The Field (4 page)

“France is a country with very few natural energy resources. No oil, no natural gas and negligible amounts of very poor quality coal. In the early 1970s during the Mid-East Energy Crisis, France made the decision to focus on nuclear energy in order to become energy independent. Now, over 76% of France's electricity is generated by nuclear plants and another 14% is produced by hydropower. Carbon dioxide emissions throughout the country are extremely low and have actually decreased over the last 30 years.” Surprised, I look up from my notes. I knew that France used nuclear energy, but I didn't realize that they weren't
dependent on the Middle East for oil. Dr. Auberge continues. “We achieved energy independence and reduced pollution using nuclear power. There is, however, still the issue of nuclear waste and, to a lesser extent, the danger of accidents and radiation to contend with. In light of the failure of Japan's nuclear plant after the earthquake and tsunami in 2010, nuclear accidents are a bigger concern to the public.”

Sitting behind Renee, I can check her out unobtrusively while I look toward the front of the room. Her smooth, dark hair falls forward, obscuring her face as she leans over her desk taking notes, and she reaches up to push it behind her ear. The gesture makes the silver bracelets on her wrist clink together and slide down the pale skin of her arm. I don't know what makes people attracted to each other, but I know I'm definitely attracted to her.

“While the French people are comfortable living near nuclear reactors, that is not the case in other countries such as the United States, and no one wants the storage facilities for radioactive nuclear waste in their backyard. It is a problem that will need to be resolved if we are to continue to use nuclear energy.” I keep taking notes as Dr. Auberge goes on with his lecture. Fortunately, it's pretty basic stuff so I can keep up even as I'm distracted when Renee crosses her legs and later when she stretches her neck from side-to-side, making her hair swing across her back and her perfume waft past me.

“Now, to switch gears,” Dr. Auberge says and turns off the presentation. “While I am here at the university, I will be researching a different and emerging area of study concerning the Universal Energy Field.” I go over the words “Energy Field” that I just wrote in my notes to darken them and then circle them several times. The room is quiet. He has everyone's attention.
“It is also called the ‘Zero Point Field.' It is easiest to think of it in this manner. We know that the air around us is filled with energy waves or forces. Magnetic, sound, light, radio, television, microwave, radiation, et cetera. Most of these waves are outside the realm of human perception. However, we can measure them and we know that animals can hear sounds that are imperceptible to the human ear, and we benefit from the action of these waves when we watch TV, use our cell phones or microwave our dinner.”

Dr. Auberge paces back and forth in front of the room gesturing for emphasis. “Scientists theorize that there is enough energy in a cubic inch of space
anywhere in the Universe
to power all of New York City for a year.” He stops and looks around the room. Someone coughs and clears his throat.

“What we don't fully know yet is how to harness these powerful forces as an infinite energy source. That is the focus of my research and experiments for the next two years.” Whoa. I sit back in my chair. This is like something from Star Trek. I try to imagine what it would mean if we could access limitless energy from the air around us. Dr. Auberge continues. “Think of the implications of a totally clean, infinitely renewable energy source. No more drilling for oil or natural gas or mining for coal. No more burning fossil fuels and the resulting air pollution. No need for nuclear power and radioactive waste.” A boy on the other side of the room raises his hand. Dr. Auberge points to him. “Yes?”

“So, do you mean that right here in this room around us there is enough energy to power, like, the whole United States?”

“That is what we believe to be the case.”

“Why haven't we heard more about it?”

“As I said, it is an emerging area of science. Not all scientists agree with these theories. Something this different from what we think we know is often hard for people to understand or accept. In fact, the idea of the Universal Energy Field has been around for over 100 years and was first proposed by scientists such as Nikola Tesla, who invented the system of alternating current that all of our electricity runs on today, and Michael Faraday, who is credited with pioneering the motor. Even over two thousand years ago, Peredices referred to the cosmos as the ‘plenum.' More recently, David Bohm, Ervin Laszlo and Eric Heim risked their careers by postulating the existence of the Universal Energy Field in the face of opposition by their peers.”

