IS THIS THE FEELING THAT COMES WITH DEATH? The thought stung between my ears. There were no angelic choirs, golden streets, or pearly gates.

Jeremiah Stone and the Quantum Conundrum

By: Brian Blackman ( @brianblackman )

Chapter 1: The New Kid

IS THIS THE FEELING THAT COMES WITH DEATH? The thought stung between my ears. There were no angelic choirs, golden streets, or pearly gates. I didn’t see pitchforks, everlasting flames, or people eternally dammed….just blacker than black…and silence. Mind you, this wasn’t the normal black…or the normal silence. It was the kind of absolute darkness that makes you seem weightless. The kind where you can’t see your own hand waving in front of your face or your feet anchored safely to solid ground. It’s the sort of nothingness that leaves you nauseous and longing to empty your lungs in a long echoing scream. But I resisted, knowing that it was a colossal waste of time, because the silence overwhelmed…the deafening silence. A silence where you expect to hear your quick labored breaths pulling at the heavy air around you, or the thumping of your own heart hard against your chest. But, there was none of that…just the maddening deathly silence.

Off in the distance, or perhaps right in front of my face, it’s hard to tell in total darkness…a light appeared. A small point of inviting light that would normally be so insignificant seemed to find purpose in the emptiness. It began moving closer, or maybe I was moving toward it…again impossible to really tell. The coolness of an icy breeze rushed by my face, my body began to ache mercifully. The breeze became a rumbling force; my ears welcomed the break in silence. The light grew larger, and flashes of memories, someone’s memories, rushed by my head. An excruciating pain took hold of my body, invading each and every cell. It felt as though my bones were lengthening and that my muscles were stretching just to keep from snapping. The pain was excruciating…then it stopped!
Just like that, it was no longer dark. The colors of distant thoughts flashed like a slide show, and I could see my feet, stretched miles in front of me, dangling in mid-air. Suddenly I was moving, either falling toward the growing ball of light or being pulled in its direction. I wanted to throw up! As I accelerated, my eyes receded into their sockets, and the white glowing light hurled itself impatiently towards my face. With a mind-numbing bang and a brilliant flash, the light consumed me, its outer edge snapping tight around behind my head. And suddenly, my feet felt like a pair of one-thousand pound anchors…

“STONE…JEREMIAH STONE!” the shrillness of her scratchy voice yanked me momentarily out of my spiraling nap. This wasn’t the first time that I had dozed off to Ms. Crabtree’s endless chatter about present participles or Ulysses or whatever the week’s bore was. I swear that woman could go on and on for days, and her mumbled jabber was enough to force even the most hyperactive kid into some sort of grammar-rule induced coma.
“JEREMIAH STONE!” she squawked as if she hadn’t been annoyingly heard the first time. I couldn’t help but ignore her. My eyes, abnormally heavy, forced me back into unconsciousness.
I must have been a pretty pathetic looking creature, with those long slimy strings of drool running from my open mouth, through my fingers, and down to the sticky pages of the library book that lay open under my elbow. At one point in time Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone had been the most popular book in Tesla Valley Junior High, but my damning rain of saliva put a sudden stop to that. The thought of catching my cooties freaked people out. So, the book was cast aside, doomed to the same fate that had been given to me as a child: a life of awkwardness, purposelessness, and not belonging; destined to sit on some lonely shelf somewhere, gathering dust, labeled a freak, because of one humiliating moment. This was my life…a closed, untouchable, discarded book!

When the bell clanged its sputtering clank, I quickly gathered my stuff and made a mad dash for the restroom, splashed my face with cold water, dried it on my shirt, and waited. You see, I was almost always late for History. Not because I detested the class so much, which I did, but because it was just always a little unnerving to have to pass between the two most popular guys in the whole school. Funny thing is, both of these so-called gods used to be my best friends. The three of us were inseparable up until about the third grade, and now…they just stare at me like I’m some sort of alien from the planet Geek, located somewhere in the far reaches of the Imgonnakillya galaxy. We hadn’t spoken in years and I didn’t want to be the one to provoke any unnecessary wedgie attack. So, as always, I hid in the restroom, third stall from the end, waiting for the warning bell. As soon as the bell’s first clank rattled through the halls, I was out of the gates, running like lightning. I slipped through the door just in time, avoiding “the gods”, and beating the dreaded tardy bell by a split second. Another humiliation adverted!

