II. I'm Trying to Climb Your Stairs

So I kinda gave up about taking her back. I don't know why exactly. Now leave 
me alone about it.

The point is I did, I bought her some shoes and some panties.  We were early to 
the airport.  I didn't have a passport and neither did she.  As if that was going to 
stop us from flying to Chicago.

Why Chicago? I was born in Carol Stream.  No one would ever look for me there, 
because only an idiot or someone so rightfully smug about himself would try 
something so deliciously audacious.  

I do like the flavor of my own recklessness.  So I was in the middle of having a 
snifter of it while we waited in the terminal.  Were there other dainties in the 
heads of the thousands of old, tired, nervous people who were screwing around, 
stamping papers or keeping me from getting to the head of the line? Always, but it 
was enough to deal with keeping a hold on her.

The little girl? Yeah, I still had myself in her, and I wasn't getting anything from 
her like 'You're holding me too tight' or 'Lemme go! Lemme go!' but that was 
still another good reason not to be poking around otherwise.  She had lost herself 
in a bag of Necco wafers from one of the import shops that I was occasionally 
dipping into myself.  Tangible candy has its charms.  

And she had nothing but a squelched sugar rush in her after that.   The line wasn't 
getting any shorter.  I guess it was perfectly normal to feel like everyone was 
staring at us, since I was pretty much staring at us, removing myself.  Saying to 
myself how this scene was so different from the day before.  I felt like a still life.  
Young and old women alike felt up the little girl with their eyes and she just 
hovered there around my knees, sucking the powdered sugar off her sweets before 
she crunched them up.  I pulled my hands out of my jacket and rubbed my wrists.  
One of the luggage porters tripped over a poodle and swore.  Was I supposed to 
clap my hands over her ears?

I didn't much see the use in that.  Even if she hadn't been a telepath, she probably 
knew every filthy word in every Indo-European language, courtesy of access to 
my thoughts.  Even though she didn't seem to have any interest in sorting around 
in me.  At least, nothing comparable to what I planned to do to her.  

:: What?::

I blinked hard- I'd forgotten she could answer again.  My response didn't come 
out in anything comparable to English.  It was muddled enough she might have 
made it up, and yet it make perfect sense.  It was kinda like "well" as in not sick.  

We'd made it to the front.  The attendant there flashed her white smile at me as I 
hoisted the less heavy of my two parcels onto the counter.  The squirmy, blinky 
one with sugar on her cheeks.  I could feel the clerk melt inside without any 
deliberate attempt to sense her.  Well, one good thing about having a kid around.  
"Aubrey Marlow," and I flashed her my genuine tickets and my open wallet, 
which she perceived as a passport.  

"Alright, Mr. Marlow."  Mr.  That's more like it! Some scribbling, some tearing 
paper, but she kept glancing up at the little girl, looked like she wanted to pet her.  
Felt jealous! Well, well.  "And who's this cutie pie?"

Yet another thing I'd forgotten.  Sure, I could conjure papers for her too, but the 
kid had no name! And now that I'd been asked, so just flipping my credit cards at 
her would look, well, pretty funny.  /Shit... umm.../

Girl with saffron hair, sapphire eyes.  One that looked nothing like me.

"And this is my sister, Saffie.  It's her sixth birthday today."  Now seemed like a 
good time for her to wave to the woman at the counter, so she did. 

"Well, aren't you two just adorable! Happy birthday, Saffie."

The kid didn't say anything, just looked all cuddly and fluffly as she kicked her 
heels against the counter.

"Aww, are you shy?"

"Very shy!" I replied for her.

"OK, well, have a good time back in the states! Your flight's at gate 17 and I do 
believe it's on time.  Bye-bye now!"

I nodded and pulled her back onto the floor, and waved with an imperceptibly 
false smile on myself.  Her? Well, as we to the metal detectors, I was quite 
pleased with her impromptu title.  Very pleased indeed.  I started to swagger, and 
I still snatched up her hand with my free one, just in case.  It looked better too.  
Her: Saffie.  What a ring to it, and hadn't there been some witness in a famous 
murder case named Saffie? Cool.

::I think I just might call you that from now on.::

::OK, Schu-baby.::

Err... whatever.

***

"Can I get you anything to drink, sir?" Sounding as if she was a million miles 
away, drifting in the cosmos of my mind and echoing space despite that nothing 
can echo in space, since nothing there exists to carry the sound against the stars.  

Saffie tapped my hand.

Poof! I was awake.  Must have zoned out during take-off.  Way out.  Yeah, my 
eyes were dry; they'd been open.  No wonder she'd bothered me.  But I sat up 
then.  Grinning.  "Sure thing! Mimosa for me.  Umm... milk for her."

