The Unhidden

1.          Not Ordinary

I am not ordinary.

I don’t think I am extraordinary either, but there are things about me that mean I am not an ordinary human. For example, I can run faster than you could possibly imagine. I don’t drive a car, except for appearances, as a car cannot go faster than I can run.

So what’s the point?

Anyway, I still don’t drive a car; I love motorcycles, the freedom I feel when I am riding them. I don’t like feeling enclosed in a car, of being at the mercy of other drivers on the road. At least a motorcycle can easily manoeuvre away from trouble. If the rider has reflexes like mine anyway. So I ride a Hayabusa. A pitch black Hayabusa. The Hayabusa without the attached speed limit controller. Not that that would have stopped me anyway – I would just have removed the inhibitor. I’m the only one at my university who rides a motorcycle like that. Despite the fact I can almost run faster than it, I still love the feeling of the wind in my hair when I ride it. The strength of its engine gives me a sense of power unlike anything else. Unlike other parents, my mother never had to worry that I would get hurt from it. My sister hates it though. She tells me all the time that I am just drawing more attention to myself, but really, I’m not the only female in the world to ride a motorbike.

Another example: I am very strong. I can’t really define very strong, but I can pick up cars and all sorts of other cool things like that.

How do I know I can lift up cars?

Because when I first discovered I had strength, I set about lifting up anything I could find to test it. I first discovered my strength when I was about 8 years old. I had been trying to climb up a bookcase to find Christmas presents that my mother had hidden there (no, I don’t like surprises at all) when it started tilting towards me. I had both feet off the floor, one on each of the lowest two shelves, and as I felt the bookshelf start to sway towards me, I jumped off and automatically put my hands up as a reflex action. I didn’t really have time to think about the practicalities of an 8 year old girl standing under a rather large bookshelf, but before I knew it the bookshelf was resting in my hands and I barely noticed the weight. In fact, I hadn’t even registered that I had caught and was in fact holding up the bookshelf until I heard the gasp from the doorway. My sister Eleanor (Ellie to everyone) was standing there looking at me with a look that was a cross between horror and disbelief. She told me afterwards that she had at first thought that I was about to be horribly crushed by the bookcase, but then as she had opened her mouth to call to mum, she realised that the bookcase hadn’t moved. That was when her horror changed to disbelief. With a good dose of horror thrown in as well, as she realised for the first time that I was different than her, in ways that humans aren’t meant to be different from each other.

And the way that no matter what I do, I never get injured. Ever. I have fallen out of plenty of trees, but I have never had any scars or other marks. This used to freak Ellie out when I was younger. She didn’t understand, but I could tell from the way my mother bit her lip and tried to brush it off that she did understand. She was worried, but not worried that I didn’t get injured – she seemed to be OK with that. So I learnt very early to be careful not to do anything in front of other people that would cause me to appear as if I should have an injury, should I fall. I have seen blood coming out of wounds and grazes on my body if I fell over, but by the time I would think to cry out, the wound was already healing. Sometimes when I was younger I would deliberately do things to get hurt just so I could watch the amazing sight of my skin healing literally before my eyes, like it was a still camera sped up to show something that takes a long time to happen – like on a nature show and they show a flower budding then blooming, all on sped up real time.

But I don’t make a habit of displaying my extraordinary talents as that would make me a freak, and I am really trying to make myself as unfreaky and as unnoticeable as possible. I don’t want to be different; I just want to know how to be me.

Sometimes though, I can’t hide from my University friends some of my other “freaky” abilities. Like the way I don’t appear to be concentrating in class but can answer any question the lecturer fires at me. I guess most people just think I study a lot – which I guess I do. When you need as little sleep as I do, there is little else to do but study and read. A lot. Like for over six hours a night, when all the rest of the world is sound asleep and the night is pitch black and the air is still. They say that the darkest hour is just before dawn and as I am usually awake over that period I would have to agree. It is also the loneliest hour. The hours seemed to have already stretched out and the time until the sun is up along with most of this side of the world seems so far off.  My sister of course is asleep then. I try not to wake her as I roam around the house, trying to find new things to occupy my mind. Lately, a lot of that activity has been researching, trying to find some clue as to who I am, or who I am meant to be; I know there are other things that someone like me would, should normally be doing at those times when I am awake and the normal world is asleep, but since my mother has been gone, I don’t know what those things are.

I do sleep a bit though. I’m not sure if I really need it, but I can, so I do – otherwise the loneliness would become quite overwhelming. Sometimes I take my bike out and go for a ride. I ride as far and as fast as I can in one hour, and then see if I can do it quicker when I return. Funny the things you do for entertainment when no one else around you is awake. It’s even more fun when it has been raining, as I feel the bike fighting to maintain its grip on the slippery surface of the corners. I ride the back roads, the country lane type roads that cars very rarely venture down, and even more rarely at night. The type of roads that have no edge, where the asphalt just kind of blends into the grass, and you are never sure if the road will one day actually just succumb to the ceaseless encroaching of the vegetation.

