Sean's Journal: Still Crazy After All These Years

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sent by Ryan.


Occupational Questions


1. Do you have a job? What is it? Do you like it? If no job, where does your money come from?

I do have a job. I'm the psychiatrist at the Hammel Institute, where I have worked for twenty-three years. I like my job quite a bit, even when it is stressful or life becomes absurd.

2. What is your boss or employer like? (Or publisher, or agent, or whatever.)

Yvette cares a great deal about the students and Hammel as a whole. It isn't easy to be Headmistress, and I don't take that away from her. However, we do not always see eye-to-eye about policy matters.

3. What are your co-workers like? Do you get along with them? Any in particular? Which ones don't you get along with?

My coworkers are, by and large, good people. Many of them are also alumni of Hammel which gives us a bond with the school, with the students, and with each other. I am also pleased to say that I get along with most of my coworkers, because we are friendly to one another, and, addressing that bond from a moment ago, essentially everyone cares deeply for the students as a priority and one another as a matter of self-care and maintaining energy in the face of some of the more difficult students. I am proud to say that many of my closest friends are also my coworkers, such as Chase, James, and Kateri, and that many of my friends who do not work with me used to, such as Anya, Clarisse, and Claude.

4. What is something you had to learn that you hated?

I've never particularly cared for dancing, but I had to learn that as a boy.

5. Do you tend to save or spend your money? Why?

I do both. I have more than sufficient savings, and my bills are always paid on time. Because of that, I feel comfortable spending on my partner, my friends, my family, and myself when necessary. I am not an extravagant person, but I am comfortable.

_____________________________________________


Firsts


1. Who was your first love?

Joshua Bernstein. I dated before him, and I had relationships, but he was the first person with whom I can say I felt love as opposed to affection, attraction, and caring.

2. Who was your first kiss and when?

Maggie Donovan, when we were about fifteen.

3. Who was your first prom date?

Hammel didn't have a prom, but Maggie Donovan was the first person with whom I attended a dance.

4. Who was your first room mate?

My roommate at Hammel was a telekinetic named Michael.

5. What was your first job?

Volunteering at a hospital.

6. What was your first car?

A blue VW-Bus, which I still have. I don't drive it regularly.

7. When did you go to your first funeral?

I don't remember exactly how old I was, but I was young. Anytime someone died who attended our parish, my family attended the funeral, and we had a very age-diverse group.

8. How old were you when you first moved away from your hometown?

I was twelve. I moved to attend Hammel, which was a boarding school several states over.

9. Who was your first grade teacher?

Father Doyle.

10. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane?

To California for a vacation and to visit family.

11. Where did you go for your first date and who was it with?

Maggie Donovan again. We didn't go anywhere special for our first date, just into town for lunch and a movie.

12. When you snuck out of your house for the first time, who was it with?

I never snuck out of my house.

13. Who was your first best friend and are you still friends with them?

This is a complicated question because of defining "best friend." I don't think I had a best friend before Hammel; I had a group of friends from my neighborhood and from school but I don't think anyone was my best friend. Then Maggie was my closest friend and my girlfriend. Then Greg in college before I met Josh, who has been consistently my best friend for three-and-a-half decades, while also being my partner for the past two years (and for several when we first met).

14. Who was the first person to send you flowers?

People don't typically send me flowers as a romantic gesture; they tend to be part of condolence gifts.

15. Where did you live the first time you moved out of your parents house?

I lived at Hammel when I first left my parents' house, but I still technically lived with them. The same went for when I lived in NYU housing as a college student. When I attended medical school, I had an apartment with Josh, and that was the first time I had permanent housing apart from my parents, as opposed to seasonal school-based housing.

16. Who is the first person you call when you have a bad day?

Josh.

17. Who's wedding were you in the first time you were a bridesmaid or a groomsmen?

Most of the early weddings for friends didn't have large wedding parties. The most prominent one in my mind is my sister's wedding.

18. What is the first thing you do in the morning?

I turn off the alarm before slipping into the bathroom to shower and shave.

19. What was your first career choice?

To be a psychiatrist. I did not have imaginative career choices, and I am pleased to have achieved my goal.

20. What was your first sport?

I didn't play sports as a child, but I did love to swim.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Spring 2013.


Every year, Sean’s neighborhood engaged in a massive yard sale, as the culmination of their annual Spring Cleaning. The day after the yard sale, the neighborhood would have a block party. It was a way of relaxing after the frantic, collective cleaning, and the transformation of the cul-de-sac into a modern-day agora.

The block party, like the yard sale, was wholly voluntary, although most of the families participated. The party involved a potluck and a cook out, good music, and a gift exchange.

The gift exchange was random, and it was even more voluntary than attendance at the party was. Anyone who wished to participate brought a wrapped, unlabeled present to leave on the gift table. Each person drew a random number, and then all of the participants went in numerical order to choose their gifts from the pile.

That always happened near the end of the party, so that the latecomers had the opportunity to arrive and participate if they so chose. It also allowed the adult participants the opportunity to relax a bit with whatever (relatively light) alcohol they wished to imbibe. Beer and wine coolers, never hard liquor, not at the cul-de-sac block party.

Sean and Josh had arrived at the party all smiles; it was, perhaps, the last party that they would attend without children, as they had received the call from the foster agency that they had a potential match. Josh had baked a big platter of cookies, and Sean had made pesto pasta salad and brought a case of beer and a case of wine coolers.

Each man had also brought a wrapped present, and had drawn his lot in turn. Josh was 15, while Sean had somehow drawn 4. That was the lowest number that the telepath had drawn in many years.

The two men spent the afternoon eating, drinking (although not too heavily), and engaging in conversation with their neighbors. The children played games. Sean, in particular, spent more time than usual watching them play. A smile touched his lips at the thought of Bailey being able to interact with the other children, able to make friends and go trick-or-treating on Halloween. The thought filled him with delight, independent of any alcohol he had consumed during the afternoon.

“It’s time for the exchange, everyone!”

That declaration drew Sean’s attention away from the children. He went to Josh’s side, and the two fo them settled with the other adults around the mass of gifts. All in different wrapping paper, of various shapes and sizes. Sean sipped his drink while the first person selected a present.

Fairly large and square, wrapped neatly in white paper. It contained a white bathrobe, eye mask and slipper set which looked rather comfortable, and properly sized for the woman who had selected it.

The next gift was somewhat smaller and wrapped in blue paper. That one contained an assortment of preserves from one of the local markets. It looked delicious.

The next person almost selected the present that Josh had brought, but at the last moment went for a small box wrapped in gold paper. It contained a set of wine accessories within a box shaped like a wine bottle. That would prove useful.

