One Hundred Percent

Discoveries

My mind should've been racing then, but I was strangely blank. Mr. Phillips walked dumbfounded over to the tree and traced the small remaining spot of green. He looked at me, then back at the tree, then at me again.

"You're really somethin special, aren't you, Kita?" I blushed, rocking forward on my toes. Trick beamed, his nervousness leaving his face. Mrs. Phillips asked me if I could possibly demonstrate again. I obliged, touching the grass between the cracks of the walk. It sprouted up, lush and green, as tall as I was. The landscaper in charge wasn't going to be very savvy about this. I snickered at the thought.

The entire Phillips family was grinning at the wonder that was taking place before their eyes. I sighed in relief that they took it so well, until I thought about how they would take it when they realized that I had lied to them and that I had been the cause if their hasty and traumatic escape from Florence. I decided to put that out of my mind, and continued to spin around, growing grass wherever I connected with it. People started walking toward us, and when they saw the miniature forest, they began walking faster, human curiosity coursing through them, I could feel it. I quickly put my years of theatre classes to use. I stopped touching the plants, and stood outside of the forest, gaping.

The Phillips' looked flighty, but quickly followed my lead. They acted like confused spectators, staring incredulously like the other park strollers. Eventually, one of the people exclaimed, "Well it looks like the gardening service is slacking off!" And he and his passé walked on. The Phillips' and I went as quickly as was casually possible in the opposite direction.

🔻🔹🔻🔹🔻🔹🔻🔹

When we arrived back in front of the condominium, we were all snickering at the faces those bystanders had been displaying. The landlord was waiting for us there, and he looked rather impatient.

He was not a small man. He wore a tan suit and had a thick toothbrush moustache somewhat like Adolf Hitler. He was sporting a pair of spectacles that surrounded about half of his face and made his eyes pop like bacon in a skillet. He looked like a disgusting insect and was not pleasing to the eye. I wanted to get this over with quickly and see this.... gentleman.. leave.

"I thought you wouldn't be back for two months," he said with a Castilian accent. Not sure how I knew this. He looked at me and his eyes widened. I heard the faint catch of his breath.

He recovered quickly. "And when did you get new daughter?" He asked, raising one caterpillar eyebrow. His double chin quivered as he spoke.

"She is.. staying with us.. until we can get her to her mother here," Mr. Phillips replied with caution.

"Oh? Who would her mother be?" This was getting annoying. He needed to stop prying.

"She's been too shellshocked to tell is anything further." Mrs. Phillips jumped in quickly.

I liked the Phillips'. They were adjusting quickly, and were all quick on their feet. I wondered what their lives had been like before they had Trick.

The landlord scoffed, rolling his eyes, which made his entire face look like it was rippling. He shoved the key at Mr. Phillips and walked around the corner to his car.

We went up to the 13th floor and unlocked the room. The living room was gray, sleek, and it looked very spiffy and clean. I spun around slowly, as if taking a panoramic picture of the apartment. I spotted some doors and decided to explore. I found a tidy modern kitchen, a small breakfast area, two bathrooms, a sizable open living area facing the windows looking out on Manhattan, and three bedrooms. One of the bedrooms was vacant of even a bed. I wondered what I'd do about sleeping. There was a couch, but it looked small. I was smaller now, I'd probably fit.

The entire place looked rather empty, picture ready and staged. I suppose the Phillips' were planning to be away for two months.

I stared out at Manhattan as the sun slowly set behind the park, which it overlooked directly. Trick came up behind me and touched my shoulder. I'd heard him coming, but I still jumped, startled.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Do you like it?" His hair, the color of dark chocolate, was poking one of his dark lashed hazel eyes, and he was blinking rapidly to try and rid himself of the pain inconspicuously.

I nodded enthusiastically. "It's beautiful!" I cocked my head at him, smirking. "New Zealand beats it by kilometers though." I winked and he shoved me over.

"So when do you think we'll find your mom?" He asked me, but I could tell he was skeptical of something. I was silent. This seemed to be something he had half expected. "Your mom isn't in New York, is she?" I looked back out over the city. He leaned in closer to me.

This felt like an interrogation you would see on a cliche crime show like Law and Order or Bones. His hands were clasped behind his back and the room was metal looking and slightly drab. It just added to the effect.

I closed my eyes and lifted my chin, dignified in my refusal to answer. In my mind, my eyes were still open, I could still see everything. Other dimensions as well, though, but I could discern between and weed each one out easily anyway.

I saw the frequencies of vibration in matter, and saw things that hadn't really been there on the visible plane. People from long past walked freely. I thought about waving, but what would Trick think? I had heard death described in the scriptural sense as "a quickening," but I hadn't given it much thought. Now I saw that it was quite literal. Our matter vibration speeds up when we die! Past the vibration of the visible, touchable plane!

I brought myself back into my reality, -I'd explore the other ones at a different time- and, with my eyes still closed, I saw Patrick Shake his head and wrap his arms around me. The touch sent a chill through me, and I opened my eyes. I leaned into the hug, turning to face him and return it. He smelled like cocoa creme, a lotion my father used after shaving in place of aftershave. I reached up to touch Trick's cheeks with both hands, checking to see if they were as smooth as my father's. They were. It was almost hot that Patrick shaved already.

He took this motion as a romantic one, and put his hands into my chick fuzz hair. I was startled, but I felt everything so vividly.

My scalp tingled, and I responded humanly. I placed my hands on his shoulders and leaned in. But as soon as I got within millimeters of him, he was blown backwards. He hit the opposite wall and went unconscious. I felt awful.

I ran over to him and knelt down beside him. The Phillips' ran in, and saw me next to their son. I was glad at that moment that they were such understanding people, because they just went into action mode, instructing each other to retrieve this or that.

Mr. Phillips asked the dreaded question. "What happened?"

But I was saved by the massive Italian smashing the door down.

My life was beginning to suck.