Coming of Edge 9: Crying a River

She sat on the stairs next to the Pont Saint-Pierre and watched the water of the Garonne pass by a few meters below her. She remembered the river flood of the previous winter, when the bridge had been almost completely submerged. The masses of water had seemed weirdly serene to her, but also unforgiving and powerful.

And then there was the summer in the same year, when the river had almost dried out. She was wondering which scenario scared her—

“Mélanie!”

It was Moise. “How are you doing, Mél?” he asked as he climbed down the stairs to sit down next to her. He carried the same grin as the first time they had talked.

“Hey Moise.” Her heart was beating faster as the older boy took the space next to her. “I’m fine. And you?”

“I did some more research. Do you want to see it?” He was excited.

He had shown her photos last time. Footage. A picture of a boy lying naked in a crater. A video of another boy growing a grotesque deformation next to his head. A girl turning into pulsing light at a concert. “No. Not really,” she answered.

He looked at her as if she had slapped him. “Is everything okay?” he asked, surprised, treading more gently.

“I think they are all fake,” she said petulantly. They had to be. She had tried to use the ability again. She had tried with Moise, who wanted it. She had tried with her mother when she was supposed to watch after her little brother instead of visiting her friends. She had tried it on Benjamin, from a distance. Nobody was bending to her will. She was powerless. She was ordinary.

“No, noo, noo,” said the boy. “I am sure they are real. I feel it.” He touched her shoulder. She turned to look at him. There was worry in his eyes.

“Moise, would you even like me if I have no ability at all?” She finally felt a wide hole of desperation opening below her, ready to pull her in.

“What are you talking about? You are special! You just need to learn and train how to use your power!” She realized that he was panicking, eyes wide open, voice raised, gesturing. “Did you try it again?”

Tears were forming in her eyes, hurt crept into her voice. “I try every day! Again and again!” He was taken aback by her outburst and he just looked at her. She cast her eyes down.

“So, you would not like me.” she said, the darkness pulling her down. A maelstrom of invisibility and insignificance. The undeniable ugliness of her being finally exposed. The tears finally gained enough momentum to trickle down her cheeks.

She felt him take her hand. He held it tightly, pressed it gently. “I haven’t really thought about that,” he said, almost whispering. His thumb stroked the back of her hand in light movements, almost not touching her skin.

“I think I stopped myself some time ago thinking about things like that.” There was sadness in his voice as well and this actually made her world a little better.

They sat like this for a while.

“You know, Mél, I am happy that I met you.” He grinned at her. “Even if you never make me eat snakes again.”

She had to chuckle, then took a deep, heaving breath. She welcomed the release and suddenly the dread from before felt like an afterimage from looking into a bright light.

“Wait. What? What did you say?” She pulled her hand away.

“I am happy that I met you?” he was confused.

“No, the other thing, about the snakes.”

Moise scratched his head. “Well, I don’t know. You somehow exchanged my plate. It was full of living snakes and I ate them. Maybe you used teleportation or modified the atoms of the noodles… It was so fucking gross.”

She stared at him. There never had been snakes on his plate. And he certainly did not eat any.

“Alright sit quiet and focus on something else, will you?” she told him. He nodded and looked at the slow-running river. She moved to the next step up behind him. She did not want him to look at her, she felt to vulnerable. Then she watched him as he watched the river. And watched him. And watched him. She looked at the water.

She remembered her thoughts before he had arrived. The drought, the flood. Serene. Unforgiving. Powerful. Overwhelming. Drowning. She felt the tendrils then, then she felt him. She plunged into the depth, immersed and took in all of him she could get.

She reached out again, teasing and probing, and felt her excitement rising. The electricity was waking her body, was charging her until she finally hit his bulbs or cores or whatever they were with all the strength she had.

A tsunami washed her away. A euphoric state of a warm rush which she felt with every nerve and fibre. She had no bearings, nothing to hold on to. As it slowly receded she felt like a fish washed ashore.

She was dimly aware that he had picked up her twitching body. He was panicking, his eyes wide, screaming. He carried her away, stumbling. In her daze she could see the river bobbing out of her view.

“The Garonne! Run! The river is flooding!” he screamed, warning everybody.

She smiled weakly. No snakes. No flood.

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