Future Tense

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

On my way back from the dojo, I stared out the bus window watching the traffic lights change, my head throbbing in time with my pulse. Why that girl? Why now? I didn’t really even know her. Jesus, I had been so careful not to get attached to anyone here.

It wasn’t fucking fair. This thing I had, it was never anything I could control. If I could, then my life wouldn’t have turned out like this. Maybe it would be different if I could pull tomorrow’s lottery numbers out of my ass, or predict the right answers to next week’s history midterm. I know plenty of kids who would pay for that kind of information and not ask any questions. But that wasn’t the way it worked.

No one else got off at my stop, and I’d missed dinner by the time I got back to the house. Mr. Powell stood at the kitchen sink cleaning the dishes. He nodded at me as I grabbed a plate of leftovers. “Good evening, Matthew,” he said, a trace of the Deep South still in his voice even though his folks had moved north when he was a little kid. It came out the strongest when he preached.

I nodded back. Mrs. Powell’s voice drifted from upstairs. She always sang to put the little kids to bed. Usually I loved listening to her, but I wasn’t in the mood for anything that uplifting right now. “Sir.”

Except for the gray hair, he didn’t look a whole lot different than in his army pictures, and even at sixty, he could still do a couple of hundred sit ups without breaking a sweat. He reminded me of Sensei Young. Not so much in looks, but something in the set of the shoulders and the direct stare.

“Lights out in an hour.”

“Yes, sir.” That would give me at least a little time for homework. I showered and changed before retreating to the room I shared with Jack and Dante. Two sets of bunk beds lined the opposite walls. Two sets of drawers took up the whole space under the window leaving just enough room between the bunks for a small braided rug. This place was the longest I’d stayed anywhere since landing in foster care almost eleven years ago.

I’m one of the oldest, the one the little kids always try to turn into their big brother until they learn that life is hard and I’m harder. None of us usually stayed anywhere for too long, and the sooner the new kids learned to cope on their own, the easier their next move would be.

Jack lay curled up in a ball around his pillow, sound asleep. Dante stared up at the bottom of my bunk. I guess he lived to see another day here with the Powells. Neither of us said a word to the other, which was just the way I wanted it. I dragged my bag up the ladder and sat scrunched with my head up against the ceiling working on math problems until Mr. Powell tapped on the door.

“Nine-thirty. Lights out.”

This was one of the few things about this placement I really hated. Lights out meant lights out, and I never fell asleep easily. Too many nightmares followed me. Most nights, I spent at least an hour staring at the ceiling trying not to think about bad shit. The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve known about before they happen, never fade like real memories. Lucky me. Every freaking vision I’d ever had was just as sharp and as painful now as the first time I saw it.

When I closed my eyes, I kept seeing the fear in that girl’s eyes. What could I possibly do that would scare her like that? And why her? If I was going to pre-play anyone’s shitty future, I figured it would be the Powells’, not some girl I barely recognized. I tossed in the top bunk until Dante hissed at me. At two in the morning, I finally gave up trying to sleep and went to sit at the dining room table.

I ran my hand over the smooth wood. Mr. P had sanded and coated it in a dozen layers of shiny urethane until it looked more like a gym floor than a picnic table. Probably fifty kids or more had sat here over the years. I was willing to bet none of them saw visions like mine. Slumping over, I put my head over my crossed arms on the table and closed my eyes. I didn’t even know her name.