Chapter 3: A Blood Sample

The United States could start a nuclear war. I could be standing atop the first bomb as it blew. I wouldn't die. The planet Earth could pull itself apart, exposing its innards to the cold of outer space. I wouldn't die. Why then, did the doctor scare me so much?

I didn't wake up to Matt's feet as I was accustomed to. School was already underway when Geoff woke me up. The group home I lived in had a privilege system so that kids with better behaviour were accorded more privilege. I had level 4, one short of the maximum. Taeem, two years my senior, was the only guy with level 5 privilege, but there was good reason I would never get there.

Geoff woke me gently. Every kid from a group-home can tell you the stories about the one complete sociopath that they had to live with. Ours wasn't a crown ward, ours was one of the social workers. Having no conscience somehow made Geoff the nicest, if creepiest and most dangerous, of the staffers.

"Simon," pause, "Simon. Wake up."

I grumbled.

Geoff shook me one last time, "You have 30 minutes, then we're leaving."

That's when I remembered my doctor's appointment and groaned aloud. Missing my morning classes wasn't much of a consolation prize. I was showered and ready in under 15 minutes and sat at the breakfast table contemplating my fate.

Worst case, I reasoned, the doctor notices something strange. Something inhuman. He wouldn't jump to any rash conclusions would he? He'd just be baffled, maybe call in some other medical experts. I'd have time to fix any mistakes I'd unknowingly made. Realistically, it would be the start down the road to discovery. Worst case would mean abandoning this life. Worst case would mean leaving Simon behind as a memory.

I could create a new body. A new identity. This time I wouldn't have to be a little child either. I knew enough about humans now that I might be able to impersonate an adult. I wouldn't care to live through the abuses and injustices of the Foster Care system a second time.

My main obstacle would be creating a proper identity. As a child, they had simply issued me one. Every few years they took a new picture and updated my records. As a child, nobody much cared about your Social Security number, your driver's license, or your passport. An adult couldn't do without and I did not know how to forge my own.

Being caught would mean starting over. It would make my nine years meaningless. It's strange that wasting nine years would pain me so much. Nine years used to mean nothing to me. Before donning this human shell, I'd slept for over nine years on a few occasions. When you may live for millions of years, time begins taking on a different meaning. Somehow, however, humanity had brought me into their busy pace.

This human need for constant action. This continuous struggle to make each day memorable lived in my veins. My last nine years felt filled in a way that my other 200,000 had not. I was growing attached to my life. I did not want to abandon my friends. I did not want to start over.

I could not bring myself to fear death where I knew nothing could harm me, but the human in me replaced that lack with a fear of discovery.

"Time to go!" said Geoff far too cheerfully.

I shuddered, then followed him to the car.

"Good morning Simon. I'm Dr. Griffin, nice to meet you."

I had a new doctor. I had a new doctor and she was gorgeous. Her blonde hair, tall cheekbones, skinny face, and intense eyes gave her all the typical features of a model. She gave me a secret smile, as though it was one she had reserved just for me. It drew some colour to my face, but it also put me on edge. I disliked her from the first, as though I instinctively understood that a rose survives best by concealing its barbs.

"Morning," I said. I tried to sound cheerful, though I'm sure I managed instead to sound sullen.

We went through the usual rigmarole. She took my weight and height. She looked in my mouth and ears. She asked question after question. Everything was shaking up to be the same routine I underwent every single year. I was just about ready to start relaxing when she changed the script.

"Okay Simon. That's just about all. You seem to be in excellent health. I'll send a nurse in to take a blood sample and then you're good to go," said doctor Griffin.

Alarm bells, "A blood sample? Why?" I asked.

"It's nothing to worry about," said the doctor patronizingly, "it doesn't hurt."

"It's not the needle," I defended, "It's just. Well, you said I was healthy. So, why the blood sample? Is something wrong with me?"

"Oh goodness, no dear. You're in good shape. It's just part of what we do once you reach this age." She said.

She was patronizing me again, "What for?" I asked, sounding curious.

She appraised me with raised eyebrows, "There are a lot of infections that can be spotted early with a blood sample," she smiled. "The earlier you spot and treat them, the less you need to worry."

"I'm not sexually active yet," I told her. She frowned. "Seriously. I'm basically ignored by the fairer sex. Even if most of the other kids who live in group homes have done it long before now, I haven't yet. So yeah, definitely STD free." She looked ready to talk again, but I knew I was on a roll. "I don't know of any other immunological tests that are done preemptively on a 16-year-old."

