Spark (3 page)

I curled up, pulled the quilt over my head until it got too stuffy to breathe, and then I just threw it off.  If you want to know, I was thinking about crushing those boxes.  I was just mad enough to do it, too.  First of all, I was mad at my parents. 
Why couldn’t we just go back home?
  And second of all, I was mad at myself. 
Why did I have to sleep for four freaking years anyway?  Why couldn’t I just wake up? 

Later that night, after my parents fussed over my every move during dinner and I finally had a minute to myself, I wheeled myself over to my bed and ran my hand over the quilt that was spread neatly over it.  It was really thin and worn out.  Suddenly, a vague memory of my Grandma Betty popped into my mind.  Some lady with cold hands and blue hair.  That’s all I remembered about her.  I felt a shiver go through my body and pulled the quilt over my legs, inspecting the pattern.  It was like this crazy maze of circles, sort of like a bunch of multi-colored coils all jumbled up.  Most people would look at it and think it was just one big old ugly mess.  But it could be sort of cool if you knew how to look at it. 
Sort of like my life,
I thought.  An ugly mess.  I found a stray thread on the quilt and pulled on it.  The fabric puckered up and the thread kept coming out, longer and longer, like when a magician pulls a scarf from his sleeve.  Finally, it came loose and I took a long, deep breath.

Ok,
I thought
.  I will only let myself be sad for a minute, and then it’s over.  Done. 

I tried to will myself not to cry, but it was useless.  I pulled the quilt up over my head so no one would hear me.  In the dark, I could see tiny points of light coming through the threadbare quilt.  Like stars.  If I moved my head slightly back and forth, they twinkled.

Mind Over Body

              Brown-Middleton Rehabilitation Center is the last stop before the end of the earth.  In fact, it sets right on the border of Hades.  I was there.  A normal person might have been excited to witness such a scientific anomaly, but not me.  I just wanted to go back to bed.  From the minute my parents pulled into the parking lot, I knew going inside that building was going to rank right up there with a root canal or meatloaf.  For one thing, it was a big, arrogant building.  Big and brown with a bunch of fancy flowers and plants all around and some guy dressed in gray from head to toe like he just got out of bed, standing there next to some big obnoxious plant with enormous leaves, smoking a cigarette.  He was probably contemplating how he managed to complete three graduate degrees just to end up
here
.  A blur of a man and a lady in white coats whizzed by, pushing an old man in a wheelchair who was complaining about his feet. 
Great
, I thought. 
Just where I want to be:  A place where they hook you up to things and try to make your body do things it can’t do
. 

I complained and complained, but they took me inside anyway.  Within ten minutes there we were―my dad on the left side of me, my mom on the right, each holding my arms.  In front of me were two bars, spaced about three feet apart, waist high.  I could feel my legs, but they felt like two punching bags, dangling from my hips.  My parents simultaneously tugged on my arms, and it took me a while to figure out that they wanted me to use the punching bags to do something productive.  They wanted me to walk.

              “Just take it slowly,” Dad said.  “It’s ok.”

              I shook my head.  “I can’t feel my legs.”  It wasn’t really true, but it sounded like the right thing to say. 

              “What do you mean you can’t feel your legs?”  Mom blurted out, alarmed.  “You can feel your legs.  Nurse?  Can she feel her legs?”

              “Of course she can,” Dad answered.  “Don’t be silly.”  He looked at me.  “You can feel your legs. Right, Honey?”

              “I mean, they don’t
work
right,” I said.  “They’re not numb or anything.  I just feel like I can’t move them.”

              The nurse came up and touched my arm.  “That’s normal.  Your muscles have been inactive for a long time.  How about we try something else for now.”  The nurse said.  “Come have a seat over here.”

              She wheeled me over me to a chair that had these two mechanical devices with straps sticking out from the bottom.  “This is Arnie.”

              “
Arnie
?”

              “It’s actually an acronym, RNE, which stands for Rehabilitative Nucleonic Exerciser.  Arnie works miracles,” she said, staring at me through her thick glasses.  “Arnie can turn back the clock on your injuries.”

              Dad chuckled.  “Arnie.  I like that.  So what does it do?”

