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edenfalling"Switch" is a story I started writing several years ago. Originally it was a piece of X-Men fanfiction -- and those influences are still very strong and obvious -- but I went off in a slightly different direction with the causes and results of mutations. (In other words, I decided that most Marvel-style mutations make NO scientific sense whatsoever, so I used magic as a justification instead, combined with the creation and use of nuclear explosions. Also, I toned down the prejudice and discrimination to less hysterical levels.)
This is the story of a girl who discovers that she's a little bit different, and the way she works that difference into the rest of her life.
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Switch: Being the Journal of Annelise Grissom, Age 16
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Dear Cinders,
I fucked up my life again. Okay, yes, I'm being melodramatic. But last night I finally had the nerve to test that crazy theory -- you remember which one -- and I got so caught up I forgot my math, physics, and the German exercises. So I was kind of screwed today. (Yeah, I know I should have done the work right after soccer, before I tested the theory. So I goofed off and read. So what. At least I read Macbeth. One class of four isn't too horrible, and now I don't have to worry about English for a week.)
But I'm dancing around the subject. I tested the theory, and I was right. I am so screwed. What am I going to do?
Okay, Annelise, lighten up! For God's sake, I'm writing to my dead dog, and I can't make myself say anything straight. Okay. For posterity. I thought I might be a freak, a mutant -- touched, not a joker -- and I thought the power might have something to do with electricity, with fritzing circuits. So I sat on the floor and tried to turn off the light with my mind.
It worked.
Cinders, do you have any idea how terrifying that is? To suddenly realize you're an outsider, a freak, a them? Yeah, I've always been an outsider, but that's by inclination. I read weird stuff, I write, I'm smart, and I want to be a minister. That's normal weirdness, for lack of a better term. This power -- being touched, being a freak -- is serious weirdness.
It's like a few years ago when I was worried I might be a lesbian. Not that there's anything wrong with being a lesbian, but it's weird and it's not anything you really think about. This is like waking up and realizing, oh shit, I am a lesbian.
How many mutants are there in America? There are about three hundred million people total, right? And they never get accurate answers on the Census, so who knows how many freaks there really are, but there can't be over a million because the official statistics are a lot lower; I remember that from the minority literature unit in September.
So if one person in 300 is a mutant, which is a generous estimate, there should be three mutants at school, maybe fifty in town. And that's not allowing for population movement; most of the true freaks live in cities, or the Southwest, if Mrs. G is to be believed. I had no reason to think this would happen to me.
Except I always sort of did think it might. Maybe everyone thinks that at some point. Paranoia, empowerment, whatever. It's all shit. (What if I really am a lesbian? How do you know if you're a lesbian if you never have sexual impulses towards anyone, male or female? Things they never tell you in Health, Part 6... Probably it's just that the guys at school are jerks, or immature and better as friends. I keep telling myself that.)
But back to me being a freak in the technical sense. I thought at the light, and something clicked in my head. I switched off the light: circuit broken, snap, just like that. When I stopped concentrating, the light flicked back on. Well, not exactly concentrating. There isn't a word for the trick; it's like having a song in your head, when only part of your mind is tracking it, but that's not right either. (Argh. My descriptive skills suck.) But as I said, the light came back on so I don't think it's anything physical.
On the other hand, I tried to mentally switch the light on after I'd physically turned it off. And that worked too. Again, when I stopped paying attention it went back to normal, i.e. off. No thought, no effect. So I think I have a magical switch, so to speak. I wonder what I could do with that?
But it's a freaky, freaky feeling, to know that you're closing and breaking a circuit with your mind. No, that's not quite right. When you know what's happening, when you're in control, it's not so freaky. Weird, yes; freaky and inexplicable, no. What's freaky is to watch the light blink on and off with no connection to the physical world. A wall switch isn't much, but at least it's visible and you know how the circuit works. A clapper is cooler, but you still know there's a physical circuit in the background. This, on the other hand, is disturbing. I kept wanting to wave my hand to provide a physical illusion of a cause.
Magic has always bothered me. I want the laws of science to be laws. I don't like weird forces that still nobody understands, that seem designed specifically to contradict laws, jumping over them at will. My God is a watchmaker, not a gambler. I don't like being connected to magic. That's fine in books and comics, and maybe physics, but it's awfully creepy in real life.
My hand is killing me and I should catch up on my math anyway.
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
Okay, this is getting disturbing. We were working on peer revision in English. I turned to ask Jess something about her paper, really quietly, and Mrs. G just jumped down my throat. She accused me of disrupting class, being a bad influence, etc. God, I do not know where the woman gets these things. She's a good editor, she appreciates good writing, but why must she be so dense? I'm not disruptive. Rachel, Jared, and Alex are disruptive. They even tried to tell her that they were disruptive, not me.
She told them, "I'll get to you next," and kept talking at me. And I lost my temper. I thought, the human body is controlled by electrical impulses, transmitted by neurons. What if I break those circuits? And I projected that her brain shouldn't connect to her voice anymore, and she stopped talking. For a second or two she kept moving her mouth and pushing air through, whispering but not really, and then she got a funny look on her face and put her hand to her throat.
