Cuz that's how it is

After I had the first dream, I woke momentarily and then went back to sleep. Next thing I knew, I was dreaming from the perspective of a little kid, and feeling like one, too. There was no sense of schedule, work, or anything except what was interesting or fun, and what was not interesting or fun, and a sense of being close to and guided by the person I was with. 

An older kid is watching me for the day, a distant family member I always call Cuz-cuz even though he's more distant than a cousin. I call him that, and he calls me "Vic," the pronunciation of a shortened version of my name. As usual when we're together, he's brought me to a playground, where I've found a new toy I hadn't noticed the last time I was here. The toy is fascinating. It hasn't got any of the buttons or levers that many of the other toys in the playground do. It's not made to be climbed on or played in. It's a brain teaser.

I've discovered that if I focus on the little blue and brown ball inside the glass, I can make it spin and whirl, change the shape of it, and even make it blow up in a fiery explosion, after which it will slowly re-form. I've become so entranced with the toy that I've actually got my fingers and my nose pressed against the glass. I've blown it up about fifty times, but I've tired of that and am instead shaping the surface of it, making hills and valleys, watching the blue liquid on the exterior flow into the deeper areas if I move the surface where it sits.

My attention is so fully taken up with what I am doing that I don't notice the approach of a bigger kid, until he says, "What are you doing, freak?" Looking over, I see that he's taller than me, outweighs me, and looks cross. I'm not even bothered by the nickname. All the kids call me that because I look different from them. My eyes are a weird color. My skin is, too, and my hair. Of course they aren't going to understand.

Also, there are things they do that I don't, and things I do that they can't. There are things I like that they think are weird. I have learned to not act too different from them when they are around, but in this case I've been caught. None of the other kids would play with the ball inside the glass the way I am. They would just keep ripping it apart, and if they could, blowing it up.

As if to drive that point home, the boy smashes my masterpiece against the bottom of the case, flattening the ball out like a big fat brown-and-blue pancake. I tell him that I was playing with that. He smirks and laughs, and starts slamming it around rapidly inside the case, kneading it until the brown and blue mix to make a runny black tar. When I look away from him, he starts taunting me.

"Awe, you gonna cry, freak? Waaaah! Did the poor widdow baby wanna keep it fowevew? You little dumbass, everyone likes to break that thing. It would have been someone else if it hadn't been me. Why don't ya do something about it?"

He knows that I'm not allowed, but he doesn't know why. I hit harder than the other kids, even the bigger ones. I hit in ways they can't, and in ways against which they cannot defend. So, I'm not allowed to hit at all.  Whenever this happens, we usually just leave the playground and go for a walk in the woods, where Cuz-cuz tells me the names of all of the plants, or tells me stories about the conquering heroes who won this home for 'our' people. He always says 'our,' even though we both know I'm not really part of the community. I'm really, really mixed. That makes me different, and as I am learning, different is bad.

I take my fingertips off of the glass, turn my back on him, and start to walk away like I've been taught. The bully follows, pushing me from behind so that I fall down. Cuz-cuz decides to get involved. I hear footsteps, and from above my position, his voice. "You should leave this one alone."

I hear the bully snort and make a lewd suggestion as to what my sitter can do with his time. Cuz-cuz, says in a very serious voice, "How old do you want to be when you die?"

The bully laughs out loud and says, "What are you gonna do about it?"

Cuz-cuz tells me to get up. I do. The bully reaches, and Cuz-cuz slaps his hand away, then kneels down beside me so that he's my height. His eyes are kind, but sad. He says, "You know when you're with me, I'm the boss, right?"

I nod. The bully snorts again, swats again, and is rebuffed by another smack of the hand. Cuz-cuz turns and tells him he'd better quit, or he'll have both of us to deal with. The bully starts taunting again, but Cuz-cuz ignores that, takes both of my hands to direct my attention to himself, and starts talking to me again. I follow his lead, watch his eyes, and listen.

