The Book of Beings: Beginnings (Episode One) Read online

The Book of

  BEINGS

  Beginnings:

  Episode One

  Liz Seach

  Copyright 2013 by Liz Seach

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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  Visit us at bookofbeings.com.

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  To see full episodes, visit the read-along boards at Pinterest.

  for my mother

  Table of Contents

  Episode One

  prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  I

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  Episode Two

  23

  Volume One

  For more information

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Episode One

  (Annunciation)

  Nothing in the world is single

  All things by a law divine

  In one another’s being mingle—

  Why not I with thine?

  —Percy Bysshe Shelley

  prologue

  There I was, flailing in the dark, not knowing if I’d get anywhere, as I ran each of the twenty-three strands through my mind in turn, pressing against each place where there seemed to be something, rather than nothing.

  I was like the novice who grasps each smooth wooden prayer bead, over and over, entreating one of them to open, to reveal the gates of heaven. I had no more hope than that.

  *

  My task was nearly impossible. Before I could understand the questions, I had to learn the words out of which they were formed—only, at first, I could not even discriminate where one of the three billion letters of that alphabet ended and the next began.

  How could I tell sense from nonsense—let alone antisense?

  *

  And yet, gradually, I could feel how the helix twisted, could begin to trace the geometry of its pattern. In time, I could distinguish one nucleotide from another, one base pair from another, a series of introns from exons.

  Given enough attention, they seemed not unwilling to speak. Perhaps, I should say, to whisper.

  *

  When—after years of contemplation—that solitary gene improbably unfurled, demanding another allele in response, it was a glorious day.

  *

  It was also a desolate one.

  *

  The way of the flesh had opened, but it would not simply give itself to me—though it is given to every infant ever born. I was no less a Being, no more Human than I had been. The freedom that had always burdened me troubled me still.

  *

  I would have to choose the color of my eyes.

  *

  How could I find my way into concrete form except by consulting she who drew me there—my Manon?

  *

  I copied her irises—that most beautiful amalgam—exactly, then mixed in other hues little by little, just as a painter mixes pigments on the palette.

  I noted her response to each variation whenever she glanced my direction. Oh how unobtrusive I was—how patient.

  I learned how to tell when she looked away because I had failed to capture her attention and when she turned away in order to pretend indifference because—at last—I had captured it completely.

  *

  She did not want to see her own slate-blue eyes in my face—she wanted the darkest shade from the inner lining of a Pinon cone. In my hair—the color of raw cacao in the sun.

  And so it went—everything from the hue of my skin to the exact slant of my cheek—each decision belonged to her, though she had no idea there were choices to be made.

  *

  As for my height—I could calculate it easily enough. I only had to find a chance to stand beside her and take her measure…

  1

  The uterus sat on a big metal tray at the front of the classroom, glistening like an enormous pink jellybean, the little not-yet-a-cow thingy still hidden inside. Based on the smell, I was guessing Mr. Sturgeon had put it in the microwave to defrost for too long.

  I was a junior in high school. I was sitting in Honors bio, staring at a bovine reproductive tract and waiting for the dissection to begin.

  *

  (That’s the moment that comes to me, while I’m sitting here with my hands on the keyboard. I’ve tried to remember the last time my world still seemed to make sense, the way your world probably makes sense to you right now.

  I know that if you’re reading this, it’s because you need to know what happened, and maybe you’re in a hurry, and you want me to get to the point. But if you’re reading this, you need to believe what happened to me. If I tell you straight out, in 250 words or less, there’s no way you’re going to believe me.

  There just isn’t.

  I have to start when things were normal—well, as normal as they ever got. I have to show you how they slowly unraveled. I have to tell you all the strange little details and what it was like for me to be confused half the time so you will know that this really is true.

  And if you’re saying to yourself that I need to get to the part about the magic, then you need to pay better attention. Because sometimes this is what magic looks like in the beginning.)

  *

  “All right, ladies and gents, please assemble in front for this afternoon’s show,” the Sturge called out.

  Whatever we were doing, it clearly wasn’t going to be as much fun as what we’d done the week before with syringes and marshmallows. But normally, being a fairly obedient dork, I still would’ve gotten right out of my seat and found an inconspicuous spot to stand in.

  For one thing, I didn’t want to end up anywhere near the Sturge himself. He sometimes stood too close to me and said embarrassing stuff, like “Feeling biological today, Ms. Blau?”

  I did want to be able to watch the demo, though, and also sneak peeks at Elias Zimmer.

  *

  Elias wasn’t all gorgeous and blonde, like Troy Donovan. A whole bunch of girls didn’t have crushes on him the way they did on Troy. That sort of thing totally turned me off. I could’ve never been a groupie.

