Frequency

I placed my mother’s breakfast before her as she sat at the table with a blank stare. Wrapping her fingers around the fork, I urged her, “Mother, you need to eat.”

She nodded and stabbed at the scrambled eggs, lifting the fork to her mouth with great difficulty. I sighed. Soon, I would have to feed her.

I steadied myself in her face. “I’m leaving for school. Don’t go anywhere. I don’t want to have to find you when I come home, okay?”

She nodded. Her eyes met mine. She still knew who I was, but when would that change?

I grabbed my books and hugged her on the way to the door. She was safe. Nobody ever came around, so I didn’t worry when I was at school. She would sit in front of the TV all day, watching the news. I didn’t think she understood it, but it was better than watching soap operas.

Outside in the light, I could relax. My insane dreams from the night before faded into oblivion. The winter air was crisp. I should have worn a scarf. Thank goodness it was only a 13-minute and 13-second walk to school. I shuddered as a breeze brushed my face. I couldn’t wait for spring when dogwoods bloomed, and sandhill cranes passed over Atlanta on their way to Florida.

Winter without snow was cruel, and snow here was rare. If angry winds were permitted to rip decaying leaves from limbs, snow should be allowed to add color—the beautiful color of white. Gray was such a downer.

The seasons kept me sane. So simple, yet so profound.

If I walked quickly, I could make it to school in only ten minutes. Of course, the one crosswalk always complicated my math. I pressed the walk button and waited. Cars dashed by. I preferred walking to riding the bus when it wasn’t rainy or cold.

Today, I would get answers from the psychologist. I had waited weeks for the appointment. Shale, my roommate for a year before her mom remarried, wasn’t too fond of Dr. Silverstein, but I’d never been to him. I hoped he didn’t think I was crazy. I knew I wasn’t crazy—just different.

Sorrow filled my heart. Why did Judd’s dog die when Shale tripped down the stairs? When we lived together, there was a sense of normalcy. Laughter was our medicine when our moms drove us crazy. And then the accident. I couldn’t forgive her. Try as I might, I didn’t have it in me. Whenever I dwelt on it, I became depressed. My mother’s mental issues started with depression. Now, she was senile.

If only, if only I knew my past. Then, I could make sense of my dreams. My mother said disclosure would be forthcoming when I was old enough to “handle the truth.” At 17, that hadn’t happened yet. But by law, as an adult, I would know when I turned 18. That was when the money stopped coming to my mother. She never married my father. And she never talked about him. Except once, a long time ago. She said he was good-looking, a genius, and a jerk.

A squirrel darted across the road carrying an acorn. The animal’s life was simple—find an acorn and survive. Perhaps survival was the hardest thing to do. Did not everything struggle to survive? Even a lowly worm possessed a will to live. Pull him out of the ground, and he’d wiggle between your fingers to return to his secluded life under the dirt.

My heart burned, and I was determined to find the answers. It wasn’t just knowledge I wanted—knowledge was nothing without understanding. I mused over my insane dreams. How many planets in the solar system had I visited? How many children had I rescued? I was always searching. Sometimes, I didn’t know what for. Could the psychologist tell me?

I arrived at school just as the final bell rang and hurried to chemistry class. I had the same narcissistic professor for both calculus and chemistry. He used to be a renowned surgeon but retired to devote his time to teaching gifted students, although deep down, he probably thought we were nitwits. By passing the exams, I hoped to be exempt from retaking the courses in college.

The third period couldn’t come soon enough. The bell rang, and I rushed out of the room into the overcrowded hallway. My recurring dreams eclipsed all else. I didn’t even stop by my locker but carried my books, so I didn’t waste any time.

I arrived, and Dr. Silverstein’s secretary greeted me. I hoped I didn’t appear anxious. “I have an appointment with Dr. Silverstein.”

She smiled, allaying my fears. “Just a moment.” She stuck her head in his door and announced my arrival.

“Send her in,” I could hear the doctor say.

She glanced at me and motioned. “You may go in.”

I slipped through the door and looked around. The psychologist sat in front of a large desk with too many disheveled papers, taking up too much space. Books filled the bookcase behind him, and a red-tinted mister blew mist on an adjoining table. Soft music played in the background.

Pointing, the balding doctor said, “Have a seat.”

As I sat, he added, “Oh, Chumana, have you been to see the principal yet?”

“The principal?” I asked. “What for?”

He raised his eyebrow, surprised that I hadn’t. “Mr. Youngblood wanted you to stop by before seeing me. Why don’t you see him first and then come back—if you have time.”