My genetics are also freaky. I have to wear contact lenses every day as my eyes are silver. Truly silver, not some sort of gray or blue gray. My eyes would mark me out as different and I don’t want to be different. I have enough trouble fitting in as it is, with the little I do know about myself and my history. Also, I only found out 6 months ago, when I turned 18, that my hair actually isn’t black; I never knew that when Ellie, and my mum before her, put a “special conditioning treatment” in my hair every six weeks that she was actually ensuring the silver roots didn’t show through. And like my eyes, my hair is really silver, with an odd sheen to it. My hair isn’t grey or ash blonde or any other colour that looks similar to silver. It just is silver. My mother must have told Ellie something about who, or what, I am, for her to place so much importance on hiding my real appearance. So, with these alterations I am now a black haired, violet eyed 5ft 7in female, who looks kind of OK in the mirror.

I don’t know anyone else with silver hair and silver eyes. Maybe they are hiding just like me. Ellie doesn’t have to hide. She has normal strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. Not extraordinary blue, just the stock standard mid blue coloured. She dyes her hair strawberry blond. Otherwise she would be a kind of mousy brown colour. But I think she’s beautiful either way. Not many 18 year old sisters would look after their annoying 14 year old sister and stop her going into care.

Ellie has been there for me for over 4 years now, ever since our mother was killed.

Burnt to death.

I saw it happen and do my best to block it out. Because her death is the reason I am hiding as much as I can. Trying to be normal, so they don’t have any idea where I am or what I can do. Because my mother told me one day someone would come to find me. In fact, more than one somebody would come. I would just need to decide who the good was and who the bad were. I would rather no-one came for me and I never had to find out what purpose my gifts served. I don’t know why. I don’t even know who “they” are, and why they killed my mother. I know it’s because she was different, like I am, but I don’t understand why

Ellie doesn’t have any gifts, but my mother did. She was fast, and super strong, just like me. I don’t know what my dad could do – if he could actually do anything. I never met him. And Ellie can’t remember her dad. My mum must have had the worst luck. Ellie’s dad died when she was just a baby, and my dad died before I was even born. Ellie remembers my dad. She says he was handsome; tall and strong and dark. But there are no photos of him. Maybe my mum thought she would have more time. Or maybe (and this is what my romantic 10 year old self liked to think) because she was so in love with him that having photos of him around the house hurt her too much, reminded her of her loss. I don’t know. But I do have photos of my mum. Lots of photos of me and mum and Ellie. We have them all through our house. Mum was always creating memories for and with us, as if somehow she was trying to make up for us not having a dad around. I don’t think I missed out by not having dad around, but it is still kind of sad that he never even saw me. Anyway, lots of kids at the school I went to had no dad – mostly through their parents being divorced though, and their dad having children with a new wife, forgetting about the children he already had. I think that’s sadder than my dad dying before I was born. Imagine having a parent who didn’t love you enough to be with you even though they could. Anyway, we have photos of us all round the world. We have seen some amazing things as a family; I would give it all up for more time with my mother though. Not just for all the unanswered questions I have, but because she was my best friend too.

Mum left Ellie and I very wealthy. We have millions in trust funds. I don’t know where the money came from, as my mother never worked. I don’t know what her parents did – or maybe the money came from my dad’s side of the family. Mum just told us that he worked in business – so really that could be anything. It doesn’t even mean it was legal business. The money and other assets we have means that neither of us actually have to work or go to University. But what would we do? Ellie works as a PA for an airline. She loves her job. She’s dating one of the executives there and he takes her out on romantic dates a lot. I don’t think she’s told him about the money. Some things are best left alone.

I’ve never been on a date. I have never met anyone that I have ever wanted to spend time alone with like that. I’ve probably never really even spoken to a male for anything longer than 5 minutes – of course going to an all girls school for most of my life probably hasn’t helped that much. Even when we had events with our “brother” school though, I didn’t seek out the company of males, like many of the other girls did. Most people probably think I am shy, but I don’t think I am. I am just quite introverted and need to feel some kind of connection with people before I want to talk to them for any time longer than the standard “small talk”.

I don’t know why Ellie hasn’t got any gifts like me and mum. Maybe it’s because we have different fathers. I try not to show my talents at home. I know it makes Ellie uncomfortable, the things she doesn’t understand. I know mum never told her the things that she told me. She told me because I’m different from Ellie, and Ellie doesn’t need to know the things that I need to know. Except now that Mum isn’t here, I may never know the things she needed, wanted to tell me. I may never know who I am or why I have these gifts. We don’t have any other family. It’s just me and Ellie. I don’t even know if we have grandparents; if we do, mum never took us to meet them and they certainly weren’t beating down our door to look after us after she was murdered. I just feel grateful to Ellie for taking on the burden that is me, and I try to repay her by being as normal and undemanding as possible.