And I realized what I was doing, and I panicked. I flipped the switch back, let her talk, and just sat there. She coughed and said, "Well. Lost my voice for a second." Then she started in on me again. She didn't make the connection.
Cinders, would you make the connection if you didn't know? You know there are freaks and magicians (my physics teacher is very disturbed by magicians; who wouldn't be?), but you never expect them in front of you. It happens to other people, not that perfectly ordinary girl in your class, with nothing special except an ability to annoy stupid English teachers.
No, if there's a mutant around, it's not Annelise Grissom, oh no. It's people in other states, people in the cities, people in those weird little hick towns in the mountains. Not the suburbs. No, everything's normal here. Ha.
But the point is, I don't know anything about neurons! I thought this should only work if I knew about the circuit, but I guess I was wrong. I know I mess with traffic lights by accident, but I can guess how they work so that more or less makes sense. But there should be lots of neurons doing voice transmission, right? And don't they actually work by shifting ions in and out of cell walls? That has nothing to do with electron flow.
That's not the point, though, just the secondary point. I already knew I was a freak -- who cares how much sense it makes? The point is that I lost control. I grabbed Mrs. G by the throat and there was nothing she could do about it. That is wrong. Utterly, utterly wrong. I cannot believe I did that.
I spent years getting over my temper, and now I can channel my anger and still be logical and rational. The worst I ever, ever do is yell at people. There's a social acceptability circuit I finally built into my mind and gut responses. There's a moral accountability circuit I always had, but I learned to activate it before I did something I'd regret, not afterwards.
Then I get this magic curse, and poof, all out the window. Everybody give a big hand, folks, let's welcome the new, irresponsible, untrustworthy Annelise Grissom! Run for your lives or she'll shut down your brains and turn off your hearts -- you're only electricity when you get right down to it. And she has no self-control at all. Yeah, she'll be ashamed of herself afterwards, but she can't control herself in the heat of the moment.
I am playing with people's lives here and I am so screwed. God, I hate myself.
And what am I going to tell Mom and Dad? I need a hug and I can't get one. I'd have to explain to them and I just can't deal with that right now.
I'm going to go lie down and hug Puff-Bear.
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
I don't think keeping secrets is healthy. It hasn't even been two weeks since I proved that I'm a mutant, and I already have a wound-up, knotted ball of secrets, evasions, self-hatred, anger, fear, and general negativity in my chest. I'm not sure how to unwind it. Also, Jess and Sara and Jake are starting to give me funny looks, and yesterday Mom asked if was I feeling all right, and was there anything I wanted to talk about. I said nothing was wrong; I was thinking about some things and about my future. (Which was true.) Now wasn't the best time to talk since I didn't have things worked out yet, but I was glad to know she was there. She nodded and made one of her "I'll humor you for a while, but we're going to have a serious discussion soon," noises.
By the way, we lost 2-1 to Plainfield so we're out of the state tournament. The refs kept making biased calls against us. If they'd called half of the things the other team did, we would have won. And there's no way Molly was offside on our second goal! It was ours, damnit. Oh well. Next year. On the plus side, I didn't give either ref a cardiac arrest! Ah, black humor, you have to love it. Now if I could just find somewhere to scream for fifteen minutes, a way to cry for an hour, or something to beat the shit out of, I think I'd be okay.
Cinders, I have a question. I have a power, which means God gave it to me. So what's the reason for it? Why did God stuff magic into the world, but hide it until some idiots decided atomic bombs were neat toys? Why did God make some people susceptible to wild magic? Why did God make other people such fearful, small-minded bigots? For that matter, why make some people gay, and some people different colors, and some people smarter than others, and and and? What I'm really trying to say is: why me? Why give any power, particularly this power, to me?
This is so much simpler in adventure stories. You get weird powers or magical objects, you decide to be a hero or a villain, and you run around trying to kill people and take over the world or stop other people from doing that. As a hero, you have fantastic information networks and a life filled with astonishing coincidences in your efforts to keep people safe. Which is, of course, your goal in life, way above having a life of your own. "With great power comes great responsibility," and all that.
I don't see true villains in real life. Thieves, yes. Hitmen, yes. Terrorists, yes. Bigots and creeping apathy, yes. Megalomaniacs running around threatening to take over the world, no. And they sure as hell don't operate here. Well, the Mafia does, but I have so little connection to that part of Jersey it's laughable. It took a whole month before I heard they closed the Main Street Bistro for drug running.
I am not hero material. I have no skills, no desire, and no motivation. I am, ultimately, a lazy, selfish person -- high moral standards and desire to be a minister notwithstanding. Yeah, I work at the soup kitchen every Saturday, but that's a once a week thing. Yeah, I teach Sunday School and I tutor Mike and Sonja, but those are people things, normal things. I have a life. I don't think heroism -- throwing myself into danger without thinking of my own life -- is something I could do.
