Cognoscenti: 2nd Draft - Chapter 2
Monday, May 26, 2008 by Lindsey
The next few days were quiet. I made a concentrated effort to be courteous to my siblings, and spend time with my parents and the few friends I was close to. The hours were filled with questions, anticipation, and heartfelt hugs and tears. Overall, those three days were the most peaceful in my recollection. Although it could be because those three days so strongly contrasted what happened next.
Three days later, I found myself in my bedroom packing a few belongings I prized most into a small black duffel bag. Family pictures, special books, my camera and laptop. I heard cars pass outside the window, and each caused my stomach to churn with dread. As anxious and excited as I’d become…I wished that Barak would not arrive.
I walked into my parents bedroom, sitting on the bed next to my Mom and remember all the times I’d sat there…watching movies, discussing life, high and low points. I honestly couldn’t have predicted how I’d miss my parents. (How many eighteen year olds can?)
He was right on time. I walked to the door and answered hesitantly. Suddenly, I became seven years old…with my Mother and Grandmother coaching me on how to answer the door appropriately. Insecure and fearful of what and who might await me on the other side.
“Are you ready?” he asked me. I couldn’t restrain a laugh at his cliché, yet strangely applicable question.
“Yes.”
I scuffed my feet into the carpet nervously, and hugged each of my family members avoiding eye contact. I smiled as I walked out onto the porch and closed the door behind me. In a state of surrendered daze, I walked down the stairs onto the long driveway, with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. It seemed so metaphorical…so symbolic, which I thought was just coincidence. Barak followed closely behind me, waving back to my family looking out the window. I got into the car and nodded a last goodbye to my monotonous, safe, comfortable life.
The car pulled out of the driveway and I was suddenly overcome with this heavy apathy. We sat silently for at least an hour before Barak finally spoke to me.
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust me?”
“I should.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Good.” He said, leaning into the steering wheel as we turned a sharp corner. Irritated at his response, I sniped at him, “You know it might be polite of you to prove to me that I could trust you, since I seem to have left all of the people I trust back in that house.” He smiled (almost sadly) and patted my hand which only served to anger me further. I would like to be able to say that the remainder of the trip was uneventful, but to that I cannot attest. I only have one other memory of that particular drive.
Barak sighed and pulled to the edge of the tree-lined road.
“Now.” He paused, “things will begin to get confusing. You’re very nice, and trustworthy. But I’m going to have to ask you to trust that I’m like you and have your best intention at heart.”
“How is that confusing?”
He leaned over me and opened the glove compartment, taking out a small silver box. “The center I’m taking you to is hidden. We’re not allowed to let anyone see the road or landmarks.” He removed a sharp syringe from the box. “I’m going to make you go to sleep. When you wake, I have to ask that you remember not to say a thing until you see me, or someone with this emblem on their shirt.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket with a little round logo, with the letters TWK on them.
I felt his hand wrap around mine, and tried to snatch mine away. He held it firmly, “Please, Honor, don’t fight me.” I gave in, and extended my arm. I felt a sharp pain and clenched my other hand into a fist. I laid my head back against the seat and began to feel very dizzy…the air around me felt dense, and my neck ached when I moved. I closed my eyes and felt a palm against the edge of my hair, fingertips through my soft curls. “Thank you.” I heard a whisper as the car was started back. The last thing I recall from that ride was the sound of Barak humming. The song was familiar, but I hadn’t the lucidity to place it at the time.
Three days later, I found myself in my bedroom packing a few belongings I prized most into a small black duffel bag. Family pictures, special books, my camera and laptop. I heard cars pass outside the window, and each caused my stomach to churn with dread. As anxious and excited as I’d become…I wished that Barak would not arrive.
I walked into my parents bedroom, sitting on the bed next to my Mom and remember all the times I’d sat there…watching movies, discussing life, high and low points. I honestly couldn’t have predicted how I’d miss my parents. (How many eighteen year olds can?)
The doorbell rang.“Someone’s at the doooorrrr…” sang my youngest sister running down the stairs.
He was right on time. I walked to the door and answered hesitantly. Suddenly, I became seven years old…with my Mother and Grandmother coaching me on how to answer the door appropriately. Insecure and fearful of what and who might await me on the other side.
“Are you ready?” he asked me. I couldn’t restrain a laugh at his cliché, yet strangely applicable question.
“Yes.”
I scuffed my feet into the carpet nervously, and hugged each of my family members avoiding eye contact. I smiled as I walked out onto the porch and closed the door behind me. In a state of surrendered daze, I walked down the stairs onto the long driveway, with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. It seemed so metaphorical…so symbolic, which I thought was just coincidence. Barak followed closely behind me, waving back to my family looking out the window. I got into the car and nodded a last goodbye to my monotonous, safe, comfortable life.
The car pulled out of the driveway and I was suddenly overcome with this heavy apathy. We sat silently for at least an hour before Barak finally spoke to me.
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust me?”
“I should.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Good.” He said, leaning into the steering wheel as we turned a sharp corner. Irritated at his response, I sniped at him, “You know it might be polite of you to prove to me that I could trust you, since I seem to have left all of the people I trust back in that house.” He smiled (almost sadly) and patted my hand which only served to anger me further. I would like to be able to say that the remainder of the trip was uneventful, but to that I cannot attest. I only have one other memory of that particular drive.
Barak sighed and pulled to the edge of the tree-lined road.
“Now.” He paused, “things will begin to get confusing. You’re very nice, and trustworthy. But I’m going to have to ask you to trust that I’m like you and have your best intention at heart.”
“How is that confusing?”
He leaned over me and opened the glove compartment, taking out a small silver box. “The center I’m taking you to is hidden. We’re not allowed to let anyone see the road or landmarks.” He removed a sharp syringe from the box. “I’m going to make you go to sleep. When you wake, I have to ask that you remember not to say a thing until you see me, or someone with this emblem on their shirt.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket with a little round logo, with the letters TWK on them.
I felt his hand wrap around mine, and tried to snatch mine away. He held it firmly, “Please, Honor, don’t fight me.” I gave in, and extended my arm. I felt a sharp pain and clenched my other hand into a fist. I laid my head back against the seat and began to feel very dizzy…the air around me felt dense, and my neck ached when I moved. I closed my eyes and felt a palm against the edge of my hair, fingertips through my soft curls. “Thank you.” I heard a whisper as the car was started back. The last thing I recall from that ride was the sound of Barak humming. The song was familiar, but I hadn’t the lucidity to place it at the time.