He says, "Okay, then. Think of this like a test. You have limited permission. You may cause non-lethal, non-injurious torment. Do you understand? No injury, nothing lethal. Got it?" His eyes are focused on me, filled with the intensity of an adult trying to get a vital point across, even though he's barely an adolescent. I realize that he's taking a risk. He's allowed to give me this kind of permission in more serious situations, but not like this. The adults don't think I'm ready to tell the difference yet. They don't think I can keep it under control. Cuz-cuz is supposed to take me home when I'm bullied, but he's letting me hit back because we're tired of not being able to go anywhere.

This is his responsibility. The adults have made that very clear. He's not just protecting me from the other kids. He's supposed to be protecting them from me, too. I know that if I screw this up, he'll be the one in trouble, not me, but it will also mean the adults won't trust me for a long time. This is a test of my maturity and my self-restraint.

I nod. I am resolved to not harm the boy. I just want to make sure he understands that he's not picking on a wimp. I can hear him still taunting, only now he's making fun of Cuz-cuz. "Such big words for such a little kid. Do you really think the freak understands what you're saying?"

Without looking away from me, Cuz-cuz lets go with his right hand, reaches out and grabs the bully's neck, slams his face into the glass with a loud thunk, then lets go and takes my hands again. "Don't call her that, you little asshole!" he says, not even looking away from me. Then, to me, he says, "You sure you're ready, Vic?"

I nod again, and just so he knows I'm up to speed, I tell him, "No boom, no blood, right?" Cuz-cuz smiles, and nods back at me. "You got it, Vic. Show him."

He lets go of my hands, puts one of his on each of my shoulders, and turns me to face the bully. By now, there are other kids gathered around, seeing that we haven't just fled the park and wondering what is going to happen next. Secure with Cuz-cuz behind me, one arm across my chest, and both of his hands resting on my left shoulder, I look at the boy and tell him he's a big meanie. He laughs, turns to the other kids, and says, "Awe, did you guys hear that? I'm a big meanie! Oh, no... whatever will I do?" He rubs his eyes melodramatically, and the other kids laugh.

For a moment, I can feel my temper creeping in. I really don't want to let it take over, because I don't want to let Cuz-cuz down. He's doing something for me that no one else has. He's loosening my leash, just a little bit, in hopes that I won't have to put up with this any more. By doing that, he's risking severe punishment should his choice lead to anything worse than a schoolyard scrap. I can feel that he's ready to grab me and run should I go off, but I also know that by the time he could, it would be too late.

I reach up and give his hand a squeeze, and loose the building anger into the case, attacking the ball, instead of the boy. I let the energy make the ball rapidly explode and reform itself over and over for a few seconds, filling the case with fire and sludge, until the edge is spent and I'm feeling more level-headed again. The kids watch as the toy goes ballistic, the dark substance smacking against the glass, and fire lighting it up over and over... boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-BOOM! until I stop, and turn my eyes back to the now quiet bully.

The bully is losing confidence. He starts to bluster. "You ain't allowed to hit back, and I know it. You can't do anything to me. You better not."

I feel a little uncertain for a moment, but Cuz-cuz's voice behind me reminds me, "It's all right, Vic. You're allowed. Just remember to stay within the perimeters I gave you." I can feel his heart thumping against my back. He's scared. He knows the risk he's taking. Again, I squeeze his hand to let him know I'm all right. I'm not going to let him down.

Suddenly it hits me how cool this is. I'm finally going to get a little of my own back, and maybe scare this guy off of me for good. Maybe from now on the other kids, even if they're not going to like me, will at least stop being so mean. Even though I'm not allowed to really hit back, what I CAN do will be quite enough. Giggles bubble up inside, and I let them out, shooting their energy forward and wrapping it around the boy.

As the sense of exuberance wraps around him, he starts to look nervous, then grossed out as if I'd wrapped him in sewer slime. He starts trying to wipe it off of his skin, shouting, "What the hell? What are you doing to me? Stop it, you little shit!"

