Ultraviolet ✔️

11.1

Chapter Eleven

There were two rules in my house growing up: the first was that you always obey the ten commandments— or before I could read, what Momma declared the ten commandments to be. Even though I was pretty sure Moses didn't go thumping people on the head with his Bible, declaring that elbows on the table were against Jesus's fundamental rules, I wasn't really in a position to argue.

The second rule was to serve your country, your fellow human beings, etcetera. At least that one sounded a bit more biblical than "don't bite your fingernails" or one of my mother's other paraphrased biblical passages. I'm pretty sure the Lord didn't speaketh unto man, "Don't put your feet on that chair, Violet Marie!"

If you wanted to survive in my family, you listened to the rules and didn't argue even when they sounded ridiculous. I knew that I wanted to have a good life. And even if my mom was a little out there, she was still a good woman with genuine intentions. Life and death sort of hung in the balance of the delicate fabric of the universe. At home, she preached of heaven, but outside in the real world, hell seemed a bit closer.

When I was younger, going through that angry, misunderstood teenager phase, I asked my mother how she believed in God while she was doing the dishes. She dropped the ceramic plate she was holding and it shattered in the bottom of the metal sink. I knew right away that it was a bad question, even before she turned around, calmly dropped the shards of the plate in the trash, and reached for her Bible.

I didn't ask the question to be combative, but rather because I didn't understand how she could still believe in God, even after my father left, and even after Grandpa Richie died. It baffled me. After an extensive biblical lecture, I finally gave up with my questions and figured that when I died, I would be having an extensive conversation with God or something like that.

Later that same afternoon, I made one of my favorite teenage discoveries: my mother's collection of Stephen King novels. You can guess why I found Carrie to be both enthralling and close to home. A religious mother and a paranormal teenager aren't just aspects of a fictional world, but the real one as well.

I'm thinking about this while I'm getting ready to go out with Joel because the powers I was born with have always affected me, one way or another. My reflection has changed dramatically since I was growing up, but inside I'm still scared of what I can do, and still unsure if I'll ever be able to change it.

I emerge from my bedroom in a warmer outfit, knowing the city is going to be much cooler tonight than it was earlier. Joel gives me a once-over, and I know what he's thinking without him saying it. I wasn't really trying to dress up initially, but subconsciously, I guess I wanted to look more put together than I feel.

"What are you in the mood for?" he asks. "Are we getting Chinese? Pizza? How about a burger? Nothing screams comfort food like meat and french fries."

"Not everyone has the same definition of comfort food," I say.

"Are you telling me you don't like burgers?" He feigns shock.

"I love burgers—" I start.

"Exactly!" he exclaims, cutting me off. "So how about I buy you the best burger of your life?"

That I can't refuse.

Surprisingly, he took the subway over to my place, which means we're riding the train to the restaurant. I don't mind the commute, especially because I'm layered up, wearing gloves, and it's not super packed tonight.

"I still can't really read the subway map," Joel admits. "Can you help me find our train?"

"Wasn't this your idea?"