As usual, History class sputtered by pretty uneventful. Coach Coffee spent the first five minutes passing out an ungodly tonnage of worksheets, the next fifteen finishing up the sports section of the Tesla Gazette that he had started sometime earlier that morning, then the remainder of our time doing his favorite thing…sleeping. I always thought the irony involved was one of God’s little jokes; a man who was so perpetually tired, sharing his last name with the world’s most popular caffeinated wake-me-up. I never blamed him much though, I considered History pretty meaningless too.

The rest of the morning went exactly as choreographed; the occasional spit-wad to the face during third period Algebra, a pea in my hair during lunch. This was normal, at least for me, and I had developed quite the thick skin for it. Mom described these cruel years as growing pains, though I don’t think that was what the term really meant.

“Patience and perseverance must finish its work,” she would say tenderly, “so that you may grow mature and lack nothing.” I think she was trying to tell me that I was being prepared for some greater purpose or something. She never really bothered to explain herself though, and I never bothered to ask. I think she actually preferred that I be a little confused by her cryptic mix of Bible verses and ancient Chinese proverbs. They made me stop and think, and I think that is exactly what she wanted.

Anyway, Fourth period was always my favorite. I was a self-confessed computer geek, though I was careful with using the term in public, and I have always felt right at home in front of a monitor. Computer Lab was my sanctuary…at least for most of the class. You see, fifth period meant Physical Education, and P.E. meant humiliation, so I would spend the waning minutes of Computer Lab working myself into a short-circuiting frenzy. I would go from being lost in a cyber-world, to imagining every possible excuse that would allow myself to escape that day’s barbaric sporting rituals. The overload sometimes caused me to break into cold-sweats, and for my already-digested lunch to have to be sent back down in hard dry swallows. This was an everyday thing, no day being any easier than the other. It was all a part of my ridiculously miserable school life…for which there was no foreseeable cure.

I have always hated the smell of a gym. The pungent odor of sweat mixed with mildew and dust. Just walking through those heavy prison-like steel doors seemed to throw a tightening noose around my chest. As I threw myself down into my assigned seat on the dusty gym floor, the butterflies began fluttering wildly in my twisted gut. Roll-call was the last little bit of reprieve that I had before degradation took hold. So, I prayed silently that it would drag on for as long as possible.

“You got five minutes!” Coach Karuthers screamed while holding his hand up with his five fingers spread wide. He meant we had five minutes to get to the dressing room, take off our school clothes, get into our workout clothes, and back to our dusty spot in line. This always seemed impossible, but we somehow managed…most of the time.

“Stone, get up here…you’re stretch captain today!” Coach K ordained. “Great, that’s all I need,” I muttered. I suddenly wanted to puke. I didn’t feel like dealing with the stress of leading anything…much less this class. I wasn’t exactly leadership material. After all, most people would have preferred to stomp on me rather than salute. But, reluctantly, I climbed to my feet to take my position at the front of the snickering class. I could see it in their burning eyes. They were attempting to use their minds to coax me into a disaster of great proportions. But, somehow, I managed to nervously stumbled to position up front. Once there, I noticed him, a strange looking guy, not in his workout clothes. “That’s so unfair,” I thought. He was obviously new and hadn’t acquired the proper gym uniform yet. Most new kids were able to stretch this advantage into at least a week of nonparticipation…the clever ones…sometimes two.

He was a weird looking kid who seemed a little old for the eighth grade. His clothes looked like those of some kind of teenage rock star. A black duster, like you would see in an old western movie, hung from his narrow shoulders, partially hiding a black t-shirt that had a big green skull-and –cross bones splashed boldly on the front. His faded black jeans were held up by a studded black belt and tucked neatly into black combat boots that swallowed his feet. His platinum blond hair looked carefully sculpted into sharp, perfectly spaced spikes. I could see a strange blue marking on the top of his right hand…a tattoo of some sort. His eyes were a piercing icy blue that shot chills down my spine when he stared in my direction. He wouldn’t stop looking, but I was just as guilty. I sat there, my eyes locked with his, trying to get some sort of read on the dude. Soon, I realized the entire class had me in their sights…waiting for me to speak.

“R-R-Right over left,” the words sputtered uncomfortably across my lips. I placed one leg in front of the other and reached for my toes. “One-two-three-four-five…SWITCH,” I instructed hesitantly, looking defensively over my brow at the rest of the class.

The new kid was standing stiff, locked in a direct stare. He smiled a confident creepy smile, like some wild beast that had his prey backed into a corner. He didn’t grab his toes or wave his arms in small circles like the rest of the students. He refused to follow my instructions, perhaps because Coach had excused him because he hadn’t dress out, or was there something more to it. He seemed to be making a point that he was the dominant one, a point that a couple of days in Tesla Valley would reveal as already being established. I had never been the dominant one…in fact, I was the direct opposite of dominant, and everyone knew that already.