“How can there be energy in outer space? Isn't it a vacuum?” a girl with kinky brown hair in the front row, I think her name is Emily, asks.

“There is no atmosphere in space as there is here on Earth, but it is not empty. Quantum Mechanics has demonstrated that there is no such thing as a vacuum or nothingness. The Universe is essentially a sea of energy. Scientists are calling it ‘Dark Energy,' and while we don't know exactly what it is, Einstein predicted its existence when he postulated using a ‘cosmological constant' to explain the expansion of the Universe. This energy exists. The idea of accessing and harnessing Dark Energy seems like science fiction to some, but believe me,
it is very real
. We have to set aside what we think we know about the world around us and open our minds to new discoveries. Remember, we once thought the world was flat, and Galileo was thrown in jail for suggesting that the Earth revolved around the Sun.” He pauses and sits down on the edge of Mr. Ogle's desk. “Just because you can't see it and you don't understand it, doesn't mean it isn't real.”

That pretty much shuts people up. I look around to gauge everyone's reactions. There are some people with their arms crossed, looking skeptical, and one guy with his head down on his desk, probably asleep, but more than a few of the kids look really intrigued. I mean, it's pretty cool to have someone like Dr. Auberge, who's on the cutting edge of science, talk to your class. Renee is sitting quietly in front of me looking straight ahead, so I can't see her face.

“I believe Mr. Ogle has told you that I will have an internship opportunity beginning next semester. Once I have determined the selection process, he will share that with you. I am also looking for subjects for some experiments I am conducting on remote viewing. We are interested in ‘bonded-pairs' such as husbands and wives, or in your case boyfriends and girlfriends, close friends, teammates and the like. People who have close relationships with one another. We pay a small stipend for each session. If you are interested in participating, you can fill out one of these questionnaires for my staff to evaluate whether you are suitable for the study, or stop by the lab to apply.”

He pulls a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and sets them on the corner of the table at the front of the room. “Thank you for your attention this morning.” He inclines his head slightly.

“Okay, class, let's show Dr. Auberge our appreciation,” says Mr. Ogle, as he begins clapping. The room erupts into applause. “Also, remember your reading assignment for tomorrow,” he says loudly to be heard over the din as the bell rings.
Now's my chance
.

“Renee,” I tap her on the shoulder and she turns halfway around in her seat to face me. “Our first home soccer game is this Friday night. You might want to go.”
You might want to go?
That sounded stupid and cocky.

“Are you asking me to go with you?” she asks, looking at me sideways.

“No, um, I'm on the team, but I, ah, thought that maybe after the game we could go out or something,” I stammer. I hold my breath.

“Sure, I would like that. What position do you play?”

“I'm the goalkeeper.”
Hopefully, the starting keeper
.

“In France we call it football.”

“I think the U.S. is the only place in the world that calls it soccer. Why don't you give me your number, and I'll text you about where we can meet after the game.” She takes out a pen and rips a piece of paper from her notebook.

“Here's my number. I'll wait to hear from you.” She gathers her books and stands up to leave. “See you later.” She puts her hand on my arm briefly and then turns and leaves the classroom. I look at the paper. It says
Renee
and then her number in big, loopy script. Almost like calligraphy.
Yes!

“O
OOF
.” T
HE BALL
Brett just drilled hits me right in the gut. I catch it and exaggerate holding it to my chest for a moment before dropping it to the side and getting ready for the next one. It's not just about making the save, but also about posturing. The coaches are watching. Brett's being particularly vicious with his shots. It's pretty obvious that we're competing for the starting spot. We're nice to each other off the field and all, but since it's just the two of us on Varsity and the keepers from all three teams train together, it's cutthroat on the field. His next shot is high and to my right, I jump and stretch to reach it and tip the ball over the crossbar. “Switch!” calls out Coach Vince. I pump my fists down at my sides as I leave the goal—
shut out—no goals!

