“That sounds difficult.” Actually, it sounded kind of New-Agey, not something I could ever see myself doing, but I’d committed to this, and I could give it a try.
“It takes practice. I’ll teach you some meditation techniques, but the rest is up to you.” Sydney sat back in her chair. “The other thing I’d like you to do is more difficult. I want you to choose three events from this list you feel are most disturbing. Maybe the ones you remember most often, or the ones that hurt the most—you decide how you want to go about it. Then for each of those events, I want you to write a detailed description of what happened and how you felt at the time. You should be as open as you can—I won’t read these.”
I once more remembered Santiago and said, “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Why not?”
“Isn’t it the opposite of what I want? I’m trying not to remember so vividly.”
Sydney smiled. “The point of this exercise is for you to confront and embrace your memories in a safe way. Writing about, for example, being held at gunpoint might bring up painful memories, but you’re not actually in danger. There’s no one there with a gun to your head. And writing about the feelings you had at the time helps you acknowledge that it’s okay to feel fear or other emotions when something bad happens.”
“Other emotions? Like what?”
Sydney’s smile broadened. “I’d rather not put ideas into your head. Do the exercise, and you’ll discover what emotions you had.”
I glanced at the colorful photos on the wall. “All right.”
Sydney stood and opened a drawer in the desk. She withdrew a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “This is for you to read when you get home. It’s an overview of the mindfulness techniques we’ll discuss today. Remember, this takes practice, and part of meditation is not being critical of yourself when your thoughts wander. Now, close your eyes and feel the air on your skin…”
An hour later, I was on my way home with a lot of new things to think about. Despite my resolve, I’d felt really stupid meditating. My mind wandered frequently, caught up in thoughts of the auguries I had to interpret and what tomorrow might bring at work and a dozen other pressing problems. I hadn’t done any physical labor, but I felt exhausted from jerking my mind back to the present so often. And I dreaded the other part of the assignment: recording the events that had hurt me most. I didn’t want to think about them, and I didn’t see how writing about them would help.
“It just seems so…I don’t know. Pointless?” I told Malcolm as we got ready for bed.
“I’m sure it’s not pointless,” Malcolm said. “Your therapist wouldn’t waste either of your time on something pointless.”
“Okay, wrong word. I guess it’s that I don’t know what the point is. I can’t look at any of what Sydney wants me to do and identify how specifically it will help me. So I feel like I’m flailing around and looking like a fool.”
Malcolm went into the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush. “Maybe you should ask her that question.”
“Maybe I should.” I got my own toothbrush and went to work. Knowing how all these things helped would make a difference in how I approached them. I’d be more enthusiastic, for one.
I spat, rinsed, and put my toothbrush away, then walked to my side of the bed. The notebook lay on my bedside table, taunting me. I sighed and put it away in the drawer. I’d face my demons some other time.
I climbed into bed and snuggled up to Malcolm, who put his arms around me. “This is the kind of therapy I prefer,” I said. “When I’m with you, my memories don’t trouble me.”
“It’s an impractical kind of therapy, unfortunately,” Malcolm murmured. “Given that I can’t follow you around all day.”
“I know. This is enough.” I smiled into the darkness as another memory, a good one, emerged from the back of my mind. “I was thinking the other day of how we met. I would never have guessed, from that day, that we would someday end up here.”
Malcolm chuckled. “I remember. I thought you were cute, but hopelessly out of your depth. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d last a week, let alone three years.”
“I almost didn’t. And I was out of my depth. But I survived.”
“You did.” He held me closer. “And the better I knew you, the more I was attracted to you. Your courage, your perseverance, your sense of humor…and then there was a day when I realized I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”
“I felt the same. Oh, Malcolm, I love you.”
“And I love you.” He kissed me, though it was a kiss that only fell partly on my mouth in the darkness. I shifted and kissed him back, enjoying the feel of his lips against mine. Then I snuggled in closer and let myself drift off into sleep.
“Judy,” I said the next morning, “do you think it’s possible to receive an augury for another person?”
“Sure. That’s what aug. fam. is.”
I shook my head. “I don’t mean ask for an augury on another person’s behalf. I mean get an augury for yourself that’s really meant for someone else.”
Judy paused in her typing. “I’m not sure I follow.”
I tapped the Animorphs book on the desk’s edge. “I studied this all morning before I came to work, and I really feel like the warning isn’t directed at me. More like I’m supposed to warn someone else.”
“A specific someone else?”
“Yes. I think it’s meant for Mr. Wallach.”
Judy held out her hand for the augury and flipped through the pages as if she could read its meaning as easily as skimming it. “Warning against what?”
“Well, there’s really only one thing he’s working on, right? Shifting our reality.” I accepted the book back from her and dropped it into my capacious purse. “But I don’t get it. It’s such a good idea, why would the oracle warn him against pursuing it?”
“It could be the way he’s pursuing it is wrong. Or he’s on the wrong track.”
“But he’s received auguries about it. If the oracle thought he was on the wrong track or something, it wouldn’t give him responses. Not depend on someone else to deliver a warning.”
Judy went back to typing. “Well, if he comes in today, you can ask him.”
I shrugged and left the office.
There weren’t many mail-in auguries that day, but all of them had to do with the current disaster. Most of them asked for predictions about where the invaders would strike next. All of those resulted in the NO AUGURY response. That worried me because it could mean so many things, none of them good. I particularly worried about the possibility that the oracle wouldn’t give an answer because it couldn’t—that the invaders’ tactics were so different it couldn’t predict their movements. I reminded myself that the oracle had told me about the attack on the Bridgerton Node and then remembered it had only done so at the moment of the attack. That was no comfort.
I stood surrounded by red-tinged light, clutching the latest failed augury. “I hope I’m wrong,” I said. “Maybe it’s just that these have to be mailed to their recipients, and the invaders strike so quickly, they’ll have attacked before these people ever get their responses. So it would be a waste of their time and money. It doesn’t have to be that you don’t know.”