Without warning, my constricted lungs labored to gather air, a combination of my elevated heart rate and the stress of the new kid’s obvious distain for my simple presence. I motioned over to Coach K, who was lost in flirtatious conversation with Miss Stacy the Cheerleading Coach. I couldn’t speak…my chest was caving in…and Coach was preoccupied. I doubled over in excruciating pain as the pressure tightened, then I fell to my knees. As I reached back towards my feet, fumbling around my ankles for my lifeline, I saw the new kid rushing to my aid.

“Coach K!” someone shouted in a muffled frightened voice. My vision blurred then began caving in. Not again, I thought. Everything went black…again I was falling…spiraling towards the light.
“Jeremiah?” the soft echoing voice asked. “Can you hear me?” I couldn’t answer, my breathing still struggling to sustain me. The blackness turned fuzzy-gray, then into a blurry kaleidoscope of swirling faces…then it cleared. I could see the new kid gingerly backing away with that creepy half-smile frozen to his face. Coach K., Miss Stacy, and a few students, who were probably less concerned with me and more interested in my train wreck, were peering down at me like a scene from a cheesy medical soap opera. I could feel someone fumbling around at my ankles, searching for my extra lung.
H-H-Here it is!” The concern in Zindy’s stuttering words was apparent as she delicately placed the inhaler in my hand.

“Wow, he looks like crap!” one of the McClure twins said with a pleasurable tone.
“Yeah, like crap!” the other chimed in.
“Back up, ya knuckle heads, and give him some room!” Coach K demanded. The class followed his stern order. The McClures looked disappointed as they searched for a safe, but clear line of sight.
I sat up and huffed deeply on the inhaler. My chest thanked me by relaxing its tight grip on my tired lungs. I instantly felt better, but still not perfect. Then again, I never really felt perfect.
“Jeb, Justin,” the McClure twins snapped to attention, “You boys help Jeremiah to the nurses’ office!”
“YES!” they said in unison as they pumped their fists and high-fived one another.
“I-I’m alright Coach!” I blurted, trying to beat back the twins’ enthusiasm. I lifted myself to my feet as proof. “I can make it down there okay,” I smiled to camouflage my uncertainty.
“I-I-I’ll walk w-with him,” Zindy stuttered, “j-just to be sure he’s okay.” Coach nodded his approval. Thanks a lot! I thought sarcastically.

Zindy was a mess of a girl. Goth, I think was what she preferred to be labeled. You know, the kind of suicidal kid who rushes home after school to sit in the dark and listen to music you can barely understand. Her oversized gym uniform hung from her wirery frame. The red and black striped knee high socks matched the dozen or so yarn bracelets that never left her wrists, and clashed horribly with the required athletic attire that replaced her normal black Macabre brand wardrobe. Zindy never looked directly at anyone when she spoke. She would just stare at the floor the way an intimidated dog remembers his violent owner. She never really said much to anyone if she didn’t have to, but always seemed to go out of her way for me. It was nice to be paid attention to, even though I never stopped trying to push her way.

“I-I’ll w-wait with you if you want,” she mumbled hesitatingly as she looked over the top of her eyes through strands of black and blonde hair.
“That’s okay Zindy…I’ll be okay,” I reassured. She sighed a depressing sigh and mumbled something under her breath as she walked away. It sounded like she said “I give up”, but I couldn’t be sure.
The rent-a-nurse did the obvious protocol: temperature, blood pressure, a small flashlight in the eye, listening to my breathing. My asthma landed me in the office several times a year, so this was nothing new to me.
“I’ll send someone to the gym for your clothes,” she said, the same way she had said many times before. “Just lie down and rest,” she spouted out the mechanical rhetoric.

Soon, the cool air conditioner mixed with the hypodermic scent lulled me into a brief catnap. The last thing I remembered was the image of the weird kid’s creepy half-cocked smile and his eerie, mischievous, icy stare…
Soon the bell echoed through the halls and I was jarred from my accidental slumber. Hopefully I slept through Science, I thought.

“How ya feelin’, Jeremiah?” my thoughts interrupted by Nurse Kraddick’s southern drawl.
“Fine I guess.”
“You gonna be fine to go to last period?” she asked.
Advanced Art, I thought. “I think so!”
“Well, ya better hurry along…ya only have a couple of minutes.”

I instinctively glanced down at my wrist to verify her warning. IT WAS GONE! The watch that had been in my family for years...my mother’s grandfather’s watch…the “never lose this watch” watch that I had promised to protect…the same one that strangely seemed to sometimes protect me…WAS GONE!

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