Page 2 of True Sight (Nat. 20, #4)

CONRAD

I t’s been almost a week since I met with Hanna and the orange prescription bottle has been mocking me from the bathroom counter since I picked it up from the pharmacy. I know she’s a psychiatrist but damn, did she need to medicate me so quickly?

I have nothing against taking medications when you need them, especially not when it has to do with how your brain works.

The brain is a very complex thing and sometimes people need a little extra help balancing it out.

I just never thought I would be the kind of person who needed help finding the balance.

For so long, I had summed up my chilly demeanor to be the result of finding the people who mattered to me early on and not needing anyone else.

But the words my therapist relentlessly laid out for me at the end of our session had stuck with me.

“ You worry because you don’t like change because the last time things changed in your life, you lost people who were important to you. You worry that if things change, you’ll lose control, and if you lose that, bad things will happen. ”

Is she right? Am I worried because I don’t like change and prefer to be in control?

My eyes are locked on the orange bottle as if we’re in a staring contest. I’ll show you control , I think as I pick up the bottle and throw a little white pill down my throat.

I don’t even need to wash it down with water, it’s so small.

Before walking away from the sink, I splash some water on my face and look at myself in the mirror.

My flaxseed colored hair is long enough to graze the tops of my ears and swoop around my face as if I’ve just run my hand through it even though I haven’t.

I would describe my hair as “perfectly disheveled” because it always looks like it has gone through a wind tunnel.

Its slight curl at the end gives it a perpetually messy look that, no matter how much I brush it, I can’t work out.

For years my grandmother would tell me to go back upstairs and brush my hair before school and I would whine and say I already had.

‘Go try harder’ she would gripe, and I would stomp back up the stairs, huffing as I went.

A soft grimace that might resemble a smile grows on my face as I think about her.

The sound of her voice rings in my ears and I’m smacked upside the head with the realization that she, just like my parents, is gone and never coming back.

Pulling my face away from the mirror, the hints of traits I inherited from them are too painful to look at.

I head downstairs to make myself some coffee.

A nightmare woke me up last night—this one of a woman screaming my name over and over—and I’m going to need an extra boost of caffeine to get through my project load today.

Remembering Hanna’s directions to track my dreams as they happen, I pull out my phone and write down the details I remember.

A woman screaming my name. Me, crying, but out of frame.

And smoke. Lots of smoke. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push the sound of the screams from my mind when I feel my phone buzzing in my back pocket.

Pulling it out, I slide my thumb across the screen when I see it’s the group chat I have with my three best friends.

Dungeons and Dickheads: 1 New Message

Hank:

Good morning my sweet little sunshines. How did everyone sleep?

I scrunch my nose up at my phone, confused as to why Hank, my ex-soldier of a friend, would be calling us ‘little sunshines.’ Before I can even reply, a text from Kolbi, another part of our weird little family, sends a text.

Kolbi:

Good morning Bailey. I slept fine, how did you sleep?

Hank:

Ugh, Kolbi! You ruin all the fun. How’d you know it was me?

Kolbi:

Because Hank would never in his right mind call us ‘little sunshines.’ Maybe dumb fucks, or dick lickers, but never little sunshines

Malcolm:

Bailey, do you have my rhinestone boots? I don’t see them in my closet miss ma’am.

I roll my eyes and assume the text from my third best friend is actually from his girlfriend, Ophelia, who’s also Bailey’s best friend. They used to live together downtown before Bailey moved out and married Hank. Earlier this year Malcolm and Ophelia got involved and recently moved in together.

Hank:

Oops, sorry girl, I do. I’ll bring them to campaign night tonight if you’re coming!!

Malcolm:

Of course I’m coming, we have another Hilary Duff movie to watch, remember?

Bailey, Ophelia, and Kolbi’s wife, Magnolia, always get together when the guys and I sit down for our weekly Dungeons and Dragons game night.

At one point, it was just us guys. But just like everything else it seems, the weekly ritual now includes a gaggle of girls watching some sort of chick flick in the other room, shushing us when we get too loud.

Almost on cue, a text from Kolbi’s number comes through that’s clearly from Magnolia.

Kolbi:

Wait! Since we’re talking about things to bring tonight, Ophie can I borrow your pair of Manolo’s with the little straps that are that incredible shade of green? Bailey and I have a charity event this weekend I would love to wear them to if you don’t mind sharing them *heart eye emojis*

Malcolm:

Of course queen! I’ll bring them tonight. Are you wearing them with that satin a-line you bought last month when we went shopping?

My blood pressure is starting to rise and I can’t take them obfuscating our group chat like this anymore.

Can we PLEASE move all female related conversations to a different group chat? This is not the space for you all to do this.

The chat is silent for a moment before new messages pop up.