The biggest problem for her I think is my appetite. I eat a lot. Really a lot. In a day, I might eat as much as a normal person would eat in a whole week, maybe even more. I don’t know really as I have no idea what a normal amount is. I just base it on what Ellie eats. Where she will eat maybe 4 slices of pizza, I eat two whole pizzas. And fossick around for more. I eat like that about 6 times a day. My appetite is something I struggle to hide from people. That’s another reason I have never ever stayed the night at anyone else’s house. They would really think I was odd if they saw how much I ate. Especially since I am so slim too. You’d think someone who ate as much as me would be huge. But then, they don’t see how much I run when I am not with them, and they cannot see my metabolism. My metabolism keeps my warm. Really warm. I don’t really feel the cold, and to try and fit in, I have to remember when I should be wearing warm clothes and when I should be wearing cool clothes. Although Ellie doesn’t know it, I kind of rely on what she is wearing as a guide. If she dresses warm I do too. When I see someone at University take off their coat, or scarf, or hat, I do too. It seems like half my life is made up wondering what to do to fit in and the other half wonders why I don’t. Why do I have these gifts? Why do I have to be different from other people and are there any other people like me?

And yet I just go along with my life, not knowing any different, to do any different. I guess if anyone asked I would say that I was lonely. I go to University everyday, where I am studying a Masters degree in linguistics. I love languages, studying their origins and how words came to be. I can speak 6 languages fluently; again – amazing what can be accomplished with nothing but time. I have sort of friends at University. They are sort of friends as I know what they love and hate, know what they do at weekends and know who their families are. But they don’t know that much about me in return.

They don’t even know that my parents are dead. I don’t really share much about myself at all, but I’m happy to listen to them. We have shared the same lunch table for a whole year now, and I still haven’t gone anywhere outside of University with them. Not that they don’t ask me – I just never say yes as I just don’t really know how to act around other people for long periods of time, being so used to hiding who – or what – I am. Anyway, apart from that, I have very little human contact. I hate the noise of being out in public. All those conversations going on at once give me headaches. Even University is a struggle, but it’s worth it for those 4 hours a day of human interaction. I even do my shopping on-line, to avoid the cacophony of noise that seems to emanate from supermarkets – even the smaller ones in our town. Of course ordering on line also means that I don’t have to be faced with the raised eyebrows when the checkout assistant sees how loaded my trolley is with food. I eventually got sick of the “feeding a small army?’ comments. At least with online ordering I can order once a week from all the different retailers and they are none the wiser.

I have ridden and run round the countryside here more times than I care to imagine. Even if I couldn’t see in the dark, I expect that I am so familiar with the landscape, it’s twists and turns, hidden dips and secret copses, that I would still be able to find my way. I try not to take the bike out at night as it is rather loud, and I don’t want to wake up Ellie or the neighbours. Although we don’t have any neighbours really close by. We lived in an apartment in town for a while, but that didn’t really work out for me. I hated the confined space and the proximity of other people’s conversations. Ellie hated it too when I could tell her what the neighbours two floors down and six doors along were arguing about. I tried hard not to listen, but sometimes it sure beat being bored. Or studying some more. So we now live in a big house, on the outskirts of York, a house that has plenty of distance between other houses. My life is much more peaceful now; I don’t have all those conversations clambering to be heard in my head – and yet it has also made me feel even lonelier; hearing conversations that I was not a part of somehow made me feel like I had people I knew. Still, I love our house. I love how old it is, how much history is there, for anyone who just stops and takes the time to feel it. How many children have been born and grown up here, in the 400 odd years the house has been here for? How many tears and smiles has it witnessed, how many lonely or scared people has it sheltered? Ellie sometimes complains about how cold and draughty it is in there, despite the central heating we had put in, but of course I don’t notice the cold at all.

I don’t have any friends now that I had in school. I wasn’t close enough to anyone for them to want to keep up a relationship with someone they had barely known outside of school. Since mum died, my life has felt empty and meaningless. All my days have a feeling of sameness; I meander through the day at the times I am not at University. I spend a lot of time just wandering round the streets of York, or taking trips up to Edinburgh and stopping at the places along the way. And of course every week I visit the cemetery where my mother is buried, keeping her memory close to me.

I am interrupted by my musings at the sound of my sister pulling into our road, about 400 metres away. I think I forgot to mention my hearing ability, when I was talking about the other things I could do earlier. I can hear conversations through buildings, in cars, in fact any conversation or noise within 500m of me I can hear crystal clear. Up to a kilometre away I can still hear, but I struggle sometimes to make out the actual words.

The front door where Ellie will come in, is on the other side of where I am sitting, looking down over our garden to the pond, where new ducklings are enthusiastically following their mother round. I have never actually been close to the pond. Even watching it from this distance makes my blood tingle and my palms sweat, just a little. It’s not so bad if I don’t focus on the water.

I quickly move from my seat and consciously shake off my melancholy. I do not want my sister to see me like this; she already does enough for me and if she thought for one moment that I felt lonely or unsettled or even unhappy, she would take it upon herself to fix it. And this is something she can’t fix, something she doesn’t understand. I turn to smile at her as she walks in the door, conscious of a feeling of restlessness lingering in me.

If only I knew how my life was about to change in ways I could not even imagine.