Solstice - Of The Heart (12 page)

“Probably best.”

Aaron handed me the instructions. I
handed him the scalpel. The knife rested easy in his hand and, as
he began to dissect the pig, I sank into a trance-like state while
watching how at ease and focused he was with the chore at hand. He
moved naturally. So poised and balanced and nimble, matching the
description of the Lemurians I had read about.

He caught me off guard. “What next?”
he said.

“Oh, sorry.” I searched for the next
step. “It says to make a second incision as a half circle anterior
to the umbilicus and then proceed with two incisions posteriorly to
the region between the hind limbs. It also says...” I stopped
reading.

Aaron worked the pig, making the cuts
as I described them. Without looking up he said, “also
what?”

I waved a finger in an effort to slow
his progress. “It says not to cut deeply into the
scrotum.”

Aaron screwed up his face as if in
pain. He squeezed his legs together. “That would smart.” He looked
at me and flashed a smile.

Forget dead pigs, sliced scrotums, and
the smell of embalming fluid. I slipped into the purity of Aaron’s
beam. I felt emboldened with him at my side. We cut. We probed. We
dug deeper into the pig’s bowels. We searched and labeled the
organs at each discovery.

“There’s the caudal lobe of the left
lung. There’s the caudal lobe of the right lung. There’s the
heart,” Aaron said.

I saw the lungs. I didn’t see the
heart. I moved in closer, closer to the pig and closer to Aaron.
“Where’s the heart?”

“There.” Aaron reached in. He jabbed
the heart with his finger.

And then I realized; Aaron wasn’t
wearing lab gloves. My first concern lay with him, to get his hands
washed after touching the dead pig.

But the dead pig wasn’t
dead.

I saw the pig’s eyes flicker. I saw
its heart beat, maybe once, maybe twice.

I stood.

I jumped back.

I screamed.

“It’s alive!”

As fast as the pig came alive, it
died.

I turned in time to see the entire
class gawking at me, as though I were an insane person, gone beyond
mad.

Mr. Omes hurried to my
side.

“Julissa, what’s wrong?” he
said.

“The pig. It opened its
eyes.”

I looked to Aaron to corroborate my
story. He turned away and lowered his head and eyes.

Mr. Omes raised his hands as if to
shush the class. “Quiet,” he said. He poked at our pig with an
instrument. “Sometimes a specimen, if you touch it the right way,
will reflex. You all know what a muscle spasm is?” He didn’t wait
for the class to answer. “If you manipulate a muscle, dead or
alive, sometimes you can make even the dead appear alive.” He
leaned down and looked at Aaron. “That what you did, Mr.
Delmon?”

Aaron looked to me and then to Mr.
Omes. “Guess so. Not on purpose. It just happened.”

Mr. Omes waved the class back to work
before turning to me. “Miss Grant,” he said, “You feeling okay? You
look a bit off color.”

After seeing what I saw who wouldn’t
feel a bit off color?

“I’m okay. I think it might have been
the smell just got to me. That’s all.”

Mr. Omes nodded. “Enough for today,
class. Bag it up. I don’t want to see any pigs, dead or alive, (the
class laughed) left out. Put them in the mortuary cabinet. Rinse
your trays. Wipe up your station.”

I sat down and watched Aaron dutifully
carry out Mr. Omes instructions. He made it a point to steer clear
of me, not looking my way and, when the bell rang, he bolted for
the door.

I chased him down the hall. “How’d you
do that?” I yelled to his back.

He stopped and faced me.
“What?”

“You know.”

“You mean make the pig open its
eyes?”

“Yes. And its heart beat.”

“Like Mr. Omes said. Muscle
spasms.”

“From an embalmed pig. I don’t think
so.”

“Can happen. I knew a farmer who could
make a chicken cluck after he cut off its head.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.
Can I make it up to you?”

“You can walk me home. After all,” I
turned and looked out the window, “it’s getting dark. I wouldn’t
want to run into anymore dead pigs coming to life or your clucking
chickens.” I gave him as serious a look as I could under my veiled
smile.

Aaron turned. He looked down the hall.
The smile left his face. “Like to. But I can’t. Got to work
tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Sorry.”

He disappeared into the masses before
I could reply. Turning, I saw Bernard standing at the end of the
hall, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked out the
front door.

I made it to Cherries without running
into any dead-come-back-to-life pigs or headless chickens clucking.
Dierdra’s car sat in the driveway. I knew I should be going home,
but I had questions I needed to ask Cherrie.

I found Cherrie with her nose buried
deep in Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History in Time, from the Big
Bang to Black Holes.

“How can you read that
stuff?”

“You should try it. Learn about the
world.”

“That’s why I’m here. This morning you
said Lemurians need vast amounts of energy.”

“I said that’s what the story tellers
say.”

“What kind of energy?”

“All humans emit an energy
field.”

“I remember reading that.”

Cherrie put her book down. She sat up.
“Then you know some humans have stronger energy fields than
others.”

“Okay. So?”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. More
active?”

“Correct.”

“I am?”

“Think about it. Want to expend more
energy you need more energy and,” Cherrie said, “since any given
amount of mass is equivalent to a certain amount of energy and vice
versa...”

“What? Tell me what?”

Cherries face glowed with excitement.
It glowed with excitement when she smelled the hot trail of a boy
and it glowed with excitement when she talked physics or anything
else over my head.

