The Chosen One, page 17
“Negro Brown, you’re awfully quiet. Are you OK?” Keli asks.
“Yea, just reflecting on the semester and the fact that we actually all did it. I’m so proud of you guys. I couldn’t have done it without you. Every winner needs a strong crew. I love y’all like family.”
Earnell dabs his eyes with a napkin.
“Earnell?! Are you crying?” I ask, shocked.
“What?! No! I think it’s just windy in here. Something blew into my eye.”
“But there is no wind and all the windows are closed because it’s the middle of winter.”
“Leave him alone, Keli!” Gabby shouts while putting a caring hand on Earnell’s shoulders. “It’s OK, my friend. We, and by we, I mean us and the ancestors of past and present, accept and support your feelings. They, too, remember the joy of a Grand Slam with extra bacon,” which is what we’ve all ordered.
“See, there you go again,” Earnell replies. “Ruining the moment. I’m proud of you guys too. Y’all my road dogs.”
Earnell smiles, then places his hand over mine, which is resting on the table. He leaves it there for longer than a friend should, just like his hand on my thigh outside the student center. Gabby, Keli, and I all stare in silent, but knowing, surprise.
Snow falls on the white pine trees outside the tightly shut windows. Still no wind to speak of, but Earnell has cried three times tonight and again grabbed the hand of the girl he has liked since the beginning. Finally making his feelings known.
I ride off into the new year, basking in the glory of friendship, miracles, and A-pluses.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dean Harrison was right, she is Yoda. She is ancient like a redwood trunk in a California forest. Her wisdom predates time. Now I know my life will be divided into two parts: Pre-DH and Post-DH. I will never be the same after what she told me. After the five family miracles, I yield to her knowledge. I return from the real Cleveland after a long winter break determined to learn everything she has to teach. I accept the inexplicable series of occurrences happening around me as part of my transformation. I cherish my role as a traveler of the realms. I release myself from the stigma of any imbalance or impossibility. Now, there is only Yoda and Luke answering the call to heal the universe.
My questions lead to more questions and astounding answers. The Keepers, who have been watching me through other people since I was born, are an ancestral force that respond to disturbances in the living field. Once I answer my calls, I can become a Keeper or like Yoda if I want to continue working in the realm of form, guiding new Chosen Ones. The choice is mine. When darkness is legion, the Keepers answer the calls of the Chosen Ones throughout the universe to balance and heal the field. The Chosen Ones exist as waves of hope and possibility in the quantum realm until they are activated by the Keepers. The quantum realm is the space before time, from which all other realities emerge. It is infinite, containing all possibilities and potentialities. My primary job is to help balance the timelines, which are the various realities in which life can occur, from heavy pain and suffering.
“You said there are many Chosen Ones; how many?” I ask. “I kind of wish I was the only one since then I’d be more special. Then I’d be really important.”
“That’s too much power and responsibility for one person. You are never the only one. No single person can heal all the timelines. It’s a coordinated effort between many different beings throughout time and space. Anyways, it doesn’t matter how many there are. The quantum realm delivers what’s needed in the right time.
“A few more things you should know: After your initiation, the Keepers stop watching. You will have to contact them when you need assistance. They are your access point to performing miracles and traveling between realms. They control the portals, mainly to prevent Darth and his shadow workers from wreaking havoc on the healing timelines. On the night you went to Cleveland, I summoned them to open a portal.”
“How do I summon them?”
“The portal on your wall is like an access key that will follow you wherever you go. It can also deliver premonitions and warnings. For contacting the Keepers on demand, you’ll have to figure it out on your own. It’s different for everyone. For me, it’s the teacup. Stirring a certain way and clinking the sides of the cup sends them a signal. Your summons seems to be EMDR. It’s unique for each of us, like fingerprints. You can try in therapy.”
“On my own?”
“Your purpose and your journey depend solely on you.”
I eagerly jolt across the Green to Jennifer’s office my second week back on campus. I’m sweating and out of breath by the time I knock on the door.
“Oh my goodness,” Jennifer says in surprise. “Have you been running? Is someone chasing you?”
She tilts her head out and looks down the hallway behind me.
“I just felt like running today.”
“OK, well, I guess any exercise is good. Come in. Grab some water. Sit.”
Her office smells sweet like freshly cut grass, not lavender or rose anymore. I notice new air fresheners hanging on the wall behind her. Garden Fresh and Fields of Spring. I inhale deeply to soak in the scent.
“Smells good in here now, like spring,” I say, uneasily trying to deflect from the pressure of figuring out how to call the Keepers.
She smiles softly. “So, tell me. How was your trip home? I want to hear all about it.”
I don’t want to talk about my life right now. I want to figure out how to use my supernatural powers. I wish she could just sit there silently while I try various methods, but that would be ridiculous. The thought of it makes me giggle.
“Is something funny?”
“No, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something that happened in class the other day. My trip home was fine. My family is doing a lot better than when I started here in the fall. Everyone’s hanging in there.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m glad to hear that.”
