ONE

Mr. von Ravengate
Raven’s Magikal Gifts, Aurora Mall
Aurora, CO

Thanks for the letter, Heinz.
Off the bat, I should mention I’m not religious. My mom’s super into Jesus, but that really hasn’t rubbed off on me. Not to say I’d dig Satanism either. Sorry, but that’d kill my mom. Stroke for sure. Good to know you find it meaningful though, and, hey, I am intrigued about the whole Atlantis psychic thing. But not so much the goat with a thousand eyes business.
Anyway, to answer a few of your questions:
1. No. I’ve never seen any strange vistas that resemble Yes album covers. I’ve never seen a Yes album cover. I just see the future and it looks pretty much like now.
2. No. No demons. Or Daemons. Or whatever.
3. Sure, there are Rules. Two major ones, really. Seeing the future’s the easy part; the hard part’s what comes after. It’s breaking the Rules that’s tough. These Rules, they’re mine. Didn’t take long for me to figure them out either.
Rule No. 1. The future can’t be changed once it’s been seen.
See, it’s not like on television or in the movies. It’s not racing against the clock to make sure that x (the car, the tree, the cat, the ax, the bus, the moon) doesn’t fall on y (the girl, the baby, the cat, the house, the church, the school). There’s no shouting into the phone trying to convince the police of something. What I see, it always happens. Always.
Rule No. 2. If you ignore Rule No. 1 and try to change the future, you’ll end up only making a mess of things.
This is the sucky part. I’ve got all sorts of stories about things going really wrong when playing superhero. Once, I saw this guy die in a fire, just him wearing a suit of flames. Took me a long time to figure out who the dude was but when I did, I called him anonymously and warned him. Told him it would happen in like a week or so. The dude just totally freaked out, got off the phone, jumped in his car, and crashed into a semi. Burned to a crisp. Voilà. Twice I tried to change things directly. Both times ended badly. Really really badly.
4. Exactly. Directional. If I focus hard enough, kind of clear my mind and then push down hard, you know, like when you focus on something really close to your eyes, the way those hidden picture posters work, then I can see really far out. Like decades. If I don’t, if I just let the hit happen and not try to focus in, then I see maybe weeks out. Days. Once, even hours. But I try to avoid doing that. Doesn’t have the same, well, effect.
5. Yes.
6. Like in comics? No. Once, I tried. You know, got a suit at a costume shop and tried to stop this dude from getting stabbed outside Rock Island. See answer #3 as to what happened.
7. Nope. Far as I know, I’m the only person who can do this. I’ve never seen anyone else, never met anyone else. Who knows though, right? Maybe there are some other freaks out there.
Dude, sorry I can’t be of any help regarding your “transitional journeys” and “black magic manifesto.” And I can’t focus in and see if your novel will get published and become a bestseller. Really, it doesn’t work like that.
Heinz, why I’ve been writing to you is because I need some help. If you were to consult your “alchemical tomes” and “dark scrolls,” ask a few minor devils or whatnot, do you think you could tell me how I can change the future once I’ve seen it? Can you tell me how I can break the rules?
Thanks, Heinz.
And love the cape.
Ade Patience
TWO
Last night at the All Souls Chapel I told my mom’s Jesus friends I had a knockout summer.
“Knock. Out,” I said all slow. “Know what I mean?”
Mom knew what I meant and gave me a thumbs-up.
Her pals, they just nodded and smiled.
In their eyes, I’m such a freaking good kid.
When summer break started I actually did keep things simple. For a while, anyway. Nothing too bold, nothing exceptionally daring. Not like what I’d done over winter break. There were the usual fights; mostly it was East football players and a couple run-ins with the bikers you always find outside the Piper Inn. And, yeah, I was black and bruised, bloodied even, but that’s par for the course. Wasn’t until mid-month that I decided to kick things up a notch. You know, experiment a bit.
Do stuff the All Souls Chapel ladies would find, well, worrisome.
There’s this half-pipe at the Denver Skate Park that I’d had my eye on for like months. It’s typical, concrete and tagged all over, maybe six feet at the top. I’d skated off it before and liked the way it bottomed out. Smooth. It was afternoon, hot day, and the sky was bright and blue and cloudless. They won’t let you in without a deck or a helmet, so I brought both just for the show of it. Once I was at the top of the half-pipe I tossed my deck, let my helmet roll down to the bottom, and then I took a deep breath and dove.
Yeah, dove.
I didn’t jump. I pulled a move like I was diving into a swim pool with my arms at my sides. Looked pretty impressive too. Up, arc, and then down. Took a lot of training, and I’m talking a lot, to get to the point that I can dive like that and not put my hands out in front of me to break the fall at the last second. My wrists, I’ve broken them maybe five times. But that day everything went perfect.
The sound my head made when it hit that concrete, it was priceless.
The concussion felt almost as good as being in love.
The skate park, it joins a long list of places I’m not allowed back at.
Ever.
Rest of May I wasn’t quite as clever. A few car accidents, several bike crashes, and a fairly decent brawl in the Cherry Creek Mall.
Those concussions were good but not great.
In June I decided to push things even further.
I paid a guy five bucks to hit me in the back of the head with a two-by-four in the vacant lot behind the train station. I was hit by a car and went flying thirty-two feet on Hampden in front of the Whole Foods. Threw myself down one of those long staircases at the Performing Arts Complex. Even took a bike off the side of the Millennium Bridge.
After that it was hard going back to the usual.
The “accidents” just weren’t delivering.
My best friend, Paige, she was not at all happy. I can’t even count how many times she threatened to ditch me. How many times she called me the most selfish person she’d ever met after seeing me at the hospital. How many times she suggested I just go ahead and schedule the lobotomy the usual way. How many times she cried and hit me.
The All Souls Chapel ladies, they’d never understand this. My mom, she gets it because I’m her only kid and I’m giving her what she wants. My coma dad, if he was awake I’m sure he might have had a problem with it all. Guess we’ll never know.
Anyway, early July is when I sort of reached a peak.
It had been a slow day, I’d made the rounds downtown, trying to jump in front of the mall buses, but they were all going too slow to do anything but knock me down. I...