, speaking so
clearly that he turned to look around. But there was nobody else in
the car.
“The
streets were lined with beautiful houses all built of green marble
and studded everywhere with sparkling emeralds.” The girl kept
going. “They walked over a pavement of the same green marble,
and where the blocks were joined together were rows of emeralds, set
closely, and glittering in the brightness of the sun. The window
panes were of green glass; even the sky above the City had a green
tint, and the rays of the sun were green.”
“Mom?”
Morgan asked, a little nervous. “What’s an emerald?”
She
seemed surprised by the question. “It’s a kind of jewel. Like a
diamond. Very expensive.” She smirked a bit. “A little gaudy, but
not enough to ever turn one down.”
“Someone
would have to be pretty rich to build a city out of emeralds.”
Morgan guessed.
His
mother smiled. “Ah. You’ve been watching ‘Wizard of Oz’.”
Morgan
had never heard of it, but he nodded anyway. At six years old, he
knew everything a person could know about secrets. Imaginary friends
included.
But
why does my imaginary friend have to be a girl? He wondered to
himself. They’re icky.
Nevertheless,
he listened to her, as she told him a story in his head. She stopped
after about ten minutes, but somehow he knew she’d be back.
~~*^*~~
Morgan
and Megan kept each other a secret. Megan had tried to tell her
friends once, but they thought she was weird, and stopped being
friends with her. Megan had learned very early that nobody liked
different things.
Morgan
had always known. He told exactly one friend about the girl in his
head, but he’d never heard the end of it afterward, and he’d
learned the same lesson.
Even
so, Morgan was glad to have her. When he’d gone back to school,
he’d heard her voice again. She was reading a book that his class
was studying. His teachers assumed that he was just a slow reader,
and they had plenty of those.
“Imaginary
girl, you kept me from repeating kindergarten.” He beamed at his
eventual report card that year. “How can I ever thank you?”
As
usual, there was no answer. She never answered him, or any of his
questions. He didn’t understand that, but discovered in first grade
that she was only audible when she was reading a book.
Morgan
didn’t quite understand that, but supposed if he was strange, then
it made sense that his imaginary friends would be too.
~~*^*~~
Megan
hated crafts. Her complete incompetence with crayons apparently
extended to cutting out shapes, or gluing them together. After gluing
her own fingers together twice, and accidentally slicing part of her
shirt, she was allowed to sit out the art classes.
“How
you managed to cut your clothes with safety scissors, I will never
understand.” Her mother chuckled. “But, you’re apparently doing
well in everything else.” She tapped the report card. “You read
and write at a fifth grade level, which isn’t bad for a first
grader. You scored really high in observation skills.”
Megan’s
smile vanished, but she tried to put it back quickly. What her mother
didn’t know was that her talent for observing details had come from
her ‘ghost-painter’. She saw his pens and paints drawing the
school, the park, the mall… All the places she had gone at one time
or another. It was easy to observe details when she was watching
someone draw them carefully wherever she looked.
~~*^*~~
By
third grade, Morgan’s imaginary friend was starting to worry him.
He was old enough now to know that normal people didn’t hear voices
in their heads. Much less voices reading books that he’d never
heard of. But it wasn’t just books. He could hear her reading
street signs, and shopping lists…
And
things around him. Sometimes, he could hear her voice so swiftly
after seeing the confusing jumble of letter-shapes that he wondered
if he was developing the ability to read after all. The teacher would
read something off the blackboard, and either a few minutes before,
or a few minutes after, he would hear the words again from his
imaginary friend.
~~*^*~~
Megan
was starting to feel better about her imaginary friend. At first, the
drawings that she had seen scrawled across the air were off strange,
nonsensical things, but as time passed, and she became more aware of
her world, the pictures made more sense. She was seeing drawings of
streets and parks and even the school. Whoever was drawing things in
her head, they were getting better at it.
