Memories

June 11th, 2004

My earliest memory was one of my grandmother. She was a small, dark-complexioned woman with an exceedingly haughty, and very repulsive expression. She was cooking dinner and smiled at me with furrowed brows. It was also the only memory I had of my biological family. I don’t know where my parents were or if they were even alive. My second earliest memory was when I first discovered I was different. I used to look out of my window to watch a couple of blue jays dancing around the feeder in the garden. One day they were picking on a third and it was almost as if I could feel its pain. I quickly ran outside and chased away the bullies, but the blue jay that had been picked on stuck around. It didn’t fear me as most birds did humans and wanted to be close to me instead. The third earliest memory was a little later, but that one would forever be stuck in my head bright as day. 

It had been a beautiful spring day, the sort where kids were so happy to run outside without jackets. I’d run over to the neighbor's house after dinner because they had a swing. I probably should have been in bed already, but no one stopped me. With my six-year-old legs, I pumped higher and higher until I lost my balance and smacked to the ground. I was laying on my back in the grass and gazed up at the moon. I asked her if perhaps she knew why we existed. Why we were born and why we’d have to go again, but she remained silent. I asked her why I was different, but still no answer. At that young age, I liked being different. I'm not sure why I liked it, but I did. It was the ridicule that came along with not following the social conduct that I hated. There was no justice for the creative, no safe haven for the special ones. There was only hate and brutality from the ones looked up upon. Sometimes it sucks to be one's self, especially if that self was always stuck inside and forced to watch others playing in the sun, was never offered an umbrella for when it rained, or even a shoulder to cry on. That self could not join in with the crowd and never would.

I grew angry for not being answered and tore the grass from the ground until a shadow fell over me. Next to me stood a tall man wearing a long overcoat and an expensive-looking suit underneath. He had already passed his fifties judging by his thick grey beard and mustache and I imagined even more grey hair underneath his turban. His skin was light brown, a shade I hadn’t seen before that often. 

“Why do we exist?” he asked as he leaned on his cane. “What sustains us in and above the void of nothingness? Perhaps it is the raw energy that resides all around us bursting out violently to form life. Perhaps it is the sheer will inside us that calls upon the universe to give birth to us. Perhaps it is something else entirely.”

 I was absolutely fascinated by this eccentric man’s words and hung on to his every word. Though none of it made sense to me. 

“Why does life fade away again as if reclaimed by the hidden forces around us? Perhaps it is because we have done our part in a greater plan. Perhaps we were careless and paid for it with our existence.” He stopped and looked at me for a while until my curiosity got the better of me.”

“Who are you mister?” I asked in awe. 

“My name is Sir Alexander Abernathy but you can call me the Sage. I run a school of sorts. One for.. peculiar children such as yourself, young man.”

“How do you know?” I had only barely scratched the surface of what I was capable of, but I knew there was something inside of me that most others didn’t have. 

“I’ve been watching you for a while now and I must say I’m quite impressed by your potential. There is much I could teach you. So, how about it? There is a bed for you at the Academy.”

“But I live here,” I argued. A part of me wanted to grab this man by the arm and tag along with him. A large part, but something held me back as well. 

“I can’t give you the reason behind why you were born, but I can give purpose to your life. I’ll show you your reason to live. I’ll let you feel why you’re here.”

I was a rather gullible kid, believed anything. Especially when told by a man with such an amazing vibe hanging around him. Little did I know, that was just a facade. I was, however, like always, stuck in habits and not fond of the unknown. My heart wanted to go with this man, but my head was still trying to stop me. 

“What’s holding you back? Are you worried?” The man’s hoarse voice grew somewhat impatient. “Look around you. All the trees are losing their leaves, but not one of them is worried. Change is part of life. One thing will replace the next and on it goes. Don’t fear the unknown. Take a leap of faith.”

And so I did. The biggest one I ever would. I would regret it for the rest of my life, yet wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. 

I tried to take him by the hand, but he refused so we walked beside each other as we made our way to his car. Not just any car, though. I figured this man must have been the CEO of some big corporation upon seeing the limousine that was waiting for us. I felt ridiculous sitting in that long, narrow compartment with two leather seats facing each other, a fully stocked bar, and a TV screen. It was nothing like a car at all. I was somehow glad that the windows, like the driver's glasses, were darkened and nobody was able to see in. 

“When did you first discover your affinity towards birds?” Sage asked.

“About a year ago,” I answered. “It’s not just birds, though. Bugs as well. And Bobby.” The neighbor’s dog was often out in the garden. He didn’t get much love from his owners but he did from me. It’s weird to think I could still remember that dog vividly, but my own parents had faded from my memory.

“Remarkable…” Sage said in deep thought. “What about the grass? Did you feel anything when you ripped it out of the ground?” 

“No,” I said confused. “Was I supposed to?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. We shall figure it out in time.”

“Why can I do what I can do?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without ever making a sound, to another soul.”

“But why do they speak to me?”

“I don’t have the answers to your questions, Number Six. Only you have.” It was the first time he had called me by my number. I hadn’t told him my name, of course, but he hadn’t asked for it either. I would forget my birth name over time. From that day on I was Number Six. 

“Are there others? What’s it like?” I asked.

“I think you’ll love it.” 

Talk about an overstatement.