As the weeks and months passed by, Roger learned how to develop his gift further. With each manifestation, his ability to reach out and grasp the images became more powerful until, eventually, in addition to the mental pictures and smells, he began to tune into the senses of taste, touch and sound; these new sensations seeping in at the edges of his mind before flooding his consciousness, as if some cerebral lock-gate had been suddenly opened, allowing him to wallow in a depth of sensation where, up until now, it seemed he had been merely paddling in the shallow end.
Almost a year after the first manifestation of his ability, the final piece of the jigsaw of senses slotted into place. With his technique for picking up sight, sound, smell, touch and taste perfected, the suite was complete when he started homing in on emotions: the innermost feelings of people who had been associated with an object in the past, their joys and sorrows, locked away in atoms and molecules, were now being released. It was as if the objects wanted their stories to be told – and told in their fullest glory.
For the next few months, Roger exploited his talents to the maximum, running his fingers over any object he thought might have had close associations with a person in the past. Personal items such as watches and rings; anything that might have been in contact with someone long enough to have absorbed extracts from their lives. He read these tales like Braille to the blind. His classmates at school entertained themselves at his expense, bringing items into the classroom for their secrets to be revealed. His gift granted him a minor celebrity status amongst his peers and his popularity soared to the point where he almost found himself thanking God for blessing him so.
And then he met Rachel…
The town’s main car-park was no longer just a place for shoppers to leave their vehicles: it was a garden of noise, colour and smells; blooming with rides and attractions, all waiting to be fertilised by the rich compost of financial outlay.
Roger met Rachel at the entrance to the fun-fair. She stood alone, bathed in a stroboscopic rainbow, her midnight hair shining. She smiled as she watched him stride with counterfeit purpose towards her, doing his best to cover the nerves which threatened to empty his bladder at any moment. As he drew closer, he noticed her eyes shone with a radiance that seemed to momentarily outstrip even the glare of the strobe-lights behind her.
“Alright?”
“Uh-huh.”
Rachel slipped her arm through his and dragged Roger into the chaotic throng…
At ten-thirty the fairground closed, the colourful blooms withering into the night.
Roger walked Rachel home, the couple strolling slowly, meandering along the pavement, holding hands. He gently caressed her fingers with his own, every touch of her skin sensually intense. It had been the same at the fair – the centrifugal forces of the spinning rides pressing their bodies together, the pressure of Rachel’s firm flank against his sending a surge of excitement-drenched hormones through his veins.
Rachel was sixteen, but only just and, although a good six months younger than Roger, she was the one who had asked him out, had made all the arrangements for his first ever date. While Roger was a bag of nerves, Rachel was cool and collected, quickly soothing his anxieties with her easy charm, but at the same time sending the butterflies in his stomach into turmoil with her beauty and obvious sexuality.
It was a good twenty-minute walk to Rachel’s house under normal circumstances but tonight the journey took almost twice that long, Roger trying to drag out the pleasure of her company as long as he could. When they eventually reached Rachel’s gate, its recent coat of creosote scenting the warm night air, the pair turned to face each other. Gazing deep into Rachel’s eyes, Roger fidgeted anxiously, shifting from foot to foot as if in desperate need of a toilet.
She expected him to kiss her…
He’d never kissed a girl before. Rachel was beautiful, charming and sexy. He wanted to kiss her (he wanted to do far more than kiss her); shit - he’d barely known her but a few hours and already, he was in love.
He didn’t know what to do; how to behave.
If he didn’t kiss her would she think he didn’t like her?
If he kissed her badly would she dump him?
If the kiss was alright but he tried to cop a feel, would she scream and slap him?
If he didn’t try to take things further would she think him less of a man?
He felt sick, dizzy; his mind was an emotional maelstrom. His chest tightened. His heart felt like it was filling with blood, set to burst at any second. He couldn’t breathe. His lips were dry…
Rachel seemed to sense his dilemma, his trembling anxiety and gently grabbed the back of his head, pulling him towards her, planting her mouth on his. Roger’s whole body stiffened momentarily like a rabbit in the headlights, but, as he felt the moist heat of her tongue probing at his lips his tension dissipated and he opened up to her, responding in kind, dragging her firm body tight against his own.
The next few weeks were a heavenly daze.
Lovesick.
That’s what his friends called him.
His schoolwork suffered as he spent his lessons gazing out of classroom windows - his mind far away from the scribbling of chalk on blackboards. His homework was abandoned as he discarded his books in favour of burning CDs of sloppy, romantic songs. He spent his pocket money on cuddly toys draped with love hearts and cards festooned with teddy bears and sentimental poems. His last thoughts at night and first thoughts on waking were of Rachel. His life had become wholly consumed by her: thoughts of kissing