I start to shape the energy, still giggling at the sense of freedom and release, and begin to push it under the surface. Seconds later, his skin is a perfect match to mine, and his eyes have changed from their natural burning red to match the deep blue of the toy in the case. Looking at his hands, the boy screams wildly and begins scratching. I ask him what's wrong, doesn't he like his new look? He turns to me and demands that I change him back, right now. I ask him what if I don't? What is he going to do?

The boy threatens to beat me. I tell him to go ahead. Even with Cuz-cuz behind me, holding onto my shoulders, the bully advances, swinging his fist. As soon as he does, I make a thick, squishy wall of molded energy between us. His hand smashes into it, instead of into me. When he feels it, he punches with the other hand, both fists sinking deep in to the invisible substance, clear up past his wrists. I harden the wall, trapping him, then walk around it so I'm behind him. The other kids all move away, gasping. Feeling powerful even though I've done my tormenter no harm, I climb up onto a rock and lean over to speak quietly into his ear, telling him never to pick on anyone again, because I'll be watching. The bully, terrified because he is trapped and feeling helpless, babbles his agreement and begs me to let him go. I tell him the truth, that I've not done anything permanent. I'm holding back a lot, so everything I've changed will work itself back to normal in a few moments, but for now, I'm not going to undo what I did. He's stuck like that. He wails like a little kid whose candy was just taken away. I ignore him.

I turn and tell the other kids he's on punishment. They all know that phrase, and they know what it means. When the adults say it, it means leave that kid alone. Don't pick, because we want him to focus on whatever it is we're trying to enforce right now. You stay out of it. They all quietly turn and walk away, just as if an adult had said the phrase, and I realize that the other kids have just afforded me authority. They're responding to me not as the freak, but as the boss. I have just stepped up a lot in the playground pecking order. Maybe I will have to remind them sometimes, but from now on, I'm not the kid on whom everyone else takes out their bad-day frustration. I turn to see Cuz-cuz's approving smile. I ask him if we can go for a walk now, and he tells me I've earned it. He stands up and takes my hand, and we start to walk away.

I can feel the changes all ready wearing off of the bully. His freckles are disappearing with little popping noises. Soon, his skin will be back to normal, then his eyes, and finally, the wall will disappear, freeing him. I don't know if he'll forget his fear and pick again, or if he'll remember and stay away, but at least this was fun while it lasted, and even better, Cuz-cuz is proud of me. That makes the trip more worthwhile than anything.

I only hope he doesn't get into trouble for letting me do this.

That scene faded into the kind of walk in the woods I'd been remembering before, with "Cuz-cuz" telling me names of things and talking about how to use them. The experience felt a lot like hanging out with an older sibling. This was someone who I had to obey if he gave an order, but who didn't have the full authority of a parent. He felt like a source of sometime comfort, but not a source of discipline. There was a sense of the kind of love and admiration a little kid has for a related older kid who offers time, attention, and genuine affection... of wanting his approval, and the enjoyment of feeling important to him... but the entire experience was also clouded over by the worry that the incident at the park was going to get him into trouble with the adults in charge. I woke with that sense of worry intact, because the dream ended while we were still in the woods.

Two dudes walk into a store...

Last night at work, we had an unusual and disconcerting incident. Two men came in to fix the ATM that a local bank has placed near our entrance. They were unprofessional, unkempt, rude, and very late for doing a job like that. One was in dark clothing that said 'security' on the back, but neither of them bore any kind of insignia or company name. The only thing that made them look remotely legitimate was that the part they said they needed had been shipped to the store... and anyone can do that. If I knew your address, I could have something shipped to your house right now.

When they wanted to stay after close to work on the ATM, my boss told them absolutely not. She didn't want to stick around, and neither did I, with these two. They argued, but she sent them out of the store. We finished up with our last two customers, went through the rest of the closing process, and got ready to leave... half an hour late... and stopped short at the door when we saw that those guys were still outside in their cars. Neither of them were doing anything that required them to still be there... just fiddling with their dashboards and their clothes. 

