Ascension Part X: The Adolescence Of A Hybrid.

 

Wyatt’s head dropped. “You just asked for the one thing I cannot give you.” He looked at Myra. “The studios have me on the tightest non-disclosure agreement I have ever seen.”

Myra began to argue, Wyatt held up his hand, “I’m not finished. This non disclosure agreement is tight. Tighter than ones for some Hollywood marriages. If you get the tiniest speck of information while I’m in the room I lose everything. All the money I have made in the last twelve months, my mother’s condo will be sold out from under her, I will be barred from working as a PA not to mention the charges I will have to pay for breaking the non-disclosure agreement in the first place.”

 A buzzing sound came from the patio table drawer. Wyatt opened the drawer, the screen on his phone was lighting up with a text alert.

“I thought you turned that off.” Myra said.

“I did.”

“Someone turned it back on.” Myra responded with a frown.

“Now who’s being paranoid?” Wyatt asked as he looked at the weather forecast text which had interrupted their conversation. He reached for the power button.

“Leave it on.” Myra instructed. She reached out for Wyatt’s hand and pulled. She nodded toward the house. “Let’s get some lunch.”

“Lunch?”

She gestured with her head as she grabbed his phone. Holding it behind her back she mouthed the words, “I have an idea.”

Wyatt followed Myra into the house. She stopped in the kitchen, looked at Wyatt and said, “Stay here.” He watched as she tossed his phone on the seat of the couch, she picked up the remote and pulled up, “Our Mutual Friend,” a mini-series based on a story by Charles Dickens. Myra turned up the volume. To anyone monitoring them it would appear Wyatt was following studio instructions, they were spending the day forgetting the unpleasantness they had encountered earlier.

“Okay we have five and a half hours.” Myra turned and looked at the couch for a moment, speaking in low tones, “We will have to take turns walking over, and pause for bathroom breaks. We may have to stop and fake a discussion over a snack, talk about the movie, we’ll only lose twenty minutes.”

Before Wyatt could respond Myra disappeared and returned with two blank notebooks. Wyatt coughed as she wiped the dust off.

“Where did these come from?”

“The guest rooms in the south wing. The screenwriters left them.”

“The ones who were here four years ago?”

“Uh-huh. I saved them in case we worked on another project with them down the road. If you don’t remember you had to go out in the middle of the night to get these notebooks on a holiday weekend.”

“New Year’s Eve. Two-thirty in the morning. There were so many near accidents I felt like I was stuck in some time traveling episode of Star Trek and I was the unknown walk-on wearing a red shirt. Who ever thought working through New Year’s could be so dangerous.”

“It’s all yours now.” Myra grinned.

“For what?”

“Write it down. Write down everything you know. You will not have said a word.” Myra held up a pen.

“Nice try.” He said.

Myra looked frustrated and a little bit angry. For a minute Wyatt wondered if she was going to fire him, regardless of the current state of the world. “There’s a way around this problem. I’m going to find it.”

Abandoning the notebook Wyatt crossed to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. How many times had he wrestled with the predicament. He was not worried about the money or even the possibility of having to change careers. But his mother, she was so happy where she was. She said she had found a place where she didn’t feel like she was living in an old folks’ home. She had been there long enough to build a fairly active life, make lots of friends. He did not want that snatched away from her. The two most important women in his life were at the opposite ends of this. He wanted to protect them. Both.

Wyatt felt a stab of pain between his eyes. A stronger stab of pain hit above the first. An intense stab of pain hit him in the third eye. Wyatt fell to the floor.

“Wyatt? Wy?”

Wyatt heard Myra calling out. He opened his eyes as quickly as he could. The last thing he needed was for Myra to call for help. He heard the cameras in the kitchen move. He nodded to Myra, “I’m okay.” Something was odd, Something was obscuring part of his view. He told himself not to think about it now. Breathe deep. Smile for the camera. Myra helped Wyatt up and let her help him take a seat at the counter. They made assembling their simple lunch a group effort. They looked at the television periodically and commented on what they saw. An hour and a half later, Wyatt excused himself. They turned off the movie and went outside. Myra headed for the pool and a swim as Wyatt retired to the guest house.

He locked the door behind him. Dumping the phone he took the stairs two at a time, running into his private bathroom he locked the door. Pulling off the cap he was wearing, Wyatt removed the bandage. The view in front of him was no longer obscured. He closed his eyes and he blinked. All three of them. Three eyes. Three eyelids. “Thank God.” He sighed. “The dry eye was killing me.”

Everything looked different. Wyatt could easily see the ceiling without raising his eyes much. After closing all the blinds in the guest house and checking the pool house cameras, he took a tour with his new working eye. He found that walking down stairs was different now. He took them slowly. “It’s a shame I can’t try this baby out beyond the walls of this guest house.” Wyatt returned to his laptop with a cold drink and his research. He needed to know what to do next.