And
then, one day, she had to stay home from school.
~~*^*~~
Morgan’s
class was reading Treasure Island. Morgan was sitting in his chair,
staring at the page, a jumble of shapes he didn’t understand, bored out of
his skull, as everyone else in the room seemed to enjoy an adventure.
He
still understood when the other kids were speaking aloud, so he let
them paint him a picture. It was nothing like when his Imaginary Friend did
it for him. That was warm and exciting. The kids were all reading in
a very stilted, awkward tone. Their teacher was terrifying, and quick
to jump on the slightest mistake. There was no fun in it. It was a
chore.
Still,
he made the best of it. As the others used the words to figure out
what was happening in the book, Morgan palmed a short pencil and
started sketching out what they described, just so that he could
follow it..
~~*^*~~
The
picture in her mind was coming clearer. They weren’t just lines, or
random marks. She tried again to follow them, but she just couldn’t
make her hand work the same way. She could write letters, but… She
just couldn’t do it. Her hand just wouldn’t draw the line.
But
she could see it. She could see every mark being drawn. It was so
clear against the blank white page, even if she was the only one that
could see it.
The
lines were… Clouds? What else… A ship?
She
smiled broadly. The more the picture filled in, the more certain she
became. She’d seen this image before. She immediately went to the
shelf and drew down a book. Treasure Island was one of her favorites.
She opened the book and flicked through the pages until she found the
illustration in mind. She held up the book and compared it to the
sketch that was drawing itself before her eyes. It was a match.
“What
are you trying to tell me?” She whispered. “Are you trying to
tell me something?”
After
a moment, she got back into bed and started reading.
~~*^*~~
“Morgan?
Since you have time to draw, would you mind reading the next chapter
for us?”
It
wasn’t fair. The teacher knew he couldn’t do it. All his teachers
knew he was disabled when it came to words. Most of them were
sympathetic… But Mrs Damon was one of those teachers that was
convinced a student who couldn’t do something was just too lazy. It
wasn’t that he had to fumble or stutter. He just couldn’t tell
the difference between one letter or another. They all knew it, but
only Mrs Damon forced him to do it every single time. It was ritual
humiliation.
Without
a choice, Morgan opened the book. He couldn’t even tell what the
page numbers meant.
“There was a great rush of feet across the deck. I could hear people tumbling up from the cabin and the forecastle, and slipping in an instant outside my barrel, I dived behind the fore-sail, made a double towards the stern, and came out upon the open deck in time to join Hunter and Dr. Livesey in the rush for the weather bow.”
The
words just suddenly started appearing in his head, and without
thinking he started reciting them. “A belt of fog had lifted
almost simultaneously with the appearance of the moon. Away to the
south-west of us we saw two low hills, about a couple of miles apart,
and rising behind one of them a third and higher hill, whose peak was
still buried in the fog. All three seemed sharp and conical in
figure....”
He
wasn’t reading it. The letters were still a messy jumble on the
page. Just blocks of vague shadow on a white background. He wasn’t
reading, he was reciting something that someone was saying to him.
But
as the class stared with their jaws hanging open… He read three
pages before the Damon Beast let him stop and sit down.
But
his imaginary friend was still going. Suddenly feeling much better
about things, Morgan started sketching again.
~~*^*~~
The
sketch in her head paused for a while as she read the book to
herself… and then started to shift subtly. Now there were new
things. Dolphins were leaping out of the water, fireworks going off
in the sky. The cover of Treasure Island was suddenly a far more
magical sight. It felt like her imaginary friend was rewarding her.
She
smiled and kept reading.
~~*^*~~
Even
after he put the book down, the words kept rolling through his mind.
Mrs Damon was still looking at him oddly, wondering how he’d done
it. As she did, Morgan sketched a few additions, just to be spiteful.
~~*^*~~
Megan
giggled as the pirate ship in her mind added a gangplank. After a few
moments, the person walking the plank became obvious. “Mrs Damon.”
