geist jacob

Jacob Collin's first summer vacation. He'd felt so proud of himself for completing his first year of school without any incident, but summer hit and the structure had left him spoiled. It was a blistering July day, and his mother told him again and again that it was too dangerous to go outside.

But the only thing Jacob was about to die of was boredom.

The TV flickered in the air-conditioned living room, the colorful faces of the cartoons making their desperate bids to entertain him. He'd seen them all before, the same episodes running over and over until he could mouth the words along with the dialog. Boring. He also didn't feel like wrestling the Game Boy from his brother and sister, knowing that with their superior strength, they would win.

He stared wistfully out the window, into the open plains and the cheap swingset that rest in the yard. The cornfields, within walking distance, that he could weave his way through. Find some bugs, nestle down and read one of his books. He was the top of his class at reading, you know. So good he could read anywhere without any help. Even outside, by himself.

Too dangerous. It's just outside. He'd been outside when it was hot before and he'd been just fine.

He was done sitting there and fidgeting. Mom was upstairs in her room, doing paperwork. He could sneak out for a few minutes and come back, and no one would know.

And so he did.

He let out a laugh as the summer sun hit his face, the warmth and open air refreshing. The air conditioner inside was freezing cold and gave the air a funny smell, but out here he took in a breath and there was summer grass, the scent of sun-baked earth and corn. Clutching his book, he made his way out to the swings and set it to the side as he let out some of his energy. Higher, higher, higher still, higher than he'd ever been pushed. He whooped and laughed, but eventually stopped, wobbling a little as the movement still left this head feeling funny.

He took his book back and it stuck a little to his hand. No longer cooled by the wind from the swing, sweat started pouring down his skin. But that was okay. That's just what happened when it got hot outside, right? He should be okay if he just went to take a break to read. To the cornfield he went, but his vision got blurrier as he got closer. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and already the skin was getting tender. Even more reason to get into the shade.

He reached the field's edge and it began to sink in that something was very wrong. His mouth hung open, sucking in nothing but hot, dry air that was no help at all. Feet tangled against each other, and the more he tried to control them the more they stumbled. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't even make out the words on the cover of his book anymore. Everything felt weak, and moisture poured out of him, drop by drop, soaking his clothes.

It was too hot. Too hot. He had to get back home, but where was it? The landscape had become a blur, the white-painted house becoming one with the empty sky, the handful of trees giving no frame of reference.

He started to yell, weakly, hoarsely, but as much as he could, praying that someone could hear him. But nobody came. His voice got weaker as the bone-dry air wicked away at his throat until his shouts became nothing more than raspy whimpers.

He ducked into the cornfield, curling up and hoping that they would give him enough shade to keep him going until he was found. But it wasn't enough.

--

The sun was going down when he finally woke up to several voices shouting his name. He sat up with a start. How long had he been sleeping? He must have done the right thing, because with the air cooling down he finally had the energy to stand back up. The world had become clear again, and he could see the figures darting around the front yard, tiny people hollering for him. He was okay.

As he made his way back home, his mother rushed over, tears streaking down her face as she gathered him up. Every one of her touches hurt like fire on his skin, burnt red and raw, but he knew she didn't mean it. She promptly dragged him inside. He was in for the scolding of a lifetime. Wasn't the sunburn bad enough? He'd smell like aloe vera for the rest of the summer.

That was the day that Jacob met the friend that helped to save him. Someone that only he could see, even if it really wasn't a person. It looked like a weather vane, an old fashioned one with a rooster on the front, but the pewter bird seemed alive, jerking its head this way and that. It creaked like rusted metal, wildly as vicious, tearing winds would threaten to bend it. Sometimes, under the din, he could hear the faint howling of sirens.

The friend might have been scary sometimes, but it wasn't mean. It was why he didn't die that day. And twenty years later, even through mental illness and medication, it was still there.

Whatever it was, it was real.