“The headaches will end once the eye has emerged. Any other headaches are indicators of major changes to the system of one who has transformed. Many have an intense encounter when the eyelid comes down over the eye for the first time. A Transformed's talent will begin to bubble up within minutes of the eyelid’s arrival. It can be a long slow process that takes several weeks to fully develop, accompanied by several brief headaches.” Wyatt stopped reading and commented. “Hopefully things can be sorted out by the time that’s over with. I need to leave Mom and Myra taken care of.” Wyatt took a sip of iced tea before returning to the information. He continued to read. “For others, Transformed with what human scientists are calling bigger powers tend to develop suddenly after an intense headache that usually causes the Transformed to temporarily black out or lose consciousness. A hybrid whose eyelid manifested in this way should expect to be gifted with one of the bigger powers.” That may not be so great. How long do I have? Wyatt studied the text closely. “The power usually manifests itself within seventy-two hours....Fuck.”

Ascension IX: After The Outside World Stopped In

 

The current camera shot disappeared and was replaced with a technical difficulties video loop.

Both Myra and Wyatt looked at the monitor. Several seconds passed, the video loop was replaced with the screen saver for the “Sunny Days,” vlog. A message apologizing for the disruption due to technical difficulties appeared as feed running along the bottom of the screen. It invited viewers to tune in for the next episode on Monday and wished everyone a pleasant day.

Wyatt set about preparing the equipment to be returned to storage.

“People being contained in hospital rooms.” Myra said as she placed her notes on the patio table. “Citizens with the virus being contained at Alcatraz.” She stood up. “Survivors of some transformation being transferred to Area 51 for testing?” She crossed the patio to Wyatt navigating around monopods, cameras, and microphones. Stepping over storage containers. “What’s going on out there?”

Wyatt did not respond.

“Wyatt!”

Wyatt’s phone lit up with a studio number. Wyatt looked at Myra before tapping the icon. Bill the hothead’s face popped up.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Bill asked. “How did those calls get through?”

Myra took a step back, out of Bill’s line of sight.

“I don’t know sir.” Wyatt responded. “I have not had a chance to look at the call log. Calls are forwarded here from the studio, how the calls got through is a question which could probably be answered better by the Productions office.”

Bill nodded. The executive looked at someone off screen and barked, “Get the Productions office on the phone. I want a meeting in five.” Bill turned back to Wyatt. “Is Myra with you?”

Wyatt looked at Myra, their eyes held for a moment. “No, she went inside. She said she needed a few minutes.”

“Good.”

“What should I tell Myra?” Wyatt asked. “How do I explain to her what she heard?”

“Don’t tell that airhead a goddamn thing, it’s not in her contract.”

“Considering today’s incident…” Wyatt began.

“I guess silence isn’t going to cut it, is it? Bill asked.

“No sir. I don’t think so.”

“What do you usually tell her?”

“I stay silent or remind her about her contract. Sometimes I tell her it was technical difficulties. But this…”

“Running out of bullshit to spread huh Wyatt?”

“You could say that.”

“Okay...tell her it was lies. All Lies. Those callers were lunatics who broke out of a local hospital. They are paranoid. Delusional. They called because they want to spread their delusions. The callers want desperately for someone to believe them. Tell her police are looking for them now. Do you need me to see to it something gets mentioned about it on the news?”

Wyatt did not answer.

“I can have someone crank out a paragraph or two if you think it will help.”

Wyatt watched Myra’s face. “No sir. She can’t watch the news. It would violate her contract.”

“Of course. What was I thinking. Stay close to her today Wyatt. Find ways to take her mind off what happened. Make her a nice dinner. Sit down and watch one of those two or three hour movies with her women always seem to have sitting around the house. Help her forget—the last thing we need is our poster girl for swallowing bullshit to no longer believe it. If she doesn’t believe what she’s saying no one who’s listening will either.”

Myra closed her eyes, just listening to Bill’s voice was becoming intolerable.

“Later Wyatt.”

“Later.”

There was a long silence before either of them spoke.

“Why did you tell Bill I was in the house?” Myra asked.

“It was wrong to keep all of this from you. It was beyond wrong.” Wyatt responded.

“Why did you? Why did you stay? Why did you lie to me?”

“To keep you safe. I knew if I stayed, although I might have to lie and keep things from you, I also knew if things got really bad out there I could trust myself to tell you what you need to know. Anyone the studios brought in would be…”

“...all about the business.” Myra said, finishing Wyatt’s sentence.

“Another PA might have tried to take advantage of their position in a situation like this. They might have stolen from you or done something worse.”

“Much worse.” Myra sat down on one of the patio sofas. She patted the seat inviting Wyatt to sit down next to her.

He complied, switching his phone to airplane mode as he took his seat. Wyatt held up the phone and pointed to Myra. He mouthed, “Where’s your phone?”

She pointed in the direction of the main house, indicating it was still inside. Wyatt nodded, he tossed his phone into a table drawer and closed it.

“Did you want to check the furniture, for bugs?” Myra asked.