“E=mc squared.” She held up Dr.
Hawking’s book.

I guessed. “Einstein’s equation is in
Hawking’s book.”

“Yes. But he mentions it only
once.”

“I’m shocked,” I said,
faking dismay.

“His publisher told him for every
equation he put in the book his readership would be halved so he
limited its use.”

“Wise man. So what’s this have to do
with Aaron?”

“Depends. Is Aaron a
Leprechaun?”

“Lemurian. And, no I don’t know.
Except...”

“Except what?”

“He made a pig come alive
today.”

“What?”

“We were dissecting it. He touched it
and the pigs eyes opened. I saw the pig’s heart beat
too.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mr. Omes said it was muscle spasms.
But how can a muscle move if it’s been embalmed?”

‘Can’t.”

“Then Aaron brought it back to
life.”

“You know how crazy that
sounds?”

“Yes. You should have seen the class
looking at me. They thought I had flipped.”

“Can’t say as I blame
them.”

“I saw what I saw.”

“Not saying you didn’t. Hard to
believe, though.”

“What if Aaron is Lemurian? What if he
has an unusually strong energy field? Wouldn’t it be possible then
to make the pig look alive?”

“In my world, anything is possible.
Story tellers claim Lemurians emit a higher energy field. That’s
why they’re capable of doing things us minions can’t.”

“Like pulling a car off a cliff and
bringing dead pigs to life.”

“The car, maybe. Bringing dead things
back to life? I don’t know. I’m not so sure that’s physically
possible.”

“Wouldn’t the high energy field also
explain why there’s a smell of scorched air?”

“Yes it could. There’s a danger in all
this.”

“What? Besides dead pigs coming to
life?”

“Energy is neither created nor
destroyed, but someone expending energy the way the Delmons
do...well, they’ve got to replace it.”

“You mean from the mountain. That’s
why the Delmons—if they are Lemurians—climb so often.”

“Most of the time. Yes. But other
times, they need a quick fix, the same as a drug
addict.”

“So where would they get a quick
fix?”

“Story tellers say from
us.”

“Us?”

“Other people.”

9 SECOND GUESSING

I heard Dierdra in the kitchen fixing
supper when I arrived home. She had a fire going in the fireplace.
The cabin felt cherry warm. The wood box sat empty.

“That you, Julissa?”

“Yeah, Mom. How was your trip?” I
asked as I entered the kitchen. I could smell chicken pot pies
cooking.

“Non-eventful. Client stuff I can’t
talk about.”

Tension riddled Dierdra’s voice. She
sat at the dining room table, nursing a whiskey sour.

“How’s school?”

“Fine.”

“That’s not what Mr. Whittinghill is
saying.”

“Why? What’d he say?”

“Come. Sit, Julissa.”

“The wood box needs
filling.”

“That can wait. Sit.”

I pulled my coat and back pack off and
dropped them onto a chair. I sat across from my stone faced
mother.

“What’d Mr. Whittinghill
say?”

“For one, you’ve been missing
classes.”

I held up a finger. “One class. I
missed one class.”

“Mr. Whittinghill is concerned for
you, Julissa.”

“Because I missed a class?”

“This is the second one in a week, but
there’s more to it. He had a talk with your biology
teacher.”

Now I knew where this was going. I
leaned back in my chair. Relief settled in.

“You mean the pig thing.”

“Julissa, we’re concerned for you. I’m
concerned for you. You never missed classes before. And pigs coming
to life? I know this move has been tough for you. It’s a hard
adjustment.”

“Hasn’t been all that bad.”

“That’s the problem, Julissa. We don’t
always see the changes in ourselves when we’re hurting.”

“I’m not hurting, Mom. I’m
fine.”

“You may think so, but it doesn’t
appear as such. We never had closure with your father’s passing. I
think that is much my fault as it is yours. I’ve had to grieve in
my own way and I haven’t been much help to you. I’ve done for me,
but not for you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking
about, Mom.”

“I mean moving here. Moving all the
way across the United States. I know it wasn’t exactly the right
thing to do for you, even though I needed the change.”

“I’m fine with it. I’ve made new
friends. Cherrie is the best.”

“Still, you never talk about your
father.”

“What’s there to say? He’s
dead.”

“You don’t miss him?”

“Sure I do. But I was young. I don’t
remember much. He was gone a lot. Remember?”

“Yes, I know. I never liked it either,
him being out on the road so much, driving truck. And when he was
home he’d go fishing and hunting. Doing what he loved to
do.”

“And mountain climbing.”

“Yes. And mountain climbing. He’d be
gone for weeks at a time. I know it’s been tough for you. I haven’t
always been there for you. And even now I can’t be there for you.
But others can.”

“Others?”

“Mr. Whittinghill says they have a
peer group at the high school that meets once a week.”

“Mom, I don’t need
counseling.”

“I think you do. What harm could it
do? Just talk with others of your age.”

“About what? About Dad dying?” I rose
from the chair. Made ready to bolt.

“No. Just about things. Things in
general. Things that are bothering you. Maybe make some new
friends.”

“I have friends.”

“Who? Cherrie?”

I didn’t like the way she said
Cherrie, as though I was hanging out with a derelict.

“Cherrie’s smart. She’s fun to be
with.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t have her as
a friend. But she is older. And she doesn’t go to the same school
as you.”

“By choice, Mom. Cherrie chose to go
to Jefferson High.”