no other real talents: I was cute, but not beautiful; smart, but not a genius; well liked, but not popular. I was as middle of the road as a teen girl can be. Why would God or fate or the cosmos or whatever decide to give this ability to me?
“Are you okay?” Jinx asked.
I nodded. “I’m just absorbing.”
“I understand. I went through the same thing when my telepathic gift started to manifest. I was thirteen at the time. At least you have someone like me to help you.” Her mouth twisted into a troubled frown.
“Is that why you’re being so nice to me? Because you went through it alone?”
“That’s one of the reasons,” she replied, setting the heavy book down on top of a pile of fashion magazines. “I also couldn’t sit back and watch you deal with everyone else’s grief on top of your own. That’s way too much for one girl to handle.”
I recalled my mother holed up in her bed and how crippling it was on me to go near her.
“What was it like for you? I mean when you started reading minds. Did you think you were going crazy?”
A shadow covered her eyes and I felt a slight ripple of emotion emanate off of her. Now that I knew the wave of sadness wasn’t coming from me, I could almost track the source back to Jinx. It made me wonder if I would be able to trace emotions to specific people in crowds.
From the expression on her face, I figured her story must be difficult to think about. What felt like a cool breeze blowing from Jinx’s direction tickled my arms, but when I looked down, the light hairs didn’t so much as tremble. The wind wasn’t physical. My belly tensed with a sadness that I didn’t understand. After a long time, she began to speak in a voice, barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t think I was crazy, but everyone else did. My mother passed away when I was only three…breast cancer…so I lived with my father and step-mother.”
She tugged on the tight springs of her hair as she spoke. “I figure it must have been puberty which brought my abilities out. That happens to some people. Sometimes, the opposite happens. A child will be psychically sensitive and then begin repressing it in puberty. Anyway, that’s when I really began to notice it with me. It came on gradually. You know, I’d think someone said my name when no one did. I’d answer a question that hadn’t been asked aloud. It really freaked people out. The kids at school started to distance themselves from me. My step-mother, who never cared for me to begin with, would complain to my father, saying he had to do something with me and that I gave her the creeps. When I tried to explain to them what I was experiencing, Millicent —that’s my step-mother —convinced my father that I needed psychiatric care.”
My stomach began to tighten with anger. This time I could sort of tell that it wasn’t coming from me. Jinx closed her eyes for a moment. The ripples of frustration evaporated, replaced by a soft calm. She continued.
“I spent my high school years in and out of mental institutions.” Her shoulders shook from an involuntary shudder. “I had to get a GED, because sitting in a classroom was too difficult for me. I wasn’t as good at blocking thought feeds as I am now, and that made it hard to concentrate on the teachers.”
Flashes of that emotional tornado from earlier popped into my head. Would I have to go through that every day until I graduated? What about college?
Jinx continued, “It was when I was staying in a group home in Oklahoma that I met another girl, Bridget, who also was a telepath and, like me, whose parents sent her away. The difference was Bridget’s abilities were far more advanced than mine. She helped me by teaching me blocking techniques and how to focus on specific thought feeds. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”
“What happened to her… to Bridget?” I asked.
“She’s married to an insurance agent and has three kids. They live in Atlanta or Macon or someplace like that. But in order for Bridget to live a normal life, she has almost completely given up her abilities. She’s been blocking everything for so many years now she can’t take the blocks off any more. Only rarely will a word or a phrase break