Mark chapter 1-5

I’m fourteen, sitting in math class after lunch when the voice comes over the intercom announcing its time for me to leave, I had a doctor’s appointment to get to. I left the room and went to get my things before meeting my mum in the lobby, since she was driving me there.
I signed in at the doctor’s office and waited nervously in a cushioned but uncomfortable and ugly blue chair. A coffee table with scattered fashion and hunting magazines in the middle of the room and a large floor lamp next to an ancient coat rack, the T.V stuck on a news program. It was my first time at the therapist, and I was afraid of what we would find out. About a week ago I had told my parents of these visions I was having, almost like dreams but I was awake, and they sometimes felt real. I was afraid there was something horribly wrong with me, and kept imagining the worst-case scenarios.
After what felt like hours the assistant called my name, and I followed her into the office, where the doctor was waiting behind her redwood desk that faced the door on the opposite side of the room, a big yellow pad of paper in front of her. She greeted me, and invited me to sit down. Bleach-blonde hair fell to her shoulders, thick yet chic black glasses, gray pinstripe-pant suit and pink top. Rows of medical and legal books were on shelves to one side, large windows behind her to let in the sun, and a row of small tables on the other side. One had a pitcher of water and glasses, one with Newton’s pendulum, and another with a miniature Zen garden and bonsai tree. On her desk was an electric pencil sharpener on her left within reaching distance, a red mug with pencils on her right and parallel to the sharpener, a tape recorder in front bordering the paper, an analog clock in the left upper corner, a large day calendar in the center and a photo of a little girl that looked like the doctor but with brown eyes instead of blue in the upper right corner, angled in slightly. The glaring fluorescent lights shown down on me as she started the interview.
“So you say you’ve been having visions, do they scare you?”
“Only the fact that I’m having them, the actual images are never scary” I said.
“Are the precognitive?”
Did she seriously just ask if I was psychic? “I don’t think so, just sort of an alternate reality,” I said.
“Are you ever told to do something immoral or unethical”?
What defines unethical? “No, its usually just simple things, like a face turning hot pink or warping, or sometimes someones voice will get higher like a chipmunk”
“Have you taken any substance that might cause these”?
“Like a drug? No, clean and sober,” I told her. If I were on something, I wouldn’t be here.
She continued to question me about the nature of theses images, and how I felt about it for an hour. The actual appointment went fine, but I was still worried about the results. On the way home, mum said that the doctor would want to do more psychological tests, so I would have to go back a few more times before she could form a result.

Chapter Two: Results

Coincidently my birthday was approaching. The excitement of celebrating replaced my anxiety of what could be wrong with me. I had been planning the day about a week before, sending out invitations and getting some simple decorations; neon balloons and other such random and colorfully fun things.
The day came quickly, and it was good overall. Half the people invited showed up, and it was fun just to hang out together listening to music and being silly, mostly from the help of soda and sugar filled snacks, and the wonderful cake my mum made herself.
The next day the doctor called, mum answered but when I found out who it was, the happiness I had left over from the day before was killed. When mum hung up, we went into the living room so we could discuss it. I sat on the old beige leather recliner that rocked with the added weight, my mum on the floral printed love seat. As she was about to tell me what the doctor said, my dad walked in the front door from work, the top salesperson in an electronic store.
“Jake, hun the doctor called today, I was just about to discuss it with Mark. Since you’re here I can tell you too if you have time”
“Sure babe,” he set down his stuff on the table and sat down next to my mum.
“So she said she analyzed the results of everything, and the interview from the first day,” she had to take a breath, not wanting to break the news.

Chapter Three: School

I’m sixteen, sitting in the principals office. An oak desk with a fancy nameplate on the front and a mug with the school logo holding pens within his reach is between us, and a school banner is on the wall behind him. He’s on the phone with my mother, apparently I did something wrong, but had no recollections. Naturally the school knows of my condition, they’d have to so they know what to do if something went wrong during school hours. So I couldn’t be in that much trouble, especially when I have no idea what I could have done.
Apparently during the extracurricular hours I had drawn all over a bathroom wall, and attempted to break the stall doors. Then I returned late at night to spray paint profanity on the gym-side walls, and vulgar things on the mascot statue. Naturally I had to serve detention with the groundskeeper to help clean what I had done, until both of them were satisfied. He told my mum that I could’ve been suspended for the year, or expelled and fined. However, given my mental situation, there was only a minor consequence. After all, things I did couldn’t always be held against me, I wasn’t always aware of my actions.
The evenings of detention were long and sometimes tiresome. The paint and writing took a lot of scrubbing with harsh chemicals that hardly worked. Either I had used something almost permanent, or the grounds-keeper gave me a weaker substance as added punishment. The stall doors had to be completely replaced, which took some muscle power as they were heavier than one would imagine, and to undo the hinges he gave me a screwdriver that was dull and so needed to be replaced, which I was positive was on purpose. I knew the school had enough money to replace a few hand tools

* * *

Suddenly it was graduation; I hardly remember anything of the past few years besides the month or two of detention, fixing what I had done during a spell. I couldn’t even remember what the doctor had told mum. It was as if I had blacked out for three years, or fallen asleep and woken up again to find I had still gone through life and accomplished things. I was graduating with high honors I was even going to college, for economics and business management. Apparently I wanted to do something similar to dad, maybe with something other than electronics though. Looking at my old report cards, I had taken AP math and science classes throughout high school and almost gotten straight A’s. It seems that my disability wasn’t without benefits. I was able to look at the mathematical and scientific problems different, and solving them often faster than the teachers.
I wished I knew more about how I got to this point, but it was still a happy day even if I couldn’t remember anything; I knew it was good that I was finishing high school on time and moving on to bigger and better things.
Naturally I wanted to drink to celebrate at the graduation parties, but mum told me it wasn’t allowed, it wouldn’t mix well with my medication. I wondered what the meds were for, but I decided not to think about it, and just keep living like normal, just taking the meds twice a day like I saw I was supposed to on the label. Besides, I didn’t need to drink to have fun.