              “Restores body capabilities in a matter of weeks.”  She punched some buttons.  “But it’s not so much what the machine does as what the patient does.  Let me show you.”

              “Now put your legs here,” she instructed, strapping them in while pushing a bunch more buttons.

              I felt a little tickle in my ear, so I shook my head. 

              “Try not to move,” the nurse said.  “It will affect the results.”

              “Ok,” I said, stiffening up.  “What do I do now?”

              The tickle came back in both ears and my legs started to shake.  “I’m sorry,” I said.  Then, I felt weird tingles all up and down my legs, like they were being massaged by tiny fingers.

              “You’re doing great.  Those are electrical impulses,” the nurse said.  “They revive your muscular growth.”

              I had treatments twice a week for three weeks, and even though my legs
seemed
to get better each time, rehab was still not on my list of favorite things to do.  I mean, three weeks of the stuff was enough to make a person want to pack her bags and move to Siberia.  Seriously boring, seriously annoying.  Finally, it was over and they took us in for something called an exit interview, which didn’t sound like anything I wanted to be a part of, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter.  We sat down and listened to some doctor guy with a really bad comb-over tell me what my life was going to be like for the next few years.

              First he told me I had done “remarkably well, considering the circumstances,” which sort of made me feel good.  That is until he started talking about my brain being physically thirteen years old and my body being seventeen, and how it might make for some “social concerns.”  That’s enough to freak a person out.  Because remember, I was already a freak, the tallest string bean in school. 
I wish I could have forgotten that instead of all the other stuff
, I thought. 
Was I going to be the only seventeen-year-old in the seventh grade?
  I started sweating.

              Then he said something that I will never forget:  “Her level of cognition sort of defies science.”  I was starting to like this guy after all.  Then he said the word “gifted” and I sort of blanked out from shock.  At the end of the interview, he read—or, rather, said—the verdict.  I was seventeen.  They couldn’t explain it, but physically
and
mentally I was seventeen.  And smart enough to go back to school only one grade below normal.  I was going to tenth grade.  By that time, I was reeling, dizzy, and my stomach was a flock of frightened birds on a scatter.

              Then Dad said, “I don't doubt it.  Tess has always been advanced.  She could count to 100 when she was three years old.” 

              “Still, the brain is a complicated organ—” the doctor warned.  “While cognitively one may be advanced, there may be partial lapses in other areas …”

              “You mean memory lapses?” My Dad wagered.  “Do you mean she could have amnesia?”

              “Well, not technically speaking.  For all intents and purposes, Tess will remember who she is, how to do most of the things she knew how to do.  But she might not remember if she’s read a certain book or been to a certain place in the past.”               

              “So Disneyworld will be an adventure all over again?” Dad suggested.

              The doctor nodded.  “Something like that.”

              By the end of July, I was walking by myself and had completed an online academic catch-up class.  All those hours in Hades I complained about?  They had paid off, though I’d never admit it to my parents.  They had gotten me a computer, which was amazing considering they had never been that extravagant in the gift department.  But since they wanted me to be up to speed by the time school started in September, they forked out the big bucks.  I was feeling pretty good, but honestly, I don’t know which scared me more… the idea of going back to the seventh grade or the idea of skipping to tenth.  Either way, it was going to be a wild ride.

Orientation

              About a month before the official first day, I climbed the stairs to my new school, lugging my backpack which kept slipping off my shoulder.  With the installation of some new technology system, the entire student body was required to register and attend an orientation class.  Just outside the door, I turned and looked back at my mom, who was watching me like a patrolman from the car at the curb.  She looked relieved when I waved at her.  Inside the door, I discovered a line of about ten or twelve students, and I immediately wanted to turn around and run.  I didn’t really know why until I realized that I walked in expecting to see Dani or some other friends from sixth grade.  Even though I recognized a few people, there were a whole lot of new faces.  And I was essentially invisible.  I saw a few people sort of staring at me like they might recognize me, but then they’d just turn away and start talking amongst themselves.  It was like no one knew me.  Clearly I was not prepared.

A recording that sounded like the vehicle navigation system in my parents’ van came across a speaker system, giving everyone instructions. 
Please proceed in an orderly fashion through each station, turn off all cell phones, pagers, and other electronic equipment, have paperwork completed and ready to present in the lobby, blah, blah, blah. 
I swallowed, feeling already
dis-
oriented.  This was not a good sign. 

