The Field (8 page)

Dr. Auberge takes us to a small office where a really tall, lanky guy in a lab coat is sitting at a desk in front of a computer. His arms are so long that a good three inches of his wrists stick out from the sleeves of his coat.

“This is Stephen. He'll be helping you from here,” says Dr. Auberge.

“You guys can have a seat.” Stephen gestures to the two wooden chairs in front of the desk. He finishes typing something into the computer. “Alright, so here's how this works. Each of you will be in separate, soundproof rooms with computers that are not linked to each other in any way. One of you will be the ‘sender,' who will be viewing images on the computer screen. A new image will appear every two minutes. The sender is basically supposed to look at the image and think about it and try in a very relaxed way to communicate the image to the other person, who is the ‘receiver.' The receiver will have one minute to get impressions of what he might be receiving and one minute to
register what the impressions are on a brief questionnaire on the computer. The session lasts 30 minutes, so there will be 15 images in total. Don't work too hard at it, but try to stay focused. Any questions?” We look at each other and shake our heads.

“Nope, I think we've got it,” says Will.

“Right. Who wants to be the sender?” Stephen looks back and forth between us.

“I'll do that,” Will says. “It sounds like the easier job.”

“Slacker,” I say.

“Then you come with me first and I'll get you set up,” Stephen tells Will. To me he says, “I'll be back for you in a minute.” He practically leaps out of his chair and walks with a jerky, loping gait, gesturing for Will to follow.

When he comes back for me, he takes me to a small, cubbyhole room with a desk and a laptop computer.

“Your programs run separately, but we've got them both set up to run without your intervention. You just need to be in a receptive mode for one minute and then answer the questions when they come on the screen about your impressions. The screen will switch automatically. All set?”

“I think so.”

“Great. See you in half an hour.”

It's really quiet in the room. I can actually hear my breathing. I just sit there, chilling for a few minutes, thinking that this is a pretty easy way to make twenty bucks. Then the computer screen lights up with the words, P
ROGRAM
B
EGINNING IN
10 S
ECONDS,
and it counts down from ten to zero. When it begins, the screen is blank. This must be the first image I'm supposed to receive, so I try not to think of anything in particular and just look at the screen and try to visualize … something. The screen is blank, but I'm getting impressions of an ‘X' or a cross and
maybe palm trees? Something tropical? I'm not really sure. After what seems like less than a minute, the questionnaire appears on the screen. I answer questions about whether the image I got was: straight or wavy; round, square, triangular or rectangular; in water or land; woods or prairie; and so on. Then I have to write a ten word description. Just as I finish, the screen goes blank and I guess I'm on to the next one. The time goes by pretty fast and before I realize I've done 15 images, the last questionnaire disappears and the screen says S
ESSION
C
OMPLETED.
I stand up and stretch. I didn't really see any actual images during the session, but I did feel like I was getting something—general impressions that could have just been my own imagination, too. I have no idea if I really got anything or not. Stephen opens the door a minute later.

“You're all done,” he says. Will's behind him.

“How'd we do?”

“You're the last two, so if you want to come back to the office with me and wait a minute, I'll pull up your results.” I look at Will, who says, “Sure, I can wait, but if you don't get an ‘A' don't be upset. You're such an over-achiever.”

“Somebody has to be,” I shoot back.

We go back to the first room where we met Stephen and sit across the desk from him as he works on the computer.

“Well,” he leans back in his chair. “Pretty strong results for your first time. You had a 33% accuracy rate. Most random pairs score 16% or less the first time, and bonded pairs usually don't do better than 25% without any training. We'll definitely want you to come back and do some more studies. Probably some individual sessions, too.”

“Awesome. So does that mean that we have some sort of psychic ability?” Will says seriously, but he kicks my foot where
Stephen can't see him. To me, 33% accuracy doesn't seem like all that big a deal, but Stephen seems to think it is. I did feel like I was getting something back in the dark room with the computer, but I don't know exactly what it was. Really, 33% of 15 is only five correct. That doesn't seem like much.

“It definitely shows that you were able to communicate the images between each other. Everyone has that ability, but some people more than others. We think of it as ‘enhanced consciousness.' It's a skill you can develop, too. Can you come back to the lab this week after school for more sessions?”

“We've got soccer practice every day after school; what about in the evening?” I'm not sure how I feel about having ‘enhanced consciousness.' Maybe it helps to explain my soccer perceptions, but so what? What does it even mean?

“We have sessions on Thursday nights, so plan on coming at 7 p.m. for two hours this time. I've got you scheduled.”

“Sounds good.” Our chairs scrape the floor as we get up to leave. When the door to the lab closes behind us, Will says, “That wasn't what I expected at all. What does ‘enhanced consciousness' have to do with alternative energy sources or the Zero Point Energy Field? Dr. Auberge is really ‘out there' with this stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe because he's on a research sabbatical, he's able to investigate things that are less mainstream; more experimental or cutting edge.”

“More like the lunatic fringe, but it's an easy way to make twenty bucks for a half hour's work.” I don't say anything. I know I can't really talk to Will about the sports visualization stuff or the feelings I get sometimes when I'm in the goal, because he doesn't take it seriously. But what if it's a skill or ability that that I can improve or develop like Stephen said? Am I
already using it and I didn't even realize it? I leave the lab not feeling sure about whether I want to find out or not.

“I
T'S
S
PICY
C
HICKEN
Tuesday!” Paul says, as he puts his tray down on the table and pulls out a chair next to Cole. “I love Spicy Chicken.”

“I have to agree that in its first appearance on the menu, Spicy Chicken is fairly edible,” says Cole.

“What do you mean, ‘its first appearance?'” asks Paul.

“Dude, don't you know about the Spicy Chicken Cycle?” I ask.