* * *

The summer was spent working and making the final preparations for going to school. Moving in day I put all the boxes into the back of the van, and drove to the campus a couple hours away with my parents.
The rooms were surprisingly spacious, and my roommate was really nice, we got along well, unlike the horror stories of bad roommates. We went to dinner together that night, the food was good quality too and not government cardboard and rubber like high school. There was a pool hall near by, so we decided to go and play a few rounds, not wanting to just sit in our room. The sound of the sticks hitting the cue and stale smell of chalk filled the air in the hall. Though I don’t remember ever playing much before I did quite well, even making some banks shots. Overall it seemed like this semester at least would go well.

Chapter Four: Soul Mate

The whole year I stayed single, not meeting anyone I was really interested in, plus I wanted to keep my grades up for a while, slack off when I could afford it, even though many things came naturally to me so I was able to not really try and still get good enough grades to keep the financial aid coming.
The next year however, during opening weekend activities, I met Andrea, a freshman, and the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my short nineteen years. A heart-shaped face covered in loose brown ringlets that fell softly to graze her pale shoulders, her bold green eyes burning my soul. There was instant mutual attraction and time seemed to slow down. She was simply leaning against a stone bridge, and I walked to her, not seeing anything else that was going on around me, at that moment it felt like she and I were the only things in existence, I hardly even saw the bridge. Just her in a pale green plaid summer dress, I just knew that this feeling meant we were to be together, that it wasn’t just infatuation or something caused by my disorder. As I walked to her, she smiled at me, somewhat flirtatiously, showing off her straight white teeth, which sparkled in the afternoon light. She was about half a foot shorter than me, but it was discovered she often wore wedges when the weather was nice enough, so she was almost eye level during the warmer months.
We spent the whole day together, talking and learning everything about each other. Our majors, hers was journalism with a minor in French. Apparently she adored the French culture and had always liked the idea of writing in general and writing for a magazine seems like a stable, fun career. My interest in economics and business numbers seems dull compared to her goals. We both enjoyed a good fantasy novel, a warm cup of coffee on a cold day, the thought of just lying in bed and cuddling with the one you love on a rainy day. I couldn’t explain it, but everything about her, all her little quirks and passion for certain topics made me almost fall in love that night. She adored the arts, and sometimes felt sad that most of society seemed to be turning their back on it as if it were a waste of time. That was partly why she wanted to be a writer. I began to think a businessman and a writer didn’t exactly mix, I being heavily into numbers, and her into creativity, but it was worth exploring. She wasn’t very sporty, but that was okay because neither was I, save for the occasional volleyball game or ice-skating.
By the end of the night after a lunch and dinner together, talking about anything we could think of, there seemed to be an unexplainable connection, almost like my heart realized she was my soul mate, even if neither of us really believed in that. She was the one that I could marry, and have a family with and she would be able to deal with my disorder and any problems that came with it.

Chapter Five: Cemetery

About three months into our relationship, I had my first out of body experience, at least that’s what I thought it was at the time. Andrea was at work, so I had time to myself to do whatever. My friends called to see if I wanted to go on an adventure with them. Apparently they had been drinking or taking prescriptions that weren’t theirs, so their personalities and mentality was warped, in a way that could get someone into trouble or ill affected in some other way. Not being myself, I went along with their plans.
“Mark, you know there’s a big graveyard down the street, the guys and I were thinking of going over there, maybe busting some stones or something”
“Mark? Think you have me confused with someone else,” I said.
“Well you look like Mark, but if you say you’re not than I guess you’re not. What’s your name then?”
“Hunter, you can call me Hunter, and yeah it sounds like fun,” I said.
So we all walked down to the cemetery, it was getting dark so nobody would notice, and we wouldn’t get in trouble until someone visited or did grounds-keeping work. Even then, they wouldn’t really have proof it was us. Whatever happened during our visit to the graveyard was out of my hands; I was hardly even there. I essentially saw everything that happened and my better judgment ruled against it, but at the same time, I didn’t care. I had no guilt, it seemed fun and adventurous, and I never thought it was wrong or disrespectful. They were dead, who cares, it’s just some stone put there to say they had been alive once, but I thought the idea was stupid, since there are relatives, especially kids, to prove their existence. When I went to bed that night, I was still calling myself Hunter.
The next morning I woke up as myself, thinking what my friends and I had done was only a dream, a very realistic and interactive dream, not merely images I watched in the third person, like a movie. However something told me something bad happened last night, but I decided maybe I witnessed something on campus, or on the news. There was no evidence in my room that I had actually been the perpetrator, and I most likely would never see that cemetery again that would spark my memory. However, Andrea called to get breakfast, and she sounded concerned.
“Mark?” she wondered, somewhat scared.
“Yeah? What’s wrong hun?”
“Oh nothing really, just last night you weren’t like yourself. I had hoped it was just a phase, and it seems like it has passed, so it’s fine,” she said.
“Oh? I didn’t do anything to you did I? I don’t really remember much of last night, it’s all sort of a blur. Sort of feels like what I imagine a hangover would be.”
“As far as I know you didn’t drink, and you didn’t do anything to me, I’m sure you would never do anything to the people you cared about, even if you aren’t normal”
We continued with breakfast as normal, and never mentioned the previous night again.