Disorder

Stranded in Parallel [Chapter 11]

I discovered something I hadn’t realized before. As Ohanzee’s words appeared on the page, I could feel a warmth through the paper. I described the feeling to him in turn, and he said he, too, had sensed the same feeling. He directed me to place my palm firmly upon the paper and that he would do the same.

My fingertips slid across the harsh lifelessness of the paper. At first, I felt a dejection that my imagination had been toying with me. Then the sensations turned suddenly to warmth, softer and fuller than could be imagined. Presenting the open pages on the bed before me, I was able to rest my hand fully against the pressure that was shifting carefully to match my own. Every inch of my palm soaked in the sensation. Without a word having to be exchanged, our fingers began to intertwine, beginning to cross into each other’s worlds.

I held tightly against that new, warm sensation, begging in my heart for it not to end. I felt my eyes start to well up with tears. I watched them fall onto the page amongst our exchanges as I grasped at my arm with my free hand. I shuddered and almost spoke, wanting to say something but being too afraid to do so.

I woke up with those tears running down my face and into my pillow, my hand grasped tight in a ball under my pillow. Shoving my face deeper into my bedding, I cried and cried until the sensations from the dream had subsided.

I must have slept like I hadn’t done so in a week. I mean, all the times waking up early in anticipation of checking the notebook had taken their toll on me. When my breathing felt like it was somewhat back to normal, I pushed myself up to my knees and made sure Mom hadn’t heard me crying.

It was still dim outside. It seemed like it was still early, but the pitter-patter against the window betrayed rain and the clouds producing it. I tiptoed out of my room and downstairs to seek out the clock on the oven. It read 11:12— almost noon. Mom was long gone. Actually, she was closer to coming home than anything. I dashed back up to my room in order to make up lost time.

The notebook was still in its usual hiding place. I rushed through the pages, the sensations from the dream still lingering. A sole message was written in response to what I had jotted down out of desperation the night before.

From what I understand, crossing from world to world would be… unlikely.

My eyes welled up with tears, but I wiped them away before they could fall upon the paper. For fear of Mom coming home early and finding me like this, I folded the notebook closed and hid it away again.

I somehow went the whole rest of the day without even thinking of the notebook. No, that’s a lie. I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound foolish. Ohanzee’s words crossed my mind multiple times. Something about how the sentence was written felt like it was teasing my ignorance, fed up with my naive otherworldly understanding.

I was almost glad when Mom came stomping through the door, damp from the continued rain and ready to ask me about my day. Of course, nothing had become of it, but as a person, I was obligated to respond.

“It was fine.”

Even while washing dishes, folding up empty moving boxes, eating dinner, watching a movie with Mom, then washing up, my mind kept going back to formulating a proper response.

When it was adequately late and I had spent an adequate amount of time present in this world, I excused myself to my room for the night. I double-checked that Mom was still downstairs before closing the door behind me and pulling out the notebook from under my nightstand.

My heart was thumping as I landed on the page with our most recent exchanges. My eyes darted across the last familiar message and on to a brand new sentence.

Are you still with me? Your world and all?

My heart jumped, and the nervous knots in my stomach instantly dissolved. My lack of a response might have been seen as the connection between our worlds falling apart. If nothing else, Ohanzee had been awaiting a response.

“I’m here—my world and all. I was just… busy,” I responded after digging up the dull pencil.

In my rush to write back, I didn’t hear Mom’s feet plodding up the stairs. She came knocking on my door. I managed to push the notebook and pencil up under my pillow before she cracked the door open.

“Remember to get to sleep at a decent time tonight, Nat,” she said, leaning in a little way past the door. “We have an appointment tomorrow morning.”

Those words bit at my nerves. “Got it,” I hummed, rolling over onto my back as if I had nothing to hide. I only glanced up as Mom slipped back out. Knowing her, she would come back to bug me if my light was still on for much longer. It wasn’t worth the risk.

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As much as my body didn’t agree with it, I was up early as planned the next morning. For once, Mom was dressed as heavily as I was, despite it still being summer. We had both figured out that long sleeves were a must deep in the air-conditioned confines of the clinic. Since the excursion out in public the other day, the feeling of being able to hide behind a face mask was starting to feel more and more comfortable.

“You have time to pick out a book if you want,” Mom suggested as I made it downstairs right before our departure. She waved a book of her own at me. I blinked a few times at her before shrugging and dragging myself back up the stairs.

By then, the shelf in my bedroom had been reassembled like it had been in my old room back in our original house. I scanned the selection of books, but the thought of forcing myself to focus on any one thing for multiple hours already made me tired.

“Don’t take too long with it, Nat!” Mom called from down below. “We don’t want to be late!”

