Robert Crane - Untouched

He put down his pen and notebook on the table at his side and looked back at me. “You’ve got confidence in some areas that most others your age don’t. But here’s the thing about self-confidence: a lot of it comes from knowing who you are, and knowing that whatever problem that comes your way, you can solve it.” I looked up and met his gaze. “So do you know who you are?”

I cleared my throat before answering, and it still came out crackly. “Not really.”

He put his hands up. “There’s your answer. If you don’t know who you are, it’s kind of tough to know what you want, at least on more than a basic ‘eat-sleep-play’ level.”

“But wouldn’t you think…” I swallowed hard before continuing, “after all I’ve been through, especially with the changes and revelations lately that I might have a hard time with that? That I might struggle with who I am and what I want?”

He laughed. “God, I hope so. Otherwise I’d be worried. Metas and humans aren’t that different in a lot of the things they go through, but metas deal with their process of growing up differently when their powers start to manifest. Every human struggles to find their place in the world. Sometimes you feel like you’re in control and in charge of your life and everything is grand. Other times you feel powerless and insignificant. If you didn’t experience these same feelings of grandeur and wonder and worry…you wouldn’t be human.” His skin crinkled around his eyes with his smile. “Whatever else you may be, meta and all that, you are human. And normal, for what you’ve been through.”

I felt a knot in my throat and a burning in my eyes. “I don’t feel normal.”

“Yeah,” Zollers said with a drawl. “That’s normal too.” He leaned forward, features animated. “You’ve been through hell and a little more, but no teenager knows what ‘normal’ is. So,” he finished with a smile, “in that regard you’re as ‘normal’ as anyone else your age. Hell, most adults feel that way too, just not as consistently. Now…do you have anything else you want to talk about?”

I opened up, a little at a time. I didn’t tell him everything (especially about Wolfe) but I did tell him a lot. An hour flew by as he asked me questions about life in our house, about being punished the way I was by Mom, about how I still missed her, even in spite of all that. About how I wanted some part of a normal life, or at least what I envisioned as a normal life in my TV-influenced brain.

I got close to letting it all go, but I just couldn’t. I let him know more than almost anyone, which wasn’t saying much, but there was something else, something below the surface that I couldn’t define, and I wanted to keep it that way. For now, at least.

When I left, it was with another appointment scheduled for a couple of days later. I walked out of the doctor’s office feeling much different than when I had gone in, lighter, somehow. As much as Zack wanted to talk to me, I couldn’t have felt comfortable telling him even half the stuff I had talked to Dr. Zollers about. And I still hadn’t told him the worst of it.

The sky was slightly brighter when I walked back outside, though there was still no break in the clouds. In spite of it, I could see the lightness in the sky where the sun must be hiding, and felt the slight creep of a smile at the corner of my lips as I trod across the salted sidewalks, back to the dormitory I was calling home.

“You should try the bacon-wrapped dates.” Zack wore a smile as he extended the plate toward me. I looked at it with hesitation born of my confusion at the word date (again) but I grabbed one of the little delicacies from the plate and tentatively put it in my mouth. I was rewarded with a lovely tang followed by a sweetness. I felt like it was a little symphony being played on my tongue, and I couldn’t have been happier about it, although I did have a brief vision of Zack wrapped in bacon that I shook out of my head to the sound of Wolfe’s laughter.

We were in a restaurant at the mall; an Italian place with an Italian-sounding name, lots of warm wood finishes, smooth tableclothes, and the smell of the freshly baked bread lingered in the air, enticing me. I picked up a slice from the table and dipped it into the plate of olive oil and parmesan cheese our waitress had made before I took a bite. Heavenly.

“I take it this isn’t how you ate at home?” Zack’s smile had morphed into a full-blown grin. Outside, the last light of day was shining in through the external windows of the restaurant. It was built into the side of the mall, which I hadn’t walked through yet. I felt a buzz of excitement to be able to explore when I finished eating. It was one of the best dinners I’d ever had and we weren’t yet past the appetizers and bread. Hell, I’d never even had a meal with an appetizer course before. Fancy.

“Lots of ramen noodles, some TV dinners, occasionally hamburgers made in a skillet,” I said. “I think Mom attempted turkey once, with tragic consequences for the bird and us.”

He made a face. “Sounds tiring, eating the same thing over and over.” He grabbed a bacon-wrapped date by the skewer and popped it into his mouth as I devoured another. “Pace yourself. You’ll want to leave room for dessert.”

“I don’t know where I’ll find room for that.”

But I did. After my steak, I had some of the chocolate cake. It was richer than any Mom had ever brought home (on the rare occasions she brought one home). When I was done, I felt fuller than maybe I ever had. “I think you’re glowing a little bit,” Zack said.

I smiled back at him, a long, lazy one. “I’m surprised I don’t feel sick after all that food.” I paused for a beat. “And I’m not surprised I feel better.”

“Yeah, Doc Zollers does wonders for people.” He looked around. “Want to go for a walk? You probably have a meta-strength metabolism to keep you thin but I promise you, my physique doesn’t come without a ridiculous amount of work.”

I tried not to stare at his body because I already knew it was good. Instead I focused on his eyes. “A walk sounds like a good idea.”

He paid for the meal and we left, walking outside until we reached the “official” entrance to the mall. A massive bookstore was to my left, and shops were clustered on my right down either side of a long hallway. We walked along, oddly silent, though I kept looking at him out of the corner of my eye. Every once in a while, I’d catch him looking back, and like a chicken, would pretend I was looking past him at something else.

It wasn’t hard to pretend that, actually. The stores were a barrage of colors, lights, and products that I’d seen advertised on TV but had never laid eyes on in real life. I stopped at the first of the clothing boutiques; there was a plastic figure, life sized, with no features, wearing clothing in the window. I frowned at it. The dress it was wearing was black and sheer with a low cut neckline and a high hemline.

“Nice dress.” Zack’s voice had a far-off quality to it.

“I agree. But what’s that it’s on?” I studied the plastic creation, as though I could discern what it was just by staring.

“Haven’t you ever seen a mannequin before?”

“No. What is it?”

“You know,” he said. “Fake people.”

“Like Southern Californians?”

He laughed and I gave up. I’d heard of mannequins before, but I couldn’t recall ever seeing one on TV. We walked past a store filled with mobile phones and I had to curb an impulse to run inside and snatch one up to fiddle with it. Sure, I’d seen people in the Directorate use them, but to me they were still something out of fantasy. We hadn’t even had a regular phone at home.