God gave me this ability -- gift, curse, whatever -- so there must be a reason. But it seems like the ability to play the piano with your toes. It's interesting but it has nothing to do with who you are. I'm Annelise, female, Caucasian, sixteen, a writer, a dreamer, a potential minister or teacher, a speculative literature junkie (and bad sci-fi, schlock fantasy, and escapist comics), and so on. Being able to close and break circuits has nothing to do with me. If I'd been able to do that since I was six it might be part of me, but it isn't now.
There is literally nothing I can think of to do with this power, except protect myself if some wacko tries to rape or mug me. I could be an uncatchable thief, a bodyguard, or maybe a member of a bomb squad, but those things are not me. They have nothing to do with my goals and desires. But I feel like I ought to go into law enforcement because I could probably save lives that way. It's as if God reached down and said, "Annelise, forget what you thought I wanted you to do. Forget everything about who you've become over the formative years of your life. I'm giving you a new gift, which will define the rest of your life. Don't fight it, Annelise; it is your destiny."
God can be a real stinker sometimes.
Um. Sorry.
But God gave us free will, so I have the power to refuse this destiny. I think I will. I am proud enough to think I can do more good by being who I think I ought to be instead of doing something I hate in order to serve a gift I don't want. If I'm wrong, I take full responsibility for the pain and death I'll indirectly cause, though I'll probably never know about most of it.
I'll feel guilty as hell anyway. I'm good at that.
I'm going to find Dad's sledgehammer and smash it into the ground several times in a row. I think that will make me feel better.
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
I've been thinking. I'm very lucky as these things go. I could have grown an extra set of arms, or scales, or giant ears. Instead I got a power that doesn't show at all. I'm touched, not a joker. If God has a weird sense of humor, at least I got off relatively easy. Then again, think of all the people who didn't get off easy. And think of the people who get off truly easy: white, male, rich people born in the West. What's so special about them?
I am more and more fed up with religion. I do believe in God, but it gets hard. Dad can keep his Methodism; Mom corrupted me. But I still want to be a minister, damnit. I need a new church. Is there a church that lets you be as confused as I am and lets you talk about it? I stopped believing in Jesus a long time ago, strictly speaking, but I still believe in God. More or less. I'm not sure quite what I mean by God, though.
I have not lashed out since I stole Mrs. G's voice. I tried talking to Ms. Solecki (my physics teacher) about electricity, but she says we'll get to that in the spring. Meanwhile, I should concentrate on friction because my homework has been slipping. I hate friction. It's worse than vertical circles. I would ask Dad about electricity, but he might suspect something, he'd tell Mom, and then it would all be out. Not that they'd disown me, but I don't want to deal with that situation.
But I've been thinking. I want to be a minister. I always have. I want to talk to people about God, religion, faith, and forgiveness. I want to comfort people in need, marry people, even bury them. I want to write and preach, and be there for people when they need me. I want to tell local politicians and teachers about goodness and morals, and have them listen.
That's what I want to do. I don't want to save people's bodies. I want to save people's souls. What good does it do to protect someone from physical death if he or she turns to evil, or is unloved, or is poor and alone? I keep feeling I ought to save people's bodies with this power and let someone else take care of their souls, but I have a gift for talking to people and for listening. I can't save bodies and souls; there aren't enough hours in the day.
God, what do you want me to do? Why give me the gift and desire for ministry, and then shove me toward saving bodies? I realize that's a noble calling too but it's not my calling. So why me?
God, please help me.
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
I thought some more and I had a new idea. What if God gave me this power as a test of my faith? If I can't stand firm in my desire to be a minister (or a teacher if I can't find a church) in the face of this challenge, then how could I help people through their own troubles? That makes sense, right?
I told Mom and Dad yesterday. Dad was... I think upset is the best word. He tries so hard to be fair but magic disturbs him as much as it bothers me. Maybe more. Mom hugged me and said it would all work out, and did I want her to find any books about how to deal with this sort of thing? I said yeah, so she'll probably bring me things with titles like "Discovering Your New Self," "Still Human," and maybe even "This Isn't Me: Denial Among Teenage Mutants." I don't want anyone to tell me this is normal. I want it to go away.
I wonder if Jesus ever felt like this? Did he want to be the Son of God? Did he have a choice? If he really did everything the Bible says, maybe he was only a mutant. There's always been magic in the world, and it's bound to have touched some people through the centuries. I like to think we're all children of God. Maybe that's what he meant when he said God was his father -- except in John, but John is so irritating. I like Mark much better. Matthew is balanced but cold, and Luke is warm but muddled. Mark is clear, and he makes Jesus human. Which is kind of the point of Jesus, that God became human, with all the frailties and limitations that implies. I still dunno if I believe the whole thing, but it's a grand inspiration.
Tomorrow I think I'll try telling Jess. And then Sara and Jake, of course, but I have to tell Jess first. She won't flip out, I know she won't -- well, not in a bad way -- but I still don't want to talk about being, well, different.
It's like when I got my period, actually. I knew there was nothing wrong with menstruation, and that all the other girls had to deal with the same bloody, aching mess, but I still panicked if someone else came into the school bathrooms while I was changing a pad. Because then they would hear the crinkling, and they would know.