The flight attendant nodded and I leaned back in my seat, stretching my arms 
behind my head and crossing my ankles, which yes, I had plenty of room to do.  I 
never fly anything but first class.  

I guess they'd brought my unwitting companion over in the luggage compartment, 
judging form how she felt about the whole thing.  The first class cabin wasn't 
even full on this flight- a couple of French woman who were actually gabbing 
quietly (something about the one's mother being a Lesbian- wow, free 
entertainment), crack dealer coming back from vacation, the obligatory 
honeymooners and businessmen.  And there the two of us sat in the middle of it 
all! Two escaping telepaths, one of us about to dive into some physical 
champagne, the other one marveling endlessly at all the words bobbing around 
her ears that she couldn't understand, the sight of the clouds skimming past her 
window... 

I wandered, weaving in and out of her mind like flashes of haze on a window.  
Underneath... encroaching on her always. Those scenes in the basement, over and 
over, needless trepidation.  No more fear, since I wouldn't let her feel it.  No more 
soar spaces in her head.

Just the disjointed impressions of them with no desire in her to go around tasting 
thoughts on purpose.

::You don't know what you're missing, kid.::

Static.  Fizzy misunderstanding.

About this time, the stewardess got back with our drinks.  I shoved a few francs 
down her blouse for it and she laughed.  Hey, it was one way of assuring good 
service.

Saffie couldn't believe her big blue eyes.

I smiled knowingly and touched her thoughts to my memory of the flight 
attendants tickled heart- minty and sudden.

She sure like that better than the milk! Which she yawned into as she tried to go 
off and find something tasty on her own.  

::Not so fast! I let go, there'll be noise and nasty stuff::  Speaking of which- my 
mimosa actually wasn't. 

The little girl shuddered... out of my will or hers? Something like both.  Maybe 
she hadn't really done anything.  I'd seen all her actions before hand, like 
choosing them from the fractures of a mirror.  All possible things that should have 
been and so were.  At least, that was how I felt.  I didn't know.  Couldn't say.  
Don't need to now...

We'd left in early afternoon, but the light in the cabin had already begun to fail 
and there above the sea, stranded in a bank of salmon scales, everything had gone 
a cotton candy cast.  Between this and the background hum of the engines, it 
might as well have been midnight somewhere else.  Anywhere.  

I can't really get sleepy since the way most people think of sleep inside- it's a 
hunger for dreams and I don't dream.  I just need to be still for awhile and I'm 
fine.

She didn't even squeal inside when I shut her down, just like I could have a 
crying babydoll, after she'd finished her milk.

I got another mimosa, even while holding my fingers to my lips.

Now seemed like as good a time as any to try her with no response, to see what I 
had to work with.  Certainly a hell of a lot more interesting than the in-flight 
movie.  And if I lost her, if she flipped out... less witnesses than if we were on the 
ground.  Hey, people do that on planes all the time.  That and I guess you could 
say I was anxious, and to someone like that, any time's as good as the next.  

I feigned sleep myself after my second drink.  Saffie had gone more than 
unconscious- her memories stood still and stable.   I strode into them with no 
thoughts after myself.  Playing puppet with her might have been fun, but that 
wasn't my point.

Her mind was devoid of sweetness, bitterness, any taste at all- Bright anise in 
moments of dreams that wouldn't hatch  Inside it had no more too it that ruins- 
the skeleton of a cathedral hanging like torn cobwebs around a single flicker of 
self the same color of storm clouds.

This with my stinging recollection of what she'd thrown at me the first time, that 
snatching skeleton of pain.  

That's all there was to her.  

I felt dirty.  Just being near it.  Rotten.

I could hardly find her memories of me- the past few hours.  Muzzy, waking, out 
of focus.  Everything started to run together before that.

She had no more self than an infant, and no greater clarity of though.  Just 
complications.  Yeah, inside she was worse than being born.

And that gave me an idea.

She had nothing.  I had nothing in her.  What good would it do even me to treat 
her entrophic, waking present, rather than memories which could even intrude and 
ruin the giddy peppermint joy of a groped stewardess? Moment by moment.

So I ended everything that way.  I crushed everything there was of Saffie except 
for my own aura in her mind.  Somewhere.  A mere concept without meaning.  
For a moment I stood suspended in the stardust of her fleeing thoughts that hadn't 
even lived as long as dreams, but what did I care for something I had never had? 
Now when I stood, licking my hands in tribute.

But not in sympathy.

She was gone.

