I am an orphan. Mom died when I was born, leaving me with my dad. But dad… I guess he missed her so much because a year later, while I was being babysat by my aunt two states away, he OD’d on his antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds. He didn’t even leave a suicide note behind. My aunt, the only living relative who seem to care abour me, was barely in her 20s back then, and in-between jobs with a drug habit that sporadically comes back then and again. She had no choice but to give me up for foster care. I had the luck to not bounce around in foster cares like other kids I know, and my foster parents truly loved me like their own. I grew up a pretty normal kid, until when I was 9 years old.
Fucking Dennis Calloway. The typical schoolyard bully. I’m not sure how he knew, but I suppose it had something to do with his dad being deputy of the town. when I was playing in the sandbox, Dennis pushed me and yelled, “Down in the sand, orphan!”
“I’m not an orphan!” I retorted, with sand on my lips and mouth.
“Oh boo hoo, ever wondered why your mom and dad don’t look like you? Orphan!” He kicked the sand dome I’m making and ran away, laughing with his friends. I was angry. So angry for a 9 year old. All I can see was red, and Dennis’s back as he runs to his bully friends.
The next thing I knew, my mind flashes to Dennis lying in the asphalt, choking on his own blood, a truck ramming down on him.
Half a heartbeat later, I was still laying there. What was that? What did I just see? My child brain could not comprehend what I just saw, so I ran back home as fast as my legs could carry me.
I whined and cried while telling about Dennis, and eventually they confessed about it.
“I’m sorry baby, we were supposed to tell you when you’re a bit older but, oh… oh sweetie, I’m so sorry…” Martha- my foster mom, sobbed, hugging me. Wayne- my foster dad- was getting glassy eyed too. All three of us were hugging that afternoon. However, and I don’t remember why, but I didn’t tell them about why I saw. Somehow, I felt compelled to not say it. The thought ate at me as they gave me a gigantic tub of ice cream and lifted the “no tv after dinner” rule for tonight. The thought ate away at me the next morning, and the morning after.
It ate away at me as everyone in the elementary school lit a vigil for Dennis a week later. Some freak accident. An out-of-towner, hit and run. His dad was furious and crying all throughout the funeral, they say. They say he never sleeps since the incident. As did I.
For the next six years, I kept seeing sporadic visions of the future. Some of them are benign- mom getting involved in a fender bender, who will win in the next inter-county spelling bee contest, who was so-and-so’s crush that will receive a valentine that year, stuff like that.
Most of them are dark though. Mrs. Rosinberg, the kindly old librarian in town, her heart will suddenly stop beating one September day. I was 14 when she died. One of my classmates in middle school came out as gay to his strict, conservative parents and got beaten up so badly he was hospitalized for a week. Deaths. Sickness. Even a suicide- a security guard in the city hall, who killed himself when I was 15 and I saw it coming days before.
Sometimes, when I see the future, it will happen a few days before. Some, a week. Even a month before. There is no set time for it. And I have no one to talk to about this. When I became a teenager, I was always sullen, sad. But not even the biggest bully in our class would bother laying a hand on me. I’m not sure why. I asked Lorenzo, my best friend and one of the very few people willing to tolerate me, about it. He shrugged.
“It’s your eyes man. It’s like… don’t get offended, but it’s like I’m staring at something dark. Something dead.”
During our sophomore year, I was invited to a party. Lorenzo knew a guy, Pete, some senior, who insisted I was “cool”. Apparently my “vibe” as well as my choice of clothing (Lorenzo insisted I wear black everything, so I went with just a black hoodie, jeans and boots) made Pete believe I was a goth. Goths have his seal of approval (as he was dating a goth chick at that time, or so I was told), so he let us in.
Two hours in and I was nursing my 2nd beer bottle. I wasn’t much of a drinker. Lorenzo found me and he was shitfaced already- he had one too many shots and I think he did a keg stand as well.
“Duuuude! Spin… bottle!!” He yelled, brandishing an empty beer bottle. We were in Pete’s study, and about five people joined in. “Truth or dare!!”