I don't like people knowing things about me, not private things. Not things that really matter to me. Which is weird, I suppose, because I like knowing about other people so I can help them or just offer a shoulder and an ear, but I feel that I'm supposed to be there for other people to lean on, not to collapse myself. (I blame Mom for that, by the way. Stupid German do-it-yourself attitude.)
Anyway, I'm taking this as a sort of test. Accepting that I'm touched is the first step. Telling people is the second. And third, well, that's deciding what to do about it. I think I'll probably fail -- I'm more convinced than ever that God, at the very least, has a really nasty sense of humor -- but whatever I choose to do will be my choice.
And I think God will be okay with that. He gave us free will after all, and even after we keep screwing up, he still loves us and lets the world keep going.
God's a stinker, but he's not a bad person. I think.
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
I told Jess about being a mutant. She thinks it's cool. I told her about how I felt like God was testing me, and she said that's why she's glad she decided to be a pagan. Her gods are just fine with magic, and they're not all-encompassing, so she doesn't have to worry about so many moral and theological issues. She also said she knew there was a reason street lights always used to blink out as I walked under them.
It's cool that she doesn't really care that I'm touched, but I wish she'd be more serious about my questions. Jess said that she went through her crisis of faith last year, when she realized that she didn't have anything to believe in and wanted some sort of touchstone. So she researched all sorts of religions and then made her own.
I don't get that, Cinders. I really don't. I mean, how can you believe in a god that you created? How can you seriously believe in something that's like the imaginary spirits Jess and I used to dream up for our fantasy quests through the woods behind my house? Usually it's fun to argue about stuff like this with Jess, but this past month I just haven't been in the mood. Before it was kind of academic -- it's not like I was trying to save her soul or anything, since I'm pretty sure God gives credit to people for being good even if they don't believe -- but now... well, now I really care about the answers.
Jess says that if I want to know what God wants me to do, I should pray. Or if I don't want to pray, I should pretend that instead of being touched, I suddenly found out that I was a really amazing painter, or I was in a car accident and wound up in a wheelchair. If those things wouldn't change my plans, why should a magic talent?
That actually makes a lot of sense.
I guess maybe it's good that Jess doesn't always take me seriously. (Even if it is annoying.)
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
It's been a while, hasn't it? I guess I stopped writing because I wasn't so worried anymore, but I should probably tell how everything worked out.
I told Sara and Jake. They were a little freaked out -- I guess nobody expects their friends to be mutants -- but they swear it doesn't really make a difference, although Sara said that if I move to the Southwest and take up with one of those militant mutant separatist groups, she'll have to disown me.
Honestly, I'd disown me if I did anything that stupid. I'm American. I'm not going to try to recreate segregation, or to secede from the country. And I'm not more or less than human; I'm just a person. We're all children of God, and none of us is better than any other person.
Jake wanted to know if using my mental switch to run lights, instead of flipping the physical circuit, still drew power from the network, or if I was just recycling electrons in the local circuit. In other words, could I create free electricity and lower my family's bills. I told him to shut up, because first, I don't know, second, I don't care, and third, even if I could get free power, I wouldn't, because that's cheating. (Then he called me a stick-in-the-mud. Argh. Jake's a great guy, but he can be so incredibly annoying.)
Dad's still kind of freaked out by the concept of magic affecting electricity, but now he's starting to have weird theories about how researchers might have subconsciously used magic to affect some physics experiments and create irreproducible results. He's been going on and on about the way experimental apparatuses are always finicky when they're first created, but after people get used to them and what they do, they tend to produce better results and break down less. He thinks maybe their expectations cause magic to affect the machines.
I think he's nuts, but he says he can get a good paper out of this, and he'd never have thought of it without me. He says he'll be sure to credit me for the idea.
I'm just glad he still hugs me -- I knew he'd always love me, but I was afraid he might be uncomfortable showing it once he knew I was a mutant.
Mom keeps bringing me books and sitting on my bed to have "talks." I love her, but it's getting really annoying. I already know she still loves me. I already know that if people find out I'm touched, I'll face prejudice -- it's illegal to discriminate against mutants, but that doesn't stop people from being scared and angry. I already know that I could pass if I wanted to. I'm passing now, but I think once I graduate and go to college, I'll stop hiding. Oh, I'm not going to go around wearing a nametag that says, "Hi, I'm Annelise and I'm a mutant" (for one thing, I really hate nametags) but if someone asks, I won't deny anything.
I'm going to be a minister. I can't help people deal with their problems if I can't deal with my own in an honest, responsible way. So yeah, I'm a mutant. I can close and break electrical circuits with my mind. But that doesn't define me, and I'm not going to let it limit my life.
God's testing me, and you know what, Cinders? So far, I think I'm doing pretty well.
Later,
Annelise
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End of Story
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I wrote another 500 words of "Locked-Room Problems," the Giles/Indy story, and planned out the next fight in "Apartment Manager." But as I was flicking through some files this morning, it suddenly occured to me that I knew how to finish "Switch." So I did.
