Seer

Stefanie

The ring of the phone startles me, even though I am waiting for it. Brad and I have no idea what’s going on. Ron dropped off Jonathan and said he didn’t know anything other than the kids got in a fight, and that he’d call when he learns more. Jonathan ran straight back into his room without saying anything at all. I followed after him, thinking he’d want to talk, but he clearly doesn’t. He is laying face down on his bed, his head buried in his arms. I don’t think he’s crying, but he is obviously very upset. So I want to hear from Gabe’s parents about what happened before I try to talk to Jonathan.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Stefanie, this is Brenda.”

Ah. That makes sense. Ron said he’d call, but I know that he wasn’t even there when it happened. “Hi, Brenda. Can you tell me anything more?”

I hear her exhale, then inhale. “Yeah. I brought Gabe and Jonathan to the library with Timothy and Natalie. They were in the back of the library, and I heard them yelling. So I went running back there, and saw Gabe and Jonathan fighting. The librarian and I pulled them apart.”

I ask, “You mean, physically fighting? Not just yelling at each other?”

She sighs again. “No, they were physically fighting. On the ground, hitting each other, knocking over books. It was bad.” I can tell that she really regrets having to tell me this.

“Do you know what started it?” I ask her.

“Yes.” She pauses, and I get the uncomfortable feeling that even worse news is coming, because she is hesitating before sharing it. Oh no.

Finally she continues. “Apparently Jonathan took away a book that Timothy was reading. Natalie tried to get him to give it back, but instead Jonathan punched her in the face.”

I gasp. “What?”

“I know,” Brenda says. “I can hardly believe it either. But Natalie has a bruise on her face. She and Gabe and Timothy all say the same thing. Apparently Gabe pushed Jonathan away from Natalie, and that’s when the two of them started fighting. After we broke it up and everyone calmed down, the kids all cooperated with coming home. None of them have wanted to talk at all since then. I pretty much had to drag it out of them.”

A hot rush of emotion is climbing my throat and burning in my cheeks. I don’t know what to say.

I think she can tell that I’m having a hard time speaking. She adds, “I think we are going to head on back over to my house for the rest of the weekend. The kids will have a couple of days to cool off before they see each other again at school.”

“Ok,” I say, embarrassed at how puny my voice sounds. “I’m … I’m sorry about all of this.”

“It’s okay, Stefanie, kids fight sometimes. I think they’ll probably all get over it and be okay.”

Jonathan’s

Perhaps I pressed him too hard.

I have been utilizing increasing power in my voice for weeks now, encouraging my beloved to behave in ways that will empower his soul. It is what I am here for, after all, to guard his soul, to help it grow. I have learned that the actions that most expand the power of his soul are ones in which he exercises dominion over others. The more brutal his action, the better, and the brighter glows his soul. Therefore, I have been constantly encouraging him to do so. Even when he seems hesitant or reluctant, when I whisper in his ear, ever more loudly, that he should do it, he capitulates ever more frequently. I am pleased that I seem to be redirecting his priorities towards actions that will cause intense growth in our soul.

I have noticed that sometimes after such events, he seems disturbed. Then, I do my best to comfort him, reassure him that it is best that he do what he wishes, that he should always discount the insignificant feelings of others, in favor of taking actions that bring him pleasure. And I remind him that cruelty always brings us pleasure. There is nothing more important to me.

Today’s incident at the library began well enough, with the four children searching for books. Jonathan and the siblings were looking for dog-training books, as they had discussed, and I whispered to him that this was a good plan, as he should be able to entirely control his pet, and these books and the other children may assist him in learning how to do so. The other child, Timothy, who has so often been the foil for my beloved’s clever tricks, was not participating in the group event, and was instead searching for history books.

When Jonathan noticed this, I encouraged him to correct Timothy by confiscating his book. Timothy should join the group, I whispered, should support Jonathan in his task. He should not be allowed to disregard the group activity being conducted to benefit Jonathan.

When Jonathan took the action I suggested, the Seer interfered, of course. She has constantly been at odds with my goals for Jonathan, especially since she launched her aggravating project. Her suggestions to him are in opposition to mine. My poor darling has felt conflicted over and over again, with my instructions washing over him as irresistible urges, but then Natalie’s advice dampening his desires. I have had to generate more and more energy in my communications to Jonathan to attempt to override the girl’s irritating insertion of her wishes into Jonathan’s decisions.

