The Lights In the Sky

Chapter 15

The first time I went to see Susan Norton, I wasn't too impressed. She let my mom bully her the way my mom tried to bully everybody. There were a number of people who were submissive to my mom, and I could add Susan to that list. Not me, though. Never me.

The second time, I went to her office alone. It was that next Monday. A school day. They must have thought things were pretty serious, because they let me miss an entire class period to talk with her. I went back to that same weird office and sat in one of those comfortable chairs.

The first thing she did was apologize for our first session. She told me that she was, in fact, caught off guard by my mother's strong presence. Those were her words. She was always saying stuff like that. After her apology, she told me that she really was there to help me. To talk about anything I wanted. She could guide the conversations or I could. Whatever worked for me.

When I didn't say anything, Susan took it as a cue to speak.

"How long has it been since you slept?" she asked.

I rubbed my face, which was now covered in stubble.

"I slept a little bit this weekend," I said. "Took a couple naps. Maybe three or four hours each day. Not much before that, though. Maybe six hours in a week."

"What have you been doing that's so much more important than sleep?"

I shrugged. "Sometimes I look out at the sky. At night, you know. I know it isn't sleep, but I get caught up in it all. Mesmerized, kind of. I lose track of time."

"So you just sit there?" she asked. "Not doing anything."

I looked down at my shoes. That's a sure sign of lying, so maybe I wanted to be caught. Not caught, exactly. Maybe I wanted someone to listen to me. Someone who had to listen.

"If I tell you something, you have to keep it between us, right? You won't tell people that I'm crazy?"

Susan sat back in her chair.

"As long as you aren't planning on hurting yourself or others," she said. "I'm required to report that."

"It's not like that," I said. It was the truth, too. In that moment. I didn't know how things would turn out.

"I have these dreams," I said, "about being taken up in the sky while I'm asleep. And these things stand over me and do things to me. But they aren't like aliens, not the way you think of them being small with giant heads or whatever."

I trailed off, unsure where to go next.

"And you're afraid to sleep?" Susan asked. "Because of the dreams?"

I shook my head. "No," I told her. "That's not it. I don't think they're dreams."

She eyeballed her notebook and pulled it closer to her.

"You think these things are actually happening?" she asked.

I nodded.

"That you're being taken out of your bed at night?"

I nodded.

"That these things are real?"

I nodded. Slower, that time.

"This is the dream your sister described to her teacher?"

"Yes."

"You had it, too? All of you?"

"Yes. I've been researching. None of it fits."

"What exactly have you been researching?" she asked.

"People who have been through the same stuff. Antonio Villas-Boas. Betty and Barney Hill. Astronauts and Air Force pilots. Presidents. Little kids. Anything I can find."

"But it's not exactly the same?" she asked.

"None of them are the same. There are things we all have in common. Seeing lights and experiencing similar emotions but nothing is exact. There are theories that maybe there's more than one kind. That there are different races or species or whatever. But mine aren't anywhere near these other ones."

"Yours?" she asked.

"What?"

"You said they're yours."

"That's not what I meant," I corrected. I gave a little laugh. A weak one. "Really, I'm theirs."

She quickly wrote a few things down on her pages. I watched, not remotely concerned with her notes.

"The way I see it," she said, "we can approach this one of two ways. Either we can go ahead with my idea, that this is some misinterpretation of memories or some other, more severe, coping mechanism. Or, we can treat it like it's completely real. And we can get to the bottom of it."

I smiled. "That's nice of you," I said, "but either way, I'll know you don't really believe me."

"Have you talked to anyone else about it?" she asked.

"Frank," I told her.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"Pretty much the same thing you are."

She nodded. "What was that first name on your list? Anthony something?"

"Antonio," I said. "Antonio Villas-Boas."

"Tell me his story."

I did. She took notes. Kept nodding a lot. She only interrupted me to clarify. I was nervous at first to talk about some of the more inappropriate parts of the story. You know what I mean, how they wanted him for certain purposes. But she didn't even flinch. She just nodded.

When I finished the story, she told me that it was time for my next class period but that she would look into the story and do her own research. She shook my hand and opened the door for me. Before I left, I turned back to her.

"I'm sorry my mom was so mean to you," I said.

She smiled, a genuine one. "She's just worried about you."

I can't say I agreed with her exactly, but the time to argue was over, so I just walked back down the hallway.