Outview (7 page)

“Nate, what’s going on?”

“I want to know. Please.”

“All right. It was early on a Monday
morning. I think there were only three or four of us here. Your dad came in
from out back and was moving kegs around, then there was a clatter-banging
noise. I ran back to see what happened, and there he was, collapsed on the
ground. A couple of kegs had tumbled down. One was still rolling. Your dad only
lasted another minute or so while I was yelling for someone to call 911.”

“Did he say anything?”

Josh got up from his chair and came closer
to me, leaning on the edge of the desk.

“No, I mean I don’t think he could have. It
was a massive heart attack, and he was gasping a little but was already gone.
I’m sorry. You know it was just awful.”

“Why was he outside? You said just before
it happened he came in from out back.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he was taking some
trash out to the dumpster. I never really thought about it.” Josh walked over
to look at a picture of my parents and him, taken on the opening day of the
restaurant. “We were all so young.”

I got up to look at the photo I’d seen a
million times.

“Was anything strange happening in the
weeks or months before he died?”

“What do you mean?” He studied me.

“I don’t know what I mean, Josh.”

“There was something that always bothered
me. Your dad was pretty edgy one day, so I asked what was wrong, and he told me
that a very close friend had just died. The strange part, though, was that this
old friend was a day away from going public about something and--”

“What was it?” I interrupted.

“He didn’t say, just that the guy was going
to blow the whistle on some huge corruption or cover-up. He mentioned a name.
It was kind of unusual, so I’ve remembered it. ‘Lightyear.’ Anyway, he said his
friend died of a brain aneurism the night before he was to give testimony or be
interviewed by the media or something. You know your dad; he didn’t believe in
coincidences.”

“When was this?”

“About three weeks before your dad died, I
guess.”

“Did you tell my mom?”

“I didn’t see any reason to bother her.”

“Didn’t you find it strange that his friend
died on the eve of blowing the whistle and Dad dies a few weeks later? Maybe
Dad was involved, too.”

“No, come on, don’t turn this into some
cloak-and-dagger thing. Your dad wouldn’t even take part in a poker game. There
was an autopsy; everything was kosher.” He saw my expression of concern. “I did
do an Internet search on the guy’s name, but nothing came up. It was just a
coincidence.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in
coincidences.”

“No, it was your dad that didn’t believe in
them. Just because something is strange doesn’t mean it’s wrong. You know what
I mean?”

I didn’t know what he meant. Something was
wrong.

“Do you remember Dad’s friend’s name?”

“Sure. Lee Duncan.”

“Do me a huge favor? Don’t tell my mom we
talked about all this. It might upset her.”

“Yeah, I’ve got your back. But listen, she’s
been worried, and your dad would want me to be here for you. And I am. Is
everything cool? You’d tell me, right?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Come to me anytime about whatever. I’m not
your mom; I’m your friend. Okay?” He patted my shoulder.

“I know.” I pointed to the monitors. “My
friends are out there. I’m gonna join them.”

Mom was still on the phone. Another wave
and smile; I was back on her good list.

12

Amber, Kyle, and Linh were filling out music
requests for the DJ. The waitress carried them off to a slot in the studio as I
joined them.

“So?” Kyle asked.

“Josh said a few weeks before his death,
Dad was worried about a close friend who was planning to go public or testify
about something big and then died of a brain aneurism the night before.”

“It keeps getting weirder,” Kyle said.
“It’s like a conspiracy.”

“You have no idea,” I said. “You guys are probably
wondering what Amber’s doing here. She can explain it much better.” They both
knew who she was, but we’d never hung out. Amber talked for more than ten
minutes before anyone else spoke. Kyle and Linh had studied enough Buddhism
that they were more open to reincarnation than I was. Our food came, Kyle had a
Tracy Chapman, Linh the Pearl Jam, Amber the Adele, and a David Bowie with
extra cheese for me.

“I call them Outviews because it’s like I
go out of myself and see a view of another person, another place . . . another
time.”

“How many have you had?” Linh asked.

“Hundreds, I don’t know.”

“Are they always awful?”

“Pretty much. I die in each one.”

“It’s like a punishment,” Kyle’s voice
became low, “to have to relive a hundred deaths. Why?” he looked at Amber.

“I’ve been reading nonstop since Nate told
me, and it seems that the most common entry point into a past life is through
its death, a kind of backdoor. But with practice, he can get deeper into the
lifetime. Eventually he could go to any point in a life and not even need to
bother with the end.” Amber’s light strawberry blonde hair fell below her
shoulder, and her cheerleader looks belied her knowledge of the esoteric
subject. “There’s a ton of research and case histories of people doing just
that.”

“That sure would be easier because Kyle’s
right, they do feel like punishment, actually more like torture,” I said. “Maybe
now you’re less likely to think I’m whacked out, so I can tell you everything
else that’s been happening to me.”

“There’s more?” Linh asked.

“I was hoping,” Amber added.

Kyle rubbed his hands together. “It’s a
scandal.”

“Scandal,” I added.

Amber looked confused.

“Don’t mind them Amber, they’re really a
pair of clowns.”

“I always liked the circus,” she grinned.

“Trust me, this one’s not Ringling Brothers;
it’s more like Dingaling Brothers.”

Everyone laughed. Normally I would have
tossed one of my fries at Linh, but I didn’t want to act so juvenile in front
of Amber.

“We’re waiting,” Amber said.

“I remember feeling different from other
kids even before kindergarten. It was as if everyone else knew what to do and
how to fit in except me,” I began.

“I still feel that way,” Linh said.

“But at the same time I used to think that
everyone saw and heard what I did. When I figured out they didn’t, I was around
six or so. That’s when it stopped, or I stopped paying attention, and it went
away.”