Since the Keepers stare, I assume I should call them through my eyes somehow. I try an assortment of things: opening and closing my eyes, pulling the lids back and bulging them out, rolling them in circles, even crossing them. I have to be subtle. I quickly do these things when Jennifer looks away or writes something on her notepad. None of it works.
“Have you had any more episodes of seeing things that weren’t there?”
“No, actually. I think it’s finally stopped.”
“Wow, that’s incredible. I wonder if the work we’re doing here had an impact. I’m sure it must have. You’re really making strides.”
Next, I try breathing differently. I learned in yoga class that the breath is the gateway to the soul. I wonder if my breath sends a signal. First, I inhale deeply, trying to fill myself up with oxygen. When that doesn’t work, I try the kundalini breath of fire, which also comes from yoga class. It involves snapping the belly in quickly and forcing air out through the nostrils. It looks like you are panting like a dog except your mouth is closed.
“Are you OK?” Jennifer asks concernedly. “You seem distracted. Everything all right?”
Nothing works. I grow frustrated. Tension builds in my brow.
“I’m just trying to work through something but can’t seem to get it.”
“What are you trying to figure out?”
“The ways of the universe.”
Jennifer laughs at my melodrama.
“Aren’t we all? I’ve learned in my life that the more you chase something, the harder it is to catch. Sometimes you just have to relax. Let the answer come to you.”
I accept her advice mainly out of exhaustion. I’ve done everything I can think of to call the Keepers. I scan the eclectic objects in Jennifer’s office to take my mind off this impossible task. She’s added some things since last semester. A signed tennis ball on her desk. The only tennis players I know are Venus and Serena Williams, who I feel like are my sisters even though I never met them. Every time a Black person achieves anything, all of us feel a kinship and claim to their accomplishment. Public figures become more than just people with extraordinary talent. They become family. Close enough to feel like you know them, but distant enough to realize you will probably never meet. The strange looking glass of celebrity.
My eyes keep moving around her office. A framed picture of a brown-haired, dorky-looking white man with big teeth. He’s not cute at all, I think to myself. So why would she hang him on the wall? White people. I shake my head in amusement.
“That’s Jerry Seinfeld,” Jennifer says, noticing my gaze. “One of the greatest comedians ever.”
“Huh, never heard of him.”
“You know, Echo, we’ve met a few times now and I’m wondering if we shouldn’t try to deepen our work? Are you open to that?”
“What does that mean?”
“Unpacking some of the more difficult things that happened to you. Only if you feel ready, of course.”
My enthusiasm for contacting the Keepers wanes. A wall erects between us. Haven’t I done enough work? Aren’t I healed after everything I experienced in astral Cleveland? Now she wants me to excavate more bones from a padlocked graveyard. I become enraged.
“I’m not trying to push you,” Jennifer says, noticing my anger. “I just don’t want you to stay burdened by things you can let go of. You’ll be amazed at how freeing this work can be if you do the work. I know you are not Christian, but there is a Bible verse that always brings me peace when I have to face something big. ‘Come to me,’ it says, ‘all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’”
“Matthew Eleven.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“My mother used to quote the Bible to us all the time. She came back to that one a lot. She had a big load also.”
“For me, it means we don’t have to carry our troubles alone. Others can help us. And the only way we truly find rest is by assisting each other with these heavy loads. I know I’ve said this before, but you can lay your burdens down in this room. I am a friend of your soul.”
Something about her sincerity breaks me. A flood of tears. How could she know this is exactly what I needed, to be gently nudged into my own salvation?
Jennifer moves her finger back and forth while I tap the tops of my thighs. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. An open door inside. I walk through it with my eyes still shut.
“I just wonder why it happened to me,” I say with a quivering voice after a few moments of silence.
“I mean that kind of thing happened to all my friends who were girls and even some of the boys. Some people are truly monsters. Demons disguised as flesh… He told me he had books in his apartment. He knew I loved school and reading, those sorts of activities. I was hesitant initially to follow him, but I really wanted to see what books he had.”
I pause, crying quietly to myself.
“I was so young and confused, you know? I didn’t understand what was happening, but I still feel like it was my fault somehow. It felt so terrible. So, so, so bad. Like being slowly ripped apart. Eventually I stopped resisting. I stared at the ceiling and started saying some of my mother’s Bible verses aloud. ‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’”
A winding down of time. A chill in the air. Then their voices, the Keepers, pouring forth from my own eyes, which suddenly fling open. I look over and see that Jennifer is frozen with her fingers in the air, preparing to administer the EMDR. They continue their channeling, sending electrical pulses through my entire body.
So you have reached us on your own through the words of your mother’s God.
Welcome.
How can we strengthen you in this moment?
“You came.”
We did, and now you know how to reach us.
“Yes, but why didn’t you come every other time I’ve quoted the Bible?”
