Things Not Seen: Chapters 8–14

"Regarding your, um, situation, Bobby, I've been running through some possible cause scenarios."

Because it could have been anything that caused this, right? Like maybe I ate a chunk of irradiated beef at the school cafeteria. Or maybe we lived too close to some big power lines down in Texas. Or maybe I inherited something from you, because you're the one who's been smashing atoms for twenty years.

With Dad, it all gets back to theory. That's what he does all day long: He theorizes. Has he ever actually even seen one of these atoms he studies year after year? No. He looks at made-up pictures of things that are invisible and comes up with theories. I don't want theories. I need some action.

But when we hang up, I turn on the tube and tune in to a John Wayne festival on AMC. Because a John Wayne movie is an almost perfect cure for Dad's kind of thinking. With John Wayne, it's all about action.

Then this short plump person with stooped shoulders wearing a long pink terry cloth robe and fuzzy blue slippers shuffles out to the cookies, bends down slowly, picks up the plate, turns around, and shuffles back to the door.

And as a reward for my first major acting role, I have a whole plate of chocolate-chip macadamia nut cookies to myself.

And it's starting to feel like this is permanent. What if I never change back to the way I was? What then? Do I have to keep it a secret forever, like a spy who can never tell his wife and kids who he really is?

It's like my life is supposed to be playing, but the VCR is on pause and the screen is blank and maybe the whole rest of the tape is erased.

Because being naked outside, out here on the battlefield, it's like I've never been this charged up, this alert, this ready for anything.

It's hard enough to keep from getting trampled when everyone can actually see you, so I scramble to one side and use a bike rack as a safety zone.

I could easily step out and trip Josh Ackerly, see him stumble and sprawl down the steps.

But why should a great warrior stoop to even notice such a pathetic creature?

Walt's at the check-in desk again, but he has no authority over me today.

I should be able to smuggle a good CD into one of those rooms somehow.

Because I know this girl, and I'm feeling brave right now. Brave enough to break my vow of silence.

So I try to sound normal—as normal as a naked guy can sound—and I say, "Hi, I'm ... I'm sorry to barge in, but I saw you, and... and I wanted to say hi."

"The guy who ran into me down by the entrance on Tuesday, right? I remember your voice. You made a strong first impression."

"You were curious about the little blind girl?" There's an edge to her voice. Not angry exactly. More like sarcastic and a little amused, like she can tell I'm embarrassed now, so she's messing with me.

And it's okay to just keep staring at her, because she can't see me—I mean, like even if I could be seen. But it's not like watching that guy on the street, because this girl knows I'm here. She knows I exist. And she must know I'm looking at her face.

What's a little discomfort to one such as I?

If I say "No, thanks," then it'll be like I think she's a leper or something, and it'll hurt her feelings—which seems easy to do.

I have to shorten my stride because I'm taller.

The guy is on my side, and I'm ready to dodge him if he starts to plow into my space, but he sees Alicia's white cane and makes a wide arc to my right.

My heart is jumping around in my chest, and I'm tensed, ready to cut and run.

It's the look of someone who's trying to process impossible information.

I give an involuntary shrug. "That's what I've got to find out, and I have no idea."

My dad thinks I'd get abducted by the government or something, and he's probably right.

And I know exactly what this soldier is going to do when he gets back to the barracks.

"Well, I walked down the steps to the side door, then I turned the doorknob, then I pulled on the door, and then I stepped over the threshold, and there I was. I was out."

"You need to know where I am? Because you don't think I'm a responsible person? Well, I am. I know how to take care of myself. I'm actually pretty good at it."

Or maybe it's just me, blushing my patented invisible blush.

Because I decided I needed to tell her. It was a special situation, and I decided I could trust her.

And he stutters, and squints, and passes through all the phases that Mom, Dad, and Alicia have: fear, confusion, disbelief, and then amazement that levels out to a steady curiosity.

So as the great Professor Leo Van Dorn gets over the shock, he immediately starts to theorize, just like my dad did, except that he's an astronomer, so instead of talking calmly about visible light anomalies and refractive indexes like Dad did, he's pacing around the room looking at me from every angle while he runs one hand through his Einstein hair, and he's saying that I'm like a black hole, "... a different absorptive principle, of course, but quite extraordinary nevertheless."

I know what Dad means about feeling overwhelmed, and he's right—it's a relief to have a few more people on the official Save Bobby Phillips Committee.

I got scared because I woke up already knowing that I'm like this. That means I'm getting used to it. Nothing's changing, and I'm just rolling along, going with the flow. I'm adjusting to a serious maladjustment!

But the Committee does agree on one thing—by phone—that if Bobby Phillips is ever going to have a regular life, we must maintain absolute secrecy while we look for a way to get him back to normal.

I start by writing down everything I can remember about the two days before the suspect disappeared. What the suspect ate, what he wore, where he went, who he talked to, where he sat, how many times he washed his hands—as much as I can remember.

Then I categorize every item as many different ways as I can think of. Natural, synthetic, liquid, solid, electrical, chemical, wood, metal, plastic, paper—on and on.

Here's something dangerous I learn. About myself. I learn that even with a steady fear eating away at me—the fear of being this way forever—and even when I'm working hard to find a solution or just a clue, even then, I can call Alicia or get a snack or read a book, and I can trick myself into feeling almost normal for hours at a time.