Pete joined and spun it around. It landed- depressingly- on me. “Truth or dare, Lucas?” Pete asked.
I flipped an imaginary coin in my head and just said “Dare?”
“OOHH I GOT A GOOD ONE FOR MY FRIEND HERE…” Pete staggered and rummaged through a desk. He produced a wad of playing cards. “Get three on the top, guess if it’s red or black. If you guessed correctly three times, you’re good. If not… you’ll have to cannonball on my pool naked.”
Jesus, those are high stakes. My hear rate rises, and I’m annoyed at myself for being here in the first place. Damn it Lorenzo, why did you dragged me in this party anyway? I closed my eyes and touched the first card. I almost flinched, because it’s almost like getting shocked by a joy buzzer, but at the same time there’s like a magnet pinning my fingers in the card. But I can see. The feeling washed over my eyes.And I can see.
“Black. Five of clubs,” I muttered. Pete flipped it and the small crowd goes wild.
“Holy shit, even the exact- are you a magician, Lucas bro?!” He yelled and clapped me in the back. Lorenzo also whooped in appreciation.
I touched the second one, and once again, electricity coursed from my right hand into my eyes, allowing me to see. “Red,” I said. I didn’t even say Ace of hearts, because I feel like I might give myself away too much.
Again they couldn’t believe what’s happened. “Alright bro, let’s have the last pick, black or red?!” Pete yelled
I closed my eyes and concentrated. For the first time in my life, whatever this power is, I reached into it. I embraced this anomaly I have.
An author once said that if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back at you.
The future is the abyss, and it threw itself at me in that moment.
I saw my card, but I saw.. so, so much more.
My mother, a teenager, bleeding to death in some basement, surrounded by a bunch of people wearing bronze masks. A sigil of blood beside her.
A child opening its eyes. Blue and cold and dark.
An oak tree. Flashes of lightning.
I hear someone call out, but I could not make out the details of what they’re saying.
Then, I saw my house in flames. Everyone’s home in flames, desolate, with no one left to mourn for it.
In the woods, I saw a woman, brown skinned, being violated by a white man in armor, the woman yelling ancient curses.As he took away her dignity, I can sense the shadows being drawn out by the woman’s lamentations. Lightning struck an oak tree nearby, and when I strain to see my eyes, the man’s dagger is at his throat.
The last vision was a dingy motel room. A woman again, shaking in her sleep. There’s a lot of bruises in her arms and feet. She woke up, and I can see her eyes are like mine, cold and blue. “Awake.” She muttered. And she saw me.
She saw me.
I woke up in my bed, extremely tired. I struggled to get my phone, and I saw three missed calls last night from Pete, an unknown number, and mom. A text from Lorenzo telling me I hope I recovered from my hangovet and how heavy I was being carried home. And I can hear an argument downstairs. Three people.
Slowly, I creeped down. And I can make out mom raising her voice.
”- that he will never hear you! On your side, do not forget that-“
“I’m perfectly aware I’m not at my goddamn best right now, but please, Martha, I-“
“No, damn it!” Dad said. I can hear a chair roughly squeak as he rose angrily. “ We raised that boy like our own. He has our last name, not yours. We have a right, as his parents to decide if he can be exposed to-“
Damn it. I forgot one of the stairs here creaks. They all became silent until dad called out to me.
“Lucas, are you there?” Well, no point in hiding now.
“I… what’s going on?” I asked. But when I saw who the visitor is, I already know.
“Son, this is uhh… well, this is a shock to you, but…”
She stepped forward. She’s a middle-aged woman, wearing a simple white long-sleeved t shirt and jeans and boots. She’s pale, and kept her blonde hair in a bun. Through her covered sleeves, I can still see a faint hint of the bruises of her arms. Bruises I know to be from repeated injections. Most striking is her blue eyes. Just like mine.
“Lucas, I’m your Aunt Barbara.” Her eyes seem to say, but you already knew that.
I grew up seeing visions in my head. I didn’t know it was a family thing.
To be continued…