Gifted

Chapter Two

“Superheroes were born in the minds of people desperate to be rescued.”
― Jodi Picoult, The Tenth Circle

. . . .

|Monday|

Liza

I close the door to the room Mina and I share, breathing hard and still so freaked out I’m shaking. I flop down onto my futon-style bed, trying not to think about the “accident” just a few minutes ago, when I decided to fly out for a really early breakfast. I almost never get up earlier than I have to, but for some reason, I couldn’t sleep well last night and woke up at four in the morning.

Anyway, coming back from the small 24-hour coffee-shop near our house, my little midair feat caused a woman and her husband, apparently out on an very-early-morning run, to nearly get run over when the driver of a car crossing the intersection was, quite understandably, startled by the sight of me zipping by overhead and he forgot to brake. Luckily no one was hurt, but it was a close call.

I glance over at Mina, who is snoring quietly, her face blurring in and out of shape, darkening, the lips growing fuller, stubble sprouting on her chin and lip... A young black man now lies in the bed in her place, much deeper snores coming from her--well, him, I guess--now. I stifle a laugh, not wanting to wake Mina, and glance at the clock. Four-fifty. Nearly time for us to get up for track, it’s almost five.

When will people get used to us? Maybe my expectations shouldn’t be so high? I mean, heck, I’m not even used to it, and I’ve been able to do these things all my life—well, at least once I got them under control, around the age of nine or so. But anyway, why do people react the way they do? It’s not like we’re going to hurt people! Just because we’ve got powers most people don’t have, it doesn’t make us special or better...or automatically evil, for that matter. We’re just like everyone else. Geez, people act like my family is made of a bunch of monsters! It’s so mean.

I push the unpleasant thoughts away and try to nap away the few minutes I have left until the buzzer goes off. I guess it works, in a sense, as I soon start thinking of the one person that can make all that stupid stuff seem like it doesn’t matter:

We walk quietly through the predawn park, you and me. We’re alone but for an early-bird rabbit here and there, scampering happily through the knee-high reeds lining the little pond nearby. A bird suddenly coos from a high branch, her call returned by several more in the surrounding green trees. A cool soft wind rustles through the reeds.

The time just before sunrise is such a beautiful and peaceful moment.

You squeeze my hand and point into the misty distance. “Look,” you say softly, that quiet wonder I’ve grown to love filling your face as, suddenly, the sun bursts over the horizon and dawn arrives in a shower of sparkling and beautiful colors.

I can never watch too many sunrises. Each one is unique and special.

You sigh contentedly and sit down in the grass to watch, patting the ground beside you in invitation. I sit down too and you lean into me, resting your head on my shoulder.

After a while, you look up at me and smile Then you lean forward and kiss me as the sky brightens steadily, not that either of us notices now.

I settle against your side and we watch as the colors spread across the sky.

I must have dozed off for a bit, because you're nudging me gently. “Liza?”

“Yeah?”

You turn my head gently and kiss my cheek. “I love you,” you tell me.

I can’t look away from you: You’re so beautiful, honey.