She giggled. “Or Mrs Demon, according to her students…”
Megan’s
voice trailed off as the implications sank in. She didn’t have a
class with Mrs Damon. It wasn’t the first time her imaginary artist
had drawn things from her world, but she had assumed that it was her
imagination running away with her. This was something entirely
original. She’d never had a class with Mrs Damon…
“Where
is it coming from?” She asked herself. And her wonderfully quick
mind, fed on stories of fairies and magic, made the connection. “Or…
who is it coming from?” She looked up at the room. “Can
you hear me?”
No
answer. The image in her head was starting to fade. She glanced back
at the book. The drawing in her head had come from a book, and then
rewarded her with new details when she read it. But she’d been
‘seeing’ these images for a long time, so…
“I
can’t draw!” She whined.
There
was a knock on her door. “Sweetie? Did you call me?”
“No,
mom.” Megan said immediately. “Can… can you pass my notepad?”
Her
mother did so, checked her forehead, fussed a bit…
The
second Megan was left alone, she asked the question, scratching out
the words she didn’t dare say out loud.
~~*^*~~
“My
name is Megan. Are you real, or am I just crazy?”
Morgan
twitched. His imaginary friend had never asked him a question before.
Never spoken to him directly at all. He’d just heard her reading
stories. Ones he didn’t know or recognize, but others that he knew
from school.
And
apparently, she had a name.
“Crazy?”
He answered, trying to whisper. “If one of us is nuts, it should be
me. I’m the one hearing voices…”
“Morgan,
is there something you want to share with us?” Mrs Demon was quick
to pounce.
“No
Ma’am.” Morgan assured her quickly. How am I supposed to
answer if I can’t answer? He asked himself awkwardly. He didn’t
even notice as his hand scratched out a quick doodle of a question
mark.
~~*^*~~
Megan
could ‘see’ a question mark appear before her gaze, and then a
few more joined it.
Taking
that as an encouraging answer, she kept writing.
~~*^*~~
“Where
are you?” He heard her voice.
How
do I answer you without speaking? Morgan thought to himself,
looking around for inspiration.
~~*^*~~
A
new picture started coming into existence, one swift line at a time.
Whoever was doing it was better than stick figures and boxy images.
He was drawing in three dimensions. Megan was fascinated by it. She
had no grasp of such things, and whoever her imaginary friend was, he
was finally responding to her in some way she understood.
The
picture was a sketch of a classroom. A classroom that she recognized.
“Mrs Demon.”
Megan
chewed her lip for a moment, and wrote again. “You’re in my
school?”
~~*^*~~
Morgan
heard that, and burst out laughing. He had to stifle it instantly,
because the teacher sent him a hooded glare. Laughter was an uncommon
sound in her purely evil presence.
But
Morgan was fighting down a smile. It had never occurred to him that
of all the kids in the world, his imaginary friend was real, and
close by.
Thinking
about what to send her next, he quickly sketched out the school
cafeteria, and circled a table near the door. It was the closest
thing to an invitation he could send.
~~*^*~~
Megan
saw it, and jotted down her reply. “I’m sorry. I’m sick today.
Mommy calls it a Stomach Bug. She says I’ll be back in school
tomorrow. I want to meet you.”
A
smiley face appeared next, and she settled down with her book,
satisfied.
~~*^*~~
Morgan
was nervous. His imaginary friend had a name, and if she didn’t
show up the next day, then he was crazy. When his mother picked him
up from school, he didn’t dare bring it up.
“Okay,
sweetie. Like before.” His mother pushed her smartphone at him.
His
mother had been trying to teach him life skills that he could use
without words. One of which was following maps on her phone. The GPS
spoke directions aloud in real time. Whenever Morgan rode along with
his mother on her errands, he got a clear picture of the map. His
grasp of shapes made the maps easy to remember, but his lack of words
made them tough to navigate for another person.