When Jonathan seized the book from the other boy, Timothy shouted “Stop it!” Natalie stepped over, and gently placing her hand upon Jonathan’s, quietly said, “Jonathan, can you please give Timothy his book back?”

As soon as she acted, I used more power than ever before to counteract her suggestion. “My dearest,” I whispered, or more accurately thundered, “care not for the insipid suggestions of this bizarre girl. She has prevented you from pursuing your desires too many times. You must stop her!”

Jonathan experienced my admonishment as an overwhelming burst of rage, combined with a desperate lust to commit violence against the girl. His mind was flooded with the certain knowledge that it was her standing in the way of what he wanted, her blocking his will, and that she must pay for it. His fist clenched and flew out before her Guardian had any chance to warn her, and the violent contact with her face was enormously satisfying. As Jonathan watched her fly backwards and crash into the shelf, her tiny body knocking it to the ground in a cascade of books, I experienced a phenomenal rush of pleasure, as our shared soul blazed ferociously.

“More! Again!” I shouted to him, uncaring of anything else, eager for the moment to continue, desiring the almost orgasmic sense of fulfillment flooding through me to be prolonged.

Jonathan’s self-will was subsumed within my own, his thoughts in abeyance as he had no choice but to carry out my suggestions. The moment was perfect, the best of my long existence. My beloved was following my instructions, feeding glory into our soul, obeying my desires as much as his own. He moved forward to continue his assault on the annoying Seer.

Then her wretched brother came flying into the action, and the moment was ruined. Jonathan’s mind was too overwhelmed to make any conscious decisions, and he unthinkingly brawled with the boy who has been his best friend for years.

After the adults intervened, and Natalie again inserted her officious wishes into the situation, Jonathan became calm, and strangely quiet.

I now fear that I went too far. Jonathan has never been so confused, so distressed. His thoughts are tangled, incoherent. Worst of all, he feels a sense of self-loathing, as though his righteous actions were somehow wrong. He feels an awful guilt as he remembers how much he enjoyed striking Natalie. And his soul is alarmingly dimming.

I must try to correct his impressions of the event. He must realize that only his needs, his soul - our soul - should be of concern to him. I am whispering to him, but I am not using additional power. I worry that my use of such for the last several weeks may have been too much for his young mind to absorb. Perhaps we both need a hiatus from my program of encouraging more frequent soul-enhancing actions.

I am sure if I let him rest from the additional power, things will quickly revert to normal.

I am eager to resume the use of power. But not yet. Not quite yet.

Brad

I’m sitting next to Stefanie and listening as she talks to Brenda. When she hangs up, we are both stunned. I ask her to repeat for me what Brenda told her, not sure that I understood what the phone call was about. But no, I heard it right. Stef tells me that Jonathan punched Natalie when she tried to get him to give that other kid his book back. Then I guess Gabe jumped on him and they had a fight that Brenda had to break up. It sounds terrible.

Stef’s face is red, and big fat tears are starting to leak out of her eyes. It’s bad, but is it really that bad? Kids fight, like Brenda said. I’m about to tell her that it isn’t the end of the world, no need to cry. But then she says, “I think this is my fault. I’ve known that Jonathan was being mean to Natalie sometimes, and to her other friend, and I’ve tried to ignore it. I figured I should let the kids sort out their own problems. But I should have disciplined him more! If I had, this wouldn’t have happened!” She is starting to sob.

And now I get it. She’s blaming herself, thinking she’s a bad mom. But she’s wrong - she’s the best mom ever. She’s always so loving and patient and organized. Jonathan couldn’t hope to have a better mom. She doesn’t realize how perfect she is. That’s why she’s upset. She’s worried that she isn’t any good. And I realize that since she’s having another baby she’s worried about that as well.

I pull her into my arms. I’m not worried about Jonathan - he’s eight years old. I had some fights when I was a kid. He’s just being a boy. But I am completely distressed to see Stef being so hard on herself.

“Shhh, Stef, darlin’, shhh.” I put my hand on her head, stroking her hair. “Honey, you’re the best mom I’ve ever seen. You take care of Jonathan just perfectly. I’m always amazed at how on top of everything you always are.” She sniffles, and I think the tears are slowing down. Hopefully I’m getting through. “Please don’t blame yourself for him just being a boy. Fighting is normal. Believe me, I did it myself, and I think I turned out ok.”

She nods a little against my chest, then leans back to wipe her face. “You think so? You think this is just regular boy stuff?” She didn’t have any siblings, so she probably doesn’t even realize this.

