Colorless (Section Thirty-Five)
Elly walked me home, mostly because I don’t think she knew what else to do. I could tell she felt guilty. I wanted to explain that I really didn’t mind now, but I wasn’t sure how to explain why I hadn’t done it myself without sounding selfish. So we just kept quiet. It wasn’t a bad sort of quiet, though, so it was all right. When we reached my apartment, Elly stared at me for a moment. No spaciness now; she was all business. Then she smiled. “You’ll be all right.”
I smiled back, a little. “I will.”
***
Once I got inside and took off my shoes, I realized I was very tired. It wasn’t like last night, though: last night, my brain had just shut down. Now I felt like I had been through a long day of tests or done the mile run in gym, like I had exercised something that wasn’t used to it.
It was, in fact, the same way I’d felt after the first time I’d consciously used my telepathy.
But that didn’t make any sense. I hadn’t… My mind caught on the drawing I’d done in class. I took it out of my backpack. The charcoal was smeared and dusty, but I could still see the three figures, especially the middle one. Could this…? I’d never heard of anything like it, though.
I decided to go wake up my dad. As usual, he was on the couch, curled around a pillow. “Hey, Dad?” He made a vague grunt and rolled over so he faced me. I took that as an encouragement to speak. “Can I ask you something quick?”
“Mmmph.” My dad opened his eyes and slowly sat up. “What is it?”
I wasn’t sure how to explain. “Um… could you take a look at this?” I asked, unfolding the drawing again. “I just wanted to know if you’d ever heard of… I don’t know.” I felt stupid just for asking; I was half-sure he would shoot me down flat, even though my dad had never done such a thing. He was always telling me that there was a whole world of weird out there that I’d never touched upon. “Have you ever heard of telepathy through drawing?”
“Drawing?” Rubbing his jaw, my father took the paper. He traced some of the swirls; his fingers paused over the figures. Slowly, his expression shifted. I could almost see the lightbulb switch on above his head. “You did this?” I nodded. “What were you thinking about?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t sure how to explain the weird, sudden focus that had gripped me while I was sketching it. “Nothing, really. I was just doodling and talking to Andy, and then I got this… this image in my head.” I pointed at the middle figure.
My father looked at me with the sort of piercing expression I usually associate with my mother. This was one of the rare times when he actually acted like he knew what I was thinking. “Had you ever seen these people before?”
“Once, at a party, but I never actually spoke to them or anything…” I shrugged again. I was out of my depth here. Once I’d learned control over my powers, I’d never done anything much with them, especially not research them. If I’d wanted to, I could have asked Carolyn if she knew any Trackers I could talk to, but I’d never been very curious, and I didn’t want to encourage her in thinking I wanted to be one.
My father nodded and looked back at the drawing. I was glad to be free of the scrutiny; it’s always so much easier to deal with when my mother does it because I’m used to it. “You didn’t happen to be discussing these people, did you?” I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but I nodded. “Ah. Okay. I know what’s going on here.” I propped my elbows on the back of the couch. My father knew to take this as a cue to continue. “You’re ghostwriting.”
I stared at him. I may live in a world that most people think is just the stuff of fantasy novels or anime-demons, psychics, witches-but there are some things that I know aren’t real, and I tend to cling to those whenever I start thinking about how crazy my life is. Ghosts are one such thing. Nobody knows what happens when you die, but you sure as hell don’t stick around-or, if you do, there’s no way to contact anyone who’s still alive.
My father rolled his eyes. “It’s just another way some people have of expressing their powers. Usually, it appears in people who suppress their powers or don’t use them enough.” He quirked a brow at me-his “I’m not going to lecture you, so you’d better keep your ears open” face. I did my best not to squirm. I knew what he was getting at. “Also, it’s a lot more common in seers… I think that’s why I didn’t recognize it.”
I frowned. “You don’t mean-”
My father raised his eyebrows. “No, you’re not suddenly going to start spouting prophecy.” He laid back down and cuddled into the side of the couch, but he was still looking at the drawing. “No… I think this is another way of using your telepathy.”
My frown deepened. “But I was talking to Andy. He’s always blocked.” Though he didn’t look up, my father’s brows snapped together. I knew what he was thinking about, but at least he had the decency not to mention it again. Maybe they had meant what they said about respecting my decisions.
He let out a deep breath and relaxed a little. “Well, ghostwriting is a different state of mind from telepathy. It’s not like you do it consciously. Carolyn has a friend who can do it-he goes into a trance, and he can’t pay attention to anything until he’s got the picture in his head down on paper.” He shrugged. “I don’t know much about it other than that.”
I looked at my hands. That did sound a lot like what had happened to me. It was… odd, though, to think about-that and the reminder that my dad didn’t know everything about telepathy. I was so used to him being able to answer any question I might have. “Well, then, how do I control it?” My father shrugged again. I bit back a little irritation. “Would Nemo know?”
My father yawned. “He should-or if he doesn’t, he’ll know who to ask. I don’t think you should worry about it that much, though.” He paused and handed the drawing back to me. “You should show your mother this. It’s good.”
I didn’t appreciate the quick jaunt off-topic, but it did sound like a nice idea. I looked at the drawing again. I had liked doing it-it was relaxing. I wanted to take more art classes. If I showed it to my mother and she liked it, that would be a much easier way to broach the subject. My father hid his face under the pillow; I took that as my cue to leave.