My boss and I talked about the situation. The guys were unkempt, unidentified, rude & pushy, and armed. The 'security' guy had a gun. Though that's normal for working with an ATM, the level of unprofessionalism displayed was not. Finally, it was the loitering that did it for us. They weren't going to be able to get back in to fix the ATM. No one was going to be here. They weren't making phone calls or working on any kind of electronic devices, just staring back at us whenever we looked out at them... and THAT was creepy.

We called the police, not to arrest the guys, but to just show up and make sure we got out safely. Five minutes before the police arrived, the guys finally left the front lot, but as we admitted to the officers, didn't see when they left and didn't know if they hadn't just driven around behind the store. They didn't leave until we weren't watching them any more. Of course, the officers both reassured us that we'd done the right thing, that you don't take chances where there are strangers acting oddly, especially if there is a gun. I felt a lot better about us calling them when he put it that way.

Didn't realize, though, how creeped out I was by all of that until I dreamed this:

I'm really tired, having not gotten right to sleep when I got home last night. Opening is not going to be fun, especially since it's my first time. To make matters worse, traffic is nuts for a Saturday morning, and I'm not as early as I wanted to be. I wanted to have time to account for any errors or brain farts, without having any difficulty getting the registers going before the first shopper arrives. By the time I get within a block of my store, it's almost time to open the doors to customers.

At the light, I can see the store front, and something doesn't look right. It's hard to tell from where I'm sitting. When the light changes, and I drive into the lot, I realize what it is. There's a huge piece of glass cut out of one of the big windows. Looking inside, I can see that the ATM is gone.

I don't even get out of the van. I know the thieves are probably not still in there, but probably isn't good enough. I to a business across the street and use their phone to call the police. I wait there for them to arrive. As I am waiting, I see a car drive into our lot. A man gets out, goes to the doors, tries them, and looks at his watch. It's only a couple of minutes to open, and I'm not ready for customers... I'm not even in the store. The guy looks miffed, but there's nothing I can do from over here. Then, he looks at the cut glass. I think maybe he will call the police, but instead he starts visually measuring whether he can get in that way.

A coworker's vehicle drives onto the lot. At this point, I decide I have to go over there for her safety, so I tell the guys at the shop where I am that I'm going. The police will be arriving any moment anyway.

Because of the intersection's ridiculous design, it takes me 5 minutes and three turns to drive across the street. By that time, the customer is haranguing my coworker, who doesn't even know what is going on. He's badgering her to climb in through the window and open the store because he wants cigarettes. I had been going to apologize to him for the inconvenience and explain about the robbery, but he's being so belligerent and abusive to her that I just tell him the police are coming and ask him to leave. He gives me an incredulous look, points at the window, tells me, "I did NOT do that!" and starts insisting that I am not allowed to call the police. I ask, "Then how did you know that was what I was talking about? Maybe you should leave before they get here."

The guy leaves, and a moment later the police arrive. I let everyone into the store, and I head upstairs with the officers. That is when, and where, I realize... I don't know the security camera system's commands for going back to specific times. It doesn't just have rewind and play. You have to actually go through a menu and select terms, the words used for which do not really fit what you are trying to make the video do. I'm going to have to call my boss and have her come in to help them. And in the meantime, there are now three customers waiting at the register with cash, and I don't have one open. I get into the safe, grab a drawer, and start counting to confirm the amount.

In reality, there is no way those guys would have gotten the heavy ATM out that window, and even if they had, the activity would have set off the alarm. My boss would have had a middle of the night phone call, and the whole thing would have been taken care of before I got there. And I'm not opening today. I'm closing again. The ATM isn't fixed. I hope that if those guys were legit, there's someone else on the task today and not them. What kind of a bank sends creepy dudes who don't even know how to comb the tangles out of their hair and press their uniforms to work on a store's ATM at closing time, anyway?