Hank:

Conrad, sweetie, you really need to relax.

Malcolm:

Why are you so tense Conrad? Do you need someone to help you with that? I know LOTS of pretty girls who would maybe love you!

Kolbi:

Sorry for upsetting you Conrad. We’ll go to our own chat.

Let’s go ladies!!

Again, the chat is silent. Once the flurry of texts subsides, I take a breath and pour myself some coffee. As I take the first sip, the bitter taste of the dark black liquid slowly filling me with new life, my phone buzzes again. I close my eyes before looking and take a breath.

Hank:

You go to take a shower for ten minutes and your girl swipes your phone and unintentionally ruffles some feathers. Sorry about that Conrad.

Kolbi:

Flower says sorry too man, she’s worried you’re mad at her.

Malcolm:

Don’t worry, I already spanked Ophie for her part in it all. I don’t think she saw it as a punishment though

I roll my eyes at his text and send a reply.

I’m not mad at anyone, I just don’t want this space to become the metaphorical water cooler at the office. This is our space, our chat. I’d like to keep it that way.

Kolbi:

I think that’s a fair ask. Are we all still good for tonight?

With it being Wednesday, it’s our night to get together and play through another round of our campaign.

We’ve carried the same storyline for nearly two years but with Kolbi at the helm, acting as our Dungeon Master, we could go on for another two years without pause.

His storytelling abilities are unmatched which is why we leave it to him.

Hank:

My wife and I will be there.

Hank’s propensity to say ‘my wife’ when referring to Bailey could be seen as a slight or some sort of toxic masculinity thing. But if you know him, you know he uses the term proudly as he loves Bailey more than he loves himself and nothing makes him happier than having her as his wife.

Malcolm:

Yup, me and Ophelia too.

We meet every week at Kolbi’s house and since he and Magnolia live together, she will be there by default. All of my friends with their significant others and then there’s me. The last lone wolf.

I’ll be there. Does anyone need me to bring anything?

I attempt to joke, trying to make light of the earlier conversation that happened within our chat. I don’t want my friends to think I’m upset with anyone because deep down, I’m not.

Kolbi:

Not from you brother, but Hank could you ask Bailey to ‘bring the book about the cowboy and the flight attendant’ tonight? Apparently she’ll know what that means?

Hank:

Can do, buddy.

I roll my eyes at my phone and toss it down once I reach my desk, finally sitting down to start my work day.

Several hours later, I push back from my desk and lean back in my chair. It reclines at my weight and as I rub my eyes, I feel the lumbar support I paid extra for pressing into my lower back.

I’m lucky enough to own my business and work as a freelance software engineer.

Over the years, I’ve designed custom apps, websites, shopping platforms, and more for businesses of various sizes all over the world.

The projects I generally take on are remote but there are the occasional projects for local businesses and startups.

It wasn’t too long ago that Kolbi asked me to upgrade the system his security firm runs on and his wife is constantly connecting me with more local businesses I can work with.

Her connections around the city run deep and she isn’t shy about sharing her network with me.

Rolling my neck and trying to release some of the tension collecting in the back of it, the ding of a new email catches my attention.

I was just about to break for lunch, but what’s one more email?

My cursor finds it and double clicks to open it before I start to read.

Hello!

My name is Henry Baker and I’m reaching out to inquire about some work I’m needing done.

I’m relocating to the United States from the U.K.

and am specifically moving to Charleston to open a fitness studio in the area!

I’m looking for someone to help me build an app for my studio and also set up some tech that will allow me to livestream my fitness classes online for my international community.

I found your website online and I’m tickled just thinking about getting to work with you!

There’s like, a ton more I need help on, but those are the big things so far.

Do let me know if you have space for this project.

I’ll be flying the coop (London, that is) in just two weeks and would like to get started right away on this project! My studio is set to open in the new year so I hope it’s not too tight of a timeline for you. Do let me know your thoughts on this project!

Can’t wait to hear from you!!!

All the best,

Henry Baker

At the bottom of the email are several social media handles which I ignore.

He’s ‘ tickled’ just thinking about working with me?

He doesn’t even know me and I know for a fact that no one has ever been tickled by me in any sense of the word.

Also, who uses so many exclamation points in their email?

Has no one ever taught him proper email etiquette?

I feel my face turn into a grimace but then start to think of the payout for this type of work.

I’m finishing out two larger projects right now and only have minor app updates on the books for the next few weeks.

From the sounds of his email, this Henry Baker is going to need a lot of help. Which, for me, means a lot of money.

I quickly type a response before closing my computer down for lunch. As I walk away, I wonder about the type of person Henry Baker is. Guessing from his word choice of “tickled” and his eight exclamation points, not the kind of person I would get along with very well.