I'll get back to real fanfiction this evening.
(And seriously, doesn't that sound weird? "Real fanfiction." Oh, whatever. *wanders off to surf the web*)
This is the story of a girl who discovers that she's a little bit different, and the way she works that difference into the rest of her life.
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Switch: Being the Journal of Annelise Grissom, Age 16
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Dear Cinders,
I fucked up my life again. Okay, yes, I'm being melodramatic. But last night I finally had the nerve to test that crazy theory -- you remember which one -- and I got so caught up I forgot my math, physics, and the German exercises. So I was kind of screwed today. (Yeah, I know I should have done the work right after soccer, before I tested the theory. So I goofed off and read. So what. At least I read Macbeth. One class of four isn't too horrible, and now I don't have to worry about English for a week.)
But I'm dancing around the subject. I tested the theory, and I was right. I am so screwed. What am I going to do?
Okay, Annelise, lighten up! For God's sake, I'm writing to my dead dog, and I can't make myself say anything straight. Okay. For posterity. I thought I might be a freak, a mutant -- touched, not a joker -- and I thought the power might have something to do with electricity, with fritzing circuits. So I sat on the floor and tried to turn off the light with my mind.
It worked.
Cinders, do you have any idea how terrifying that is? To suddenly realize you're an outsider, a freak, a them? Yeah, I've always been an outsider, but that's by inclination. I read weird stuff, I write, I'm smart, and I want to be a minister. That's normal weirdness, for lack of a better term. This power -- being touched, being a freak -- is serious weirdness.
It's like a few years ago when I was worried I might be a lesbian. Not that there's anything wrong with being a lesbian, but it's weird and it's not anything you really think about. This is like waking up and realizing, oh shit, I am a lesbian.
How many mutants are there in America? There are about three hundred million people total, right? And they never get accurate answers on the Census, so who knows how many freaks there really are, but there can't be over a million because the official statistics are a lot lower; I remember that from the minority literature unit in September.
So if one person in 300 is a mutant, which is a generous estimate, there should be three mutants at school, maybe fifty in town. And that's not allowing for population movement; most of the true freaks live in cities, or the Southwest, if Mrs. G is to be believed. I had no reason to think this would happen to me.
Except I always sort of did think it might. Maybe everyone thinks that at some point. Paranoia, empowerment, whatever. It's all shit. (What if I really am a lesbian? How do you know if you're a lesbian if you never have sexual impulses towards anyone, male or female? Things they never tell you in Health, Part 6... Probably it's just that the guys at school are jerks, or immature and better as friends. I keep telling myself that.)
But back to me being a freak in the technical sense. I thought at the light, and something clicked in my head. I switched off the light: circuit broken, snap, just like that. When I stopped concentrating, the light flicked back on. Well, not exactly concentrating. There isn't a word for the trick; it's like having a song in your head, when only part of your mind is tracking it, but that's not right either. (Argh. My descriptive skills suck.) But as I said, the light came back on so I don't think it's anything physical.
On the other hand, I tried to mentally switch the light on after I'd physically turned it off. And that worked too. Again, when I stopped paying attention it went back to normal, i.e. off. No thought, no effect. So I think I have a magical switch, so to speak. I wonder what I could do with that?
But it's a freaky, freaky feeling, to know that you're closing and breaking a circuit with your mind. No, that's not quite right. When you know what's happening, when you're in control, it's not so freaky. Weird, yes; freaky and inexplicable, no. What's freaky is to watch the light blink on and off with no connection to the physical world. A wall switch isn't much, but at least it's visible and you know how the circuit works. A clapper is cooler, but you still know there's a physical circuit in the background. This, on the other hand, is disturbing. I kept wanting to wave my hand to provide a physical illusion of a cause.
Magic has always bothered me. I want the laws of science to be laws. I don't like weird forces that still nobody understands, that seem designed specifically to contradict laws, jumping over them at will. My God is a watchmaker, not a gambler. I don't like being connected to magic. That's fine in books and comics, and maybe physics, but it's awfully creepy in real life.
My hand is killing me and I should catch up on my math anyway.
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
Okay, this is getting disturbing. We were working on peer revision in English. I turned to ask Jess something about her paper, really quietly, and Mrs. G just jumped down my throat. She accused me of disrupting class, being a bad influence, etc. God, I do not know where the woman gets these things. She's a good editor, she appreciates good writing, but why must she be so dense? I'm not disruptive. Rachel, Jared, and Alex are disruptive. They even tried to tell her that they were disruptive, not me.
She told them, "I'll get to you next," and kept talking at me. And I lost my temper. I thought, the human body is controlled by electrical impulses, transmitted by neurons. What if I break those circuits? And I projected that her brain shouldn't connect to her voice anymore, and she stopped talking. For a second or two she kept moving her mouth and pushing air through, whispering but not really, and then she got a funny look on her face and put her hand to her throat.
And I realized what I was doing, and I panicked. I flipped the switch back, let her talk, and just sat there. She coughed and said, "Well. Lost my voice for a second." Then she started in on me again. She didn't make the connection.
