tesla waves chapter 3

i don't want to think about chalkboards or anything else. i have a borderline migraine and the mounting sense of space and time dislocation that usually comes shortly before my going blank for an hour or two. i don't need the damn bus driver testing my mental health.

"excuse me?" i say to the driver. he doesn't say anything in reply and just looks straight ahead, making me believe that i may have only imagined that he spoke to me.

my wave badge serves as a bus pass, entitling me to yet another free ride. i board the bus and find a seat as far to the rear as possible. most of the other passengers appear to be u.t. students heading to evening classes.

some of these college kids notice my badge and are sneaking glances at me as i sit down. one guy, cant be more than nineteen or twenty, is staring at me through wire rimmed glasses while typing on his blackberry.

probably a psyche major, taking field notes on me like a zoologist in a rain forest.

i would like to tell him that it is always, always, rude to stare, that i hope i wouldn't behave like him if our positions were reversed.

but i can't work up any real anger towards him because right now i am too worried about going blank. fortunately, i have just enough presence of mind to remember the meditation techniques they taught me in the hospital after i was diagnosed. i start counting my breaths while concentrating on the back of the seat in front of me.

after a few minutes, my headache recedes. when i look up, reality is in it's rightful place. the bus has stopped at the far western edge of campus and the students are all gone. 

as the bus pulls back in to traffic, i hear a voice behind me.

"don't tell me."

i look. the voice belongs to a heavyset young man with a ragged beard and a mountain of dark curly hair covering his forehead almost to his eyes. what gets my attention mostly is that he has a wave badge safety pinned to his flannel shirt.

but he is not being friendly. he is not making polite conversation with a fellow wave person.

"don't tell me. don't tell me. don't.... tell... me..!"

he is yelling and squeezing his eyes shut, a line of spittle running down his chin. in a wave person, this can only mean one thing : mayhem effect. when his eyes open, he will become homicidal to the person closest to him.

his eyes open, and he sees me looking at him, only two seats away. he stands, and i realize how big he is just as he lunges toward me, fists swinging at my head.

to be continued