The Train pt 2.
Cato sat upright, wide eyed and searching to take in stock of what was happening. His heart hammered in his chest, and he tried not to panic. He was still on the rail. It had stopped. The conductor was in front of him talking to someone off to the side, animatedly gesturing to him and then gave him a quick look, then did a double-take. Cato imagined seeing him alert so quickly surprised him.
A female lizard-folk appeared. Cato pulled his knees up as she pushed past the driver and sat down. She tried to reach for his face. He evaded her scaled hands. He didn’t know what she was doing. He scooted away from her and reflectively pushed his mind toward her mind to listen to her thoughts. Dizziness stopped him and he cradled his head. He shouldn’t have done that and knew better. The shot made him extremely antsy. He took in several deep breaths and focused on the worried faces around him.
The lizard-folk cupped her hands over her ear holes and made a lifting motion. She wanted him to take off his earphones. Even though the essence build-up in his blood was nullified, that didn’t change his over-stimulated brain. In fact, it was worse now.
The conductor handed her his card. She read it, then eyed him warily. Cato swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew that expression all too well. It was a look of judgment. If he could change the default message on the card, he would have. However, he couldn’t push his thoughts on it at the time. Communication would be an issue if she didn’t know sign language. He signed wanting to know who she was. She shook her head, pointed to the card and at him.
Once again, communication failed. She looked at the conductor for assistance. He then pointed to the card, then his head, and started moving his hand as if it was speaking. They wanted to know if he could talk.
Cato swayed his head. His old friend, embarrassment, engulfed him and made it difficult for him to want to talk. He would just struggle to articulate everything despite the fact he could do so very well. He wanted her and everyone around him to just go away and leave him alone. She picked up his backpack that had been opened to get his emergency kit out. The instructions were lying on top of it. She read them, then handed him the nutrition bar that was in it. After receiving a nullifying shot, he needed to eat it to keep from being sick. He took the bar and looked at it with disgust. It was a joyless, sugarless metal tasting cookie that was only valued for its medicinal properties.
He took it begrudgingly and tore it open. She studied him. The conductor pointed to his cab. She nodded, and he went back to driving. Cato ate while being watched. He pulled the water bottle from the side pouch of his gym bag and squirted as much water in his mouth as he could to get rid of the metallic taste of metal from his mouth. He wished the water could get rid of the feeling of wanting to melt into a dark corner as well.
He felt stupid for letting himself get that far. He knew his body didn’t expel essence efficiently, and he used and absorbed so much that match. It would have been better if he poked himself after he left the locker room. He misjudged how much time he had before his build-up went critical. The second part was because he didn’t want to have to explain why he needed another shot to his new doctor.
If it was his childhood doctor, he wouldn’t worry about it. She was wonderful, but he was too old to see her. His new doctor had too much of the “poor little telepathist” attitude he hated. The first time they spoke, he shoved forms to apply for disability protection and then told him that he should fill them out before he failed out of college and couldn’t get a job. He had never been so angry at a single person as he did that day. The doctor sat there and gave him a very long speech about how he had limits and should accept them. Cato desperately wanted to change specialists, but another would be hard to find.
The woman then patted his knee. He regarded her. She pointed to his wrist and held out her hand. She wanted to check his pulse. He moved so he could sit properly. She was following the instructions on the kit. He wondered if she was a medical professional of some kind. When she released him, she pointed to a single word on the kit’s instruction card.
Hospital.
He shook his head. There was no need for one.
She then pointed to a sentence and covered part of it with her fingers.
Reason for state…
He pulled his gym bag to him and tugged out his team jacket. It was yellow with red sleeves. He loved it. Evenstar was printed on the back with a flame below it. He knew Cloud City broadcast their matches at the university. Everyone knew what the university team jacket looked like.
The expression of judgment deepened. Based on his doctor’s interaction, she likely was thinking it was irresponsible for him to be on a sports team, let alone one that involved working essence. Probably thought it was irresponsible to even let him out alone. Telepath’s were sensitive to a lot of things, including essence. Though they would grow out of it with more exposure. However, the realms method for dealing with it was a life of isolation. The only reason Cato was out and about was his parents. They wanted him to have as close to a normal life as possible and they were criticized for it.
His parents were irresponsible for forgoing an implant for him as a child to control his mind-reading. Then the goal post moved to them being foolish to let him attend a normal private school, then a normal public school, and then to college. Many were on the belief since it was rare for a telepath to have a normal life, it wasn’t worth trying. And many agreed with that mindset. Some only did because they had privacy concerns.
They feared him reading their thoughts to steal, cheat, and manipulate. The worst ones worried he would have a meltdown and, forcing his thoughts on everyone in a twenty-block radius, paralyzing everyone with his misery.