Cinders, would you make the connection if you didn't know? You know there are freaks and magicians (my physics teacher is very disturbed by magicians; who wouldn't be?), but you never expect them in front of you. It happens to other people, not that perfectly ordinary girl in your class, with nothing special except an ability to annoy stupid English teachers.
No, if there's a mutant around, it's not Annelise Grissom, oh no. It's people in other states, people in the cities, people in those weird little hick towns in the mountains. Not the suburbs. No, everything's normal here. Ha.
But the point is, I don't know anything about neurons! I thought this should only work if I knew about the circuit, but I guess I was wrong. I know I mess with traffic lights by accident, but I can guess how they work so that more or less makes sense. But there should be lots of neurons doing voice transmission, right? And don't they actually work by shifting ions in and out of cell walls? That has nothing to do with electron flow.
That's not the point, though, just the secondary point. I already knew I was a freak -- who cares how much sense it makes? The point is that I lost control. I grabbed Mrs. G by the throat and there was nothing she could do about it. That is wrong. Utterly, utterly wrong. I cannot believe I did that.
I spent years getting over my temper, and now I can channel my anger and still be logical and rational. The worst I ever, ever do is yell at people. There's a social acceptability circuit I finally built into my mind and gut responses. There's a moral accountability circuit I always had, but I learned to activate it before I did something I'd regret, not afterwards.
Then I get this magic curse, and poof, all out the window. Everybody give a big hand, folks, let's welcome the new, irresponsible, untrustworthy Annelise Grissom! Run for your lives or she'll shut down your brains and turn off your hearts -- you're only electricity when you get right down to it. And she has no self-control at all. Yeah, she'll be ashamed of herself afterwards, but she can't control herself in the heat of the moment.
I am playing with people's lives here and I am so screwed. God, I hate myself.
And what am I going to tell Mom and Dad? I need a hug and I can't get one. I'd have to explain to them and I just can't deal with that right now.
I'm going to go lie down and hug Puff-Bear.
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
I don't think keeping secrets is healthy. It hasn't even been two weeks since I proved that I'm a mutant, and I already have a wound-up, knotted ball of secrets, evasions, self-hatred, anger, fear, and general negativity in my chest. I'm not sure how to unwind it. Also, Jess and Sara and Jake are starting to give me funny looks, and yesterday Mom asked if was I feeling all right, and was there anything I wanted to talk about. I said nothing was wrong; I was thinking about some things and about my future. (Which was true.) Now wasn't the best time to talk since I didn't have things worked out yet, but I was glad to know she was there. She nodded and made one of her "I'll humor you for a while, but we're going to have a serious discussion soon," noises.
By the way, we lost 2-1 to Plainfield so we're out of the state tournament. The refs kept making biased calls against us. If they'd called half of the things the other team did, we would have won. And there's no way Molly was offside on our second goal! It was ours, damnit. Oh well. Next year. On the plus side, I didn't give either ref a cardiac arrest! Ah, black humor, you have to love it. Now if I could just find somewhere to scream for fifteen minutes, a way to cry for an hour, or something to beat the shit out of, I think I'd be okay.
Cinders, I have a question. I have a power, which means God gave it to me. So what's the reason for it? Why did God stuff magic into the world, but hide it until some idiots decided atomic bombs were neat toys? Why did God make some people susceptible to wild magic? Why did God make other people such fearful, small-minded bigots? For that matter, why make some people gay, and some people different colors, and some people smarter than others, and and and? What I'm really trying to say is: why me? Why give any power, particularly this power, to me?
This is so much simpler in adventure stories. You get weird powers or magical objects, you decide to be a hero or a villain, and you run around trying to kill people and take over the world or stop other people from doing that. As a hero, you have fantastic information networks and a life filled with astonishing coincidences in your efforts to keep people safe. Which is, of course, your goal in life, way above having a life of your own. "With great power comes great responsibility," and all that.
I don't see true villains in real life. Thieves, yes. Hitmen, yes. Terrorists, yes. Bigots and creeping apathy, yes. Megalomaniacs running around threatening to take over the world, no. And they sure as hell don't operate here. Well, the Mafia does, but I have so little connection to that part of Jersey it's laughable. It took a whole month before I heard they closed the Main Street Bistro for drug running.
I am not hero material. I have no skills, no desire, and no motivation. I am, ultimately, a lazy, selfish person -- high moral standards and desire to be a minister notwithstanding. Yeah, I work at the soup kitchen every Saturday, but that's a once a week thing. Yeah, I teach Sunday School and I tutor Mike and Sonja, but those are people things, normal things. I have a life. I don't think heroism -- throwing myself into danger without thinking of my own life -- is something I could do.
God gave me this ability -- gift, curse, whatever -- so there must be a reason. But it seems like the ability to play the piano with your toes. It's interesting but it has nothing to do with who you are. I'm Annelise, female, Caucasian, sixteen, a writer, a dreamer, a potential minister or teacher, a speculative literature junkie (and bad sci-fi, schlock fantasy, and escapist comics), and so on. Being able to close and break circuits has nothing to do with me. If I'd been able to do that since I was six it might be part of me, but it isn't now.