Left,
right, pass two, left, pass three. Morgan knew the directions by
rote. He could have walked to school with his eyes closed.
“You
are now passing Alda St.” The phone chirped robotically. “In
forty five feet, turn left onto-”
“Alda
Street!” Morgan sat bolt upright in his seat. “I know that name!”
“Of
course you do, we pass it every day, before and after school.” His
mother reminded him.
“Mom,
pull over!”
~~*^*~~
Megan
was sitting in the kitchen, eating a snack, when her mystery
classmate started drawing again. It took her a moment to realize what
she was ‘seeing’. It was a quick sketch of her front door. She
jumped up. “Mom, there’s someone at the door!”
Knock
knock.
“Good
ears, sweetie.” Her mother grinned.
Megan
bolted, and her mother quickly strode after her, catching up at the
front door. “Sweetie, you know to let mommy answer the door, okay?”
Megan
nodded, bouncing on her feet. Her mother opened the door, and there
in front of them was a woman that Megan recognized from some of the
drawings… and a boy her age, putting away a sketch pad. She caught
a glimpse of the top page. It was a drawing of her house, identical
to the one that was fading from before her eyes.
“Hello.”
Megan’s mother said politely. “Can I help you?”
“I’m
not sure, you’d have to ask my son.” The other adult took it in
stride. “I’m Maura; we live on the other side of the block… in
fact, I think we’re the house directly behind you.” She looked
down at her son. “Morgan?”
Morgan.
Her imaginary friend had a name.
Megan
pushed past her mother and quickly wrapped Morgan in a tight hug.
“You’re real.” She whispered in his ear.
“So
are you.” He whispered back, both of them quiet enough that their
parents hadn’t heard them.
“Well,
I guess they know each other.” Megan heard her mother say wryly.
“Pleased to meet you, Maura. I’m Sarah.”
~~*^*~~
“How
did you find me?” Megan asked once they were alone.
“Every
now and then, I noticed the names of streets. The signs were still a
jumble to me, but my family was teaching me ways around the need for
the written word. The GPS in mom’s phone spoke aloud, and she had
me watch the map as it moved on the little screen. A map is almost a
drawing, and that was something I can memorize perfectly.”
“So
when I read street signs on the way home from school, and you noticed
some of the same names…” Megan realized.
“Yeah.
We were never that far apart, I guess.” Morgan looked awkwardly up
at her bookshelf. “Have you read all those books?”
“Some
of them.” Megan nodded, and as she looked up at her shelf, he
caught the echoes. Goodnight Moon. Where The Wild Things Are. The
Hobbit. Watership Down. Kidnapped. Secret Garden.
“Your
lips aren’t moving.” He murmured. “But I can still hear you
reading the book names.”
“I
never hear it when you read.” She pointed out.
He
looked down. “I can’t even figure out the alphabet.”
Megan
twitched. “I can’t figure out fingerpaints. Maybe that’s just
how it works for us.”
Morgan
didn’t answer for a while, still looking at his shoes. He looked
smaller now, shamed. “At school, the teachers read to us. But when
you do it… it’s like I'm reading it myself, only there isn’t a
book there. It’s not like when you hear someone else saying stuff.”
She
nodded. “When you draw in my head, it’s not like being in an art
gallery. It’s way more… more than that.”
“Maybe
that’s just how it works for us.” Morgan almost whispered. “Why
us?”
“I
don’t know. But I never met anyone who can’t read.” Megan said…
and promptly pulled down a book at random. “Good thing you have
me.”
~~*^*~~
A
unique friendship formed within a few days. Neither of them had much
in common, but for their odd connection.
Their
respective families didn’t think there was anything unusual about
them. To their parents, it was just two kids who knew each other from
school, and found out they were neighbors.
“What
I don’t understand, is why they’re spend so much time together.”