“Definitely,” I tell her. “This is completely normal. But you’re right, we should discipline him for fighting. He needs to learn. How about I go talk to him, and I’ll revoke some privileges or something. That should teach him a lesson.”

“Ok,” she sighs shakily.

When I’m sure she is calmer, I get up and go down the hallway to Jonathan’s room. I don’t think he’s moved since we got home. He’s laying flat on his bed, face down, head in his arms. Is he asleep?

I sit on his bed and touch his shoulder. “Jonathan, we need to talk,” I say.

“Okay,” he says sullenly. So he isn’t sleeping. Probably just waiting to see how much trouble he’s in.

He doesn’t move, though. “Turn over, kid,” I tell him. “I want you to explain what happened.”

He doesn’t turn over immediately, but before I ask him again he sighs heavily and rolls over. He doesn’t sit up though. He stares at me from his pillow.

“So?” I ask him. “Tell me about the library.” This should be good. I figure he’ll make up some wild story to try to get out of being in trouble. Probably blame it on someone else.

Surprisingly, though, he just tells me the same thing that Brenda said. Taking a deep breath first, in a monotone he says, “I took Timothy’s book away. Natalie told me to give it back. I hit her. Then Gabe pushed me, and we started fighting. The grownups made us stop.”

Oh. I was prepared to have to confront him with the fact that I knew all of that stuff, but here he is just admitting the whole thing. And he seems really weird. Like, his emotions are completely flat. He doesn’t even seem worried about being in trouble. Maybe he’s in shock about Gabe fighting him?

“Well,” I say, hesitating, not sure how to approach this. “Can you tell me why?”

“I don’t … I don’t know,” he says, and suddenly his deadpan facade crumbles. His face screws up, not so much like he is going to cry, but like he is disgusted. With himself. “I couldn’t stop myself, Dad. Just all of a sudden, all I wanted was to hit her.” He sits up and clenches his fist, holding it to his forehead, grimacing.

Wow, he is way more upset about this than I expected. I don’t know what to do next. This is actually kind of alarming. Before I can pull myself together, he goes on. “And the worst part, Dad, was that I liked it. I liked hitting her. It felt good.” His voice breaks. “I must be some kind of monster.”

“No! No, Jonathan, of course you’re not a monster. You’re just a boy who’s starting to grow up, and sometimes when that happens you get feelings that you can’t control.” Maybe he’s starting puberty early? I mean, that brings all sorts of urges. I remember feeling violent sometimes. Not til a little older, though. He looks at me, like he is afraid to feel relieved.

“Honestly, kid, nothing you did was that unusual. It was bad, yes. You should never give in to the urge to be violent. But you have to understand that urges like that don’t make you a monster. They make you human. You just have to learn to control yourself better.”

He does look like he is feeling calmer. I hope I’m getting through to him.

“You understand, of course, that there has to be a consequence for what you did.”

He hangs his head, but he almost looks relieved about that. Like he’s happy to have a normal consequence to having misbehaved normally. Instead of having me agree that he’s some sort of monster. “Okay,” he says.

“All right,” I say. “No t.v. for a week. That way you’ll be able to spend time thinking about how to make sure you control yourself better next time something like that happens.”

He nods, not arguing at all about losing his t.v. privileges. “Dad,” he says, then hesitates.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think that I should, I guess, go over there? I’m worried that Gabe hates me now.”

Oh yeah, I should have thought of that. Of course that would be bothering him too.

“I don’t think Gabe hates you. But I think it would be a good idea to let everyone calm down first. Besides, Gabe and his family are going back over to his Mom’s house. You can talk to him when you see him at school on Monday.”

He looks crushed. But now that I’ve taken away his t.v., he can’t do that to make himself feel better. I know. “Why don’t you go play with Socks? He’s been out in the backyard waiting for you.”

A wave of obvious relief washes across his face. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve.

“Come here, kid, let me give you a hug.” I give him a tight squeeze. “You know your Mom and I love you even when you do something wrong, right? We just want to help you learn to be better.”

He allows me to hug him, but gets away as soon as he can. He never has liked hugging. He gets up and heads outside.

I follow him down the hall and watch as he passes Stef, who has obviously been standing there listening to our conversation. She pats him on the shoulder.

When we get back out to the family room and look out the window, he is with the dog, but not chasing around and roughhousing like usual. He is sitting on the ground, just holding the puppy in his arms, perfectly still, his face buried in the dog’s fur. The puppy is sniffing around and wagging his tail. But Jonathan isn’t moving.