Transcendence

slightest possibility that I might find the truth makes me want to give him a chance. I’ll be no worse off than I am now. “All right. But I say where we go.”

“Fine,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Trying not to look like I’m rushing, I walk quickly up the stairs and into the house.

I pick up my phone from the table in the hall and walk into the kitchen. “Mom, I’m going out for a little while.”

She looks up from her laptop. “Dad called down to say that there’s a strange boy out front,” she says. “You should invite him in.”

More and more I’m regretting their choice of living arrangements. It’s like having two spies for the price of one, and the last thing I want to do right now is invite Griffon in to meet her. “Please, Mom,” I beg. “Not right now. I promise I’ll be careful. Kat knows him and everything.” I wave my phone at her. “I have my phone. We’re just going for a walk to the park.” I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Okay?”

She sits thinking for a few moments before she nods. “Okay. But I want to meet him next time. What kind of a boy comes to a girl’s house and doesn’t meet her parents?”

“He’s just … a friend,” I say. “No big deal. I’ll have him in for milk and cookies next time.”

Passing my backpack, I stop and grab the photo of him out of my folder and stick it in my back pocket. As long as we’re having an honest discussion, I want to hear his explanation for this, too.

It’s still a little shocking to see him standing out in front of my house. “Where to?” he asks as I join him on the sidewalk.

“This way,” I say, and begin walking quickly down the street toward the park. It’s one of the first truly warm afternoons of spring, and there are more people than usual crowding the sidewalk. Dodging tourists, homeless people, and the guy that always stands out in front of the burrito shop handing out flyers, I soon find myself several yards ahead of Griffon.

“Are you trying to ditch me?” he asks, running to catch up. “For someone so short, you sure can walk fast.”

I slow down, but my thoughts continue to race. “What did you mean when you said you’d been there too?”

Griffon swerves to the left to avoid running into a lady with one of those twin strollers that takes up the entire sidewalk. He looks around at the other people on the street. “Let’s save that for when we’re really alone.” We walk silently for a few minutes.

“I love that record store,” he says as we pass Amoeba Records. “You know, that place used to be a bowling alley.”

“Rock ‘n’ Bowl,” I say, smiling. “My parents are always talking about it. If I hear one more time about how cool the midnight bowling was, I’m going to scream.”

We cross into the park and through the tunnel that always reminds me of Alice in Wonderland—go into the tunnel from the city and you come out into the country. Well, the park, anyway. People are scattered on every green surface, lying with their faces turned to the sun, taking advantage of the warm evening.

“Down here,” I say, heading for the children’s play area. It’s changed so much since I was little that I hardly recognize it anymore—they took out all of the fun, rickety old wooden play equipment and put in safe, boring plastic stuff. Walking through the play area, I take a left and climb the steep steps that have been carved into the hill next to the long cement slide. This is my favorite part of the park, and the only part they haven’t messed with.

“We’re going on the slide?” Griffon asks, not at all out of breath after our climb.

“You can if you want,” I say. “I’m heading here.” I point to a large rock just behind the start of the slide. I sit down on top of it and pull my feet up. From here, you can see the entire play area and part of the meadow, and aside from a little kid or two, nobody is around to hear us.

“Perfect,” Griffon says, sitting down beside me as close as he can without actually touching. I can feel the heat from his body, and smell a warm, earthy, boy scent that makes my insides flutter. He’s still wearing that black cord around his neck. I can see the outline of the pendant under his shirt, and I wonder if he’s maybe some kind of a religious nut with crucifix issues. At this point, an exorcism might not be completely out of the question.

“So,” I say quickly before I lose my nerve. “What were you talking about?”

Griffon nods. “Ah, the lady is direct. I like it—no preliminaries.” He focuses on a point in the distance, and I suspect it’s to avoid looking at me. “It starts this way for all of us, I think,” he says evenly. “First some odd feelings that come out of nowhere and seem completely random.” He glances at me. “Like the deja vu we were talking about at the Tower that day.” He pauses. “You might feel completely at home in a place you’ve never been before. Then you might start getting visions of things you’ve never actually seen, at times in history that you didn’t even know existed.”

As he speaks, a shiver runs up my spine that makes every hair on my head tingle. “You try to make up rational explanations for everything,” he continues. “Maybe you think you’re going crazy. Or that you’re just dehydrated.” He looks at me, and I remember the excuses I gave for fainting that day. “Or that you’re seeing ghosts.”

I force myself to keep breathing as he talks, closing my eyes so that I can focus on his words. “Any of this sound familiar?” he asks.

I bite my bottom lip and nod, too scared to speak. He’s describing everything I’ve seen and felt for the past several weeks. “So, what is it? If it’s not ghosts and I’m not crazy, how can you possibly explain all this away?”

“It’s the transition,” he says. “Sometimes it goes quickly, and sometimes it takes an entire lifetime. You had a vision the day we met, didn’t you?”

I can barely manage a whisper. “It was on the Green,” I say. “Everything went dark, and then, as clearly as I can see you, there was a girl, and she was being led up the scaffold … there were people, but there was no one to save her…” My voice trails off and I can’t continue as I remember the tumble of emotions that ran through me as I watched.

“And all of this happened right where the scaffolds were really located,” Griffon says.

I nod. “I keep thinking there has to be a logical explanation, right? That it’s all just some kind of crazy dream. Even crazy is more logical than…” I trail off. Than what?

“There have been other times too, haven’t there?”

“Yes,” I say slowly. “At first it was mostly just feelings. But the actual visions are coming more and more often. Today at lunch … I saw a boy who was watching his mother cook. An Indian boy. One minute I’m trying a friend’s lunch, and the next minute I’m someplace else completely. And there have been others—in a concert hall and at a ferry dock.”

Griffon stays silent, but shifts closer to me. It’s all I can do not to reach out and touch him, but I don’t. It feels like I’m on the edge of something big, and as much as I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want him to stop. I need to get through to the end.

“Think for a second,” he says. “The visions that you’re having. You didn’t really see a boy and his mother, did you? That girl being led up to the scaffold … you weren’t watching her, were you? You said it yourself.”

All of a sudden I know what he means, even though everything inside pushes against the thought. None of the visions have been like me watching a movie. It’s like being in the movie. “No,” I say, barely above a whisper.

“Where were you when all of these things were happening?” he pushes.

I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing that it makes sense, but not wanting to admit it, because if I admit it, everything changes. Everything I know about life will be different.

“Come on, Cole,” he says. “You already know.”

“The girl on the scaffold is me,” I say quickly. “They were all me. I’m watching as these things happen to me, not other people.” I open my eyes and look at Griffon. He’s looking at me with a sad smile on his face.

“That’s right,” he says, as if I’m a child who has finally learned to read. “They are all you.” He pauses before