Then it was Sean’s turn. His mental shields were raised so as not to spoil the surprise, which put a thrill in making his selection. Finally, he chose a square box wrapped in green with a bow on top.

Setting down his cup, he carefully removed the bow, before neatly making a tear in the wrapping paper and methodically stripping the present of its covering.

The moment he read the item’s description, he began to laugh. A deep chuckle welled forth, because he simply couldn’t help it. It was too funny. Holding his gift up so that everyone else could see, Josh and several neighbors began to laugh as well.

He’d selected a portable karaoke player.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

January 2013


The first session with Jesse after Yvette had approved his return had been trying.

Sean had prepared himself as best he could, which had included two meetings with Yvette and otherwise keeping his schedule light.

The last session prior to Jesse’s request to return to Hammel had gone exceptionally poorly – in that it was, quite literally, the last time that the boy had set foot on grounds until recently. The psychiatrist remembered chasing Jesse through the halls, falling behind because Jesse was a teenager and Sean had passed fifty a few years back. Catching the boy himself had been a fool’s errand, but he’d had to try. Security had failed to catch Jesse before he left the grounds, and, at that point, the boy had run into Gabriel Underwood’s waiting arms.

The situation had only managed to tumble downhill from there.

Sean had not expected to see Jesse again after the battle at the M.S.A.D. compound. He’d assumed (correctly) that Jesse would find a way to go underground, to hide or change his identity, and to essentially fall of the grid in order to avoid the repercussions of his actions.

Sean had not expected Jesse to willingly resubmit himself to Hammel authority. There remained doubts as to whether the boy would comply with Sean’s and Yvette’s requirements in the long-term.

First matters first – he had to meet with Jesse now that the boy was official enrolled in Hammel as a student.

The psychiatrist had arranged the office so that sharp objects, unduly heavy objects, or blunt objects were all locked away, sans the books that lined his walls. Sean expected that, if Jesse became emotional, he would act out without physical violence. He might run again. He might clam up. He might try to lash out with his powers, but that last one was a failure waiting to happen. Sean would have to be at least thirty years older and with a deteriorating mental state before anyone posed a risk to the sanctity of his mind.

Long before the knock, the psychiatrist sensed Jesse’s presence approaching his office. “Come in, Jesse. Shut the door.”

The boy didn’t enter immediately, but eventually he crossed the threshold. The door shut behind him, and Sean gestured at the chairs in front of his desk. For this first session, the boy did not have the ability or the right to take a more leisurely or relaxed attitude to their interactions. One Jesse had earned back some trust through reliability, honesty, progress, and good actions, then he could earn privileges.

Once Jesse was seated, the staring context ensued.

“Let’s begin.”

************************************

The session ended better than it could have, although it comported with expectations. Jesse would be a handful. Jesse had a lot of internal work to do before he could face the outside world, which meant that the boy would be at Hammel for a long time. As long as the boy was at Hammel, he was Sean’s responsibility, and there was a lot of shared history between them.

Yvette knew that shared history. Claude had known it. Some of Jesse’s teachers did, although there had been enough turnover that not everyone was aware. More than half of the trainers didn’t. The current medical department didn’t. It was a complicated situation.

The telepath had only just finished entering the notes in Jesse’s file when there was a knock at the door.

He looked over to see Mia Bell standing in the doorway, visible through the partial opening. “Doctor Neville?” She asked, looking somewhat pressed. “Can we talk?”

Although he had primarily cleared his schedule, Sean made himself available for emergencies. As such, he said, “Of course we can. Please, come in.”

She did, and he set Jesse’s file down where it couldn’t be seen.

By the time he actually finished with his discussions, his notes, and his reports to Yvette for the day, Sean had a headache. The throbbing in his temples proved frustrating enough that he needed tea and didn’t want to cook.

He dialed his partner’s cell phone number, pressing the phone to his ear as he slowly packed up his files for the night.

He heard the click, followed by Josh’s voice. “Hello?”

“Do you mind if we have takeout tonight?”

“Of course not!” Josh paused for a moment, before he asked, “...a bad day?”

“A long one. I’ll tell you about it at home.” Sean would tell his partner what he was allowed to divulge, which would be truncated. Josh didn’t know much of the back story, and unfortunately, Sean couldn’t provide him with that information. “Do you have a preference for what we get?”

“Why not Chinese?”

Sean smiled at the suggestion; his partner knew his favorites. “I’ll order and pick it up on the way home. Do you want your usual?”

“Please.” The a pause, before Josh said, “I love you.”

The telepath’s smile widened. “I love you too. I’ll see you in a little bit.” Then he hung up.

While his temples still throbbed, he looked forward to a more relaxing evening than the work day had been.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

April 12, 1979.


“Are you sure your parents won’t mind?”

“Of course not! My mom loves having people over.”

Sean had met Josh’s parents on multiple occasions, and so he was sure that was true. Still, family birthday celebrations were different from birthday parties with friends. They were private, they were intimate, they were...for family.

Josh’s family knew that their middle child and the senior college student had become fast friends and that they wanted to rent an apartment at the end of the school year. They didn’t know that the two had been dating for several months. They couldn’t know that they had been dating for several months, not if they wanted to be allowed to continue dating; it was the same philosophy that Sean had for interacting with his own family.

As such, the telepath was touched that his boyfriend had invited him to such an intimate gathering, but he worried that he might be seen as an interloper. Still, Josh insisted that it would be fine, and, truthfully, Sean wanted to spend the younger boy’s birthday with him. He wanted to share the actual day with his boyfriend, instead of just the weekend afterward.

He had plans for the weekend, since he wanted to give Josh the best birthday experience possible. Thus, the telepath had gotten his boyfriend two presents. One which the younger boy could open in front of his parents and siblings, and the other which he could open at Sean’s apartment over the weekend, when they were otherwise alone.

Despite the warmth outside, Sean had dressed carefully in a long-sleeved, collared shirt. He wanted to look his best for this occasion, although Josh assured him that he was over-dressed. At least the telepath wasn’t wearing a tie.

The subway ride to the Upper East Side didn’t take too long, although, as it was rush hour, the car was crowded. He yearned to hold Josh’s hand, particularly since they wouldn’t be allowed any remotely intimate touches once they reached the neighborhood of his life before college. Still, he contented himself with standing hip-to-hip with his boyfriend, as that was what little they could do in public.

“Boopkie!” Charlie Bernstein greeted her son and the telepath with a wide smile. Josh immediately began to blush, although Sean found the entire situation endearing. “Happy Birthday! Come in, come in!” She ushered the two boys across the threshold.

“Thank you for inviting me over for supper.”

