Interconnectivity

I call them Bridges - the strange lines of green light that I half see, half sense, linking me to every single person in my current line of vision. And after that semi-psychotic bombshell (Yes, I am aware it is a possibility at this point, however according to a highly respected published psychologist Dr. B Tobias: by questioning your own sanity you fail to meet the criteria of someone who is insane. But I digress).

By now you have no doubt re-read my ...uh, unique, opening statement to see if your eyes had deceived you or not, so allow me to confirm what I have already said. I do indeed see green lines bridging a connection - hence the name - between me and every other person I have ever met on the planet.

Now, if you are a person after my own heart and far more imaginative than perhaps you should be, your next question may be, ‘Are you a superhero?’ and while I would much rather the answer be yes, it is regrettably no. Before the follow-up barrage of questions storm your brain, let me assure you it is not for an excessive – and now that I look back on it, embarrassingly so – amount of time spent trying to prove otherwise, regrettably, to no avail. After a while, I just had to accept that I couldn’t turn this ‘ability’ towards fighting crime and protecting the weak. It doesn’t even let me detect people through walls, the lines disappearing when the person leaves my line of sight, so yeah, not-so-great super power, knowing where people are when you can already see them. In fact, it makes it damn near impossible to watch a movie at the cinema from anywhere but the front row (unless, unlike me, you would enjoy the bottom half of the screen being a mass of green lines).

But while inert, and downright inconvenient at times, I’ve lived with these Bridges for so long it would be strange for me to walk around and not see them. After all, they remind me that I’m connected to everyone around me, and they to me. It makes the world seem more... well, beautiful, harmonious, or something like that. Y’know... nice.

Right now for instance, I’m sat on the upper floor of a double-decker bus traveling into town, intent on fulfilling my ever-present craving for some fast-food, despite what my higher brain function is screaming at me about good dieting. I’m currently connected to one other person, a thirty-something woman, no doubt with her own hopes and dreams, problems and tribulations. She’s dressed in a dark blouse and shawl, her stark red hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She had caught my eye since she got on two stops ago, not because she had her neck craned down towards her lap deeply engrossed in whatever book it was she was reading, but because she looked shockingly normal, even ordinary.

Now, I feel it’s important to state that I don’t find normal people surprising – it’s just you rarely see normal people on the bus at two-thirty on a Wednesday, that kinda stuff just doesn’t happen, like creatures of the porcine family achieving flight, or the tormenting fiery depths of the Earth becoming ridden with frostbite – well, mild exaggeration aside, I’m sure you get my point.

But, on the off-chance you don’t take my perfectly reasonable analogies for face value, here’s the case and point of this argument – last week around about the same time, the only other passenger on this bus had been a tallish man over forty who had been content to wear a thick leather duster and a cowboy hat (I wanna say a Stetson, but I’m not really a ‘hat’ kinda guy) in the middle of a scorching hot summer day. But the real trait that sold the whole ensemble of crazy-guy-onna-bus was the fact he was tapping his little fingers on the window to some sort of distorted mix of the wheels-on-the-bus-go-round-and-round and twinkle-twinkle-little-star. Never before in my life has something warranted a word so ridiculous, but that guy really gave me the heebie-freaking-jeebies. And he was hardly the first oddball I’ve encountered, there have been window-lickers, aisle-skippers and stop-button-pushers (hey,I never claimed that I was a creative genius).  So this all begged the question as to what Ms. Book-reader was hiding; she hardly met any of the aforementioned oddball categories.

Curiosity piquing - and that I had a good twenty minutes to kill before my stop - I clear my mind and focus it on a single resolute goal. I reach out to the Bridge and place my hand roughly inside of it and start moving my hand in a circular motion about my wrist, all the while concentrating on the mental image of moving the bridge. Sure enough, the Bridge started to swing slightly. I’ve done this kind of thing before, i know that if I really concentrate I can even manage it without the aid of my hand - but that has always left me with a wicked awful headache afterwards (and I really mean wicked, I will not be attempting that again anytime soon).