              A girl came in behind me.  My heart jumped.  She looked just like Kelly Crawford from gym class, four years ago.  I glanced back quickly.  Blond hair—check.  Medium height—check.  Tan—check.  Despite the circumstances, I was feeling friendly, so I turned around to say hello, but the girl was busy texting on her phone and didn’t even look up.  I wondered why she had her phone out, since Navigation Lady had just given strict instructions.  Thinking she might have missed the instructions, I almost said something, but then changed my mind.   She’d probably just ignore me or roll her eyes and go on typing.  I turned back around.

              Just then, I heard a phone vibrate behind me and I heard the girl say, “Yeah, ok, I know you don’t like to text.  Sorry, I forget.”  She laughed, then said, “Some lame voiceover just told us to turn our phones off.  Yeah, like
that’s
gonna happen.”  She paused, then after a few moments, said, “Yeah, see you there.  Hopefully I’ll get out of jail by then.  I hope your dad gets it fixed.”  She looked at me, rolled her eyes, and turned around.  The conversation continued.

The first “station” was an oblong table where four ladies sat in blue t-shirts with the words “Tech in Action” printed on them.  I waited until one of them called me up, stepped forward, and pulled an envelope that contained my paperwork out of my backpack.  I read the lady’s nametag.  Her name was Fran.

              “Tess Turner,” she said, as the lady next to her checked my name off a list and began assembling yet more paperwork which she handed to me, along with a blue folder.

              “Keep all your orientation materials in this,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder without looking at me.  “Make sure you read everything thoroughly.  Station 2 is over there.”  She gestured to her right, and I glanced over her shoulder, where I noticed a group of students passing through two vertical poles, about four feet apart, that resembled an airport metal detector.  A short, fat man in uniform waved a wand over each person then signaled them through.  I felt a little lurch in my stomach.

              I wanted to ask, “What’s that?” but I figured it was pointless.  I’d find out soon enough, and besides, people were waiting.  I gathered my folder, stuffed it in my backpack, and shuffled to the next station.

              The man in uniform also had a nametag and it said “Ernie.”

              “Hi Ernie,” I said. 

He looked bored.  “Mornin,’” was all he said.

              There was one student in front of me, and nothing was happening.   So instead of just standing there, I looked at Ernie and said.  “I feel like I’m in the airport,” immediately feeling silly for saying it.  The guy in front of me glanced back, shifted his feet.

              Ernie gave me the same bored expression, indicating that he’d heard that same comment about a million times.

              Just then, another Blue T-Shirt Lady jogged across the linoleum, wiping her hands on her khakis.  “Thanks, Ernie,” she said, and then looked at the guy in front of me.  “Had to visit the little girl’s room.”  
Little girl’s room? 
I thought. 
Do people really still say that?

             
By then, more students had gotten in line behind me.  I didn’t recognize a single face.  A few people looked at me, though, like they thought they knew me.  But then they just looked away.

“Welcome,” she said.  “The device before you is called an Accu-Read.  It’s a scan recognition system that records and stores your dental profile for proper identification and entry into the campus system.  Think of it as an anatomical password that allows you access not only into the physical campus, but also the virtual campus.” 

She paused, as if expecting a barrage of questions.  Personally, I had about a hundred of them, but I wasn’t about to speak up first.  When no one said anything, she continued.  “The system is currently in setup mode, during which each student is profiled and entered into the system.  The first thing you need to do is locate the silver card located inside the blue folder given to you at Station 1.  That card contains your personal information, name, address, year in school, etc.  You will then be asked to step through the vertical profilers and slip the card into the slot located on your right.  You will then hear three short beeps.  On the third beep, you will be instructed to look into the lens positioned on the podium directly in front of you and smile.  The system will automatically scan your dental profile and log it into the database.  Again, today, we are in setup mode.  The procedure will be very similar when you come to log on the first day of school.  The only difference is that there will actually be six Accu-Read stations instead of just one, and you will hear a fourth beep for entry.  If you are denied entry, you will hear a buzzer instead of a beep.  If there are no questions, we'll get started with the set up. ”