For a moment I considered putting out her annoying little flicker, but I left it in 
the end and built it a new sanctuary.  One decidedly more pagan.  One that would 
last, hey, at least until we got off the plane.  One that would keep her from 
seeming like a little dead thing with strings.  One that happened to be the most 
easily accessible one for me: well, me.

She was gone, and then she was standing on the sunny burbon of my own first six 
years.  Hey, I was there, I knew who I was, I knew what I could do with myself.  

I may hate aestheticians, but it's only because I I'm the only one I trust in things 
like this.  I know what looks good even when it comes to minds.  That's it, and 
baby, this was a beautiful, beautiful thing.

I ordered myself an entire bottle of champagne.  

***

We landed in Chicago between midnight and morning.  I actually woke myself up 
to watch the final approach from the window on the other side of my little project.  
The city looked like a curved spire in a bubble of light that kept sticking to the 
water around its feet.  Well, at least from far away.  

It was kinda wet out.  We'd missed the storm.  No waiting in line for our baggage.  
Not many people in immigration.  Nothing above us but blackness shining 
through the clear ceiling of the terminal.  I waited until we were out in the sea of 
headlights and voices to let her go. Lost in the crowd of red-eyes and suitcases, 
Saffie woke up for the first and second time.  Me? I'd dived into the whole crush 
just to see if I could pick her out- the ordinary surface pleasure of what I had 
made.  There. 

What did she need?

Nothing.  I felt nothing from her.  At first.  Just some pricking sensation of 
consciousness settling.   Her hand in mine loosened, and she pulled to the 
shadows on the concrete where we waited for a taxi.  I let her.

I had to see.

She walked over to a puddle and had a good look at her muddy reflection in it.

Yes!

I burst out laughing.  I don't know if you can call it elation, or if you can call it 
outright rancor.  But I laughed.  Screw anyone who complained about it! 

As for Saffie, she got up, turned around, and scowled at me like I was 
embarrassing her or something.  "What's so funny?"

"What are you looking at?" I had to spit to get my mouth to work right.

"Me." Not another word.  Not as if she needed to say more.  She just gave up and 
walked back over beside me, eyes lost in the crowd of cars.  Was she worth 
looking at? Sure, why not.  So I did.  I admired her all over like what she was.  
Whatever that happened to be.  Like words would work for this great thing of 
mine.  

I was so swimming in myself I forgot to summon us a taxi for awhile until she 
looked up at me all crossly.  Then we got one tout de suite as they say.  Nice 
Persian female driver.  "Where too?" "Nearest hotel that's not the airport one.  
And step on it."  Have to remember not to say that, even to "nice" taxi drivers 
because they always take you seriously.  The minute the words came off my 
tongue her world was coaxing an extra fee out of me for "stepping on it" and the 
tires squealed as we careened off onto the bypass around the airport, got lost in a 
tunnel of ribbons of lights and the pre-daylight musings of the city.  What can I 
say, just remember speeding through those minds and traffic signals makes me get 
all philosophical.  Stupidly enough.

'cause I could feel her starting to reach out.  Touch things, knock on the windows 
of her new world.  

"Isn't it marvelous?" I asked, stretching back on my seat.

"Belle," She replied.  And I, still choking myself, still taken with her, just shook 
my head.  No point in rushing.  She'd learn.  She'd give up on that mouth.  And 
I'd know everything unadulterated straight from her.

But first, I was gonna check in and have a shower.    I booked a room on the top 
floor of this perfectly banal pink and cream place, indefinitely and after taking the 
time to convince the guy at the counter that I certainly did have reservations.  I 
think the couple who actually had the place claimed came in just as I was 
finishing up, but between minding Saffie and the more interesting considerations 
floating around... As for Saffie- she didn't do much besides go sit on the edge of 
the fountain and wait for me.  Didn't even ask for a penny to throw in.  

I got to our room without a word between us and started peeling off my clothes 
before the door was even closed in the face of the tip-less porter.  I ended up 
down to my jeans and my socks before it hit me someone had switched on the 
shower already.  "Hey," I called with a chuckle, leaving the last of my stuff on as 
I padded over to the bathroom.  "You wanna get in too?"

You don't live in Europe for months and keep your mystique sense about being 
naked.  It's one or the other.

And if she didn't shrug and start taking her things off.  Me, I just grinned and 
finished up myself.

It's not that I'm real fond of water.  I think the ocean's annoying because it just 
sits there.  Chlorine's murder on my hair so I don't swim, but there's always been 
a part of me living for a good shower.  What's that exactly? Luke warm, at least 
an hour and with my eyes closed most of the time.  Naturally, with a kid to watch 
now, this wouldn't be the best it could be, or at least I didn't expect anything... 
you know, that would make it interesting.