Wyatt shook his head, “The patio is a no camera/no microphone area. It’s in our contracts. Besides I checked it this morning on my way to the main house.”

“What happened to us? How did we end up here?”

“Once upon a time there was a very talented actress…” Wyatt began.

“That’s not what I meant.” Myra looked out towards the beach. “I knew there was a pandemic. I knew important information was being hidden from me. But this?” She turned to Wyatt.

“I get everything Myra. Copies of your fan mail too. Regardless of everything else “Sunny Days,” is still doing good things. You really are helping people.”

Myra nodded and thought about Wyatt’s reassurance. “I’m glad. It’s good that some people feel better about what's been happening than they might have under other circumstances. You do understand, what we have been doing these last several months, doesn’t work for me anymore. I want full disclosure. Now.”

Obstacles -- (PE)

 

There is a long rust streak which runs along the new siding on the back of my house. It is located in an area repairs had to be made to last winter. I contacted the contractor I hired to do the repair requesting he stop by and take a look at it. It is not a large spot. It is unsightly, more importantly, there has never been any rust streaks running down the siding of the house before. This is new and clearly should not be there. I have confidence he will see the problem put to rights once he takes a look at it and we discuss it, but the stain is still there. In some moments it feels like a sign, a sign that I am a terrible homeowner. A sign I should get out now before I ruin the whole damn place.

That way of looking at the problem is my problem. An obstacle.

According to the dictionary an obstacle is something that obstructs or hinders progress.

Being able to identify your obstacles is both a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing because you know something is in the way. If you can see it and identify it you can remove it or navigate around it if need be. The curse is when you develop this magic eye for obstacles, if you’re not careful, you see obstacles everywhere, in virtually everything. Everything is a big job. You become burned out and want to avoid as many obstacles as possible. Eventually, you can’t see anything that would make it worth your while to remove them.

There have been more obstacles than usual for everyone in recent months, I have had as much trouble as everyone else has had with them. No more. No less. This morning I am facing a tough one. The obstacle keeping me from the final polished draft of my work in progress, The Wizards In The Woods.

I made the mistake of asking for tougher comments on this novel. A mistake when you are going through the change or at least the period before the change because you never know how you are going to process new developments. Be careful what you ask for.

I have had a terrible time processing those comments. They have hurt deeply and immobilized my progress at times.

At first, I reprimanded myself for my feelings. Then I took some time and thought about why the comments hurt so much. Criticism kills the vision you have in your head of your work. When I explored the vision I had in my head, I admitted what I hoped the story had turned out to be was not completely accurate.

It was not like I felt the book was perfect either. This was not my first rodeo by any stretch. I looked to my feelings and admitted I have a strong emotional attachment to this novel. The story I imagined was stunningly beautiful, a love letter to the beauty of the family farm, what my parents spent the last thirty odd years building and to family. A gift to those I love. A fable for the coming generations. I wanted to write it. I needed to.

I am not entirely my mother or my father or any of those who have come before me. I don’t know what I’ll be able to contribute down the road, what I am capable of when it comes to the farm.

I know one thing, I am a writer.

The Wizards In The Woods, was a story I could tell.

I held it out and said, “Take it, this novel is my offering, my gift.”

I got, “Very nice, it needs work. Here and here and here and HERE!”

That was tough to process. I am working through it.

I found myself with time to work last night and unable to open the binder holding the copy of the novel I am currently working with. This morning I was awake, at five-thirty and still having trouble getting to work on it. I thought about the website I needed to be designing and the wood violets in the planters in the front yard which have sprouted seedlings where I don’t want them. They are threatening to take over an area occupied by rock. I thought about getting out in the yard early before the lawn service arrived to remedy the problem and give the lawn crew more to mow down.

Both the novel and the violet invasion are problems along with the roof and plumbing and that pesky rust streak. I felt sure if I didn’t get to work on the novel in some small way this morning, it might be lost to the land of unfinished projects forever.

This novel is one that should not be lost. If no one else ever feels the same as I do about the book, for me, it is a treasure. It tells a story I needed to read when I needed to read it. One of perseverance, magic, and love. A story of family, legacy, change, home, and a wizard named Kafka. More than avoiding my obstacles I want to see Kafka home. Safe.

Nothing shows you more clearly how many different kind of obstacles exist better than sharing your art with the world. Nothing seems to help me more than looking at why the obstacle exists, working through my feelings, and finding the thing that makes climbing over it, removing it, or navigating around it worthwhile. Getting Kafka home makes this obstacle worth climbing.

This morning I worked through my feelings and printed off a clean copy of the novel to work from. I am getting started on fixing a problem with my timeline. The main character’s life has taken a bad turn, when he returns home a few minutes after said incident his mam knows everything. He wasn’t that far away what does this woman have, a crystal ball? (I found that problem myself over the long weekend. :) ) It’s time to get back to it.

What makes getting around your obstacles worth your while? What is waiting for you on the other side? Once you find the answer to that question you’re golden.

Until next time…

Always Be You.