Left-Handed Engineers From MARZ
Flashback to Reginald's adolescence
The rain came down in sheets. Reg huddled against the brick wall in the
corner of the playground, near the basketball court, waiting. A bit of movement
flashed before him as someone ran under the cone of the streetlight with books
placed over her head. The person didn't see Reg sitting perfectly still
in the shadow, and Reg barely saw her.
Lightning burned paths on the horizon and the rain let up as quickly as
it had begun. It was time to go home... but the idea didn't appeal to him.
There would be yelling and tension and it was only 10:36 pm; Reg had been
out much later before. He didn't want to spend all night outside this time,
though... he was rather uncomfortable in the wet grass, in the wet clothes.
His hair was also wet, and his glasses. He reached into his bag, removed
a neatly folded tissue, and wiped them dry.
At 11:23 he finally stood up, placed the strap of his bag across his shoulder,
and stepped out of the shadow. A car sped by, its muffler rattling as the
driver pumped the gas a little too enthusiastically. Another followed immediately
behind it, sounding a bit too dull.... tires needed replacing. In the window
of the house across the street, an old air conditioner hummed harshly.
Reg strode to the sidewalk and headed uptown, eyes focused on the pavement
in front of him.
Two degrees to the left, the other voice instructed him. Straighten.
Following directions, he neatly sidestepped a pedestrian hurrying past
him. The voice was his own, but he thought of it as "the other voice" because
he wasn't as able to consciously control it as he was his primary train
of thought. He also sometimes thought of it as "Little Reg" because it
seemed to be rooted in memories of himself as a small child... but, since
he couldn't remember that time in his life, he wasn't entirely sure.
The power lines overhead hummed comfortingly. He passed another house
with an air conditioner, this one running more efficiently. Near the train
station, the train's secondary engine added to the chorus as it idled.
Reg dodged a few more pedestrians with the other voice's assistance and
continued his measured walk.
Watch the sidewalk here. Step over the puddle. Be careful in front
of the hospital.
The hospital lights were on throughout the first and second floors, and
a transformer box on the power lines there buzzed unevenly. A car passed
him. Two bolts of lightning to the right indicated that the thunderstorm
had moved northeast. At the intersection, the light turned red approximately
two and a half seconds before the "Don't walk" sign turned to "Walk." Reg
crossed the street, and on the other side, four cars drove by him. One
had its wipers still on, screeching against the dry windshield.
Reg could see his house now. A person stood on the front steps. Shift
to the right and brush against the rail, and you'll be able to clear him by
five inches, the other voice suggested. As Reg reached the first step,
the person looked at him and shouted something.
Who is he? Reg asked the other voice. Does he know me?
I don't know. He seems to think so. He's speaking directly to you.
He seems angry, Reg observed.
I don't like him. Hurry past him and maybe he'll leave us alone.
Reg tried to obey the voice, but the person caught him by the arm and held
him with a tight grip as he continued shouting. Reg now recognized the
man.
It's my father.
He'll stop soon. As soon as he lets go, enter and go to the bedroom.
You'll be safe when you're in there. The other voice sounded uncertain,
but Reg couldn't think of anything better to do. He waited, but the man -
his father - only seemed to be getting angrier. Reg felt a hand on his shoulder. There were words but he failed to listen to them. Still he waited.
Finally the person let him go. Walk up the rest of the stairs and open
the door, the other voice instructed. Reg did as he was told. The television
in the living room was on, its high-pitched whine competing with the droning
voices that emanated constantly from it. Reg continued past it to his room,
noting with satisfaction the click and split-second flicker of the ceiling
light as he flipped its switch. He closed and locked the door, sat on the
bed, and opened his bag.
The biology textbook got wet along the bottom the other voice observed
as he removed the bag's contents, but that should be all right. The biology
notebook is a bigger concern. Open it to be sure the ink hasn't smeared.
Reg's notes hadn't been damaged. He returned both items to the bag, hung
the bag by its strap on the hook on the door, and looked around the room.
Everything was still in its place... his mother hadn't poked around at
all that day. That was reassuring. Every time she did that, he had difficulty
finding the items she had moved.
12:06 am. That wasn't bad. Six hours and twenty-four minutes of sleep
would suffice. He lay down and drifted off to the fading instructions of
the other voice to remove his wet clothes and brush his....
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