BEEP BEEP BEEP
The resounding blare of the alarm startles Diego awake. With a groan he reaches toward the little black 1990s alarm clock with green numbers. Bought before cell phones did everything, it exists to tell time and beep. A gift from his grandfather to his grandmother when he was young, it became his when he was eight and began extracurricular activities.
“Here, papi.” Handing him a small wrapped gift, he looks up with excitement and confusion.
But, it's not my birthday and it's not Christmas. What's this for?
Pausing and looking up for approval, his mother gives a slight nod. With that, Diego tears through the careful packaging. Not loose and tightly folded together, but held by only a couple pieces of tape so as not to over secure the tiny contents.
“If you are going to make it to your games and practices, you are going to have to wake up early and get ready so you can be there on time. You're not quite there yet, but you're becoming a big boy and as a big boy, there are things that you must do yourself. You tie your shoes. You go to the bathroom. You bathe. You eat. Now you are going to have to wake up on your own and start getting ready.”
Pulling the paper back, he reveals a small black box with red trim on the face. A small back chord is bound with a twist tie in the back. Tiny rubber pegs underneath for stability and two buttons on top with one switch. The switch has ridges on it for added grip. He looks up at his mother fighting dissatisfaction and trying to find a place in his heart for gratefulness.
The middle child of a family of three, two boys and one girl, Diego's parents spent most of their time trying to instill in their children kindness, gratefulness and honesty. Forthcoming with them about their financial status throughout the tightest of times gave them parameters for expectations, especially with the advertising onslaught they experienced on a daily basis watching cartoons on Saturday mornings and after school. Two of the children quickly took to it, his older sister Tabitha and his younger brother Tomas. Diego, whose birth name is Nathaniel Diego Belfort, took to it much more slowly than his siblings. He, an emotional kid, stayed angry longer, was the highest form of happy when things went his way, came to a stall when he became sad, fought hard to always come back to kindness, even when it wasn't the thing he wanted to focus on. Empathetic to his heightened emotional connection to the world, his parents were intentional about nurturing that in him.
Thanks mom. I don't know how to use it, but I will figure it out.
“It's simple, just set the time with this button, press this other one to set an alarm time and you use this switch to turn the alarm on or off.”
OK. If I don't wake up though, will you still get me? I think this is too much responsibility for a kid. I'm just a kid. Why do I have to get up by myself!?
“Yes. You are a kid. But you are becoming a big boy. A big kid. It's time you started doing this for yourself. If you ask me to, the night before, I will help you get up if you do not wake up to your alarm. But you have to set the alarm. If I don't hear it, and you are not up, I will let you sleep through your practice.”
That's not fair. He felt himself getting angry. He loved his mother, but he didn't always want to give in. Pausing to weigh waking up at 6:45 to be ready at 7 to leave for the sports team he just joined against sleeping until 8 when cartoons started he found himself at an impasse. Fine. I'll just ask you for help. Thank you. Can I go play now?
Looking out the second floor bedroom window of the apartment he shared with his college friend Jamish, he contemplated his decision to tell his parents of his new found ability. They had always been supportive and understanding and he was feeling more and more alone.
Yeah, I'll go see them.
He put together his outfit. A gray t-shirt under a salt and pepper colored thermal top, his favorite pair of blue jeans, slim fit with some stretch, in case he decides to try to impress a girl with a deep split. That never happens, but he likes to be prepared. There is obvious wear at the pockets and in areas where there is bending and where he regularly bumps into things. He completes the outfit with black sneakers with a white rubber sole.
Hitting the button on his pod coffee maker, he places his favorite mug, the one from his father with a map of Narnia on the outside. The first set of books he ever finished on his own. Finishing getting ready, he grabs his hooded pea coat, his mug and heads for the door. It is a two hour drive to the house in which he grew up and where his parents still live. One he hadn't made in a year. He missed the holidays last year chasing a girl to hers. It didn't work out and he was so embarrassed he hasn't seen his family since. He and his siblings have exchanged texts, but he never did reach out to his parents to tell them why he was absent.
Deciding to rip the bandage off instead of stewing for two hours, he takes a step back and looks to see if he can see into Jamish's room. Calling out, he hears nothing back. He whispers to himself, “home” and in an instant, he is gone.
Jamish, lying on the couch behind him takes his ear buds out, “Yeah?” When there is no response, again he calls out, “Diiiii-eeeeee-gooooo. WHAT?” When again there is only quiet, “Whatever man. Don't be a dick head.”
Mug in hand, Diego takes a sip and gently raps on the front door. A slight breeze brushes cold air along the base of his neck. The hairs stand on end and his skin is covered in goose bumps. He throws his hood up and quickly shivers. Taking another sip, he moves to the doorbell and does the Diego ring. Three fast rings, three slow rings, three fast rings. He always thought it was funny to message S. O. S in Morse code whenever he could. It was rude and annoying, he knew as much, but thought it was funny nonetheless. He tilts his head, peering into the darkness of the liquid in his mug.
