possibilities hinted at in the letter, providing
a welcome retreat from my heartache. Could there really be a group
of people out there like me? If it was genetic, why did my mom and
sister remain firmly planted on earth’s surface at all times?
I tried not to get too excited about the
letter, but I couldn’t help it. Nothing about the letter made
sense, but logic rarely prevailed in my world.
As usual, the pain over losing Gavyn was
still working at the corner of my mind. Alone, in the dark, I let
it wash over me. I cried into my pillow, soaking it with my tears.
I could only hope as time went on, the pain would at least dull to
a more manageable level.
It didn’t. Boredom defined my life in
Wichita. I didn’t go to school, I didn’t have a job. The novelty of
having nothing to do quickly wore off.
My one salvation was exercise. I could run
eight miles at a time and spend hours in the gym lifting
weights.
I was fit, but I was clueless. I couldn’t
figure out if I wanted to go back to school. If I did, I wasn’t
sure if I would finish law school or do something else. My job
options were somewhat limited in Wichita. A liberal arts degree was
almost completely useless on that front.
I allowed a few days to slip by until I woke
up determined to spend my day productively. The least I could do
was help out my mom while I was living like a useless bum in her
house. I left for the grocery store, taking my old economy car my
sister’s boyfriend had retrieved from San Antonio. I took the time
to peruse the aisles and compare prices. It felt good to be doing
something constructive with my time.
I was walking out of the store when a short,
wiry forty-something man with bright blond hair approached me.
Thick sunglasses hid his eyes, but he still looked vaguely
familiar. I stiffened and wrapped my hand around the pepper spray,
for once glad my mom insisted I carry it with me wherever I go.
“You received our letter?” He had a faint
eastern European accent.
“What? Is this a joke?”
He glanced behind him before he spoke. “It’s
not a joke. Please believe me. We cannot talk any further here.” He
handed me an envelope. “It’s time we met. Here is an address of a
small café just outside city limits. Meet me tomorrow at two in the
afternoon. Bring your mother if it will make you feel more
comfortable. It’s a public place, but we should be able to speak
privately. I’ll have some answers for you. Please come.” He started
to walk away, and then paused. “There are others.”
He disappeared into the crowd of people
walking into the grocery store. I was transfixed, gripping the
handles of the shopping cart until my knuckles turned white.
Eventually, I managed to get a hold of myself and go back to my
car.
Once home, I booted up the computer and
looked up the address of the diner. It was a small place, just like
he said. I would go. I would tell my mom about it, but I would
definitely go.
She wasn’t nearly as excited about it as I
was.
“This whole thing is really bizarre,” she
said. “I don’t know about this.” She was sitting at the table,
pinching the top of her nose with her eyes closed, something she
only did when she was really upset.
“It’s in a diner, a public place. I’m going.
If you would like to come, you are more than welcome,” I said.
“Fine. I will be armed,” she said.
I was practically bouncing in the passenger
seat when we pulled into the diner parking lot the next day. My mom
wore a baggy t-shirt to conceal the gun she was wearing on her
person. She looked at me, resting her arms over the steering wheel.
“Are you sure about this?”
I appraised the small, old metallic diner.
There were a couple of trucks and one shiny black car parked
outside. “Yes.”
A girl my age behind the counter took orders
from the bar and waited on the tables. It was simple fare:
hamburgers, hotdogs and waffles.
The man was there, waiting in a booth at the
far end of the restaurant. He
a welcome retreat from my heartache. Could there really be a group
of people out there like me? If it was genetic, why did my mom and
sister remain firmly planted on earth’s surface at all times?
I tried not to get too excited about the
letter, but I couldn’t help it. Nothing about the letter made
sense, but logic rarely prevailed in my world.
As usual, the pain over losing Gavyn was
still working at the corner of my mind. Alone, in the dark, I let
it wash over me. I cried into my pillow, soaking it with my tears.
I could only hope as time went on, the pain would at least dull to
a more manageable level.
It didn’t. Boredom defined my life in
Wichita. I didn’t go to school, I didn’t have a job. The novelty of
having nothing to do quickly wore off.
My one salvation was exercise. I could run
eight miles at a time and spend hours in the gym lifting
weights.
I was fit, but I was clueless. I couldn’t
figure out if I wanted to go back to school. If I did, I wasn’t
sure if I would finish law school or do something else. My job
options were somewhat limited in Wichita. A liberal arts degree was
almost completely useless on that front.
I allowed a few days to slip by until I woke
up determined to spend my day productively. The least I could do
was help out my mom while I was living like a useless bum in her
house. I left for the grocery store, taking my old economy car my
sister’s boyfriend had retrieved from San Antonio. I took the time
to peruse the aisles and compare prices. It felt good to be doing
something constructive with my time.
I was walking out of the store when a short,
wiry forty-something man with bright blond hair approached me.
Thick sunglasses hid his eyes, but he still looked vaguely
familiar. I stiffened and wrapped my hand around the pepper spray,
for once glad my mom insisted I carry it with me wherever I go.
“You received our letter?” He had a faint
eastern European accent.
“What? Is this a joke?”
He glanced behind him before he spoke. “It’s
not a joke. Please believe me. We cannot talk any further here.” He
handed me an envelope. “It’s time we met. Here is an address of a
small café just outside city limits. Meet me tomorrow at two in the
afternoon. Bring your mother if it will make you feel more
comfortable. It’s a public place, but we should be able to speak
privately. I’ll have some answers for you. Please come.” He started
to walk away, and then paused. “There are others.”
He disappeared into the crowd of people
walking into the grocery store. I was transfixed, gripping the
handles of the shopping cart until my knuckles turned white.
Eventually, I managed to get a hold of myself and go back to my
car.
Once home, I booted up the computer and
looked up the address of the diner. It was a small place, just like
he said. I would go. I would tell my mom about it, but I would
definitely go.
She wasn’t nearly as excited about it as I
was.
“This whole thing is really bizarre,” she
said. “I don’t know about this.” She was sitting at the table,
pinching the top of her nose with her eyes closed, something she
only did when she was really upset.
“It’s in a diner, a public place. I’m going.
If you would like to come, you are more than welcome,” I said.
“Fine. I will be armed,” she said.
I was practically bouncing in the passenger
seat when we pulled into the diner parking lot the next day. My mom
wore a baggy t-shirt to conceal the gun she was wearing on her
person. She looked at me, resting her arms over the steering wheel.
“Are you sure about this?”
I appraised the small, old metallic diner.
There were a couple of trucks and one shiny black car parked
outside. “Yes.”
A girl my age behind the counter took orders
from the bar and waited on the tables. It was simple fare:
hamburgers, hotdogs and waffles.
The man was there, waiting in a booth at the
far end of the restaurant. He
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