That was not how that worked. A meltdown would rebound their thoughts back to them. And not for a twenty-block radius. It was just an anticlimactic couple of feet.
He didn’t tell people this, but the thought of paralyzing people in a twenty-block radius intrigued him. It would be amazing if a telepath trained themselves to tap into the minds of that many people. However, the likelihood outcome of such a thing would likely just lead to an outright aneurism. Then again, perhaps with the right magical architect, a telepathist could do it.
In fact, Cato wouldn’t have minded having a magical object to strengthen his trait to manifest mind illusions. He would use it to cause the conductor to stop the train and he leave the ever-watchful eye of the woman so he could make his way home in peace. However, that would get him arrested, and evaluated to see if he was a danger to society. Then that would lead him to a life of isolation. Cato liked being alone, but he still like being around people.
After six more stops, he arrived two blocks away from his parent’s modest condo. It wasn’t on the edge of the floating city where the expensive places were. It did have a good view of the small lake on the east side of the city. What remained of the sunset reflected on the dark waters as streetlamps flickered on one by one. And to his surprise and horror, the lizard woman followed him off the rail. In fact, as he adjusted his backpack and gym bag, she waited.
She gestured for him to lead the way. He took out his card, feeling well enough to push away the fixed message, and mentally wrote. A question mark sufficed and flipped the card to her.
She pulled out a lanyard he didn’t notice hanging around her neck. There, under a faded picture, were the words “Social Services: Case Worker.
His shoulders sagged. Of course, she worked for social services. He turned towards home, wishing he could just transform and fly away, leaving her behind. Even better, he wished he was better at manifesting and made her think he flew off while he ran and hid in the shrubs. But, that was rude and would get him arrested and evaluated to make sure he wasn’t a danger to society as well.
Instead, he let her follow him from the sidewalk to the elevator. She joined him. He pushed in his key for the fourth floor and the elevator rose. It chimed, and the door opened to the unit his parents owned.
Cato stepped in and slid his hand to the light switch on the wall and flicked it on and off. His dad, Haig, sat at his desk in the corner of the living room. He was leaning forward with a hand holding back the top red mass of his undercut from his face, while the other held a red pen. When he looked up from his paper grading, Cato gestured to the woman beside him.
She stepped forward before his dad could stand. Her mouth moved fast. Her gestures were terse as she pointed to him. For a second Cato thought his dad was just going to take the tirade. Then, like he did with his students, waved his hands wide and then formed a “T” for a timeout. The woman stopped.
Haig ignored the social worker. He pointed to Cato and asked him if he was okay in sign language. Cato bobbed his head, hoping his dad would just let him escape to his room. Instead, he held up a finger, telling him to hold.
From the couch, his younger sister's golden gaze spied up from her schoolwork. Her face twisted in confusion, and she lifted her hands, wondering what was going on. Cato rolled his eyes at her. His older brother was there for some reason as well and stuffed a fork full of cake in his mouth, watching with amusement. Cato didn’t like he had an audience to view his embarrassment. In fact, he wished he had never got up that morning.
He and his siblings watched their dad listen and waited for the social worker to say her piece. He did so without reaction. Then his lips moved. His expression remained impassive. Cato figured he spoke maybe a sentence worth of words and pointed to the door. And she, like many social workers before her, delivered yet another long rant.
His parents, at that point in their lives, were exhausted from explaining their choices regarding him. Early on, they tried to work with social workers. It all changed when they tried to fit him with another implant, and it went badly. Then they started exercising their rights. And Haig demonstrated that by walking to the elevator door and pushed the button. The woman stood mystified until the door opened, and he pointed inside without a word. Her mouth opened wide and gestured wildly again. She took so long, the door started to close. His dad pulled the door back and pointed inside the elevator again.
The social worker stopped gesturing. Her arms lowered to her side. She was not winning any arguments. Her back was turned towards Cato, so he didn’t know if she had any parting words. Knowing his luck, she threatened to send someone over. Not that they could do anything. There were no laws stating a college age telepathic starling couldn’t have his own independence.
Once she left all his dad sat his own confused gaze on him and tapped his head, signaling for Cato to remove his headphones so they could speak.
Cato raised his hands. His fingers brushed the headband of his headset then lowered them. He didn’t want to. He wanted to remain in the safety of silence. Physically he felt like utter crap. Emotionally, he felt stupid. He knew that response to what happened was natural, however, he didn’t need to cave to it so much. His therapist told him that getting older and gaining independence meant he couldn’t always have silence. He needed to adapt to a world not meant for him. He would be bombarded with things that caused him emotional discomfort. He needed to learn how to deal with them and not withdraw as he was prone to do.
