LEN BIAS: CROSSOVER
A novel
By: Michael D. McClellan | September 19, 2010
chapter 2
Leonard, it's time.
I'm still somewhere in this dream world,
alone with a voice I don't recognize.
In the blackness again. Only this time
it feels like I'm trapped in some sort of
lifeless void, thicker than before, entombed
in an empty container of space with no
possibility of escape. And yet I'm not
scared. At least that
in itself is something
different. I know I should be freaking out and screaming for help, but I feel a
strange sense of calm that takes away all of
the panic. Where am I? How did I
get here? And who called my name?
The voice that just spoke to me is soft,
peaceful, measured. The statement is
matter-of-fact, and I trust it without
hesitation, even though I can't see who
spoke the words and I can't gauge the
distance between us. Yes - it is time,
I agree silently. But time for what?
Your crossover, Leonard.
My what? Who is this?
Suddenly, a flash of light and the sensation of freefalling from the sky. It takes my breath. I'm freezing. A high-pitched screech pierces my ears, fingernails over a chalkboard amplified a million times. I cover my ears, The pain digs into my skull, deep into my brain. I'm falling and flailing and convulsing all at once, arms locked against my head, unable to focus on anything but the white noise raking away my sanity.
Another burst of light, then darkness. Silence. Now the sensation of floating. I can't hear. I can't see. My heart is racing, pounding, leaping straight out of my chest. What is happening to me? I'm shaking violently because of the cold, because of the fear. I ball up, fetal, and I feel more alone now than at any point in my life. This is too real to be a dream, and yet my mind wants to believe this isn't real at all. My mind wants to shut down. There are no reverse dunks wherever I'm at now, no stage with a draft board as a backdrop, no dormitory suite full of friends waiting to congratulate me. Is this hell? Am I in hell? Am I having some kind of hallucinogenic reaction to the cocaine? Questions with only one answer - I want my mother - I want her to tell me that everything is going to be alright, that I'm going to snap out of whatever this is and everything will go back to the way things were before.
A gentle breeze rolls over my back, reminding me of those warm summer nights that I'd enjoyed as a child. Mercifully, the splitting pain in my head is gone. I can hear again - crickets chirping, and trees rustling in the distance. It feels like I'm hearing these sounds for the first time. I can feel the tall grass brushing gently against my legs. I open my eyes - it's dark wherever I am, but not pitch black like before. The night sky has a blue tint and is filled with stars. Fireflies light up and disappear all around me. I stand instinctively, rising up, legs wobbling like a newborn colt. I breathe in sweet air and stare up into the heavens. Where am I? What is this place? It's not a dream, I decide quickly. It's the cocaine. I'm on some sort of psychedelic trip, the special effects all brought on by the drugs running through my body. Trib said that he was getting the good stuff tonight. The best for the best. And I didn't play shy when he put it on the table. Now I'm paying the price, tripping like one of those Woodstock hippies, imagining some kind of made up world when I'm actually passed out on the bed in my dorm room.
Everything starts moving in fast-forward. In a matter of seconds the night sky changes to dawn. It's early morning, the sun peaking out over the horizon in the east. An instant later the sun is directly overhead, beating down. I close my eyes to keep the light from burning them. The breeze is gone, the air heavy and humid. Beads of sweat pop up on my forehead. I'm finally able to open my eyes to the bluest sky I've ever seen. I'm standing in the middle of a field, the sun dropping down and meeting the horizon in the west, large white clouds rolling in, the wild grass rising up to my knees. It's then that I realize something else - the field that I'm standing in is barely size of a small city block, and that's all there is, a square field stamped out of the earth, hovering in the air like a spaceship.
I walk slowly through the grass, toward the edge of the world - or at least close as I dare to get. The field ends like a tabletop, and beyond it only sky. I lean forward, ten feet away from the drop off, trying to see down below. I pick up a small rock and throw it over the edge - it disappears in silence and never makes a noise. I creep a step closer. A flock of birds shoots up from nowhere in V formation. I fall backward to the ground. They look like Canadian geese, with black heads and necks and brownish-gray bodies. Migrating, I hear myself think as I land hard on my backside. They're migrating - but from where? And to where?
Leonard, it's time.
The voice again, closer, somewhere behind me. I spin. There's a large oak tree in the middle of the field, in the exact spot where I'd been standing. How did it get there? A swing hangs from one of the limbs, thick ropes pulled tight by the woman sitting there. She's my age, maybe younger, with flowing red hair and soft, white skin. She's wearing a pink summer dress, sandals, a pearl necklace and matching earrings. She smiles at me.
How did you know my name?
"You can use your voice," she says. "But we can communicate either way. Whichever you prefer."
I stand up and brush the dust off of my jeans. "Who are you?"
"My name is Alyssa. I'm responsible for your crossover."
