The Enlightened (Mind Dimensions #3)(40)

“Fascinating,” he says, “but I have more questions.”

For the next half hour, I tell Bert about the Quiet, trying to ignore my growing drowsiness. When I begin yawning after every other sentence, I stop, and we agree to try to sleep for the rest of the flight.





*





“Dude, wake up,” a voice tells me from far away. “We’ve landed, and they’re finally letting us off this plane. We’ve been stuck at the gate for a freaking hour.”

“Let me f*cking sleep,” I mumble.

“We’re in New York,” the voice says. I vaguely recognize it as Bert’s. “And you need to get to your mom, remember?”

The reminder wakes me up enough for me to exit the plane.

As we walk though JFK International Airport, I wake up some more and decide to call Mira.

“Darren, do you know what time it is?” her sleepy voice says from the other end.

I look at the top of my phone and hit myself on the forehead. “Sorry, Mira. I didn’t realize it was three in the morning.”

“Fuck,” she says. “I didn’t realize that either.”

“I was just calling to check on you guys. Do you need Bert to do his magic and get you tickets?”

“No,” she says. “Your aunt worked hers. We have first-class tickets on the first flight out. Now let me sleep.”

“Wait. Caleb didn’t give you any more shit, did he?”

“No,” she says. “He was arrested, and the monks split incredibly fast. Your aunt didn’t exactly create a friendly welcome for them.”

“Okay, sorry again. Go back to sleep.”

“Bye. And next time, text me.” She hangs up.

Aware of my faux pas, I decide not to call Lucy this early. I have a set of keys to the house, so I think it would be better to let myself in and snooze in the guestroom than wake them so late at night. I’ll just have to make sure not to accidentally spook my moms in the morning.

I feel reassured until we get outside. The weather is horrible, and not just compared to Miami’s. It’s raining and cold.

It takes us a horrendous half hour to get the first cab, which Bert graciously gives up for me.

“Stay in touch, dude,” he says, closing the cab door almost in my face.

I give the cab driver two instructions: take me to Staten Island and do not wake me up for any reason.

That done, I fall asleep.





*





I wake up and look around. I’m still in the cab. We’re on the highway. The red digital clock under the taxi meter reads 5:35.

“Sir,” I say to get the cab driver’s attention. “Are we far from Staten Island?”

“I’m sorry, friend,” the driver says with an accent I can’t place. “We’re just entering Brooklyn. There’s a big accident on the road ahead.”

All remnants of sleep gone, I watch the road.

We’re barely moving at five miles per hour. The accident must’ve shut down one or more of the lanes, driving traffic, like a current, into a tight funnel. Only unlike water molecules, cars have drivers inside them, and when in traffic jams like these, people shortsightedly make matters worse by switching lanes over and over. I know they’re trying to pick the one that’s moving faster, but all they’re doing is slowing everyone down, more so than if they’d followed the path of least resistance like water does.

Have you boarded yet? I text Mira.

In about an hour, she replies. But not a direct flight. Fucking Caleb and his f*cking monks.

Don’t get me started, I type. Hope you at least got a little sleep.

I tried. Did you get to your mom’s?

Not yet. Stuck in traffic.

Okay. GTG. Eugene is hungry again.

Ttyl, I send.

Having done the only thing I could to kill time, I’m ready for alternative ideas. With this in mind, I phase into the Quiet and exit the stopped cab.

The sounds of rain, traffic, and thunder are gone. Despite the early hour and the weather, the highway is fairly well lit, thanks to all the cars. In the bright light of the high beams from the car behind me, I observe the stuck-in-time rain droplets with awe. Then I walk through them, and my appreciation for the wonders of nature drastically declines as these same droplets soak my clothes. Every time my body connects with the floating raindrops, they react like regular liquid. I swear I get wetter in the Quiet than when the rain isn’t frozen. The only consolation is that I’ll be dry once I get back to reality.

I touch the idiot in a Honda who’s about to switch into our lane. I make it so that for the next few miles, he’ll be content with driving in his own lane. I provide the same Guidance to a few more nearby drivers, and then it hits me.

Instead of trying to improve the flow of traffic, I should take a more selfish approach. As soon as the idea comes, I begin executing it. I choose a few drivers who are in our lane, Read them, and if they’re the * types who change lanes at every opportunity, I Guide them to do so now, even though I know it won’t improve their progress at all.

I return to the cab and phase out. I’m dry and amused to see the cars in question get out of our way without anyone veering in to take their place, even though our lane is now moving faster. Despite this progress, all the work I did barely gains us a few extra feet.