“No. I'm not sure I want to know, either.”

“Haven't you ever noticed that a day or two after they serve the Spicy Chicken sandwich, Oriental Spicy Chicken is on the menu, which, by the way, is still fairly tasty and in the realm of digestible, and then after that we get Spicy Chicken Balls, which I would caution you to avoid at all costs,” Cole tells him.

“Hey, man, you're right! But I don't really care as long as it tastes good,” Paul says, and then takes a bite of his sandwich. “Mmmm.”

“You are a human garbage disposal, Paul,” says Will. He's mixing up his special concoction of hot sauce and ranch dressing that he puts on practically everything he eats. “There's also a Chuck Wagon Meat cycle that starts out as a hamburger, is
served up next as Salisbury steak with gravy, and finishes the cycle as Chuck Wagon Stew. Want some of my special sauce?” he says to no one in particular and pushes a paper plate smeared with bright orange sauce into the center of the table. “It makes everything taste better.”

“I'm good,” I say. I try not to think too much about what's in the food they serve in the cafeteria. “So, will we get to see your dad at the coal gasification plant on tomorrow's field trip?” I ask without thinking. I regret it almost immediately when I see the laughter leave Will's face and his expression close down.

“I wouldn't know. I haven't talked to him,” he replies tersely. It's clear he doesn't want to talk about it, so nobody says anything else. I'm surprised Will hasn't said anything to me about what's going on with his dad, because, obviously, there is something going on.

A
FTER DINNER,
I drive over to Renee's house. We're having a ‘homework date,' and although I would've preferred to meet at a more neutral location, like the library—read,
without parents
—she invited me over to her house, so here I am. I park on the street and walk across the lawn to the front door. Her family is living in one of the houses near campus that the university keeps for visiting professors. It's in the older part of town, not far from where I live, where every house is a different style. Not like the cookie-cutter housing developments. Renee's house is a Tudorstyle bungalow with timbered walls and white-washed stucco. I hesitate a minute on the front stoop, basically so I can muster my courage … then I take a deep breath and ring the bell. Of course, Dr. Auberge answers the door.

“Ah, hello. It's Eric, correct?” he says. “You must be here to see Renee.”

“Yes, sir. We're doing homework together.”

“Well, come in then.” He holds open the door for me. “Renee!” he calls up the stairs. “You have a visitor!”

“Okay, I need to clean up my paint and brushes. I'll be down in a minute,” she replies from somewhere on the second floor.

“Come back to the kitchen. No telling how long a minute could be.”
Great. One-on-one time with dad
. You'd think that I'd jump at the chance to get in good with him because of the internship, but I'm pretty sure that dating his daughter isn't one of the selection criteria. Might even count against me. “Would you like something to drink? Water, soda?” asks Dr. Auberge.

“No, thanks, I'm good.” I find a spot to stand by the kitchen table and try not to look too uncomfortable.

“Please, sit down.” He gestures to the table and pulls out a chair for himself. I sit on the edge of the chair nearest me, nervous because I'm wondering if I'm going to get the ‘potential boyfriend' grilling. I want to be ready to jump up and leave as soon as Renee comes down, but he says, “Stephen told me about your results on the remote viewing study. Impressive for your first session without any training. Also, the fact that you and your friend are not a ‘couple.' One or both of you has a very well developed enhanced consciousness.”

Here's the enhanced consciousness again
. “Uh, what do you mean?” I stumble out. Not the direction I expected the conversation to go.

“Well, usually for subjects who have a high score initially, we find that it's not the first time they've experienced enhanced consciousness. It might be that they have premonitions or maybe coincidences occur frequently for them. Or it could be more
like feelings of déjà-vu or dreams or that they are more perceptive of the feelings of people around them. Most likely other things, too, that they aren't even fully aware of.” I just stare at him for a minute. I think my mouth might even be hanging open.

“Is that true for you?” He looks at me inquiringly. It's as if he knows something about me that I didn't even fully recognize myself. I'm a little apprehensive, but also curious.

Cautiously I say, “Yeah, I guess I've had some of those things happen, but I've never thought much about it.” I try to shrug it off.

“What sort of things do you experience?” He's leaning back in his chair, apparently having a casual conversation, but the way he's focused on me makes me think that he's intently listening. I figure I might as well tell him about the soccer stuff.

“Sometimes when I'm in the goal, it's almost like a thought pops into my head, and I suddenly know where the shot will be going or which way I should dive. I've always thought it was athletic instinct or something like that. I've tried out some sports psychology stuff about visualizing the outcome you want, so I figured maybe it had something to do with that.”

“It could be instinctive athleticism or that you are subconsciously reading the behavior of the other players, or,” he pauses for emphasis, “you could be tapping into the Collective Consciousness.”

“What's that?” I feel like
The Twilight Zone
theme song should be playing in the background.

“It's called many things; the Akashic Record, the Universal Field of Consciousness, and by some, God. Many Eastern religions believe that we are all connected to each other and to what you could call God or higher consciousness by our thoughts and
that thoughts have power, or even energy. Science is just now recognizing the power of thought. As you said, visualization is used frequently in sports, but there is much more to it than that.” I'm thinking that I am in store for a really out-there conversation with Dr. Auberge, but I'm saved when Renee comes into the kitchen and puts her hand lightly on my shoulder. I didn't hear her come in so it startles me a little. The conversation with Dr. Auberge was getting pretty intense. At some deep level it resonates with me, but at the same time, thinking that there's a Universal Field of Consciousness seems straight out of a science fiction movie. It's hard to believe it could actually be real.

“I hope you're not overwhelming Eric with your theories, papa. I don't want to scare him off,” she says with a nervous laugh. “Anyway, we need to get started on something a little more practical—U.S. History. I'm way behind the other students and I need help!”