There is literally nothing I can think of to do with this power, except protect myself if some wacko tries to rape or mug me. I could be an uncatchable thief, a bodyguard, or maybe a member of a bomb squad, but those things are not me. They have nothing to do with my goals and desires. But I feel like I ought to go into law enforcement because I could probably save lives that way. It's as if God reached down and said, "Annelise, forget what you thought I wanted you to do. Forget everything about who you've become over the formative years of your life. I'm giving you a new gift, which will define the rest of your life. Don't fight it, Annelise; it is your destiny."
God can be a real stinker sometimes.
Um. Sorry.
But God gave us free will, so I have the power to refuse this destiny. I think I will. I am proud enough to think I can do more good by being who I think I ought to be instead of doing something I hate in order to serve a gift I don't want. If I'm wrong, I take full responsibility for the pain and death I'll indirectly cause, though I'll probably never know about most of it.
I'll feel guilty as hell anyway. I'm good at that.
I'm going to find Dad's sledgehammer and smash it into the ground several times in a row. I think that will make me feel better.
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
I've been thinking. I'm very lucky as these things go. I could have grown an extra set of arms, or scales, or giant ears. Instead I got a power that doesn't show at all. I'm touched, not a joker. If God has a weird sense of humor, at least I got off relatively easy. Then again, think of all the people who didn't get off easy. And think of the people who get off truly easy: white, male, rich people born in the West. What's so special about them?
I am more and more fed up with religion. I do believe in God, but it gets hard. Dad can keep his Methodism; Mom corrupted me. But I still want to be a minister, damnit. I need a new church. Is there a church that lets you be as confused as I am and lets you talk about it? I stopped believing in Jesus a long time ago, strictly speaking, but I still believe in God. More or less. I'm not sure quite what I mean by God, though.
I have not lashed out since I stole Mrs. G's voice. I tried talking to Ms. Solecki (my physics teacher) about electricity, but she says we'll get to that in the spring. Meanwhile, I should concentrate on friction because my homework has been slipping. I hate friction. It's worse than vertical circles. I would ask Dad about electricity, but he might suspect something, he'd tell Mom, and then it would all be out. Not that they'd disown me, but I don't want to deal with that situation.
But I've been thinking. I want to be a minister. I always have. I want to talk to people about God, religion, faith, and forgiveness. I want to comfort people in need, marry people, even bury them. I want to write and preach, and be there for people when they need me. I want to tell local politicians and teachers about goodness and morals, and have them listen.
That's what I want to do. I don't want to save people's bodies. I want to save people's souls. What good does it do to protect someone from physical death if he or she turns to evil, or is unloved, or is poor and alone? I keep feeling I ought to save people's bodies with this power and let someone else take care of their souls, but I have a gift for talking to people and for listening. I can't save bodies and souls; there aren't enough hours in the day.
God, what do you want me to do? Why give me the gift and desire for ministry, and then shove me toward saving bodies? I realize that's a noble calling too but it's not my calling. So why me?
God, please help me.
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
I thought some more and I had a new idea. What if God gave me this power as a test of my faith? If I can't stand firm in my desire to be a minister (or a teacher if I can't find a church) in the face of this challenge, then how could I help people through their own troubles? That makes sense, right?
I told Mom and Dad yesterday. Dad was... I think upset is the best word. He tries so hard to be fair but magic disturbs him as much as it bothers me. Maybe more. Mom hugged me and said it would all work out, and did I want her to find any books about how to deal with this sort of thing? I said yeah, so she'll probably bring me things with titles like "Discovering Your New Self," "Still Human," and maybe even "This Isn't Me: Denial Among Teenage Mutants." I don't want anyone to tell me this is normal. I want it to go away.
I wonder if Jesus ever felt like this? Did he want to be the Son of God? Did he have a choice? If he really did everything the Bible says, maybe he was only a mutant. There's always been magic in the world, and it's bound to have touched some people through the centuries. I like to think we're all children of God. Maybe that's what he meant when he said God was his father -- except in John, but John is so irritating. I like Mark much better. Matthew is balanced but cold, and Luke is warm but muddled. Mark is clear, and he makes Jesus human. Which is kind of the point of Jesus, that God became human, with all the frailties and limitations that implies. I still dunno if I believe the whole thing, but it's a grand inspiration.
Tomorrow I think I'll try telling Jess. And then Sara and Jake, of course, but I have to tell Jess first. She won't flip out, I know she won't -- well, not in a bad way -- but I still don't want to talk about being, well, different.
It's like when I got my period, actually. I knew there was nothing wrong with menstruation, and that all the other girls had to deal with the same bloody, aching mess, but I still panicked if someone else came into the school bathrooms while I was changing a pad. Because then they would hear the crinkling, and they would know.
I don't like people knowing things about me, not private things. Not things that really matter to me. Which is weird, I suppose, because I like knowing about other people so I can help them or just offer a shoulder and an ear, but I feel that I'm supposed to be there for other people to lean on, not to collapse myself. (I blame Mom for that, by the way. Stupid German do-it-yourself attitude.)