  But there was something about Elias’ face. It was like I already knew him before I’d ever seen him. Or like the portraits we’d studied in Art, where the person didn’t seem handsome, but the picture still made their face seem exactly right, like it couldn’t have been any other way than how it was. Which was different from being handsome. Actually, it was better.

  *

  At that particular moment, though, standing up seemed slightly dangerous, like I might end up knocking over several lab stools before doing a face-plant on one of the black, fire-resistant counters. Maybe I’m just too warm, I thought. I took off my navy hoodie, which bought me some time.

  It was assigned seating, so my best friend, Amanda
, sat on the other side of the room. I tried to catch her eye, but she was busy rummaging through her bag. All I could see was the top of her dark, frizzy head.

  I tried to breathe calmly and hoped the sensation would pass.

  When the Sturge repeated his request, though, and people grabbed their notebooks and started getting up, I still wasn’t feeling any better. I considered staying in my seat and putting my head down on the desk.

  But the thing was, I’d learned not to call attention to myself.

  It had seemed to me for a while that a lot of strange stuff happened to me all the time. You know, like when you get this sudden, tight sensation underneath your skull that’s so intense, it’s painful, but in one very small random spot? And you think, Oh my god, I’m having an aneurysm. Except you’re not having an aneurysm (whatever an aneurysm is anyway). So it’s best to keep your mouth shut and move on.

  I’m not saying I could stop people from thinking I was weird. But I was trying for just-really-super-shy, not maybe-she-needs-some-serious-meds-too-bad-her-mom-doesn’t-believe-in-them.

  I knew that if I stayed put while everyone else got up, my dizziness would turn out to be nothing. I would be Manon Blau, that weird, overreacting girl, all over again.

  A bunch more people had gotten out of their seats. The Sturge was starting to issue personal invitations. I didn’t want him to call my name, so I reminded myself that I’d been lightheaded a lot lately, and I hadn’t actually ever passed out.

  I stood up as best I could and took a few wobbly steps. I found my balance. Okay, I can do this, I thought.

  But then I paused to wait for the person in front of me, and suddenly it was like I wasn’t in regular space anymore. It was like what used to be regular space was getting narrower and narrower as I moved through it, even though I was standing still.

  For a moment there, my vision got all gray and kind of spotty. That was the same time everything started sounding way far away, like I’d just been plunged under water.

  2

  Which is how I found myself on the way to the nurse’s office after fainting in Bio.

  The Sturge had sent Elias, of all people, to escort me. I had recovered somewhat, and despite all the other, more important thoughts I probably should’ve been having, I was contemplating his outfit.

  He was wearing a rugby shirt with pale blue and beige stripes, which was normal enough for anybody. But it was, surreally enough, tucked in to a pair of perfectly matching Dockers and a web belt with bands that were exactly the same colors as the shirt. It was like he’d ordered the whole ensemble straight out of a catalog, like he was from Mars or something, and he was trying to fit in.

  *

  I had found his clothes odd at first, when he’d moved to Santa Fe the year before. But then, after a while, they started to seem intriguing. Because the thing was, they told you that he didn’t care what anybody thought of him.

  And it wasn’t just the clothes. He kept his head up and looked right at people, with this very open expression, even though he never interacted with them. It was like he was living in a world where it didn’t matter if he quietly waited in line at the cafeteria and then sat and ate lunch by himself. He seemed completely content. It made me feel calm just to look at him.

  There had been a rumor in the beginning that he was developmentally delayed, but he got perfectly good grades and always knew the answer when he was called on in class. His vocabulary was actually better than some of the teachers.

  I noticed, the few times people tried to rile him, he gazed back at them and sort of cocked his head. It was hard to tell what he was thinking in those moments. Was he confused? Did he feel sorry for the kids who were trying to taunt him? Eventually people gave up. They left him alone.

  *

  It occurred to me, there in the hall on the way to the Nurse, that since we were walking side-by-side, I had a chance to figure out exactly how tall he was. I’d never stood that close to him before, but once it occurred to me, I stood up straight and tried to gauge his height out of the corner of my eye. He had this beautiful, silky, dark-chocolate colored hair, which distracted me there for a moment. In the end, I had to discreetly turn my head to tell how tall he was, to see that he was several inches taller than me. I would say, actually, that he was pretty much the perfect height.

  This was a crucial detail. A guy being shorter than me was a total deal-killer—at least in my imagination, which was pretty much the only place anything with a guy had ever happened to me anyway.

  It felt good to walk next to him. And it felt good to imagine him turning towards me, or maybe reaching out his hand and—

  I pulled myself back out of my head. I’m hardly one to start a conversation. But given how he kept to himself, this was likely to be the only opportunity I’d have for another very long time. I had to maintain my focus and grab my chance while I could.