Maura wondered aloud as Sarah served her a cup of coffee. “You know what Morgan asked to do when we had Megan yesterday? He wanted to go to
the library. He can’t spell his own name, but she took him through
the whole library like she was giving him a grand tour.”
“Megan
loves her books. The other kids made fun of her a lot when she was
younger. When she got past the whole ‘fingerpaints’ stage, they
left her alone, but she doesn’t really trust people as much as a
kid her age should.”
“I
know what you mean. Morgan went through it too.” Maura sipped her
coffee. “Kids are animals. Way worse than when our generation were
in school. You either join the pack or you get eaten. Our kids… I’m
really glad they found each other.”
“So
am I.” Sarah agreed.
~~*^*~~
Years
passed. They finished their first round of schooling and made it to
High School. Megan went to a different high school, further away than
Morgan’s, but they still lived on the same block, and with some
experimentation, they discovered that distance made no difference to
their connection.
When
Megan’s class made field trips to the nearest art gallery, Megan
sent pictures of the artworks on her smartphone. Morgan made quick
sketches of the sculptures, and Megan was able to bluff her way
through her classes, despite her complete blindness to all things
artistic. After school projects like fundraisers and student body
campaigns all took place after school. When volunteers were needed to
make posters and banners, Megan put her hand up, and Morgan helped
her every step of the way. Seeing things through his view made her
aware of details she never would have noticed on her own.
~~*^*~~
“What
makes you think she’ll drop out?” Morgan asked with interest,
still painting at his latest work.
“That
sketch you did?” Megan told him quietly, not looking away from her
book. “I saw the stance you drew. I never noticed it before; but
her posture has changed over the last month. She’s carrying herself
more leaning backward, but with her head bowed. Plus, her wardrobe
has changed. Apparently, my lack of understanding about colors and
shapes extends to fashion, so I didn’t notice, but she’s stopped
with the jeans and exercise tops.”
“She’s
putting on weight.” Morgan translated.
“And
she’s trying to hide it.” Megan agreed. “So either running for
Student President is making her stress-eat her way off the
cheerleading team, or the rumors about her fooling around with Timmy
Faraday are true and she’s now cheerleading for two.” Megan
agreed. “Either way, I might just win this thing now.” She turned
the page. “Thanks for your help yesterday, by the way.”
“If
you ever tell my mother that I was helping you shop for prom dresses
again…”
“Well
I can’t ask my mom, I’d go to school dressed as a nun. And I
can’t ask any of my friends, because they don’t know that I can’t
tell blue from green.” She smirked, turning the page again. “Do
you have any idea what it’s like being a teenage girl who has no
idea about clothes? It’s the high school equivalent of being a
three legged puppy.”
Morgan
snorted. “What do you think of this one?”
Megan
didn’t have to look. His brushstrokes were appearing before her
gaze, giving her a much clearer picture than anything she could see
from simple canvas. “It’s the ballroom scene from Anna Karenina,
right?”
“Right.”
“I
like it. It was just the way I pictured it.” She nodded. “You
know, if you put that skill into more generic scenes, you could
probably sell some of these. If you did the train station scene, it’s
just a mother and kid in an old-style station, on a misty night in an
exotic land.” She shrugged. “I’d buy it.”
~~*^*~~
Morgan
found that there was less reading involved in High School than he
thought. His problems with letters apparently hadn’t extended to
numbers, and he dropped the English classes as soon as he could. He’d
become adept in bluffing his way through the rest of his classes by
paying attention to what everyone said. Enough of his finals were
oral exams that he could keep a decent grade, with Megan to help her
with the rest.
~~*^*~~
“I
won’t help you cheat.” She said seriously.
“I
know you won‘t.” Morgan agreed. “And I don’t want you to.”
“No,
you just want me to be over here, casually reading a textbook while
you’re sitting for your exam.” She retorted.