Anyway, I'm taking this as a sort of test. Accepting that I'm touched is the first step. Telling people is the second. And third, well, that's deciding what to do about it. I think I'll probably fail -- I'm more convinced than ever that God, at the very least, has a really nasty sense of humor -- but whatever I choose to do will be my choice.
And I think God will be okay with that. He gave us free will after all, and even after we keep screwing up, he still loves us and lets the world keep going.
God's a stinker, but he's not a bad person. I think.
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
I told Jess about being a mutant. She thinks it's cool. I told her about how I felt like God was testing me, and she said that's why she's glad she decided to be a pagan. Her gods are just fine with magic, and they're not all-encompassing, so she doesn't have to worry about so many moral and theological issues. She also said she knew there was a reason street lights always used to blink out as I walked under them.
It's cool that she doesn't really care that I'm touched, but I wish she'd be more serious about my questions. Jess said that she went through her crisis of faith last year, when she realized that she didn't have anything to believe in and wanted some sort of touchstone. So she researched all sorts of religions and then made her own.
I don't get that, Cinders. I really don't. I mean, how can you believe in a god that you created? How can you seriously believe in something that's like the imaginary spirits Jess and I used to dream up for our fantasy quests through the woods behind my house? Usually it's fun to argue about stuff like this with Jess, but this past month I just haven't been in the mood. Before it was kind of academic -- it's not like I was trying to save her soul or anything, since I'm pretty sure God gives credit to people for being good even if they don't believe -- but now... well, now I really care about the answers.
Jess says that if I want to know what God wants me to do, I should pray. Or if I don't want to pray, I should pretend that instead of being touched, I suddenly found out that I was a really amazing painter, or I was in a car accident and wound up in a wheelchair. If those things wouldn't change my plans, why should a magic talent?
That actually makes a lot of sense.
I guess maybe it's good that Jess doesn't always take me seriously. (Even if it is annoying.)
Later,
Annelise
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Dear Cinders,
It's been a while, hasn't it? I guess I stopped writing because I wasn't so worried anymore, but I should probably tell how everything worked out.
I told Sara and Jake. They were a little freaked out -- I guess nobody expects their friends to be mutants -- but they swear it doesn't really make a difference, although Sara said that if I move to the Southwest and take up with one of those militant mutant separatist groups, she'll have to disown me.
Honestly, I'd disown me if I did anything that stupid. I'm American. I'm not going to try to recreate segregation, or to secede from the country. And I'm not more or less than human; I'm just a person. We're all children of God, and none of us is better than any other person.
Jake wanted to know if using my mental switch to run lights, instead of flipping the physical circuit, still drew power from the network, or if I was just recycling electrons in the local circuit. In other words, could I create free electricity and lower my family's bills. I told him to shut up, because first, I don't know, second, I don't care, and third, even if I could get free power, I wouldn't, because that's cheating. (Then he called me a stick-in-the-mud. Argh. Jake's a great guy, but he can be so incredibly annoying.)
Dad's still kind of freaked out by the concept of magic affecting electricity, but now he's starting to have weird theories about how researchers might have subconsciously used magic to affect some physics experiments and create irreproducible results. He's been going on and on about the way experimental apparatuses are always finicky when they're first created, but after people get used to them and what they do, they tend to produce better results and break down less. He thinks maybe their expectations cause magic to affect the machines.
I think he's nuts, but he says he can get a good paper out of this, and he'd never have thought of it without me. He says he'll be sure to credit me for the idea.
I'm just glad he still hugs me -- I knew he'd always love me, but I was afraid he might be uncomfortable showing it once he knew I was a mutant.
Mom keeps bringing me books and sitting on my bed to have "talks." I love her, but it's getting really annoying. I already know she still loves me. I already know that if people find out I'm touched, I'll face prejudice -- it's illegal to discriminate against mutants, but that doesn't stop people from being scared and angry. I already know that I could pass if I wanted to. I'm passing now, but I think once I graduate and go to college, I'll stop hiding. Oh, I'm not going to go around wearing a nametag that says, "Hi, I'm Annelise and I'm a mutant" (for one thing, I really hate nametags) but if someone asks, I won't deny anything.
I'm going to be a minister. I can't help people deal with their problems if I can't deal with my own in an honest, responsible way. So yeah, I'm a mutant. I can close and break electrical circuits with my mind. But that doesn't define me, and I'm not going to let it limit my life.
God's testing me, and you know what, Cinders? So far, I think I'm doing pretty well.
Later,
Annelise
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End of Story
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I wrote another 500 words of "Locked-Room Problems," the Giles/Indy story, and planned out the next fight in "Apartment Manager." But as I was flicking through some files this morning, it suddenly occured to me that I knew how to finish "Switch." So I did.
I'll get back to real fanfiction this evening.
(And seriously, doesn't that sound weird? "Real fanfiction." Oh, whatever. *wanders off to surf the web*)