“Of course you’re welcome. Any friend of my boopkie’s is welcome here anytime.” That was a sentiment that she had shared before, but Sean still considered this situation special. It was a family birthday celebration.

Matt wasn’t home, because, like Sean, he was in his senior year at college, and it was Thursday which meant that coming home from Buffalo was impossible. Josh’s father would be home from work soon, and Talia was in her bedroom finishing her homework so that she could participate in the evening’s festivities with a clear conscience.

“Can I help with anything?” Sean’s offer was sincere. When visiting his family for supper, it was expected that he would help by setting the table. Sometimes, he helped his mother to prepare the meal or the dessert, since he was capable of both cooking and baking.

“No, no you just make yourself comfortable. Talia will help when she’s finished her homework.” She turned to her son. “Boopkie, why don’t you get your friend a drink? And get something for yourself if you’re thirsty.”

I’ll just have water, Sean projected to the younger boy, to save him the trouble of asking aloud. He settled on the sofa as Charlie had bid him, and he waited while Josh disappeared into the kitchen.

A few moments later, the younger boy emerged with two glasses in his hand. He handed one to the telepath before settling beside him. Josh brushed close – all too briefly since they couldn’t risk anything longer or more blatant – before moving to the other end of the sofa. There they sipped their beverages and answered Charlie’s questions as she worked in the kitchen.

“How are classes?” “Have you decided on a medical school?” “How are your parents?” “Isn’t your sister the same age as Joshua? How is her freshman year going?” The questions came without pause, sometimes so quickly that Sean barely had time to answer before Josh’s mother had posed the next one.

The questions were only interrupted by the arrival of Bobby Bernstein, home from Wall Street. Charlie became distracted by her husband’s presence, which gave Sean a few minutes’ respite from the interrogation.

“Happy Birthday, Joshua.” His boyfriend’s father offered Josh a warm embrace, before extending his hand towards the telepath. “Thank you for joining us tonight, Sean.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.” The telepath managed to stifle his urge to offer help again, now that he was speaking to a different adult. Charlie had already put the kibosh on helping, and he didn’t want to defy her.

“Talia, come set the table!” The family matriarch called out, before telling the men, “Wash up and sit down. We’ll eat in a couple of minutes.”

Nobody protested the command. Sean, in particular, was looking forward to eating; he was hungry, and the aroma of lasagna wafting from the kitchen was almost enough to make his mouth water.

Josh had proclaimed it his favorite. It was a similarity that Sean saw between his mother and his boyfriend’s; Mary Neville also cooked her family members’ favorite meals on their respective birthdays. It was a loving, special touch for a private celebration.

After supper, they would have birthday cake, one that the younger boy proudly claimed his mother made herself. The telepath looked forward to trying that even more than the lasagna. It was hardly surprising, given his sweet tooth, but he would never say that aloud, as it would be rude, and it might run afoul of decorum. Sean wanted to do nothing that might cast him in a bad light in front of Josh’s parents; staying on their good side was more important to him than he could convey. While they might not know about his and Josh’s relationship, he still wanted to do proud by the people who would be his in-laws if he or Josh was a different gender.

He caught himself at the thought. They’d only been dating for a few months, but it was so easy to get wrapped up in the hopes for a long and happy future with Josh.

For now, he would focus on the party, and the supper, and the younger boy’s family. After they ate, Josh would open his presents. Sean could only hope that his boyfriend would like the gift that the telepath had gotten for him and that it would meet with his family’s approval.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

2011, after the Bank Vault.


“I’m so sorry about this, Doc, Mister Weaver.” The bank teller’s expression was so apologetic that Sean worried that she might melt in mortification. “If I’d known it would happen, I would have warned you.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Sean didn’t turn his attention to the shorter man. However, he imagined that he might have earned a look for having to temerity to speak for the attorney after the conversation that they’d shared.

Fortunately, Cobalt didn’t say anything. Instead, he grumbled to himself. The telepath heard in the shorter man’s mind his intention to drive as quickly as possible to meet Ben while the younger man still had his lunch break.

Sean couldn’t argue with the attorney’s priorities. Were he in Cobalt’s position, he would follow the same course of action. Not that he had any lunch plans today. As he’d remarked to the attorney when they’d been in the vault room, he was only running errands and he largely had control over his schedule; that was what had contributed to his calm during the ordeal. That and his generally patient nature.

Cobalt brushed past him towards the exit.

“Have a good afternoon,” Sean wished him, although he earned no reply from the shorter man. The telepath hadn’t expected one, and thus he wasn’t offended. Cobalt’s lack of manners had no bearing on his own sense of decorum.

“Is there anything we can do to make this up to you?” Mary asked. “I’d have to get authorization from the Manager, but...”

“Don’t worry about it.” The psychiatrist offered her a smile of absolution. The situation was improbable and it had been somewhat unpleasant, but they hadn’t been in danger. Cobalt was the one whose plans had been frustrated, and he was no longer here to make demands.

She apologized again and then made him promise that he’d resume a discussion about this the next time he came in. Sean saw no reason to argue, and thus he agreed, before parting ways and stepping out of the building for the first time since entering a couple of hours ago.

Glancing at his watch, he saw that he had a little bit of time before he had to return to Hammel. It wasn’t enough time to do anything productive, but he had time for a cup of coffee.

As he crossed the parking lot toward his car, Sean resolved that he would have a cup of coffee. After all, he had earned it.

As he drove, his thoughts drifted back to their conversation.

“We’re very good at that guilt thing.”

Catholic guilt was world-renowned.

It could take years to overcome that type of conditioning, sometimes decades. Sometimes, adult Catholics, lapsed Catholics, and ex-Catholics alike were unable to fully overcome the conditioning of their childhoods.

Ex-Catholic himself, Sean understood the machinations at work.

As a telepath, he was fortunate. His powers had granted him unique perspective and, tutelage under Robert Hopkins, had allowed him to work through that conditioning and let go of the baggage. Truly, Sean had had one of the least traumatic atheistic (some would call it apostate) experiences when it came to losing his faith. Not with a bang but with a whimper.

His thoughts drifted back to Cobalt. The telepath had been honest with the attorney; the younger man could be painful to sense, but it had not been an insult. It had been outreach. The shadow manipulator was in pain and in need, and nearly everyone around him seemed oblivious to these simple facts. Sean was used to having more insight than the average non-psychic, but he considered this obvious and not merely because of the telepathy.

Someone needed to help Cobalt, because he certainly wouldn’t help himself. From what he had gleaned, Sean didn’t think that Cobalt was capable of helping himself for several reasons, not the least of which was that he was trapped mentally and emotionally, unable to find a way out of his agonizing guilt and self-loathing.