There is a sound of a latch and the door opens.
“Papi. What a surprise!”
Snapping to, looking up from his favorite coffee mug, Oh hey mom, can I come in?
His mother, a beautiful woman in her late 40s, tan smooth skin with slight wrinkles at the eyes and a few laugh lines, brown eyes and dark brown hair to her shoulders with a few gray hairs throughout stands 5'1. She has good posture and looks you straight in the eye. Her hands are dexterous and strong, but her touch his gentle, having spent the last 20 years as an artist creating miniatures for board games and collectors. Her smile is genuine, warm and welcoming. She speaks with a gentle tone, “Come in! Nathaniel Diego Belfort. I have not seen you in almost a year. I haven't heard from you either.” Looking out onto the street, she doesn't see his car. Glancing at the driveway, there is nothing there either. “How did you get here? I don't see your car.”
If you let me in, I will tell you everything.
Smiling, she steps out and gives him a huge hug. Unready for the embrace he loses control of his coffee for a moment and a little splashes her hand as she is reaching up to place her hands on his face. Instinctively, she pulls her hand back and shakes off the burning hot liquid. “That's hot! Ow. How is that so hot?”
I just made it like a minute ago.
“Made it? Where?
At home.
“Did you move into that space across the street and not tell us!?”
What? No, I still live with Jamish like two hours from here.
“Aw, Jamish. How is he? Does he talk to his mother more than once a year?”
He's fine. I guess. Look, are you going to let me in already? Or are we just going to chat out here?
Taken aback, she steps back and tilts her head. With a smirk, she playfully says, “Well, maybe if you come back next year at this time I will let you in.” She giggles to herself and mischievously begins closing the door. She locks the deadbolt and peers through the peep hole.
OK, I guess I'm just going to have to come in. He turns his back to the door and wills himself inside behind her.
She sees him disappear before her eyes and lets out a howl. “Diego!!”
Yes?
“AAAHH!!!! How did you? Where did you? AAAHH! Is this some kind of prank!? CHARLIE!!! Charlie, get over here, now!”
Charles Belfort III, first of his name, but father of three who legally added the suffix after Tomas was born because of all the complications during the pregnancy always wanted to remind himself of his children, even if what the doctors suggested was true and Tomas didn't survive the first week, comes rushing in. He is a tall man. The tallest of his siblings and taller than his three children, he stands at 6'5. Growing fond of sport as a child he has kept in physical shape ever since he was 10. 40 years later, he looks like a man in his 20s with broad shoulders and a wide chest, large biceps and firm forearms. He has big shoulders and thick hands. Never skipping leg day, he has well defined thighs and large calves. His goatee is long enough to brush, but never long enough to braid, Mrs. Belfort sees to that. His gray eyes match his dark gray hair. For looking so youthful, his hair went gray early and had a full head of dark gray hair at 28. “Sophie!? Are you ok? Diego! Oh man, it's so good to see you.” Tears welling up, he lunges forward and takes him in his arms, lifting him off the ground. He holds on tight for a few seconds longer than what Diego would have liked. He doesn't fight it though. It's nice to see his parents. For being an imposing looking individual, Charles is soft spoken and a gentle soul. He transforms into a monster when in competition, however, much to the detriment of those of his friends that find themselves on opposing teams in the recreational leagues he is in. A professional athlete for 15 years, he retired after a hard hit left the other person with a broken back. He decided it was time to get out as he had never been so intimately connected to such a devastating injury and wanted his strength for years to come so he could always play with his children and grandchildren if he were ever so blessed. He puts Diego down, places his hands on his shoulders and stands at an arm's length to give him a once over. He pulls back and wipes the tears forming in his eyes and glances over at Sophia.
“What's the matter, Sophie? Did you shout for me because he was here? You sounded scared.”
“Charlie, are you playing a trick on me? Di, how did you do that? What, are you some kind of magician now?”
No. I just discovered something about myself. I have a question first, am I adopted?
“What? No,” with her hands on her belly, she continues, “you grew in here and I birthed you. And you wont need a DNA test to assure you that he is your father. You have his eyes and nose.”
“Nene, why would you ask?”
I can do something. I discovered it a few weeks ago at the bakeeerrry. Oh my god! The bakery! Well, I guess I'm fired from there. I haven't been back since I figured this out.
“Did you get fired? What happened?”