I nearly sighed and turned around when the sight of the notebook poking out from under the corner of my pillow caught my eye. I don’t know what came over me then, but I hurriedly tucked it under my arm and dashed back downstairs.

The rain had let up, but most of the cloud cover hung in the sky like a blanket, stuffily clinging to your body as you suffer from chills.

Apart from the façade of our apartment and the tall, boxy structures of the hospital, I still didn’t recognize any of the surrounding town. I recalled what Ohanzee had said about this location, how it was the center of power, Elohi. He had also said that he lived in an Academy. Something like a school, I imagined. I wondered if it was made out of stone and brick like the hospital, or wood like our apartment. I wondered if it was built up several stories high or if it spread out across the land. I wondered if they had anything like a mall, a restaurant, a… whatever people did for fun. I wondered if they did the same things for fun as we did in this world. Not that I knew about those parts of my own world.

The procedure at the clinic isn’t terrible, but it also isn’t pleasant. Having a needle in your arm isn’t pleasant. Sitting in the same position for multiple hours isn’t pleasant. Being asked multiple times how you are isn’t pleasant. Having to lie each time isn’t pleasant. Having your Mom sit beside you and glare pity your way isn’t pleasant. In one of the few moments where Mom decided to skim her book instead of the lack of emotions on my face, I found myself staring at the endless dripping of the clear liquid falling from its container and into the tube hooked to my arm.

I had smuggled in the notebook without Mom noticing that it wasn’t a regular book. It had slid down from under my arm and into the chair on the side further away from her. I realized I had forgotten to bring something to write with, but then again, being asked about what I was writing was probably a path I didn’t want to go down. All I really needed at that moment was to look upon the words.

With my free arm, I pried the notebook out of the chair and rested it against the slick fake-leather armrest, the pages facing away from Mom’s view. I glanced between her and those pages to see if she cared or not that I was seemingly reading again. I casually flipped through the pages to avoid drawing attention. After scanning the old conversations, I reached the page where I had hastily responded the night before. Fresh words awaited me.

I’m glad to hear.

You went silent on me for so long. I feared it could have been this… connection fading. Disconnecting.

I’ve been busy too. With my normal studies, but also considering this… matter. It’s made me worry. You’ve made me worry. No. No, ignore that.

I couldn’t help but read through our old exchanges in your absence. You said… you had a load of misfortune. Were you making that to taunt me, or is that true? It’s hard to imagine what misfortune could be affecting such a… positive person.

I am worried, after all. My studies have taught me more about this… phenomenon. Our situation. There may be a catalyst that has allowed our worlds to come this close. An element of change. Something in the flow of Elohi. Can you think of anything like that? It could be related to one of us, but it also may not.

I hope you can understand what I’m saying. I’m sorry for writing so much. I’m very tired and headed to sleep soon. But please write me again.

I bit my lip and narrowed my eyes, trying to hide any emotion pushed up to my face by the words. I was glad that the mask was covering my face as my teeth bit into my lip. I turned my eyes sideways to make sure Mom wasn’t looking. I glanced downward, looking over the words again. …misfortune… catalyst…

I decided that closing up the notebook so soon after opening it would seem suspicious. I stared off into the distance as if I were contemplating a word or a sudden plot development, or simply resting my eyes. I locked onto the clear plastic tubing of the IV again, its slow drip remaining constant despite everything else. The sack of magical make-me-feel-good potion gathered in the drip chamber like drops of rain into a tiny horizon. I could almost feel each of them through the pressure of the needle in my arm, slowly stealing the warmth from my body one ounce at a time. With each continued drop from the IV, I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

Before it knew it, I felt something pulling at me. No, it was something pulling away from me. Warmth. The warmth I had felt in my dream the night before. I felt as if I could hear a voice. It was his. The one I felt and heard in the words on the page. And while I could feel them, they were too distant to hear properly.

Just when they felt like they were going to disappear, I felt myself being pulled back. My free hand was in Mom’s grasp, who was shaking me and calling my name.

“Try to stay awake, Nat. They want you awake in case you start to feel sick.”

I shook my head and glanced over at my other arm, still attached to the bag and its tubes. I pulled my hand away from Mom’s grasp and felt for the notebook in my lap. Somehow, its black and white splotchy cover had appeared in Mom’s lap instead. Without thinking, I snatched it up, tucking it into the cushion furthest away from her.

“Don’t touch my things!” I hissed at her. My voice pierced the quiet room, causing the handful of others in the clinic space to glance our way.

“It was about to end up on the floor, Nat,” Mom sighed. “I didn’t take a peek at your diary, don’t worry.”