\n\u201cDad, can you help me with something?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nYou look up from your newspaper. Safari stares at her shoes, giving you surreptitious glances, flashes of her mother\u2019s brown eyes catching the dim morning sunlight trickling through the kitchen blinds. Her posture is reticent, but her expression hopeful. It\u2019s the same demeanor you\u2019ve seen from countless diplomats, congressmen and women, even the president on occasion.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSure, what is it, kiddo?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSafari straightens, wringing her hands. \u201cI need help with my class schedule,\u201d she says. \u201cIf I stick with music, I have to march in the band for football games and won\u2019t be able to cheer.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nYou smile, understanding the question behind the question. \u201cI can only see major branches of my own timeline, if that\u2019s what you\u2019re wanting.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSafari furrows her brow, one corner of her mouth lifting, pulling her lips to one side. \u201cYou use your ability all the time to help all those important people. Why can\u2019t you use it now?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nYou feel your face flush as you realize just how hurt she is. Hurt that the power you wield so freely for the sake of the world is locked away from her. You pat the couch cushion, beckoning for her to sit.\n<\/p>\n
\nFrumping, Safari takes the seat next to you and tucks in under your arm, the same way she has since she was a year old. Her curls brush your cheek and you smell the scent of her shampoo, feel the heat of her body as she wraps her arms around your chest. You recall the way she used to try and link her too-short arms around you as a child and frown as they clasp easily around your torso now.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t always have to use my ability at work, you know,\u201d you say, returning her embrace. \u201cMany of the people that come to me are just looking for reassurance that they are making the right decision.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSo then how do you know what the right decision is?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSometimes, I just use my best guess, like everyone else.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSafari snorts. \u201cWhatever, you\u2019ve never<\/em> had to do that.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nYou laugh and her head leaps with each chortle, riding the wave of your middle-age paunch. \u201cI haven\u2019t always had divergent sight. I didn’t even get it until I was in my teens. Even now I can\u2019t see what happens if I order the steak or lobster at a restaurant, or what happens if I take a different route home at night. It\u2019s only the big <\/em>decisions.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSo, what was it like before you got your power?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nYou scratch your chin, picking through puddles of memory.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhen I was fourteen, I was at the county fair, waiting for your grandma to come pick me up. A car pulled up to the edge of the parking lot where I was standing and two white girls started yelling at me from the backseat.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat were they yelling?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAll sorts of things. Vulgar stuff. Things that would appeal to a teenage boy. Wanting me to come closer to their car,\u201d you tell her. \u201cTwo guys were sitting in the front seat, staring straight ahead. They never looked at me. Not once.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nSafari wiggles out from under your arm and moves to the opposite end of the couch, the whites of her eyes a ring around the chestnut disc of her iris. \u201cWhat did you do?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWell, the girls were pretty cute, but it was the guys in the front who bothered me the most. I mean, what could four white kids want with me?\u201d You lean forward, clasping your hands together. \u201cI thought about it for a minute and then decided it wouldn\u2019t be a good idea. They kept trying for a long time, though. If they\u2019d ever opened a door I\u2019d have run for it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nSafari looks down at her own lap. \u201cAnd you made the decision without your ability?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nYou shrug. \u201cDo you think I made the right choice?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah.\u201d Safari pulls her arms tight across her chest and stretches her legs across your lap. \u201cI wonder what they would have done to you if you\u2019d gotten in the car.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI honestly don\u2019t know, kiddo. I really don\u2019t,\u201d you say, patting her leg. \u201cHave you decided what you\u2019re <\/em>going to do?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019ll think about it some more,\u201d Safari replies. \u201cBest guesses, right?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBest guesses,\u201d you agree, smiling\n<\/p>\n \n \nYou jerk back to the present, inhaling deeply, mouth agape.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHey, kid. Come here. We want to show you something.\u201d A girl with a ruddy complexion and skyscraper bangs leans out the window of a brown, late model Chevrolet sedan, a lit cigarette dangling from one hand. The early October winds cut through your jean jacket and you stick your hands in your pockets to keep them warm.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah, come over here and we\u2019ll give you a blowjob,\u201d another girl yells, nudging her friend and laughing.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA blowjob. You\u2019re such a whore, Cindy.\u201d The pair cackle, leaning into one other, angling for terrain through the car\u2019s small rear passenger window. In the front seat, two pale, acne-spotted boys sit unmoving, eyes straight ahead through the windshield of the idling car, gazing out into the long night.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNah, I\u2019m good,\u201d you say, walking in the direction of laughter and screams and the scent of cotton candy and popcorn.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAww, c\u2019mon,\u201d Cindy says, her lips pursed in a pout. \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter? You don\u2019t like blowjobs? Come over and I\u2019ll show you my tits.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nYou take off at a jog, leaving the girls promising more and more elaborate sexual favors, their voices dimming as they mix with the rising din of carnival barkers and screaming children.\n<\/p>\n \nWhen you are safely away, you pull your shaking hands from the pockets of your jacket. They reach in front of you, searching for the alternate timeline. They are almost there, a fingertip\u2019s whisper away when you recall the smell of shampoo and the tickle of curls on skin. You ball your fists and withdraw, placing them back inside your coat. The possibilities evanesce, like breath in the wind. You blow out a sigh, as if you are trying to hurry them along.\n<\/p>\n \nTwo roads diverge but you don\u2019t need to travel both to know which way your future lies.\n<\/p>\n Robert Balentine, Jr is an emergency room physician in the southern US. His works have been featured in Bewildering Stories, Daily Science Fiction, and Flash Fiction Magazine most recently, though he has several awaiting publication as well. <\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cDad, can you help me with something?\u201d You look up from your newspaper. Safari stares at her shoes, giving you surreptitious glances, flashes of her mother\u2019s brown eyes catching the dim morning sunlight trickling through the kitchen blinds. Her posture is reticent, but her expression hopeful. It\u2019s the same demeanor you\u2019ve seen from countless diplomats, …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107747,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,14,20096],"tags":[20097],"class_list":["post-138965","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-publications","category-tcl-42-winter-2022","tag-the-colored-lens-42-winter-2022","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138965","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107747"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=138965"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138965\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":138966,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138965\/revisions\/138966"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=138965"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=138965"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=138965"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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