It doesn’t take me long to get the Bridge swinging around like a skipping rope between me and the woman who is still completely absorbed in her book. In fact the Bridge seemed to be picking up speed way faster than usual, but I can’t say for sure – it’s tricky to sense the passage of time while keeping a part of your mind singularly focused. Now that I think about, I’m pretty sure this Bridge is close to spinning faster than anything I have ever managed before, i didn’t even notice when i subconsciously compensated for the increased movement by rotating my lower arm about the elbow, keeping it in full swing with the Bridge. After a little while longer I was certain I had broken my previous recor.... I caught some movement in the corner of my eye. Startled I lost focus for a moment and all movement that I added to the Bridge dissipated almost instantly as it returned to its usual direct line of semi-translucent green light. All except for the dark blue change in colour that had been creeping its way across the Bridge towards the woman.

I reach out to the Bridge, tentatively at first (I am always cautious around new phenomena, especially involving the Bridges). Who knows when my power may manifest into some sort of nuclear-themed ability, capable of vaporising anybody close to me - and before you start, yes this may all be just hopeful delusions of grandeur. But, I'm aware of that fact you see, so no insanity. Dr. B Tobias said so, remember? Anyway...it never hurts to be careful, y'know...just in case.

I get to work right away refocusing my mind, spinning my hand around at the wrist, gently, carefully, adding momentum to the spinning Bridge. It doesn’t take me long to get the Bridge back up to a respectable speed as it starts swinging around like a skipping rope between me and the woman, who was still deeply engrossed in her book.

I have never even come close to this kind of speed before; I need to swing my whole arm about my shoulder just to keep up with the Bridge. All the while I could see the dark blue inching along the Bridge. It wouldn’t be long now before the change reached her. I had no idea what was about to happen, and I found the unknown incredibly... exhilarating.

Just as the last bit of green disappears from the bridge, Ms Book-reader turns to look directly at me. And boy, did I freeze. The hairs on the back of my neck went rigid as my mind ran away with what just happened. Did I do that? Somehow grab her attention? It took me a moment to overcome the adrenaline and the anxiety before I registered the peculiar look she was fixing me with - I could practically hear the thoughts that went with that look.

Fréak.

I felt my face heat up something fierce as it turned what must’ve been a brutal shade of red. I let my legs give way, sinking as far down into my seat as possible, well out of eyesight of the woman who had caught me flailing my arm around like a madman.

Great, not only did I just make a complete and utter fool of myself, I was acutely aware of how detrimental this was to my ‘definitely not insane because I don’t meet the definition for it’ argument. However, while I was quite literally ‘laying low’ (call me a coward if you will, but I didn’t enjoy the idea of being marvelled at for being a weirdo), something about what just happened was itching my subconscious. Now, I don’t know about anyone else – but when I think, I normally do it in my own voice, not a woman with a slight French accent.

I felt a grin spread from ear to ear, I had just plucked a thought from a person’s mind. A freaking thought, I could read people’s minds! This was huge, huger than huge. This was the beginning of the rest of my life. I was always destined for great things, I just knew it.

Mind reader.

The thought gave me chills.

The excitement didn’t last - i was forced to accept my ‘mind reading’ was merely a product of my overactive imagination. But not until after an embarrassing amount of attempts (read: greater than fifty) to replicate what had happened that Wednesday on the two-thirty bus (surprisingly flailing your arm around in the presence of other people always gets you the most peculiar looks – on the bright side I got better at handling my embarrassment).

i acknowledged that I may be, well, not crazy. Just born with a slightly below-average level sanity. So I sought out the appropriate help. A lot of talking and a few odd tasting pills later and the Bridges were gone within the year. Or at least, I could no longer see them, because that does not mean for a second that I am foolish enough to believe that I am not connected, linked – bridged – to every single person I see