That was a matter for another day.

Pulling into the parking lot at Kali’s Café, Sean pushed the conversation from his mind. He would have the luxury to focus on this alter. For now, he needed coffee, and he needed to keep his focus lest M.S.A.D. rear its head again.

Something was on the horizon, but he didn’t know what.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

May 1971.


Every Sunday, Sean called his parents, and they spoke for the full fifteen minutes of allotted telephone time. He benefitted from his social isolation insofar as nobody ever hung around the phone when he made phone calls, mostly because nobody wanted to spend that much time in his presence, even if they might feel slight curiosity about his home life.

“Did you get the allowance money we sent?”

“Yes.”

“Have you spent it on anything nice?”

“There’s a used book store downtown, and they sell three paperbacks for a quarter on Saturdays...”

“And what do the other boys do?”

Sean chewed his lower lip in thought. On the one hand, he didn’t know what the other boys did, since he barely spoke to the other boys, his roommate included. On the other hand, he knew most everything that everyone did because their sins and self-importance found its way into his brain one way or another. “I don’t know,” he replied, which was a lie by technicality but conveyed the spirit of his point.

The voice on the other end of the line paused before saying, “Your mother wants to speak with you.”

Before he had the opportunity to react, his mother’s voice came sounded through the ear peace. “Your father and I have been talking, and we decided to enroll you in cotillion this summer.”

“Mom-”

“It should help with your social skills, and then you can make some friends. Don’t you remember how many friends you used to have?”

“Mom, my social skills aren’t the problem.” How could she even think his social skills were the problem? He was already unfailingly polite to his elders and was probably one of the most innocent people at the entire school; he only though about sex because other people thought about sex, he was never grabby, and he never chewed with his mouth full.

“Sean,” Her voice took on that quality, the mixture of motherly authority and pleading love that always made him listen. “Your father and I can help you fine-tune your social skills with cotillion. We want to give you that leg up.”

Despite the distance between them, the telepath could decode that explanation. She knew that his social skills weren’t the problem, but neither of his parents knew how to cope with the telepathy. If they paid for cotillion, then they could pretend he was normal for a while. Then he would have forced social interaction, and nobody would hide from him, because participation was mandatory, and nobody could bully him, because bullying was dealt with swiftly and always resulted in the bully being expelled rather than the victim. He might not even be the most socially awkward person present, considering some of the families who chose to send their children to cotillion.

It wasn’t as though he would have anything better to do over the summer, except read or watch movies, and then go to church on Sunday morning or visit his grandparents for supper on Sunday afternoons. Nobody in the neighborhood played with him. Even Kathleen’s friends didn’t want to come over when he was home from Hammel.

“Can’t I shadow Dad at the hospital or during office hours? Or do his paperwork?”

“The hospital had some concerns about children shadowing; your father can explain it next week.”

Sean didn’t need the explanation. The other doctors didn’t want an emotionally unstable, quasi-pubescent, and only partially-trained telepath running around the hospital, and his father would risk losing his position or his patients or both if he had pressed the matter.

Suddenly, he had a headache. “My head is starting to hurt.” He was always honest about his side effects, both with his parents and with Robert.

“Then you go lay down. We can talk next week. We love you.”

“I love you too.” Sean hung up the phone and then stared at it for a long moment before slinking towards his room. This was the first time all year that he’d hoped that Robert would want to keep him over the summer for additional training, but Sean knew that his trainer couldn’t.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

April 1977.


Sometimes the Radicals put on impromptu fundraisers, when they were in need of supplies on short notice and nobody had excess cash. Sean tended to be the source of income in situations, partially because his parents were well-off and sent him pocket money, and partially because the telepath proved talented in multiple and often surprising ways considering his upbringing.

He wouldn’t take money by defrauding people, such as by cheating at games or even by abusing his powers at Three-Card Monte. He would, however, accept money from people foolish enough to bet him that he couldn’t read minds, after he told them honestly and without reservation that he was, in fact, a telepath. Primarily, however, he participated in bake sales, craft fairs, and talent shows, and he never ran out of people surprised that a young man standing 6’ 4.5” inches barefoot, who had the shoulders of a linebacker knew how to bake delicious cupcakes, knit baby blankets, or play the piano without using sheet music.

Unfortunately for the Radicals, Greg’s bicycle had been stolen. While that wasn’t a general operating expense of their protests or social justice goals, the blond man had no parental support whatsoever and his job didn’t pay enough to let him buy a new one. Everyone had agreed to kick in a bit to help him replace it, but it was the end of the month, and money was a bit tight for most of them. Which led to Sean sitting in the Student Commons at the piano with a cup in front of him.

Occasionally, people gave him a tip for playing a song they recognized, and he took requests to the best of his ability. It was a way to kill the time when waiting for classes, and if it meant he could earn a few dollars to contribute to Greg’s new (possibly used) bicycle, then all the better.

Sometimes, he grew melancholy from playing, simply because the piano tended to bring back the impression of being a trained entertainer for his parents’ social circle and for the neighbors. “Don’t worry about Sean being a meta-human; look how talented and sophisticated and normal he is.”

That, in turn, made his song choices melancholy by association.

He had chosen a song from his repertoire of opera, but since he didn’t sing, he had no expectations that anyone would recognize it. That was fine; that was how he played classical music as well, and sometimes that proved profitable.

However, everyone seemed unimpressed or uninterested, if not both.

Beginning the next stanza, a voice came up behind him, a soprano, clear and sweet as a nightingale.

“Ah, must I leave thee here,
In endless night to dream?
Where joy is dark and drear,
And sorrow all supreme?
Where nature, day-by-day,
Will sing in altered tone,
This weary roundelay:
‘He loves thee - he is gone,
Fal la la, Fal la la la.
He loves thee - he is gone,
Fal la la, Fal la.”

Sean turned around to see who possessed such a voice and an appreciation for light opera. A girl roughly his age, within a class year in either direction, with a petite build, straight auburn hair and hazel eyes. When she finished, she smiled at him.

“What are we singing next?”

He returned the smile. “Do you know Shendoah?”

She nodded, but then she asked, “You’re a melancholy fellow, aren’t you?”

“Only occasionally.” He raised one hand from the keyboard, extending it towards her. “I’m Sean.”

“I’m Teresa. Are you going to sing with me this time?”

“I don’t sing; my voice is terrible.”

“You sound nice to me.”

“My speaking voice isn’t the problem.” Sean began the opening bars on the piano keys.

“I guess I’ll have to sing tenor, then,” Teresa said with an exaggerated sigh. “You can make it up to me.”

“And how should I do that?”

“You can buy me dinner later.”

He smiled. “It’s a date.” With that, he moved into the song proper, and she began to sing.

“Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you...”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

October 2015.


Sean had always been a responsible person, and he cared about his health. As a young man, he had scheduled annual physical exams, and, as he’d aged, those had morphed into six-month exams. One in the spring, around Easter and the other in the fall, around Halloween. The proximity to holidays made it easy to remember to schedule them.

This year had been no different, and, as Halloween approached, he scheduled his appointment for his lunch break one day. He rearranged his appointments to maximize his available time, and then he arrived at his doctor’s office. After checking in, he made brief chitchat and settled in to read the newspaper.

They knew his schedule, and, fortunately, he only had to wait ten minutes before being called back to the doctor.

Everything went as it typically did. Cutting back on the alcohol, eating healthier, and exercising with Josh had led to him losing three pounds since his last weigh-in, which, while not a lot for his size, was significant given that he still ate several desserts daily. And Halloween was fast approaching.

He still had excellent posture and had yet to begin shrinking. His eyes were fine; his hearing was fine. His blood pressure and heart rate were fine. The doctor spent a couple of additional minutes feeling his lymph nodes but said nothing. There were no suspicious moles. He had as much energy as he ever did. No additional pain in his body beyond the typical aches he’d developed over the past ten years.

He gave blood samples and a urine sample, and then returned to Hammel for the rest of the work day.

Three days later, he received a call during a session with one of the students. He let the call go to voicemail, since he didn’t interrupt the students for anything short of emergencies; on the clock, he was theirs, and they deserved his full attention.

Later, during his lunch break, he noticed the call was from the doctor’s office, and he called back.

“This is Sean Neville. The doctor called for me earlier today.”

“Yes, Doctor Neville, hold one moment.” The receptionist put him through to the doctor.

“Sean, can you come by this afternoon to do a couple of retests?”

“Retests?”

“Your urine sample wasn’t clean. “ Before Sean could ask the obvious follow-up question, the doctor continued, “Not in terms of substances, but there were additional cells there. It could have been a bad test because of some excess skin cells, or the beginnings of a kidney stone. Or…”

“Or?”

“I didn’t think too much of it at the time, but one of your lymph nodes was enlarged. Not to dangerous levels, but to a noticeable degree. I’d also like to do an ultrasound.”

Sean pulled out his calendar and began mentally rearranging appointments. “I can be there by 4:30p.m. if that isn’t too late.”

“That would be fine. I’ll see you then.” Before hanging up, the doctor added, “It’s most likely nothing to be concerned about, but better safe than sorry.”

“Of course. I’ll see you later, Doctor.”

Once the call ended, Sean made a note to himself in his appointment book. He didn’t call Josh. After all, there was no reason to worry his partner if it was nothing. The other man didn’t need the additional stress.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

February 14, 2005.



Sean hunched over a pile of files, concentrating on transferring his notes into the records before he went home for the night. He was in no rush; it was a Monday, and he had nothing better to do with his time.

Valentine’s Day, and he had nothing better to do with his time.

The psychiatrist couldn’t complain; it was his own doing. Not fault, since he didn’t consider the situation called for blame, but it had been his doing all the same.

He was forty-eight-years-old, far too old to want to live his life in the closet. So he was single yet again, spending yet another Valentine’s Day alone.

Alone at Hammel.

He worked hard. He liked his job on the whole: he earned a good salary, even if it was less than he could charge in private practice; he enjoyed not having to worry about billing or maintaining an office lease, or carrying his own malpractice insurance (since Hammel absorbed the cost as part of his employment contract). They gave him a generous benefits package, his hours were consistent for the most part. He’d been allowed to decorate his office; they tolerated his filing system. Working at the school entitled him to school breaks, including the month in the summer, in addition to the month in the winter and scattered days and weeks throughout the rest of the year. He and his boss were friends.

Briefly, he wondered what Claude had planned for the evening. Surely, he and his wife had gone out to a nice restaurant somewhere, and he’d probably bought her flowers as well; the older man had always been traditional that way.

Sean wished that he and Josh lived closer to one another. The attorney had mentioned babysitting for his brother and sister-in-law tonight. The telepath would have loved to participate in that, in an excuse to spend time with his friend and to play with children for a few hours. But Josh and his family lived in New York, and the telepath only had the one nephew. Ryan would turn sixteen in a month, and he didn’t require a babysitter.

Not that Kathleen would allow Sean to talk to the boy, anyway. That bridge had gone up in flames.

Instead, he could spend the entire evening at Hammel doing paperwork. Perhaps he could even start on that research paper he’d considered for a while.

His stomach growled, and he glanced at his mini-fridge in the corner of his office. He had ginger ale, and some crackers in his desk.

Time to go home and put together a meal.

He gathered his files, carefully placing them in his briefcase. Then he donned his coat. Yet, when he opened the door, he found a box of chocolates just outside, with a note.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Doc! it read, with no hints as to the generous benefactor.

Picking it up, he smiled to himself. Suddenly, he felt a bit less alone tonight.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Fall Term, 1990.


Sean arrived early to Hammel. It was his first day, and he couldn’t risk being late. He’d only moved to Pilot Ridge recently, and, despite having visited frequently and attended school here for six years, he had yet to adjust to the traffic patterns. He remembered how quiet it was when compared with the City, but he couldn’t snap out of the habit leaving so much earlier for his morning commute so easily.

He didn’t mind. This gave him time to settle in.

The telepath took a minute to stop outside his door, admiring the shiny new nameplate announcing that he was Dr. Sean Neville, Hammel Psychiatrist. It had a nice ring to it.

Unlocking the door, he set down his briefcase, while his eyes swept over the room. All of the furniture had been delivered, the school had provided him with a computer for the joint filing system, he had filing cabinets – all empty – waiting to be filled with records, and his boxes of books and journals had been stacked neatly by the bookshelves, for whenever he found the time to unpack them.

And, on the top of his desk, he saw a gift basket. Approaching the desk, he managed a better glimpse; it was home-made, rather than store-bought. Quickly, he searched for a card but couldn’t find one, but that didn’t matter.

A box of his favorite tea, three boxes of crackers (two boxes of water crackers and one of Saltines), a sampler of different jams and jellies, two boxes of cookies, two bags of coffee beans (the good stuff), a 200-count bottle of Excedrin, two bags of trail mix, a box of chocolate truffles, a bag of throat lozenges, and a coffee mug with the Hammel logo emblazed on the front.

It didn’t require psychometry to divine that this had been Robert’s doing; it had his name all over it.

Beneath the basket, Sean found a copy of the policy manual for the 1990-1991 school year. By contrast, he felt certain that came from Eliza Harding.

He could review that later.