“Look,
it’s not like when were were in kindergarten. I can plead
illiteracy with a lot of my teachers, and they make allowances. But
for this one, I need you. We’ve been studying for this all month,
you know where I’m at; you know how much I’ve learned.”
“Enough
to pass your tests.” She said seriously.
“I
know. But I need help reading the questions.” He explained. “It’s
design and technology. The answers are mostly diagrams and
pie-charts. I can handle those. But I need to know what the questions
are first.” He held out an envelope. “I got a copy of last years
exam from a guy who graduated my class last year. I haven’t read
it. I don’t want you to read me the answers, I just need to make
sure that I got the questions right.”
Megan
sighed. “Fine. Where’d you get this, by the way?”
“Jason.”
She
flushed. “You bribed my boyfriend for his old homework?”
“Hey,
if I have to ‘listen in’ to you two sexting each other, I gotta
get something out of it.”
She
winced. “Oh no, you can ‘hear’ my text messages too?”
“Only
the ones you write, or the ones you read; same as always.” He
teased. “He’s surprisingly creative for a seventeen year old
boy.”
She
flushed darker, and returned fire. “What about you? I saw the
sketch you did of Penny Hartwood. You drew everything except her
acne.” She nudged him jokingly. “Let me guess, you draw her
portrait, make it look prettier than she really is, she ‘notices’
you looking and give it to her as a gift. She asks if that’s really
how she looks, and you say it’s how she looks to you, and she
swoons right into your arms?”
“It’s
the only reason any guy ever picked up a paintbrush.” Morgan smirked.
~~*^*~~
Their
ability to help each other through each other’s lives had created
an odd sort of symbiosis. When one of them left on vacation, even
internationally, their connection stayed. She could still only see
his artwork, even if only doodles; but their generation had grown up
with emoji’s and text messages, and their semi-telepathic
communications became more of a two-way street.
With
only a year of school left, the future was in front of them, and
neither of them knew for sure where it would lead, but neither of
them expected anything like what really happened.
~~*^*~~
Megan
was in class, and so bored she was afraid she was going to pass out.
Bored!
Bored! Bored! Bored! Bored! Bored! Bored! Bored! Bored! Bored! Bored!
Bored!
Morgan
had the words scrolling through his head as she scribbled them down
in her class notes, over and over.
He
drew her a huge, frustrated exclamation point, then a small doodle of
a stick figure hitting himself in the head with a hammer.
So
bored! I’m losing brain cells, that’s how bored I am! I can
actually feel time stopping! She wrote down for him to hear. Both
their schools had a strict policy about texting or using smartphones
in class, but what they had couldn’t be confiscated. Entertain
me, before I start to melt into a puddle of boredom.
She
saw a picture of a smiley-face, rolling its eyes.
You
too, huh?
Another
stick figure, this one lighting himself on fire.
Do
you think teachers go into this line of work because they’re so
boring, or does school make them that way?
A
quick drawing of a school building, but the doorway and windows
changed to look like a set of bloody jaws and cruel eyes.
I
agree.
The
school building stayed, but this time the drawing included a stick
figure climbing out the window and running away from it.
She
smothered a smile. You wanna play hooky? The idea had occurred
to her too. In fact, a third of the class was doing the same. This
close to the end of the year, there wasn’t really any reason to
stay. She’d have been surprised if any of her own teachers would
notice.
~~*^*~~
He
was ahead of her. She knew, because he was drawing the street in one
of his sketchpads. He had a knack for drawing a three dimensional
image. She held her head still, and the image seemed to settle in
front of her. The curb of the street, the points of a wooden fence
along the road…
It
was a game she played sometimes, to see if she could make the lines
of his drawing match the real world precisely. He had come along this
road, and his unique view gave him an almost photographic memory of
the street. She could see cars in the image, smaller than they were
in front of her, and she stepped quickly. He was somewhere up ahead,
telling her where to find him. When the drawing matched the world,
she’d be where he was…
And
she saw him. Another ten feet ahead, just across the street. When she
got closer, the lines of the sketch would match the world. The only
thing he hadn’t added to the picture was himself, looking down at
his omnipresent sketchpad…
She
stepped off the curb, intent on sneaking up behind him. She kept her
head very still, so that the image would line up perfectly…
Which
is why she never saw the truck.
