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“But the physics of it,” Bryson countered. “I mean, how’d you balance?”
This set Michael off again, his face and chest hurting from laughing so much. He hadn’t
felt this way since before Kaine had started haunting his life.
“I think we’ve dwelled on this subject long enough,” Sarah said. “It’s Michael’s turn.”
She shifted against his cot, and the faint light coming from outside illuminated her eyes.
“How’re you going to top those two stories?”
Michael had been leaning on his one elbow for way too long, and it hurt. He pulled up
his legs and folded them beneath him, rubbing his shoulder. “I don’t know. Let me think a
second.”
Silence settled on the friends, and Michael realized how long they’d been talking and
laughing. There was an awkwardness in that silence, and Michael knew exactly why.
“It’s weird to think back,” he said. “I mean, I don’t even know what’s really a memory.
Who knows if a lot of it wasn’t just programmed into my history?”
“Forget that crap,” Bryson said. “Your life is your life. Now tell us a good one before I
fall asleep over here.”
Michael wrapped his arms around his knees, still thinking.
Finally, after a good several minutes, he announced, “Got it! The time my dad almost
killed me with a rock.”
6
It was weird, telling the story. Since finding out that he was a Tangent, it had gotten to the
point that he couldn’t trust even things most people took for granted. What his eyes saw.
What his fingers felt. What he tasted, what he breathed, what he smelled. How could he
ever know if any of it was real? Or ever had been?
But as he sat there on that cot in the darkness, the sounds of Gerard’s snores like a
sound track in the background, he remembered. He remembered his life as a little boy,
and nothing could ever take that away from him.
“My dad loved camping,” he said. “Loved it. Especially since we lived in the smoggy city.
About once every other month, he’d gather up a bunch of gear, run around the house like
a giddy little kid, then haul us into a truck, even Helga. Always Helga. She was as much a
part of our family as any of us.”
“Where’d you usually go?” Sarah asked.
“Somewhere along the Appalachian Trail, up in the mountains, as remote a place as he
could find. Sometimes we’d drive for hours and hours. It was before I was allowed to Sink
into the Sleep, so I loved it just as much as my dad. It was an adventure.”
He paused, picturing it all in his mind. “I can smell the campfire—that was always the
best part. The crackles and the popping and the glowing coals. My mom didn’t enjoy
roughing it too much, but she endured it because I think she could see how happy it made
me. And my dad, obviously. And Helga totally got into it. She was like a forest ranger out