Given the hour before the morning orientation/staff meeting, the telepath decided to unpack as many of his books as he could before it was time to start.

Fifty minutes later – when he had just about finished with the books – he felt a glow in his mind, and, a moment later, heard a knock at the door.

Turning, he smiled at his mentor. “Come to check on me?”

“I wanted to make sure you got settled.”

“I’m fine.” Then, Sean nodded towards the basket on his desk. “Thank you for that.”

Robert crossed the room and set a hand on his shoulder. “I’m the welcome wagon.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Mid-1980s – After the Break Up, and when Sean had come out to his parents.


Sean arrived at his parents’ house with a soda bread under his arm, an expression of grim determination on his features, and a sinking feeling in his stomach. His mother and sister had gone out shopping, and his father had insisted that they have alone time “to talk” before Sunday supper.

They hadn’t talked recently, not since his parents had needled him so much about his listlessness and lack of social life that he had broken down and told them. Not everything, but enough that they could understand why he wasn’t, in fact, overreacting about the mild inconvenience that his roommate had moved out.

He hadn’t expected them to approve, which had been a major determining factor in remaining closeted in the first place. However, he was a grown man, he had graduated medical school and was hip-deep in residency at a plum assignment, well on his way to opening his own medical practice when all was said and done. He had savings, and he could always live with Greg again if push came to shove while he landed on his feet.

He hadn’t told them for acceptance; he’d told them because he wanted them to understand, even in an only cursory manner, why he was upset, and that he wouldn’t get over it so quickly. And, truth be told, he was tired of hiding his grief and his love and his pain from the world around him. He had to be in top shape at work every day, and nobody, ever, at the hospital could know that he loved another man. Hiding from his family simply had become more effort than it was worth.

His father must have been watching through the window, because he opened the door before Sean could knock. Each man said nothing, instead going through the motions of proper visiting etiquette: the telepath gave his father the soda bread so that the elder Doctor Neville could put it in the kitchen for later. Meanwhile, Sean removed his jacket and his shoes, and then stood in the foyer, waiting for some direction.

“We should talk in the living room,” his father announced.

The telepath didn’t argue. He merely nodded a single time and followed the older man into the living room, sitting down on one end of the sofa while his father settled in his favorite armchair.

Awkward silence followed, so uncomfortable that the tension felt almost physical. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock on the mantle and each man’s rhythmic breathing.

Finally, his father asked, “When we got you that apartment, you were already...?”

“Yes,” Sean said quietly. He had already resolved that he would answer whatever questions his father had honestly, as long as they didn’t veer into territory he found too personal. Given his parents’ opinions about family values, Catholic doctrine, and the general right to privacy, he didn’t expect anything personal.

To his credit, the elder Neville hid his expression behind a stony, otherwise unreadable mask. For his own part, Sean shielded heavily, so that they had to talk about this like two conventional adults, who just happened to be father and son. “Is that why you stopped attending church services?”

“I stopped going to church because I stopped believing, and I thought it was the honest thing to do.” The Nevilles had never been Christmas and Easter Catholics; they took their faith seriously in a way that was both person and unapologetic. They fasted for Saints Days, particularly for each one’s chosen namesake; they kept vegetarian during Lent, in addition to their individual promises. They attended mass weekly, complete with confession and communion, and Midnight Mass for Christmas and Easter. While Sean had his disagreements with the Church hierarchy, and he had lost his faith, he wouldn’t spit on those beliefs and customs by dishonestly going through the motions.

Miracle of miracles, his father appeared to accept that for now.

“Have you gotten checked for AIDS?”

Sean’s expression turned stony, and it took everything inside of him to keep from objecting more forcefully. “That isn’t necessary.”

“If you and...” His father’s voice trailed off, and, despite shielding, the telepath knew what the older man meant. His father couldn’t bring himself to say Josh’s name lest he conjure an image of his only son engaged in sodomy with that younger man. That was something Sean didn’t want to tackle right now, only cursory information.

“We were careful.” The telepath didn’t say, ‘I insisted that we use condoms because of my experience sleeping with women in college, and I fell into the habit.’ Condoms weren’t birth control between men, but his earliest experience with prophylactics had been to prevent conception and pregnancy. “I was his first, and he was mine.”

By which he meant boyfriend. Yet, while his parents had opinions about out-of-wedlock sex between men and women who were casually dating, he also knew that his father wouldn’t care about that right now. AIDS afflicted homosexuals, drug addicts, and prostitutes, and anyone unlucky enough to catch it from them due to accidental comingling of fluids, or through blood transfusions. College girls didn’t count.

His father lapsed into silence again. More awkward silence, while Sean inwardly wished he had feigned illness so he could have stayed home.

“You don’t think he...ran around, do you?”

“I know he didn’t.” Sean didn’t tell his father about the burning passion between them, of their innate compatibility and how they had developed such an obsession that neither man could have conceived of finding someone else. Once upon a time, the telepath hadn’t thought either of them could conceive of leaving; he still struggled with that realization that he and Josh hadn’t been on the same wavelength after all.

But he knew Josh hadn’t cheated on him, and that he never would have.

“Can you be sure?”

The telepath tapped his temple with two fingers and said nothing.

Neither did his father. A decade-and-a-half later, and his family still didn’t know how to react to his abilities, even though they accepted them as real and natural, just like his sense of taste or touch.

However, the older man looked relieved. Sean thought he would as well, if their positions were reversed. His father worked in a hospital too, and he had seen patients die from AIDS. How could he wish that on his own son?

The telepath took reassurance in that.

“Have you been homosexual all this time? At Hammel, when you were dating that sweet Maggie girl?”

“I’m not gay,” Sean rushed to explain. He found nothing wrong with exclusive homosexuality, after all, both Josh and Greg were gay; but that wasn’t him. He was somewhere in the middle. “I still like girls.”

His father’s mask slipped, and bewilderment spilled across his face. “Then how did this happen?”

Sean spread his hands in a gesture of defeat, of knowing that there was no adequate way to explain. “Because we fell in love.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Spring 1978.


The party had been in full swing for over an hour. As with most of their parties, the guest list had been large, and the number of guests weaving in and out far surpassed those who had been invited, since news spread by word of mouth among their peers, and who didn’t like a good party? None of the Radicals minded, since they put a bowl near the door to collect “donations”, to help defray the cost of refreshments and to repair the general wear and tear from dancing and hooking up.

The Bee Gees were blaring a dance number over the sound system, and all of the Radicals were occupied. Two different women were flirting with Greg; Sean didn’t recognize either of them, which meant that they were in for a world of disappointment. Meanwhile, the blond had his eyes on a black-haired senior with a dancer’s body.