Yet he stood there looking at the floor as if he would have as a boy waiting for a response from his parents while he stood afraid, frustrated, sad, embarrassed, or even anger. He tried to not be angry. He felt so then. But an angry telepath scared people for some reason. His family and a few friends knew anger was just emotion with him as it was with them. However, getting angry in front of the wrong person, that would get him arrested and sent for an evaluation.
Cato waited, and half expected for him to pluck the headphones from his head. Instead, he patted him on the shoulders to get his attention. Cato peered up and saw his dad point towards the bedrooms. Cato made his escape. The condo only had three bedrooms. A large bedroom for shared sleeping, his sister’s room, and Cato always had a room to himself unless he wanted to sleep with everyone else.
He dropped everything he carried on the floor and flopped down width wise. He shut his eyes, blocking out the world completely. He only straightened to get more comfortable. It was that bed he wanted. Certainly, sleeping in his dorm was more convenient, but the bed at home was always better. Plus, it was Friday, someone would have a party and he would get pressured by his friend Barney to go. But he wasn’t the stereotypical college student. He wished he could enjoy all the chaos and fun memories. But a house packed with young starlings with most of them drinking was a nightmare. Drunk thoughts were the worse thoughts.
The sound of wind and falling snowflakes lolled him to sleep. When he woke, the red in the sky receded leaving his room dark. No more sound played in his ear. His mind calmed. In fact he was very relaxed. He stared out the dark window, thinking he could just fall asleep for the night and leave everything until the morning. However, the lights to his bedroom flicked on. Cato groaned and twisted around to see his dad standing in the doorway. He lifted a hand stained with red ink and pointed to his headphones. It was time to take them off. Time to discuss things.
Cato flopped back down. There was no reason not to take everything off. He just didn’t want to talk. Not about this. His father left the doorway and sat on his bed, waiting for him to move. Cato didn’t sit up, but he did pull off his headphones with his skull cap at once, leaving his thin short hair in a spiky mess that stood like flames. His father’s thoughts greeted him.
Unlike his mom and most of his siblings, his father’s thoughts were never sentences. He could speak with him directly when he wanted Cato to listen and stress a point. However, most of his thoughts were abstract. An odd mingle of words and images. Cato expected direct thoughts for an actual conversation. As his dad settled on his bed, he was greeted with his usual collimated of his concern about why he was in the state he was in and not upset at all for the social worker. They seemed to hide around every street corner. If anything, all he wanted was an explanation.
Cato pushed himself upright and took his dad’s hand to show him the memory. Words were still locked away in his throat. His tongue didn’t want to move. It was embarrassing enough to show it. He felt his dad’s hand tense. Everyone did when he did that. He tried his best to ease people’s minds into it. If he didn’t have a physical contact point, it would be worse, and he would have to strain.
When he was done, his dad massaged his forehead and the word ridiculous can into his mind, and then the images of the woman appeared. Their conversation was ridiculous. She barged in, demanding who was responsible for letting him out without an escort. She painted the entire incident like his parents let a six-year-old child out alone. Cato was terrified and unable to communicate, and his parents were neglectful in not teaching him how to speak.
Cato’s jaw sagged. That was certainly not how everything went. He wasn’t terrified. It was a well know side-affect of the shot to make him feel nervous. He didn’t understand why people needed to hear his voice all the time. Telepathic communication was so much easier, it was direct, and he didn’t have to second guess the meaning from people if they just let him in their mind. It wasn’t his fault she didn’t know sign language. It wasn’t that hard to learn. She was supposed to be a social worker. They should know it.
Haig bobbed his head in agreement.
Cato wanted independence and went to college just to spite everyone who thought he wouldn’t be able to do it. There was so much to learn, and he couldn’t do that by just reading books and listening to recorded lectures his father gave him. He thought he was doing a great job until he messed up.
The man straightened up and nudged him with his elbow. A thought nearly formed into words and told him to stop beating himself up.
Cato peered up at him.
An image of his mother appeared in his dad’s mind. He made a comparison of the two. Both were perfectionists. If they thought their actions weren’t perfect, then they believed they were the worse people in the world, incapable of doing any right despite the fact they were amazing individuals.
Cato knew all too well of his mom’s perfectionism. She would spend hours watching her matches to learn what she could do better. He wasn’t that far yet. His dad blinked at him dubiously.
Cato looked down again.
His father clasped a hand on his shoulder once again. That word, “amazing,” repeated itself in his mind. Cato never felt that amazing. It was hard to feel amazing when the world practically worked against him. Where he was never enough for it.
He didn’t voice that thought. He didn’t want his dad to worry and tell his mom. She had her own match to win that weekend. She was retiring that year, and everyone wanted the season to be one she remembered.
A question followed by the display of food in his dad’s mind as well as him. He wanted to know if he was hungry. Cato's face lifted at the mention of food. He wanted the metallic tastes that lingered in his mouth gone.