Well, first thing that caught me? Saffie? She got the temperature right on the first 
try.  Right for me that is.  

Second, no tacit and embarrassingly dumb remarks like you'd expect from a good 
little American girl in the shower with a full grown man.  Not one thought to that.  
Great!.  Had I been that way? Already? At six... hmm... not important.

I jumped right in and stood under the best part of the spray for awhile until I the 
little foot that bumped against my own reminded me I had to share, so then I gave 
her a little room at last.  Shook my hair out to get it wet all the way through before 
I started soaping it up.  It's not like I whistled, or I complained; that I made any 
kinda noise at all, one way or the other.  I just hovered, rubbed, rinsed.  Lost my 
lungs to the humid air.

"I need some too."

I wondered when I would ever get used to that tiny bubbly voice of hers.  Saffie 
stood there, thoroughly soaked and reaching for the shampoo bottle in my left 
hand.  ::Hey, I thought kids hated having their hair washed.:: 

::But I'm dirty!::

"Here, I'll do it for you."

"I can myself." Announced with a fully boyish toss of her head.  So I surrendered 
the bottle and leaned back against the wall, one foot cocked off the floor as I 
watched her.  There was something familiar about the way she moved, the ticks of 
her fingers in the suds.  No, not like me.  At least, not like me now, but still... it 
bothered me.  The way she held herself bothered me.

D‚j… vu- definition: the pissed off feeling when you can't remember something 
you know you know.  Had she picked even that up from me? The stance, the 
moves, the way she shook her hair out like a dog? Did I used to do it just that 
way?  Shit, I was so tired I couldn't remember.  But then again, I didn't feel tired, 
just a little hungover from all the champagne.  Well, there happened to be one 
easy way to figure it out.  

I looked to see if I'd sent all that into her.  This time she swatted at me a little bit.  
Don't get too used to freedom, kid.  And what a kid... nothing special about my 
childhood.  Nothing I'd ever really wanted until then.  My mouth watering first 
day of school where my repeated refusal of a cookie had me laughing and the 
teacher's aide close to tears with frustration.  Anonymous misty mornings 
stranded outside in the forsythia bushes.  Five minutes time out for pinching the 
cat (because I couldn't read his thoughts). Seeing a myself in a mirror... yeah, 
me.  Not a little girl.  I'd have to fix that.  But the more I looked... the more the 
corners of my own mind- my present mind -started to fold in with a certain 
anxiety.  

That was me in the mirror, but these thoughts were alien to me.  New.  Just like 
every damn day to a kid.  I could have sworn I'd never seen them before.  I wet 
my hands and rubbed my eyes as I went back into myself for the sisters of these 
memories.  Sorted through everything I knew.

Nothing.  The recollections of her recollections winked out and faded in me.  But 
I'd just seen them! I'd seen myself.

But it didn't taste like me... 

The little girl who didn't look anything like me, stood staring at my dripping face.  
Cross through and through.  

"Schu-baby..."

"Shh!"

::What's the matter with you.::

::I dunno, be quiet.::

Speaking of being quiet, some self-righteous Jehovah's Witness snuck drunk into 
the room above us, her ruminations on her own death rolling through the floor and 
chilly water.  One more thing I didn't need.  I closed my shields.

No pain, no ripping.  No silence.  I didn't sink back in on myself.  No 
ANYTHING.

I tried again.  My hands were shaking.  I could still taste her.  I was tired.  That 
had to be it.  Had to.  I just curled up in my head, looking for something I could 
hide under for the time being until this nonsense stopped.

What I found some part of me rejected, but the rest accepted cleanly as could be.  
Like it had always been there.  Being locked in the basement.  Mother beating me 
with a frying pan... but that wasn't my mother!  Not in anything past first grade! 
But she felt like she was.  Getting cold towels pushed up inside me... I wasn't 
even a little girl! I wasn't! I wasn't.

I was looking back at one, trying to snatch myself back from her, even if it didn't 
fit.  Even if...

"What did you do to me!?" 

No answer.  Two sapphire eyes fixed on mine.  What color were mine? Half of 
me said they were dusky green and the other half, something older than who I 
was, at that moment, insisted the same endless blue.  But she just stood there, I 
stood there looking back at myself like I'd fucking lost it.  

"Answer me!" 

(I had.)

"Don't just stand there! Don't just stare at me! What did you do!?"