Couples had hooked up, and Daphne was on the sofa talking to someone Sean vaguely remembered from first year Biology. The telepath was content to play bartender, nursing his cocktail and stuffing himself full of cookies.

That was until he overheard the thrust of Daphne’s companion’s conversation.

“It’s natural, and, more importantly, it’s liberating.” The guy offered her a smile that might pass for charismatic to some people, but which Sean read as smarmy. “Why hold onto outmoded patriarchal concepts like modesty and chastity when there’s pleasure to be had?”

The telepath narrowed his eyes and crossed from the kitchen – navigating through people dancing and talking and drinking and making out – until he reached the sofa. Without preamble or invitation, he settled himself on the arm nearest this other man, rather than crowding Daphne. “I heard something about patriarchal concepts?” He inquired pleasantly, as though he had been invited to the conversation.

The other guy glared at him, upset with having his space invaded, and, presumably, with having what he considered successful flirtation interrupted. “If you’ll excuse us, I was just telling this fine lady,” he turned to smile again at Daphne, before returning his attention to Sean briefly, “about how part of the Revolution is freedom to express ourselves sexually, and we shouldn’t shy away from that. Discomfort is a social construct.”

Daphne looked decidedly uncomfortable and unimpressed with that line of thought. She had heard this all before, so many times. It was the downside of the sexual revolution, all of the guys who thought this was an excuse to run roughshod over women’s boundaries in the name of liberation.

Sean had no tolerance for it. In his favor were the fact that he was a guy himself, and he was built like a linebacker.

“Of course, boundaries are a social construct, unlike your use of the English language.”

“Excuse me?” The other guy appeared taken aback.

“Lots of animals express a need for personal space and marking their own territory.” Sean knew the other man knew that, as they’d discussed that in the ecology section of their Biology classes. “But, sure, boundaries are just a social construct.”

He met Daphne’s eyes briefly, projecting, I’m sorry about this to her, before returning his full focus to the guy beside him on the sofa.

“That’s why I’m sure you’ll be happy to give me a blowjob over in the bedroom.”

“What!?!” The guy looked every bit as offended and disgusted by the thought as Sean had expected.

“It’s natural. The Greeks did it. And besides,” Sean lifted one eyebrow although he didn’t smile. “It’ll feel good, and why deny there’s pleasure to be had?”

The other guy turned red, confused at how his words from earlier had made it to Sean’s ears. “I’m not queer.”

“Neither am I, but if it’s for the sake of liberation...” Sean shrugged. “Or is it only women who should spread their legs to anyone who comes knocking?”

The other guy sputtered and turned back to Daphne. “Tell this creep to lay off.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I think he makes some good points.”

On the other side of the room, Greg saw the situation brewing, and he came over. “There’s a problem?”

“I was just asking our friend here why liberation means women have to put out on demand but men don’t.”

Oh, I see.” Greg stroked his chin and the couple of days’ worth of growth there. “I think I know the answer.”

Looking down at the other guy, he offered an unpleasant smile. “Do you want to give it a shot?”

“Are you tag-teaming me?”

Sean leaned forward. “We’re telling – not asking – you to leave right now and not to come back. Don’t ever try this on any other girls.”

“And if I don’t?” The telepath often marveled at, and lamented, how often that type of macho posturing accompanied predatory behavior.

Greg shrugged and leaned down, putting both hands on the other guy’s shoulders. “Then we’ll tag-team you.”

The other guy scowled, but he rose quickly, knocking Greg’s hands off his shoulders in the process. With a final glare at the three of them, he stalked off, slamming the door behind him.

The other party guests noticed, the ones not out of their heads from pot and alcohol, but since the music hadn’t stopped, they all went back to what they had been doing. Sean took the opportunity to slide into the free spot on the sofa proper. He turned towards Daphne, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, he didn’t get handsy. It’s just...” She shrugged and spread her hands. “Guys, you know?”

Both Sean and Greg nodded gravely. Despite being guys themselves, they knew all too well, particularly Sean, since he was straight like the vast majority of those creeps with no boundaries. “Can we get you anything?”

“I could go for a drink.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sean promised. Greg patted both of them on their backs as he left, returning to the black-haired senior and the two girls who had yet to take the hint.

Maybe someday, Daphne and the other girls at parties wouldn’t need that type of intervention. Until then, Sean wanted to help as best he could.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

1989.


“Your appointment is here.

Sean stared at the intercom buzzer in surprise. He didn’t have an appointment right now. This was supposed to be his lunch break. He’d packed a sandwich made from leftovers of the meal the night before, and those were always some of his favorites, chock full of protein and fresh vegetables.

Could he have forgotten about an appointment? That was unlike him; he wrote everything down, and, even if he didn’t, he had an excellent memory.

A knock on his office door interrupted those thoughts. “You can come in!” He called. The telepath would get to the bottom of this one way or another.

A tall, swarthy, handsome man crossed the threshold, smiling brightly at him. “I couldn’t say who I really was...” he offered apologetically, although that did nothing to diminish his otherwise chipper mood.

Immediately, Sean smiled as well. “Don’t worry about it.” The last thing either of them needed was an AIDS quarantine or a picket outside the building, Orion didn’t need repercussions at his firm, and Sean could do without being evicted from the office space. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“My meeting was canceled. I thought you’d want to grab a cup of coffee?”

“I’d like that.” There would be time to eat his sandwich later. If they got food on the way back, then he could always make the sandwich his supper, sparing him the need to cook tonight.

Sean grabbed his wallet and keys from his desk and stood up.

Walking with Orion was always a change of pace; the telepath was used to being the tallest person in his peer group, and, with the exception of his father, the tallest person in his family outings as well. His father stood an inch taller than Orion, but that was it. He found a certain novelty in being the smaller person in one of his relationships for once. It wasn’t that he was small, and certainly Orion never treated him that way, since they were of similar build otherwise, but the accountant didn’t view him as someone who never needed to be vulnerable based on his outside appearance.

And that was nice.

They walked shoulder to shoulder down the street, unable to clasp their hands, until they reached the coffee shop, one of Orion’s favorites.

Only when they had ordered and had claimed a table away from the others did they break from companionable silence. “Did you want to come over tonight?” Sean asked while sipping from his cup. The coffee tasted all the more delicious because he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

“I can’t; that’s why I wanted to go out now.” Orion splayed his fingers along the edge of the table. “I think I told you my sister’s getting married? We have to do the formal meet and greet tonight.”

Sean nodded sympathetically. Their families were similar in terms of certain obligations, and he understood, never complained about it. That Orion had more siblings than him only meant more obligations. “There’s always the weekend.”

