Seeing is half the story

Walking down the dimly lit alley I could make out the street lights at the mouth. Creating halos of light amongst there dark surroundings. The alley was narrow, enough for me to be able to reach out and touch each of the brick walls beside me. As I tenderly brushed my fingertips along the rough surface, images flicked through my mind as I continued to trail my fingers across year's worth of graffiti and posters layered repetitively over each other.

And with each one I that met with my touch I saw how they came to be here in this alley, I could see a lone girl maybe thirteen looking up and down the alley, eyes meeting with a group of teens at the opening, then quickly turning back to the wall whipping a can of red spray paint out and spraying a heart with the initials R.W + S.A in the centre and sprinting back to the group that immediately disappeared with a chorus of giggles.

Those images gave me a sense of high spirits, I could almost feel the slight increase of adrenaline in my veins the thrill that someone could come round the corner and I could be busted. Oh the joys of juvenile dares. That's what I enjoyed about being able to see these images or as I think of them as memories, that are imprinted into objects or places. I can see the echo's that are left by a person's actions.

Sometimes I go into an antiques store just to 'see' the stories that unfold for me. A locket given on a twentieth year anniversary. It was the first pieces of jewellery that Brent had ever been able to afford for his wife Doris; he was even able to get it engraved with 'Love always'.

Of course I have the bad ones.

The ones that send chills running down my spine, and makes me want to hid under my covers and never touch anything again

I love being able to 'see' things others can’t, I really do. It's just that sometimes I lay awake at night with pictures that keep swirling around and around. Until it gets too much. The results usually end with me indulging in the self medicating way, either by taking a couple of sleeping pills or a good half glass of scotch.

Emerging into the light at the end of the alley I shake the thoughts out of my mind and try to get back to the most immediate problem in my live at this moment.

A party.

 Not mine thankfully, but a friend's. Well I should really call him my best friend.  Over the years I have become increasingly picky when it comes to friends.

With my ...well... ability I have a slight personal space issue, which can translate into a considerably growing antisocial attitude towards people as I gradually distant myself from the population.

 Whereas when I touch an object or just stood in an area which has a memory impression on it, I only see small scenes play out in my head. People on the other hand are a lot different. The images change with every touch, and each touch is a lot more intimate. I feel what they felt in that moment, emotionally and physically.

So I’m not the social butterfly that people expect me to be. As always appearances can be deserving. Blonde hair , blue eyes

  I can't really blame it all on my ability. I just don’t really like people, it sounds harsh I know but I'd rather be behind the scenes, a shadow in the background. The effort it takes with small talk, pretending to care about their petty problems and asking questions that I don’t want to know the answer too.

But here I am making my way to a club, all for Bradley. One of few, which are on my dwindling list of friends.  We met at one of the many physicist sections that I was made to attend when I first starting 'seeing' things.

The countless trips to a range of specialists had only been going on for just over a month and I already knew the routine. Enter the building holding my father’s hand tightly, while he smiles down at me encouragingly. I could tell how worried he was for me, how he wished that I would be OK and that me 'seeing' things, the flinching away from human contact and the nightmares would pass with the proper care and support it would all fade away.

The elevator ascended upwards I remember wishing that it would just keep going up and up, to see the world in miniature. Jolting back to reality the doors whooshed open to a small square waiting room , which included a round reception desk at the back with an equally round women perched on her seat typing on her computer. Every now and then she would look up from her screen tutting to herself looking disappointed at the waiting patients almost like she we could just stop being the way we were, like it was that easy!

My dad lent down to my level and said cheerfully “Ivy I’m just going to sign us in OK, go and take a seat”. And proceeded to walk to the receptionist.

 I stood scanning the waiting room examining the other people waiting the turn. Quickly making up my mind that I didn’t want to have any interaction with them, I made my way to the farthest corned hopping onto the seat swinging my legs back and forward whilst inspecting a loose thread in the chair intently.

“Hello”

I jumped and looked straight in front of me. A boy not much older than me, covered in mud and twigs was stood to attention with one arm behind his back and the other at his forehead. I sat there speculating what to do, looked up to see my dad chatting to a well dressed women that must be this boy's mother. I turned my attention back to the boy he had the arm that was to his forehead extended to my looking at my...waiting.

“Hello” he said again. When no answer proceeded he continued.

“My names Bradley, but you can call me Brad if you want” Bradley took a seat beside me copying my leg swinging and looking at the wall opposite. We sat in silence for a moment until Bradley turned smiling. “So what's your name?”

Looking into his cheery muddy face I said “I...Ivy Broadway”

Bradleys smile widen at his achievement of getting me to speak. “ So, what you in for?” Seeing my confused look he continued. “You know, how come you have to come here and talk to people. I'll tell you why I’m here” he said almost proudly.

“They call it ADHD, Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder.” He said as if he'd heard so it many times that it was now imprinted in his head. “But mum just says that I'm a difficult child, and have to talk about why I do the things I do, so what about you”

I couldn’t get my head around how forward he'd been. Well if he can be so open and friendly I can at least make any effort. “I...I see things” I said looking back at the thread.

“Cool!”

I looked up surprised. No one has ever revered to it as 'cool' before. That's how I always saw them, the good ones anyways. Lifting my head and smiled back at Bradley.

We carried on talking, Bradley wanted to know all about my 'power' he called it and decided to give me a superhero name next time we met. We were interrupted by my Dad, looking slightly surprised at my brightened mood.

“Sweetheart, were up”

Hopping off my seat and taking my Dads hand I said “Ok Daddy” and turning to Brad I said “Bye Bradley see you next time.”

He got off his chair and did an elaborate bow “Bye Ivy, until we meet again.”

Giggling I turned to follow my Dad into yet another boring talk about how I have an over active imagination.