I could feel my own bored stillness in her.  Tired of the crazy person already, 
dear? My hands lunged for her neck, as close to those eyes as I could get a hold 
of.  She slapped me across the face as hard as she could and I'd gone so weak in 
the legs I actually stumbled at that bare brush.  I also fell on my knees and bruised 
the hell out of both of them.  But I was face to face with her until she shook her 
head, ignoring whatever I happened to be screaming by that time.  I guess it was 
along the lines of "give it back you... [insert insult here]".  No, she acted like she 
couldn't even hear me.  She was drowned out in the deluge of chocolate and salt I 
couldn't shut up.  She was turning off the water and snatching up a towel for 
herself, pointing to the one left behind for me.  

"Goodnight," she said.

I pushed her out of the bathroom and slammed the door in her face.  Like I needed 
someone staring me down while I wretched harder than I'd ever wretched in my 
whole life.  

***

Some time during the early morning my dry heaves stopped and I started to shiver 
instead.  Unwelcome banquet in my head or not, I still had the sense to throw 
myself into bed, pin the curtains closed and pass out before sunrise.  Don't ask me 
how long I stayed there.  I don't know, don't see what it matters.  I guess it was a 
week. 

I pushed myself to the bathroom now and then, but since I didn't eat, I didn't get 
sick again, just dizzy.  Went hot and cold like I was feverish.  I had strobing 
migraines.  I wanted sunlight, I wanted to crawl into the sewers and hide in the 
dark with the rats.  I felt caged, I felt like I'd been dissolved.  I fainted, but I 
never really slept. 

Whoever I was, running up and down the stairs of that person, trying to find them.  
I didn't know.  Not any of this besides being delirious and groundless.  Alone.  In 
a hotel room. 

I haven't had my bell jar since.  But you know, screw the noise, the tastes, the 
drizzling thoughts all over me.  Resigning myself to stand under them forever... 
that's what made me feel like shit.  Being the victim of myself.  But let's fuck the 
word victim, fuck therapy, fuck psychobabble.  Fuck everything in this whole 
story, the word victim especially. 

I'd love to see a psychiatrist deal with half of what I wasn't those days.  If I 
could... I think I'd laugh and laugh and laugh myself to death... did I think about 
killing myself? Not once.  Why would I, I mean, I was such a joke! But I 
screamed inside and I tasted myself and it was gross and I wasn't anyone and 

Then I woke up because someone was shaking me. 

"Get up." 

I peeked out from under the sheets to see this blond thing standing over me with a 
lump of clothes I vaguely remembered as mine crammed in her tiny fist. 

"You can't keep me here.  I wanna go." 

I just groaned, stopped looking at her. 

"I said get up!" 

My mouth had gone so dry I couldn't have argued if I'd wanted to.  My lip split 
and started to bleed.  God, even my own blood made me sick.  ::You be quiet, you 
little...:: 

No coherent answer from her, just force on my muscles.  That's my trick, that's 
me, but it feels like you.  What have I done.  Who are you. 

"Saffie! I'm Saffie! Don't you remember? You can't forget.  Not now." 

So I got up, threw my things on, and walked out, suitcase in one hand, her in the 
other.  My stomach was so sour I could hardly stand, but I looked great otherwise, 
real great.  I'm gifted like that.  I'm raining said the sky that afternoon, or maybe 
I'm swimming.  She had to yank my hand to get me out of the elevator.  We'd 
been in the elevator, I'd thought we were falling though glass... I'd thought I... I 
got kicked in the shin. 

But then, the rain soaked through me while I was standing on the sidewalk 
looking at my reflection in the puddle at my feet.  Grey as the storm clouds and 
smiling like a damn idiot.  Someone hailed a cab.  We got in.  Told them to drive, 
don't step on it this time. 

As the car started to roll forward. "I'm mad at you." 

"Me too." 

"...I didn't like it there." 

"...I didn't either.  So that's it.  Let's both be mad at me.  What the hell." 

"Sure." 

No glance for me, no thoughts, not a one.  Just a fixed and fixing interest in the 
raindrops, every million crashing on the city. 

I grinned.  And I meant it. 

This was no little girl.  This was... me.  Completely and utterly deficient in 
femininity.  Cold.  Selfish.  Maniacal.  Great and all, but not a little girl.  I didn't 
risk changing the thoughts she had now.  We all have to start somewhere.  I'd just 
have to add to her, even if it made her more than six. 

It's true, implanting memories like that is probably the fastest way to drive 
someone completely and inexorably mad.  But I figured I could make them fit, 
shove them into place like mismatched puzzle pieces.  After all, these were my 
memories I'd be screwing with. 

And would be screwing with, every Tuesday evening for seventeen months; 
usually following themselves with another bought of psychic nausea on my part.