The Burden of Delusion
Darby Helwig Picklemeyer was a peculiar boy. In saying he was peculiar one could be forgiven for the compartmentalization of the lad; for reducing the boy to a single quality, a single attribute. But Darby was indeed peculiar. But we all know that what makes us peculiar makes us special: special like everybody else.
But Darby was a bit more special than most.
Darby’s fellows at school referred to him as ‘that weirdo over there’. Darby knew they did it, and to be honest, that description of him had stung at first. But with time, as time is wont to do, the sting had subsided, and the bullies had moved onto the next young boy who had acquired an identity outside the cookie cutter norm.
Darby’s mom was washing the dishes after dinner when she happened to see her precious young son still sitting at the dining room table as he did most nights after all the rest of the family had finished their meal. The lad was staring at the empty plate in front of him. Darby’s mom was unconcerned at this unusual behavior. She loved the idiosyncrasies exhibited in her boy. She reveled in them.
Darby, at the table, was focused. The young man knew it was his duty to take his empty plate to the sink for washing, and Darby would not shirk from this task. But what the fully satiated boy wondered was could he be able to move things with his mind. He had seen it in a movie, not knowing that there has never been a documented case of it happening. Maybe he could manage to do it himself?
Darby was full on sending his brainwaves toward the plate. He would try and move it to the sink only using his brain. Cupping his hands to the sides of his eye sockets his thumb and index finger mimicking goggles, to help the brainwaves focus on the plate. The psychokinetic wannabe gave it all of his mental might.
Darby watched his mother approach. His mom scooped up the plate and Darby’s drinking glass and took them to the sink to finish her washing job.
Darby sat back in his chair. He had succeeded. He had moved the plate but not in the showy floating through the air method. His talent, he reasoned, was using an unwitting accomplice move it. Darby marveled at his gift. He wondered what else he could move with his powerful telekinetic mind.
The next day at school, recess had broken out on the playground. Kids were playing basketball, some sat on benches and chatted, others ran amok.
Two teachers stood by the doors to the school building watching the men feverishly working on the school’s new addition. The educators had awaited the building for years. They would finally have an up-to-date media and computer lab to facilitate their instruction.
“Outta my way dufus!” Cory Blankenship pushed young Darby.
“Hey!” Darby complained. The shove had been forceful and painful.
“What did you say!?” Cory put his nose inches from Darby’s own beak. “You got something to say!?”
“No … well… its just …” Darby was flustered by the much larger boy.
“Didn’t think so.” Cory moved on to find someone else to push around.
Darby had been terrorized by Cory since third grade. But Darby knew he wasn’t the only one. Cory was an equal opportunity bully. He pretty much had most of the entire class in fear. Darby rubbed his knee and brought back some blood from where the skin had been scraped by his fall.
Placing his hands at the side of his head as before, he focused his thoughts on the bully. He had no precise thought exactly, he just wanted to retaliate for the pain he was feeling somehow. Falling deeper and deeper into his own thoughts, Darby shut out the outside word.
Henry Martin was his class’s basketball phenom. He took most recess sessions to practice his game. Today would be no different. Placing his feet millimeters from the three-point line painted on the concrete basketball court, Henry let the ball fly. Up and up it went, then inevitably it fell down to hit the basketball goal rim.
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Henry had missed the shot, but Darby knew better. The ball careened off the side of the rim and travelled straight for the back of Cory’s head. Carrying with it the momentum of the mighty heave Henry had given the ball, the orb smacked Cory causing the bully to fall to the ground.
“Hey! Who did that!” Cory looked around for the culprit.
Henry raised his hand. “A little help?”
Not wanting to tussle with probably the only boy in school who could best him in a contest of physical prowess, Cory kicked the basketball into the swing sets and ambled off.
Darby was a little bit frightened by what had happened. His powers were increasing. He could now move items from far away. Henry had been at least 30 yards from his position.
The master of telekinesis joined his friend Jamie at the tetherball pole, confident in his powers and yet somewhat conflicted. He had wanted to use his talents for good and he wasn’t so sure that bouncing a basketball off the head of the schoolyard bully was his best work. He would have to think about that. It might have been a little too much.
Back inside and at class again, the monotony of the teacher’s lesson was broken when the principal started his announcement over the school’s PA system.
“Students and teachers. I have just received the results of our yearly achievement testing. I have to say it isn’t the best.”
The students groaned. There was always this obsession of achievement tests and grades etc. They just wanted to be kids. Why did adults always try and ruin that?
“From our math scores, I’m implementing a new prog
ram to get our scores higher. We will institute a Saturday morning math-a-thon. Attendance will be mandatory. I’ve already penned a letter to your parents informing them of the change in schedule.”
The student groaned even louder. Saturday was their day. How dare he take that from them!?
Darby couldn’t help it; he looked forward to his Saturdays. That was the day of the week where he could work on the rocket ship, he was building, unencumbered. If he was ever to make it to Saturn, he needed every Saturday he could get.
His mind went to the principal. That was the barrier to his project. If only he could move him. Maybe move him telekinetically. Darby’s mind focused on the thought.
Outside, a massive crash could be heard. The class raced to the windows of the classroom to see what had happened. There in the parking lot by the construction zone was the principal’s car, smashed to bits by a load of the steel beams the men were using to build the new addition to the school.
Darby gasped. He hadn’t wanted this. This was too much. His powers were reaching heights that the young boy couldn’t manage. This wasn’t the good he had wanted from his powers. No, this was quite the opposite.
Back at home that night after everyone was through with their dinner, young Darby sat silently looking at his empty plate. It was time to bring it to the sink.
Staring at the plate, his imagination running at full speed, the boy made one of those life decision. He would do the right thing. Standing, the lad scooped up his plate and drinking glass and headed for the sink. Plopping the dishes in the soapy water there, Darby resolved never to use his powers again except in the gravest of circumstances. The consequences could be quite serious, he knew.
‘It is better his way.’ Darby whispered the words more to himself than to anyone else.
