Normally Darren woke up, ate breakfast, and rode the bus to Hennepin High School. He would be in class, and try his hand at small talk with his classmates. They were people he knew on a very profound level; from the standpoint of friendship, he was capable of immersing himself within their innermost thoughts. If they ever realized that, though, they’d panic and force chaos through the brittle glass of reality. Thus, he didn’t utter a word to any of them about his sixth sense. He would go home on the bus, and night would stagger its heavy body upon the world.
It was the Friday before the end of the school year. He was a sophomore, and turned sixteen years old today. He no longer cared about wondering what sort of grand present he might receive, having grown tired of wishing for spectacular gifts. Someone in his position would never get what they wanted no matter how hard they willed for it. But, he had wonderful foster parents, so who needed anything better than that? No one, that’s right.
Darren knew that having a birthday on a Friday was special. He was supposed to be happy—excited even—at the prospect that he’d have a wonderful start to the weekend. Maybe he’d go out with friends, have fun, and be more ambitious than usual; maybe even ask out that one cute girl in class, Abby Strong.
For Darren, life never seemed as romantic as that. He’d come to know that the plans and dreams and disappointments in life—for normal people—would not pass into his paradigm. He closed his eyes, wishing for a return to his childhood days when hope would circulate within him. Yet, he could do no more than crave with an infinitely empty stomach. He would only be snatching blindly for those feelings, those expectations, never actually presuming they’d happen. He knew better than that.
Abby Strong, blond haired and very normal, if not slightly preppy, was busy passing notes with friends. She sat right in front of him, and her ponytail swayed as she moved her head this way and that. They’d never spoken with one another, but they’d been classmates since kindergarten. People like that are hard to impress if you’ve made a terrible first impression.
As Darren had realized years ago, he hadn’t always been different from his classmates, or people out in the “real world,” of which his teachers repeatedly spoke. When he was ten years old, shortly after his parents’ deaths, he gradually understood his difference. He’d ignored it initially, as if stricken with a particularly annoying and cumbersome flu or bug. He’d tried to brush away the crumbs of peculiarity off his soul for weeks before letting the truth roll through his being. He was doomed to a fate of knowing people’s true feelings.
Most people would consider that to be something acute to strength or at least building blocks toward being a better person. Yet, life always has double-edged swords. It’s bad, he remarked to himself nearly every day, when those around him, especially adolescents, regularly traded off between early onsets of bi-polar disorder and wished to kill themselves and others, or else do extremely raunchy sexual things to one another.
Hurtful feelings were just too much. Darren looked back with malice on the few times he’d envisioned himself quitting life. Maybe he’d wanted to fail. Maybe he’d never know. But, sitting in class, he was. The bell was about to ring. Soon he could get away from the negative feelings and try to console himself once again that day-by-day he would get closer to living life on his own terms. Perhaps he’d join a happy cult and live peacefully? Then again, didn’t cult members kill themselves? No, a cult wouldn’t work. SOL.
Ring. Yay, Darren thought with jaded realism. Now he could go home and act as if the world wasn’t condemned and that people really loved one another deeply and would do anything for their fellow man or woman.
He got up, just like his peers, gave eye contact to some friends, like George Watts, Andrew Stucke, who was on the baseball team, and Laura Shipp, though he wasn’t sure they were friends because they hardly ever spoke with one another. Again, he didn’t really think any of them were truly his friends, but they were among the closest relationships he’d ever formed with anyone aside from his parents and foster family.
George walked over to him, a boy with buzzed hair and a v-neck t-shirt. Darren hardly ever considered people’s heights because he was shorter than most of his classmates. It didn’t matter if they were 5’5”, or 6’1” in his opinion. It just didn’t matter.
“Happy Birthday,” he said calmly. “Any plans?”
George smiled. Darren smiled in spite of himself, feeling his friend’s warmth and happiness. At least someone on the planet was true to themselves. While bad feelings were a terrible pressure and a foggy dream with no exit, pleasant and joyous sentiments had the opposite effect: uplifting, encouraging, but most importantly, warm. Delightful, really.
That was the best birthday present.
“Spend some time with my parents, maybe go out.” Yeah, part of that was a lie. Darren, the receiver of all feelings, could always tell when someone was lying, including himself.
George nodded, thumped him on the shoulder, and then left the room, taking his happiness with him. Another birthday march down the street of lonesome town.
Darren gathered his notebook and folder, and wove through the remainder of his classmates like a snake in the grass until he reached his locker. Though Hennepin was not a particularly large school, there were definitely too many people.
Emotions flew across the halls, through the walls, bounced off everything and seeped into Darren’s mind. No matter where he went, he felt someone else’s aura.
Someone walked past him and was very nervous. Actually, there were two people. Darren still had his back to the hallway, shoving things into his backpack.
Both were nervous, and now that the hallway was less crowded, he could hear parts of their conversation. Through the constant bombardment of other’s feelings, Darren had learned to resign to temptation and learn the art of eavesdropping; it was one of the only things he was somewhat proud of, a skill he’d developed all on his own.
“Did Aaron mention what we’d be doing?” the boy asked. Darren had still refrained from turning about, wishing to distance himself if possible.
“Was he supposed to?” she asked. “I thought secrecy was a strong point of his. I assume we’ll walk around and do something!”
Do something. It was his birthday and yet his social plans were just about zilch. Maybe he should join them. He almost laughed at the idea, finally some bit of sanity snapping through him.
Then ecstasy lifted him precariously above the world. It was a fantastic feeling akin to the frequency of witnessing a blue moon. Teenagers hardly ever felt truly wonderful about something for more than five seconds. It was coming from the boy. Darren made a mental note to add a second person to his list of Genuine Students. He only needed the one experience to know for sure, a notion that was fairly depressing in his eyes.
His heart sped up. The spectacular vibes ripped him from his locker, turning him around to see the two walking toward the exit to the student parking lot. He attained focus through the wondrous elation, beginning to reach equilibrium once again. The two had the same dark brown hair, although the boy’s was slightly messy. Darren tried to flatten his own in response.
“Peter LaBelle,” she said loftily. “You have to keep watch of him; he’s your best friend, right?”
Peter, the boy, smiled but remained silent, still very happy.
If time could stop, Darren began to wonder, it might be something like this. That name was all too familiar. The LaBelle family. He hadn’t heard that name since before his parents died.