We can only hear your call through any collection of words by which you are moved when your emotional frequency is elevated. It is why we came the night you prayed on the bathroom floor. You, overwhelmed by our presence, passed out, but we still prepared a portal while you slept so you could travel in your dreams.
“Wow, do you know everything there is to know?”
Yes.
“What is 347,589 divided by 3 and then multiplied by 12?”
1,390,356.
“Impressive. Why didn’t you give me the answers to my calculus exam?”
Your journey is by design. We cannot interfere with the events of your life. We can only watch and set the momentum in motion.
“Why didn’t you stop it from happening? Why didn’t you stop him?”
We can only bend the arcs of time when something might be life-threatening to a Chosen One. This tragedy was not, thus we could not interfere.
It is critical to understand that you are not responsible for what he did. He was a monster on your path. There will be many. Once you accept that you are not to blame for disturbing behavior, the ghost of his sins can be released from your psyche.
We can help you see it differently if you would like?
No other event has paralyzed me more: impacting my self-image, self-esteem, and ability to form relationships. It made me deeply distrustful of others and convinced me that I am a terrible, dirty person. I wonder who I would be without the weight of this constantly throbbing at the bottom of my mind.
“How would I see it differently?”
We will prepare a portal.
BACKWARD
Here we are in the same dingy room I’ve been running from my entire life. I freeze. Then I see her in all her innocence. Hair plaited. She is so young. I am so young. Prior to this, I’ve been remembering myself as an adult. Not as a real grown-up, but the qualities of one projected onto my child self, which allows me to keep holding myself responsible for what happened. I should have known better is what I repeat in my mind over and over. But how could this child, this sweet, innocent child, have known better? The realization electrifies me.
Then the crime. I am pinned beneath him. Helpless. I can barely watch. A violent rage takes over me. I lunge toward him, knocking him down. My fists land decisively against his face until he transforms into a disfigured, frightened creature. I see him for the first time as he truly was: a sick coward. He shrinks away from me, scurrying around the room before jumping out the window to his death.
I grab the little girl’s hand and tell her she is free now.
“You saved me,” she says. “I knew you would.”
A release. A thousand sparks inside as if each of my cells is rejoicing all at once. A radiation. A lifting. So many thoughts: I did not cause this. It was not my fault. I was helpless. He was a pedophile who preyed on children. Something was wrong with him, not me. Nothing is wrong with me.
Do you see now?
I am silently overwhelmed.
We have not registered your response. Do you understand?
“Thank you” are the only words that manage to leave my lips. “Thank you.”
I sit in stunned silence and return to the present moment.
“How do you feel?” Jennifer asks after she unfreezes. “Did you discover anything new?”
“I feel like my whole life paradigm shifted.”
“Wow,” she says. “That’s the power of EMDR. It is a deeply transformative practice. I’ve seen it change lives more than once. I think that’s enough for today. Go home and rest.”
I walk slowly toward the door, trying to process everything that just happened—the enormity of the shift that has occurred inside of me.
“Beloved,” Jennifer says, prompting me to turn around, “I pray that in all respects you may prosper…”
“And be in good health, just as your soul prospers. John 3,” I respond.
Loving gazes pour from each of us and fields of healing erupt where walls once were.
And so, Luke Skywalker discovers her abilities and joins the Jedi of Chosen Ones, answering the call to heal what was broken, and defeating Darth and his army of wicked creatures. The darkness is legion, but so is the light, especially once you learn how to wield it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Second semester, unlike the first one, is a breeze. Three weeks in, I feel renewed, like I’m on top of the world. I’ve finally figured out this college game. The course load is a mix of interesting and daunting. I’m taking Government Two: The International Political System, Religion One: Patterns of Religious Experience, Theater One: Introduction to Theater, Introductory French, and my least favorite, most daunting class this semester, Economics One: Economic Principles and Policies. Even though I hate economics and anything to do with numbers, I’ve learned how to study and work with a tutor.
I’ve been most excited about theater class this term. There are no exams and I like the idea of dressing up and pretending to be someone else. I’m terrified to do this in front of other people, but I’m pushing myself to step outside of my comfort zone. The theater professor, Mrs. Nielson, is quirky and far removed from the box. She wears colorful clothes, her hair is always frazzled, and the syllables of her words stretch out for dramatic emphasis. Does she talk like this at dinner with her husband and kids? I wonder how someone finds the courage to so freely express themselves. I’m scared of her freedom and what she will make me do, so I hide in the back of the class. I know she’s going to find me eventually, but for now this is safe.
Another semester means more racial conflict. This time mostly generated by the Dartmouth Beacon and their controversial slate of guests, including Rush Limbaugh, Congressman Ron Paul, and Dinesh D’Souza. Now, three weeks into the semester, the Dartmouth Beacon has written a scathing proclamation to President Roberts demanding the end of affirmative action for incoming students. The air on campus is thick with tension and disagreement, which is the perfect time to secretly infiltrate a Dartmouth Beacon meeting, according to Keli.