She put her hands up, signalling defeat. "Well, we can't force you Simon. I do, however, have to write down that you opted out."

"Thanks," I answered. The social workers wouldn't be pleased, but they'd live.

Blood sample dodged. Once I was 18, this would get significantly easier. It wasn't that I couldn't give blood. Unlike most of me, my blood was made up of proper matter. The problem was that it didn't contain many antibodies. It didn't need them. I would show up as negative on any immunology test, but if the technician was paying close attention, they'd quickly note the absence of antibodies. The only explanation would be that I've never been exposed to any pathogens which would, of course, be entirely impossible.

Lunchtime was just starting as Geoff dropped me off at school. A part of me expected Kerry and Sarah to magically appear the moment I got to school. It wasn't the girls, however, that I first saw, it was Matt and Richard. Perched on the rocks in front of school, they were eating their lunches. They recognized Geoff's car right away and waved me toward them.

"Dick, you're alive!" I greeted them.

"Yeah, feelin' better." He responded.

"Not a vampire then?" I asked.

He laughed and punched Matt in the shoulder, "No. Not a vampire."

At 5 feet 1 inch, less than 100 pounds, and half-Irish features, Richard does not strike anybody as the imposing vampire type. Richard spent most of grade 9 being picked on because of his stature and easy-going nature. Matt and I befriended him toward the end of the year and found a character full of wit. Our group of two became a group of three as we grew into fast friends.

I opened my lunch-bag to find a bagel and some crackers. I knew Cathy must have made my lunch this morning since none of the other social workers cared enough to add jam to the bagel. Most would either send nothing or just leave the bagel plain.

"So, any health news? Fit as a fiddle?" asked Richard.

"Are fiddles particularly fit?" I asked rhetorically, "Did either of you get a blood sample at your last checkups?"

Both Matt and Richard shook their heads.

"Huh," I commented.

"So where are the girlfriends?" asked Matt, looking around.

"Girlfriend?" asked Richard, looking surprised, "Are you seeing somebody? What did I miss?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Not somebody," said Matt, "Somebody-s" he added, emphasizing the 'S'.

Richard gave Matt an incredulous stare.

"Right. Girlfriends. No offence, but who is Simon dating?"

"Kerry and Sarah," answered Matt with a smirk.

"Kerry Malone?" asked Richard and Matt nodded, "Sarah Taylor?" asked Richard.

Matt shook his head, "Sarah Rose," he answered.

Richard turned to me, "No offence Simon, but I call bullshit."

Matt laughed, "Not even joking."

"Alright, fine. I won't play Fox tonight if you're not full of shit. If you're full of shit, you can't pick Kirby. Still think Simon's dating them?" asked Richard.

"You're on," enthused Matt. It was clear that Richard was not expecting Matt to take the bet.

They both turned to look at me. I thought about it for a moment, "Dating might be a bit premature," I said.

"Hah!" yelled Richard triumphantly.

"Yeah right! We're not going off of Simon's word. He's useless. Just wait and see," said Matt.

The rest of lunch was relatively uneventful. Matt and Richard spent far longer than reasonable discussing the plausibility of my love life. When Matt claimed that both girls knew about each other and had, in fact, agreed to share me, Richard scoffed and declared his victory as good as set.

We were walking back inside when the first of the repercussions for dating both Kerry and Sarah almost hit Matt in the head.

Before I had a human body, I could still perceive the world around me. It's hard to describe, because instead of eyes that physically took in light and made a picture, I could feel the energy emitted by photons as they passed. It was a different kind of seeing. The human brain (along with years of training) gives a lot of context to the images it sees. It automatically filters out blind spots, it emphasizes lines, it prioritizes moving objects, and it makes guesses about depth based on visual cues such as relative size. Human vision is a powerful tool and is, in many ways, superior to the way I naturally interact with light.

One bonus, however, to not relying on a physical sense organ to see everything is that I wasn't constrained to see only what was in front of me. So while I mostly relied on my human eyes in order to see the world around me, I was aware of the football hurtling toward us long before it reached us.

The easiest thing to do would have been to turn around and catch the football. I could pretend I just got lucky and happened to turn around at the right time. The issue was that while getting lucky works once or twice, it was not a good long term solution. If it were about to hit me, I would have just let it. It was a football, not a rock. It would bounce off my head and I would pretend that it hurt a bit and we'd all laugh about it.

It wasn't going to hit me though. Even though I was probably the intended target, it was going to hit Matt.