~~*^*~~
There
was something on her face. She tried to reach up and pull it off, but
she couldn’t move. “Uhh…”
“Baby?!”
Mom?
“Baby,
just lie still; I’m going to get the nurse!”
I
can’t see. The thought came to her. There’s something on
my face and I can’t see.
And
she passed out again.
~~*^*~~
When
she came to again, she was a lot more alert. They told her
everything. The accident, the fuel splashing, the fire…
Her
first question: “Where’s Morgan?”
“I’m
here.” He called groggily from opposite her, and she knew instantly
that he’d been hurt.
“It
could have been a lot worse.” Maura told her. “Morgan pulled you away before the fire caught you. Not in time to keep the fuel from
doing damage to you both, but enough to keep you from third degree
burns. He put the fire out before it got more than your clothes and
hair.”
Megan
felt a sudden cold premonition. He’d put the fire out before it
could hurt her too badly? “Morgan, your hands?”
“They’ll
heal.” He said roughly.
Silence.
“What
about me?” She asked weakly. “Will my eyes heal too?”
~~*^*~~
Nobody
had an answer for her. Not for another three days. The doctors took
the bandages off… and there was nothing. No vague shape, no
outlines. Just darkness. Her mother stayed and wept with her until
visiting hours were over. She heard Morgan’s mother whispering
something quickly across the room, but couldn’t make out what. The
hospital went quiet. “Are they gone?”
“Yes.”
Morgan hissed, sitting up in bed.
“What
did your mom say?”
“Nothing
I didn’t already know.” He promised. She could hear blankets
moving. She could hear him hissing in pain, the squeak of wheels on
the IV.
“No.”
She put a hand out. “Don’t come over. Save your hands. Don’t
pull on the IV line.”
“Are
you sure?”
“Distance
has never been a factor before, babe.” She whispered to her friend.
“What did the doctor say about your fingers?”
“He
says I’ll be able to keep them all. Some of the motor controls
might be… awkward for a while, until the skin grows back.” He
chuckled darkly. “There goes my dream of being a hand model.”
Megan
went numb. “We’ve been here… five
days, right?”
“Right.”
“Not
one friend from school has come to visit either of us. I know they
announced it. Nobody. Not even Jason, and I let that rat get to
second base.”
“Yeah,
well… we’ve made do without them. And let’s face it, we can’t
be honest with them.” He scoffed to himself. “You know the first
thing mom said when I woke up? She wanted to know how I could be so
stupid as to cut school. You’re still wrapped up like a mummy, and
the first thing mom does is kindly remind me that I should be ashamed
of myself about study hall.”
“Parents.”
Megan scoffed. “No matter how bad your day, they can always lay a
little guilt on top of it all.”
Morgan
was silent a moment. “Thing is… she’s right. It’s my fault we
were out there. It was my idea, and my drawing that distracted you.”
Megan
sniffed. “I can’t read any more, Morgan.” She started to get
choked up. “This always went both ways, but I can’t…” She
sniffed. “Your hands will heal fast. My eyes won’t.”
She
could hear his pencil scratching on the paper, and another simple
crooked face appeared in front of her sightless gaze. He was trying
to send a smile to her. “Stop with your hands.” She told him.
“They’re hurt.”
“I
know. But…”
“Put
it down!” The girl barked, and Morgan obeyed quickly. The awkward,
broken smile he’d drawn her faded, and there was nothing again. Their connection had been severed. It had been part of
them so long that she couldn’t remember life without it, and now
her eyes and his hands didn’t work.
END OF PART ONE