  “That was disgusting,” I said, shakily making a face. “I bet at least one girl faints during that lab every year.” I said it like it was an explanation for me passing out and winced as soon as I heard the words coming out of my mouth. I really wasn’t grossed-out by dead animal parts. Did I have to play the squeamish female?

  Besides, this wasn’t exactly the conversation I’d imagined having with Elias, and I’d imagined us having many different conversations. Leave it to me to start in with something idiotic.

  Obviously, Elias thought it was idiotic. Because when I said the thing about it being disgusting, he turned toward me, his dark hair framing his open, delicate face. He stared at me with those warm brown eyes, like he knew I was full of shit. He seemed to be searching my face, trying to figure out if I believed my own nonsense.

  I jerked my head away, hoping he hadn’t gotten a good read. We continued walking, him looking pensively at the gray linoleum tile floor. Me wishing I could turn and run the other way.

  Then he looked back at me again. His brows were furrowed, his cheeks flushed.

  His gaze lingered on my stomach, like he was scoping it. Like he had x-ray vision. It was kind of creepy. Then he looked up at my face, questioning.

  Later, when I tried to remember his expression, I couldn’t be sure. Was it confusion? Pity? Disgust? At the time, what I thought his look said, without him speaking a word, was, Does this girl really not know what’s wrong with her?

  End of conversation.

  *

  Well, end of attempted conversation with Elias.

  Beginning of extended conversation inside my own head.

  When I had pulled myself off the floor after I’d regained consciousness in Bio, TJ Malone, who was this total infantile idiot, had started doing that thing guys do where they fake cough, but they make it come out so it sounds like a word. And the word that TJ was coughing was preggo. It was stupid and embarrassing, but I didn’t think too much about it. Nobody ever took TJ seriously.

  When Elias copped that look at my gut, though, I figured he thought I was preggers for real.

  But then I assumed I was mistaken. Probably, my overactive imagination was coming up with the most preposterous, paranoid thing possible yet again.

  I knew very well that just because I’d fainted, it didn’t mean I was “with child.” There were all kinds of reasons I could’ve fainted. Of course, I wasn’t anorexic, bulimic, or a druggie, and I didn’t have an iron deficiency—I didn’t think. Maybe I should start worrying that something terrible was wrong with me.

  But sometimes people fainted completely randomly—didn’t they? Did Elias think I was the kind of girl who went around getting knocked up? Why else would he have given me that oh-you-poor-thing, this-is-all-very-bad look?

  Maybe in old movies when the heroine fainted, it was because she was in a “delicate condition.” But I wasn’t a heroine, and this wasn’t a movie. I was just a girl walking down a hallway in a mildly altered state. I was considering the nicks and scratches in the industrial beige lockers, how each lock hung at a slightly different angle. I was working hard
not to be overcome by the growing buzzing in my ears.

  *

  Besides, I knew I wasn’t pregnant. There was no way I was pregnant.

  3

  I started walking faster as we got closer to Mrs. Costello’s office.

  “Hi Mrs. C,” I said as I stepped inside the door and collided with the smell of antiseptic fumes. Mrs. C was actually Rachel Binder’s mom. They only had different last names because Mrs. C had remarried. But you could tell they were related. They both had that bulldog physique, and like Rachel, Mrs. C was extremely pushy and easily alarmed. Not a good way for a school nurse to be, unless you were a student who wanted an early release.

  I was definitely angling for one. I hadn’t ever needed one before, but I didn’t want to walk around all day with people staring at me. I knew that word of my fainting would spread as soon as the next bell rang.

  “Good Lord, girl,” she said after she turned around. “What happened? You don’t have any color in your face.”

  “I guess I fainted in Bio,” I said. “Mr. Sturgeon sent me down.”

  “Well, if you fainted, he had better send you down.” She gave Elias a look, but he didn’t budge. “Come lie over here.”

  I didn’t want to lie down in front of Elias, but I found myself drifting toward the cot anyway. I still felt really weak.

  “Did you hit your head?” She continued. She was starting to get worked up. “We may need to get x-rays.”

  “She didn’t hit her head.”

  Mrs. C and I both turned and stared.

  It wasn’t just that Elias had never spoken to me. He’d never spoken to any of the other kids, as far as I knew, and he didn’t even speak to adults unless they had asked him a direct question. But there he was, volunteering information. Staring straight back at us, an intense, anxious look in his eyes.

  “How d’you know that?” Mrs. C seemed reluctant to give up a potential drama. “Quite often people who faint do hit their heads.”