The first hour of practice is conditioning and drills. We've already done our warm up laps and stretches and then 45 minutes of keeper drills. They're pretty brutal. Catching balls from standing, sitting and lying down, and every other combination. It makes for rock hard abs and a really sore body from getting pummeled by balls and repeatedly hitting the ground. I love it.

The coaches give us a break before we scrimmage, so I jog over to the water station, even though I'm pretty whipped from just saving 20 shots. Keeping up the image. The field players are
already there and everyone is drinking a lot. Some of the guys are pouring water over their heads to cool down. August is probably the hottest part of the summer in Indiana and it's incredibly humid. On top of that, it hasn't really rained in about two weeks, so the ground is hard and cracked and the grass on the training field is dry and crispy. It's like diving on cement covered with sand paper. I walk over to Paul and Will.

“Dude, I really hate the Track of Death,” Paul is saying. He's bent over with his hands on the ground stretching out his legs.

“Yeah, Coach Bobby is a sadist,” Will replies. “I lose six pounds sweating every day during practice. Hey,” he says to me, crumpling his paper cup and tossing it into the trash can.

“Is that the one where you sprint longer and longer intervals, and if you're last you have to jog around the field the whole time?” I ask.

“Yup. It's brutal. At least we get to scrimmage now—that's what it's all about.”

They've been putting Will and me together for the scrimmages, which is what we want, and we're on the ‘A' squad, so hopefully that means they're going to start us both. Playing together over the years, Will and I have developed a kind of teamwork that goes beyond just executing plays and talking on the field. It's like we know each other so well we can anticipate what the other is going to do by the way we move our body or incline our head.

“Okay everybody, listen up!” Coach Vince yells. “Varsity is scrimmaging JV. ‘A' squads in first.”
This could be too easy
. I want to get as much action as possible. Will and I walk over to the field together. I orient myself in the goal and tighten the Velcro on my gloves. I'm facing west, which sucks because the sun is in my face. Will moves into position in defense. The coach blows
the whistle and play begins. Varsity takes the ball and moves it to the other end of the field. I watch the action with my arm shielding my eyes from the sun. One of the JV players gets the ball and they move it down the field toward me. Now a JV forward and a varsity fullback are fighting for possession in the corner, giving the other players time to move into position in front of the goal.

The JV forward jukes around the fullback and passes to the middle. There's a crowd in front of the goal, which means there isn't a clear shot, but also means my view is obstructed and increases the possibility of deflections I can't anticipate. I'm moving in the goal, following the play and calling out instructions to my defense. I see a JV player get the ball—
he's going to shoot!
I get big—arms down and out to the side, fingers splayed, knees bent—he shoots—the ball ricochets off my arm into the crush in front of the goal.
Save!
My defenders need to clear it.
Where is Will?
I can't see the ball. One of my defenders is screening me. I move to get a clear look and then
whoosh
—I feel the ball whiz past me into the back of the goal.
Shit!
I kick the ball into the net. Then I punch the goalpost. Hard. Which hurts. A lot. Will is next to me. He puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, shake it off, big guy. It's just one goal. Anyway, you were screened.”

“You should've cleared it. Where were you?” I say angrily. I know I shouldn't blame Will or the defenders, but I hate being scored on. Especially now with the starting spot on the line. I'm also surprised that Will wasn't there to clear the ball. He's usually all over it. My ‘unstoppable defensive unit' theory is blown to hell.

“Not cool, dude.” Will gives me a hard look and stands with his hands on his hips. “Don't be a jerk. Show some leadership.”

“Yeah, sorry. I'm just pissed. That was a crappy goal.” I wipe my face on my sleeve and then clap my gloved hands together. “Okay, come on guys!” I yell. “Put the pressure on!”

Will turns away, “That's what I'm talking about,” he says over his shoulder. “But you're still a jerk.” He's smiling though as he says it.