Actually, no? I just haven't been back. I don't know why, I just never did go back. That's besides the point. Listen, I can do something. Maybe you guys can too and you never told me? Look, I can do this thing where I just think about a place I've been. Well, maybe I can do places I haven't been, but I'm too scared to try. If I have been there and I think about it, I will just be there. Like, um, coffee, you guys have a pot going, right? Here, sit down on this couch. He directs them to a taupe three person couch with cushions so soft they tend to swallow you. Being so tall, his father hates sitting on this couch as it seems to eat him every time he sits.
Skeptical and concerned, his parents share a look and communicate their disbelief and concern, though Sophia is not completely sure she disbelieves him as she swears he was just outside and then was inside behind her.
“‘Beside,’ Papi,” His mother lovingly corrects him and continues, “Obviously we do. You know that.”
Beside what?
“You said ‘besides’, but it’s beside.”
Um, thanks? Anyway, look, my mug is almost empty. I'm going to go fill it up and come back.
Poof. He disappears and finds himself in the kitchen. He grabs the coffee and as he's pouring it he hears his parents muttering things to themselves in disbelief. Where did he go, how did he do that, why are we just learning of this, is that why he's been gone and the like. Once filled, he heads back to the den. Poof.
His parents let out a gasp in unison, as he sits down on the couch opposite them. He places his mug on the coffee table between them and they see it full of coffee.
Shaking, his father stutters out questions, “how long have you been able to do this? Is this a trick? Are you a magician now? Why don't you work at the bakery anymore? Do you have another job? Are you still dating that girl? Susan? Susan, right? Are you OK on rent? Did you come here for money? We can help you, but you have to look for another job.”
His mother sits quietly with her hands on her knees fighting back tears. “How do you do this? When did it start? What is the extent? Does anyone else know?”
With a deep breath in his lungs, he tells them of the first time he jumped, that day in the bakery moments before it opened. How he, while behind the counter, willed himself to the door and pulled it open.
His father, struggling to come to terms with the fantastical story his son is telling, finds comfort in things he understands again asking, “Are you finding another job? Do you need help?”
Dad, I'm fine. I'm not here for money. I mean, I'll take money. All day, every day, but I'm not here for money.
“Then, why are you here? Are you here to freak out your father and me? Because well done. You have succeeded.”
No. I just felt really alone. I was hoping you could tell me if I am the only one. I haven't told Tabi or Tomas. Can they? Can you guys?
“What? No. No. No. That is, No. No one else can do that thing. How far can you go?” His father still at a loss, tries to find something to connect with his son. They had a favorite donut shop when they would visit Portland sometimes when he was young. “Can you get me a Gay Bar Donut from that Voodoo place?”
Ha ha ha, always with the donuts. Yeah, I can get one.
“Now?”
Now? Uh, yea, OK. I'll be right back. With a whisper, Voodoo, he is gone.
His parents stare at the empty couch. Tears begin to stream down their faces fearful of the dangers for their son this type of thing can bring to ones life. In silence, they quietly cry to themselves for a few moments. Charles reaches out and places his hand on Sophia's, she firmly grips it and they share a look of desperation and fear for their son. A moment of lucidity hits and she says, “We have to trust he is a good person and will do good things. We have to trust he is smart enough to never tell anyone about this.”
As she finishes her sentence, he reappears in the room, little pink box in hand. He tosses the bag to his dad.
A loud sigh of relief, in tandem, comes from their lips. Wiping his tears away, Charlie looks up, “Oh my god. I love these. So you can go pretty far then, huh?”
Yeah. I haven't told anyone and as far as I can tell, nobody notices when I show up.
“Good. Your father and I would be horrified if you were careless with this and it lead to something awful. Why don't you come back home for a while. You can go anywhere from here, why not come back here and be with us for a while. Please.”
Thanks, mom, but that's not why I came. I missed you guys. I was feeling alone and I really wanted to share this experience with someone. I'm going to go, but I will be back more frequently, especially since it isn't going to take me two hours to get here.
With a mouth full of raised yeast donut, “Please consider what your mother said. Come here, stay with us. That invitation is open as long as you can do this thing. Personally, I know that I would love to have you here, and not just for donuts. Mostly for donuts.”
They share a brief chuckle. They exchange I love yous and just as quickly as he showed up, he was gone.
“He left the mug I gave him.”
In an instant he was back, grabbed the mug, nodded to his dad and poof, he was gone again.
Back home, he opens the front door, heads to the kitchen, puts in another pod, waits out the 30 seconds it takes to fill his mug and heads to his room. Sitting on his bed, he tilts his head down and stares into coffee. Lost in the darkness of the liquid in his mug, he slowly closes his eyes, bathing in the relief of the weight off his chest.
There is a sound of a latch and the door opens.
“Papi. What a surprise!”
Snapping out of his daydream, he looks up from his favorite coffee mug, Oh, hey mom. Can I come in?