I stuck my foot out in front of Matt and tried to trip him. It's something the two of us used to do in elementary school all the time. Matt almost tripped, but he caught himself and, with a grin, he turned to gloat when the football missed his head by the smallest of margins and landed harmlessly in front of us.

"What the fuck?" said Matt as we turned to see Tom and two of his friends laughing at us.

I had thought it was Tom. My brain is much better at facial recognition than I am, so I hadn't been entirely sure it was him until I saw him with my eyes.

"What the fuck is your problem?" yelled Matt.

"What's the matter orphan-boy?" asked Tom as he and his friends walked toward us, "Never seen a football before?"

"Fuck you," responded Matt.

"Orphan-boy's parents don't have any money. Can't buy him any toys. Why is that I wonder?" snickered Tom. "'Cause his parents got fired," he said as his friends laughed.

Matt's parent's died in a house-fire when he was 5. He was there, but he claims not to remember it. Sometimes I wondered if that was really true. In grade 5, he stabbed another boy with a fork for making fun of the incident. Needless to say, the joke had been entirely uncalled for. Richard and I both reacted instantly. We grabbed Matt as he lunged forward. There was something very visceral in the growl that emerged from his throat as Tom and his friends laughed.

What happened next, happened strangely quickly. Matt stopped, and turned around. For a moment, I thought he was going to walk away. He picked up the football and without hesitation, stabbed it. We were all momentarily speechless. I didn't know Matt kept a knife on his person.

He flipped the blade back into the handle and pocketed the knife in one smooth motion.

His demeanour was casual as he tossed the ruined football back to Tom and said, "When you get your momma to buy you a new one, tell her I say 'Hi'."

"You little dipshit! You're buying me a new one" yelled Tom as he ran at us. In the blink of an eye, the knife was back in Matt's hand and there was an audible noise as the blade sprung from the knife's handle and pointed menacingly at Tom.

Richard was frozen like a deer in the headlights. Tom's two friends were in a similar predicament. Tom saw the knife but he had built too much momentum in order to stop in time. Matt's face was grim and determined, he wasn't moving.

Reacting faster than should have been possible, I threw my body between Tom and Matt. As I flew, I twisted my body and punched the knife out of Matt's hand as I drove my shoulder into Tom's gut. The knife went skidding across the pavement; I heard the air explode out of Tom's lungs and Matt's yelp as he looked down to where my fist had hit his hand.

It was moments like this that I was glad I had taken martial arts. I wouldn't have needed them to stop Matt and Tom, but because I had, it would serve as a good explanation as to how I'd been able to do what I had. That was, if anybody bothered to ask. Tom lay on the ground, gasping for the breath my shoulder had deprived him of. I sprang back up onto my feet.

I turned to Richard. "Dick, listen to me. Take Matt; make sure he's alright and go to class. Don't leave him 'till he's calmed down."

Matt was cradling his hand, "Ow! Fuck that hurt."

Tom was still on the ground, I looked at his friends who were still standing there, "He'll be fine."

Addressing them seemed to bring them out of their comatose state. They ran up to Tom to check that he was all right.

I walked over to the knife, tucked the blade back into the handle, and put it in my pocket. I took the deflated football as well and then walked away from the school and straight toward the forest. I spent the walk contemplating what would have happened to Matt had he actually stabbed Tom. I wasn't sure, but I knew it would have been bad. Really bad. Once I reached the forest, I found a tree I thought I would recognize again later and buried the knife along with the deflated football.

Without the evidence, there was no way to prove Matt had come as close as he had to stabbing somebody. Nobody was seriously hurt, although I might have fractured a bone in Matt's hand. With any luck, nobody would mention this to a teacher (or worse, though more farfetched, the police).

It was weird how quickly this day had gone from normal to crazy.

I left the forest and ran straight into Kerry. It was clear that she was looking for me.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, "What happened?"

"I'm already late for English, can we talk after?" I asked.

"You're a big boy, talk and walk at the same time," she said as she grabbed my hand and headed off for school.

"I heard Matt tried to stab Tom," she continued, sounding both excited and grim.

Wow, news travelled quickly! "Of course not," I answered, then continued in a lowered voice, "He stabbed Tom's football, that's all."

Kerry looked over her shoulder and into the forest, "You got rid of the knife!" she said, looking at me as though I had somehow made her proud.

"Kerry, the official story is that there was no knife. If anybody asks me that's what I'm going to say."

"Got it," she said, "There was no knife," then she giggled and I looked at her as she wisely stated, "There is no spoon."