“This weekend is the engagement party.” However, the accountant lit up at the thought. “You could come if you wanted.”

“Are you sure?”

“If you can handle a lamb roast with forty Greeks drinking and dancing, my parents would love to have you.” Orion’s parents had met Sean a couple of times and had welcomed him at minor events, but nothing this personal before.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” the telepath promised.

“Good. We can go back to my place afterward.”

“I’d like that.” He would.

All he needed to do was buy an engagement present.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

November 2, 1976


Sean had not changed his address with either the Department of Motor Vehicles or the Board of Elections upon starting college at NYU. He didn’t consider the dormitory to be a permanent address, and, as he’d had no interest in changing it, he hadn’t bothered to look into the election law to see if a college dorm could count for the purposes of voting.

For his very first Presidential Election, he went home to vote.

It wasn’t his first election at all; there had been local elections in 1975 in which he had participated – his very first election! – as well as the School Board elections this past May, a week after he had completed his freshman year. But those were minor elections. His vote might count more on an individual level, but that was only because so few people cared.

This...this was a big deal. A national election, where the Senators, Congressmen, and President would be determined. Particularly after this past disastrous administration.

The telepath had gone home the night before after classes, since NYU had given the students the day off for Election Day. Once upon a time, they wouldn’t have done that, but due to the protests where the school had been taken over by the students some years back, the administration had given greater deference to student political participation. As a result, Sean had gone home to his parents and sister for the momentous occasion.

Kathleen had the day off as well, but, as she was too young to vote and felt no kinship over someone else’s first election, she had gone off with her friends after breakfast.

The Neville’s neighborhood polling place was the firehouse a few blocks up. His parents had dressed nicely, as they always did when they went out, and Sean had dressed as he typically did. Which meant earring, sideburns, long hair, and bellbottoms. To appease his parents, he had donned a sports coat and a crisp Polo shirt. He was sure he looked ridiculous, but his parents didn’t critique him, so he considered that a victory.

“Did you review the Church’s position guide? And the endorsements from the newspaper?” His mother asked him.

“Yes.” The telepath had no interest in taking his positions from the Church, because he had his own interpretation on the Lord’s will and Jesus’s mercy. Besides, he always supported the anti-War, anti-poverty choice.

“It isn’t an ideal election,” his father replied, almost apologetically, as he patted his son on the shoulder.

The Neville clan: parents, grandparents, siblings and cousins and extended family far-flung across the U.S. were lifelong Republicans. Except for Sean, who had registered as a Democrat on his 18th birthday, at the same time that he had filled out his Draft paperwork.

Despite the fact that he knew his parents would vote for Ford, he also knew they disliked him. His parents had supported, and voted for, Nixon three times: in 1960 (although the anti-Catholic sentiment towards JFK had upset them deeply), in 1968, and in 1972. Yet, they valued hard work, honesty, and integrity, and so when they saw Nixon crash and burn due to Watergate, and how he had fired and threatened people left and right to cover up his misdeeds, they had lost respect for him. Along with many liberals in the country, they had been distressed when Ford had pardoned him, because they believed that, irrespective of political party, fairness and propriety in the Oval Office were important and necessary for the American way of life.

They also thought Ford was craven and, well, more than a little dumb.

Still, it would be a cold day in Hell before his parents would vote for a Democrat, particularly a Southern peanut farmer who had the folksy cadence of a Disney character.

When they reached the firehouse, his father ushered Sean ahead of him. His mother took a picture while he gave his name and signed into the register.

Then he disappeared into the voting booth and pulled the curtain behind him.

He voted Democrat straight down the line.

When he pulled back the curtain and stepped out, his mother took another picture. Both of his parents hugged him, and then his mother handed him the camera so she could take her turn.

“Now you’re a full citizen,” his father told him, pride in his voice.

Thankfully, neither of his parents asked about his candidate choices on the walk back home.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

1973.


Sean sat in front of the television in the student lounge. Maggie sat beside him, and several others students had crowded around, sitting wherever they could find space.

Though it was late, well past curfew and lights out, the teachers had granted permission for the students to stay up long enough to watch this program, and then they had to march straight to bed. Although Sean couldn’t be sure, he thought that Robert had led the charge in convincing some of the other faculty – including the housing faculty who had personal reasons for not wanting a gaggle of teenagers awake so late – to let them watch.

Every meta-human in the country had a vested interest in tonight’s broadcast.

The title card for The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson appeared on the screen, and the viewing students watched attentively.

“Do you think he can do it?” One of the other students asked the room at large.

Sean’s roommate scoffed. “Of course not. He isn’t meta.”

His roommate was right. Johnny Carson’s guest wasn’t a meta-human, and their administration had been unambiguous in that assessment. Hammel and its sister school, the one in Switzerland, had sent representatives to his shows across Europe and the United States. Power detectors read him as baseline; psychics confirmed that he was psi-null. Yet, he continued to claim that his strong willpower granted him such powers, and sold out every venue where he appeared. He grew rich by scamming people and, in the process, muddied the waters about the existence of meta-humans and accepted for them.

Their teachers hated him. Hammel had exerted some influence to prevent him from doing a show in Vermont a year ago.

Johnny Carson introduced his guest as Uri Geller. Several of the students booed. Sean remained quiet, staring at the screen. Carson asked whether Geller would do his spoon bending trick tonight, and Geller confirmed.

“Those fucking spoons,” Sean’s roommate muttered. Which earned a sharp “Language!” from the dorm monitor standing at the back of the room.

Then, something miraculous happened. Carson announced that he and his team had prepared his spoons and other objects for him, rather than allowing Geller to provide them himself. Geller sputtered about it, making some protests about how he felt most comfortable with his own familiar objects.

“A spoon’s a spoon, isn’t it?” Carson pressed him.

So Geller concentrated and failed. At every objected he failed. He failed to read Carson’s mind.

In the end, he muttered that he “didn’t feel strong tonight,” and sat there humiliated. Carson appeared pleased with himself and cut to a word from their sponsors.

“That’s enough. Up to bed with all of you,” the dorm monitor told them. He crossed the length of the lounge to twist the dial, causing the broadcast to disappear into a tiny black square.

Some of the students protested, but Sean and Maggie simply stood up and made their way through the crowd towards the door.

“You were right,” she said, smiling up at him. “He’s a fake.”

Sean nodded. Much like Carson, he was pleased that Geller had failed so spectacularly.

“You know, you could probably make a lot of money traveling around that way...” she mused, although he knew she was only teasing.

“I don’t want to make a lot of money; I just want to graduate.”

“Upstairs!” The dorm monitor called, losing his patience with the stragglers.

Sean took Maggie’s hand and the two of them walked towards the staircase.