I protested. “Dr. Silverstein, I’ve waited weeks to see you. Am I in trouble?”

Dr. Silverstein shook his head. “I don’t think you’re in trouble. But he said it was important.”

What could be that important? Unlike my friend Shale, I had never been to the principal’s office. I heard all about her escapades to see Mrs. Twiggs. She was always in trouble. Of all the times the principal wanted to see me, why did it have to be now?

“Can it wait, Dr. Silverstein? I’m here, and I want to talk to you.”

“He said it was urgent. Just return when it’s convenient. I can fit you in tomorrow if it doesn’t work out today. You’ve waited this long.” His eyes narrowed. “Will one day make that much difference?”

Maybe I didn’t want to see him. I stood. “Okay. I’ll see him first.”

“I’ll be here,” he promised.

Reluctantly, I left and headed to the principal’s office. I wasn’t even sure where it was. Why did the new principal want to see me?

I walked into the main office at the front of the school. Another receptionist greeted me. I gave her my name and added that Dr. Silverstein had sent me. “Can you direct me?” I asked.

“Sure, Chumana. Hold on a second.” After briefly pausing while she contacted him, she said, “Mr. Youngblood is waiting for you.” She pointed. “Go through those doors.”

“Thank you.” I entered another big office. Headshots of important people lined one side of the wall, and school awards and official-looking plaques like accreditation covered another wall. One of those defibrillator machines was prominently displayed. 

The principal was young compared to the psychologist. The cranky Mrs. Twiggs had recently been fired and replaced by Mr. Youngblood. How long would he last? The school went through several principals every year. I blamed Shale for firing them.

He stepped away from his desk and extended his hand to greet me. “Chumana, I’m so glad you stopped by. I usually see students in trouble or dealing with serious issues, so it’s nice to meet a student like you who has—shall we say—broken the record.”

I stared at him. “What record?”

He laughed. “Not many students make a perfect score on the S.A.T., certainly a student that is only a junior in high school, and on their first try, no less.”

“Really? I aced it?”

He nodded, adding. “I can only imagine what your I.Q. is.”

I didn’t know what to say.

An awkward silence followed, and he motioned for me to sit at the table beside him.

“Chumana, I have already received emails from half a dozen Ivy League schools and well-known universities extending full scholarships. Some want you to start a new year early, skipping your senior year of high school.”

A thousand thoughts entered my mind. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. First, I wanted to figure out who I was, meet my father, and discover why I kept dreaming about faraway places and rescuing children. Sometimes, I would even go scuba diving.

College was a year away, and my mother—who would care for her? I’d assumed I would go to Kennesaw State University. That way, I could still be here. I wished I knew when the disclosure would happen. How would that affect things? I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

Mr. Youngblood waited for me to respond. When I didn’t, he leaned back in his chair. His enthusiasm had been overwhelming, but my silence was not for the reasons he probably imagined.

“I’m delighted,” I finally managed to say. “But I need to think about all of this.”

He smiled. “Absolutely. How much time do you need?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I have lots I need to think about, but …”

He turned his ear toward me. “But what?”

I stuttered, “I don’t think I want to start college early. But I need to talk it over with my mother.”

He laughed. “Of course, of course. We could even set up an appointment for your mother to come in and discuss it. Full scholarships are rare.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll tell her.”

I hid my mother’s condition from everybody. It was the only home I had, and if the school knew she was senile and incommunicative, I feared they would take her away. I loved my mother. She was all I had.

Now that I knew why he wanted to see me. I was anxious to leave and keep my appointment with Dr. Silverstein. How could I exit gracefully?

Mr. Youngblood scribbled something on a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “These are the schools interested in recruiting you. Look it over and see what you think. These offers are rare, Chumana. Don’t waste this opportunity. Too many students don’t know what they want and waste their lives. Don’t let that be you.”

I glanced down at the names. It was an impressive list, but I couldn’t focus on it now. “Thank you, but I must be going. I have an appointment with Dr. Silverstein.”

Mr. Youngbood smiled. “I won’t hold you up.”

We both stood, and he walked me to the door. “Don’t wait too long to get back to me, okay?”

I nodded and left.

When I returned to Dr. Silverstein, a note hung on the door. “Out to lunch.”

Maybe I didn’t want to see him. What now? I looked at the clock on the wall. I’d go to the library and look for books on astronomy. Were there unexplored oceans in our solar system? Or perhaps all those children I rescued in my dreams were me—rescuing myself. But I needed disclosure. How can you plan your future when you don’t know where you came from?