“Like what?” Kyle asked, sipping his tea.

“Movement, almost seeing someone in the
trees. Shadows moving independently, lights, hard to describe but like little
points and trails of light in the woods, the grass, shimmering around people
and plants. I don’t remember everything, but I can still recall the feeling. It
was joyous, magical, like discovering where you left a treasure you’d forgotten
about.”

“I can just picture you as this cute little
kid playing among the fairies,” Linh said.

“Then a couple of years ago the premonitions
started. At first I hardly noticed them. A thought would flash into my head for
no reason at all, like Rick Barnes isn’t going to be at school today. Sure
enough, he’d stay home sick. I would always look at the phone three seconds
before it rang. Or knowing which nights Mom would be home late. Recently
though, it’s been bigger stuff and farther in advance. About a month ago, a
picture of an older woman in the hospital came into my head. It was our
neighbor, a crazy artist with about twenty cats. Two weeks ago, an ambulance
picked her up. For a while, they weren’t sure she was going to live, but I knew
she’d be fine because there was an image of her coming home in my head almost a
week before. And I see colors around people and--”

“You see auras?” Amber asked.

Kyle was doodling on a napkin, only his
doodles always looked like they should be framed.

“An aura is your psychic energy body,” Amber
explained. “Edgar Cayce, a famous psychic, called it the weathervane of your
soul. It’s like a halo that surrounds your whole body. Everyone has one, even
nonliving things.”

“They’re in motion and change colors.
Sometimes . . . ” I stopped as the waitress came over, “they’re an inch thick
but they grow and contract so they can be like two feet in places.”

Then I told them about the pops and the
shapeshifting. It was a lot to take in, and for me  too, hearing it all at
once.

“Anything else? Can you read minds? Time
travel?” Kyle demanded, smiling.

“Nothing really useful like that.” I said.

“Give yourself some time, Nate,” Amber
said. “You don’t know what you’re capable of yet. You’re awesome.”

I caught Kyle and Linh exchanging a look;
they didn’t seem convinced.

“It’s not like I’m a comic book superhero. I
just want to know why this is happening to me. Why not you, Kyle, with all your
meditating and quantum physics? Or you, Amber, with your million new age books
and palm reading?”

“I don’t read palms.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You can develop all these abilities into
something so powerful,” Amber said.

“I think he’d be happy to just have the
Outviews stop,” Linh said.

“Why would he want them to stop?” Amber was
shocked.

“They’re not fun!” Kyle shot back.

“Let’s talk about Lee Duncan and
Lightyear,” I said, trying to change the subject.

“It’s exhausting being your friend, Nate.” Kyle
had a strangely amused yet serious look.

Mom stopped by and scooped up the check the
waitress had left. Everyone thanked her. She scoffed. “You kids come as often
as you want. Nate’s friends are always welcome. Besides, we’ve got
out-of-towners who eat here more often than my own son.” She was smiling, but I
still felt the zing. Mom called a server over with a tray of desserts and
wouldn’t take no for an answer. It’d been a long time since I tasted a Vanilla
Waterfall and missed them. Amber and Linh split a Sunrise Cake Sunset, and Kyle
had the Mint Happiness.

Once Mom was safely back in the employee
area, I told them everything Josh said. We explored possible explanations, but
with the timing of Lee Duncan’s unexpected death, his telling my dad secrets
before he also suddenly died along with everyone else in the world with his
name, it was extremely suspicious. Fifty minutes later, we walked out of the
Station very tired and each convinced that my father had probably been
murdered.

13

Just as Josh had said, nothing useful came
up when we searched Lee Duncan, even when adding the word Lightyear. Kyle
suggested I meditate on them, but nothing happened.

“Patience,” he said, more than once.

Maybe I wanted to alleviate my guilt of
being responsible for my dad’s death, but there were too many coincidences.
Obviously, someone killed him and Lee Duncan to silence them. The facts that he
died with people around who apparently didn’t see anything unusual and the
autopsy confirmed cause of death as a massive heart attack made me feel like a
crazy conspiracy theorist. But I was getting used to being crazy, so I decided
to figure out what Lightyear was and learn more about Lee Duncan.

I started meditating four times daily, in
the morning, before bed and two other times whenever it could be worked in.
Amber suggested calling on my guides. She said we all have them, but most
people use the name guardian angels. Some think they are dead friends and
relatives, but Amber thought it was deeper than that. Apparently, entities from
another dimension are able to help us. Amber was hitting me with so much
information that it occurred to me that “New Age Mayes” might be a little nuts
herself, but at this point I didn’t have any other great options. Besides, for
the first time in years, something felt right. Finally, who I was started to
make sense.

Later, while bringing our trashcan in from
the curb, I saw Sam again.  He walked across and asked if I’d read the
reincarnation book. “I skimmed it but haven’t gotten into it yet.”

“I know how much you like history. You may
be surprised to know how many famous people believed in reincarnation. Benjamin
Franklin, Napoleon, Gandhi, General Patton, Thoreau, Socrates, Henry Ford, on
and on.”

“I had no idea.”

“You’re not alone. You’re not crazy. For
some reason you’re able to see something most of us can’t.”

In the middle of the night I woke to
whirling stars and the spinning trees. When had I fallen asleep? When had I
woken? Was I awake? Nothing mattered. I was going again. Amber’s sparkling eyes
shined across times that I did not remember I had forgotten. The Outviews were
a familiar strangeness now, and the distant screams that always accompanied
them had taken on a musical quality. This one was the first time I knew someone
going into it. Where was I going and could I stop? Would I get back? That was
the question that terrified me most: what if I just didn’t come back to this
lifetime?