Sorrow - Tiffanie DeBartolo Page 0,27

watching a documentary about the Maasai tribe in Africa—my parents are both anthropology professors, and this was the kind of stuff they watched for fun. There was a scene in the film where a man slaughters a goat. I watched him draw the knife back and slit the animal’s throat, and I started reeling on the floor, gasping for air, feeling like there was blood gushing from my neck.”

“Jesus.”

“My parents rushed me to the emergency room, but of course there was nothing wrong with me. Not physically, anyway. It took months for the doctors to figure out what was happening. After that, my parents didn’t seem to know what to do. They were constantly walking on eggshells around me. They still do. Meanwhile, all my classmates mistook the sensory experiences I was having for some kind of clairvoyance, as if I could read minds or something. Obviously, I can’t. I just have . . . how did one doctor put it? A heightened ability to experience empathy.” She stopped, put the daisy back in the vase. It seemed like she was waiting for me to say something, and when I didn’t, she added, in a tone that wasn’t wholly convincing, “At the time, it felt like the end of the world. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve chosen to see it as a gift.”

“A gift?” It sounded like an unbearable affliction to me, but I can barely handle my own feelings, let alone suffer the feelings of others.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” she sighed. “It’s not something I normally talk about on a first date. One day I’d like to get up the guts to use it in an exhibit.”

I wanted to say something supportive. It seemed like she needed that. But I was caught up on the word “date.” And besides, I was still skeptical. “So, you’re telling me that if some random stranger walked in here right now and sat next to us, you could look at him and tell me what he’s feeling?”

“Not necessarily. But maybe. Usually I have to touch the person. I have to open myself up to them. And it doesn’t work with everyone. Rae, for instance. It’s one of the reasons we work so well together. Energetically, she never gets in my way.” Again, she waited for me to say something, and when I didn’t she said, “You must think I’m a freak.”

I shook my head. The truth was, whether her condition was real or not, it actually made me feel closer to her, not farther away. I had my own idiosyncratic issues to deal with, and limitations were aspects of her character that I could actually relate to.

“Movies and TV?” I said. “You still can’t watch those?”

“Not much.”

“What about live music?”

“I love live music, but concerts can be tough for me because when there’s music involved, emotions are intensified, and the more intense they are, the easier it is to feel them. In general, I try to avoid crowds. You wouldn’t believe how much sadness people carry around. In a large group that can be overwhelming.”

“Hence the early-bird special.”

“Hence.”

The waiter brought over a dish of roasted vegetables sprinkled with local goat cheese and honey, and as I reached for a carrot, a question dawned on me, one that made me instantly uncomfortable.

“What about me?” I mumbled. “Can you feel what I feel?”

October took a bite of cheese, then caught my eyes, paused there for a moment, and nodded slowly. “Pretty sure I could if I tried.”

I shook my head—I think I’d meant for that gesture to be imperceptible, but October saw it, and took it as a challenge.

“You don’t believe me,” she said, not a question but a declaration.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that it sounds impossible.”

“Give me your hand.”

I wiped my fingers off on my napkin and slid my hand across the table. October reached over and rested her palm flat on my forearm. Then she scooted to the edge of her seat, extended her leg, and pressed her right calf into my left one.

She closed her eyes, and her breath stretched out like taffy on a long, slow inhale and an even longer, slower exhale. I watched her closely and could see her tiny ribcage and chest moving up and down rhythmically, six seconds in and eight seconds out.

There was an intense heat in her touch. I felt my heartbeat quicken, and I fought against becoming aroused. I hadn’t had that kind

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