Reflections

By Clifton Kenny

A humble youth. A paranormal gift. A haunting history. In 1974, Shane Sullivan is a quiet, gangly teen in the suburbs of Boston who discovers he can explore the ancestral memories of a person's lineage. Confused and frightened, his pursuit of this supernatural ability takes him down a dark and unexpected road of history long forgotten —or rewritten by historians.

With the aid of his two friends, Jimmer and Paige, he contemplates a more ruthless version of the reality he thought he knew. Shane finds himself on a shocking journey into a celestial world of truth that puts him face-to-face with his own destiny.

Filled with ghostly, historic discoveries of good versus evil, Reflections is a faithful, mystical tale about one teen's unique coming of age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clifton Kenny
• Release date: Nov 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386513407

Book preview

ONE

The rusty station wagon pulled into the deserted parking lot leaving a trail of white, smoky exhaust. It screeched to a stop under a dim streetlamp by Murphy’s Drug Store. Although it was only October, the temperature before sunrise felt more like December. A tall bearded man in a hunting cap, an army-green parka, faded work trousers, and worn-out boots got out and slammed the creaky, old car door shut. He made his way to the tailgate with an awkward, labored walk. He opened the wood paneled gate and started dropping off the bundles of newspapers. His chest heaved puffs of steamy breath in the freezing air.

’Bout time. Ya runnin’ late again, eh Hatcher?

The ragged old man shuddered, noticeably startled by the young voice. Shane emerged from the darkness of the drugstore stoop. He had been pressed flat against the stoop wall, listening to his transistor radio earpiece as he waited to start his daily paper route.

God damn, Sullivan, you just about gave me a heart attack, creepin’ out like that! I ain’t even late, you’re early, as usual, Hatcher grumbled in his thick Boston accent, and scratched his grey beard. There ya go, forty-seven. Hatcher tossed Shane’s bundle in his direction. Try not to spook anybody, will ya?

Shane quietly started his morning ritual, unbundling and recounting the issues of the Boston Herald. He packed them efficiently into his canvas newspaper bag so that he could carry them on his hip without too much discomfort while he walked his route. He habitually checked the date, weather, and headlines at the top of the front page. October 1st, 1974. Harvard DNA Research Panel Disbanded After Funding Slashed; Clear Skies, Cold Winds High 47, Low 36. He got on his way, tipping his cap to Mr. Hatcher. He ignored the old man’s mumbles and sauntered off toward his first house in the foggy darkness.

Somethin’ jus’ ain’t right bout that kid, Hatcher grumbled, lighting his pipe and getting back in his car to get warm and wait for the other carriers. With his long grey beard, the pipe smoke, the puffs of white car exhaust, and his visible breath in the frosty air, Hatcher was enveloped in fog.

In the past, Shane had ridden his bike to do the route, and even pulled the papers on a toboggan in the snow, but walking was the way he did the job most often, and with the least amount of hassles. He walked so frequently that sometimes he seemed to retrace his steps. He would occasionally stoop over to look in his bag and reread the date and headlines. This reminded him what the actual date was when the days seemed to run together. At times his paper route routine made him feel trapped in the same place, but other times, he felt free in his own world to do his own job while no one was awake yet to notice. Not that anyone really noticed Shane anyway.

The youngest of four, Shane often felt invisible at home and at school. He was a decent soccer player, but no comparison to his brother Bobby, the all-star athlete in soccer, hockey, and baseball, who had just graduated from high school last June. Bobby was full of confidence, always surrounded by his loyal jock buddies, dating a cheerleader or some other popular girl, and sailing through his classes with honor roll grades. Everything came easily to him, and he had life all figured out, even now as he started his first year at Framingham State College. Shane’s sisters were also active and popular in school, in their own ways. Tammy was a junior, and involved with cheerleading and gymnastics. Due to her light hair, curvy figure, and below average grades, she was the butt of many blonde jokes. She enjoyed the fact that all the guys were attracted to her, and dated actively. His sister Jeannie, the sophomore, was the smartest of the clan. She was on the debate team, swim team, and in the top five of her class GPA. With her red hair and slender physique, she turned some boys heads as well, and had had a few steady boyfriends in the past. The more recognition and popularity each of his siblings got in high school, the more invisible Shane felt down in the lowly eighth grade.

His mind often strayed at this dark silent hour while he plodded through the streets. Sometimes he tried to organize his thoughts and remember things he needed to do like homework deadlines, and chores at home. Other times he listened to his transistor radio. It only got a few AM stations, but he could turn the small radio dial to find local news, sports talk, and golden oldies. He had become quite adept at interpreting the local weather forecast, so much so that he could predict school closings before the snowstorms even hit the Boston area. He often tuned in for the Bruins scores, or the Red Sox, and usually let the news chatter just keep him company as he walked his hometown streets before the sun came up.

Then there were the times he just let his imagination wander, conjuring up fantasies of scenes from his life that would feature him for a change. It was now one of those times. Shane trudged up the steepest hill on his route.

... Of course, I would wake up first because I’m the lightest sleeper, Shane thought. I’d hear the back door open; I know that sound better than anybody because I have to slip in and out for my paper route all the time. I’d sneak down the loft steps into the kitchen without a sound. Then, I’d jump the prowler from behind, and get him in a choke hold! He’s big and all, but I can lock that choke in tight. He’d flail around and try to toss me, but I’d just keep on choking and let my legs and hips fly around. He’d spin again, and try to knock me off his back. I’d start shouting directions. Hey! Get up; call the cops! My sisters’d look downstairs and scream. Bobby’d finally come down all freaked out and macho, threatening to kick somebody’s ass, but by then the burglar would be unconscious or dead on the floor. Pops probably wouldn’t even–

Looks like a cold one. The sharp voice shocked Shane. He was breathing heavily after lugging his bag up the hill, and nearly lost his wind when startled awake from his predawn musing. He looked around to get his bearings. His fantasy had absorbed most of his attention, and only force of habit had guided his feet to this point.

For the game today. Cold and windy. We’ll need to keep it on the ground against them Natick jerks. Shane realized he had made it to the varsity soccer coach’s house. Coach Collins was a Boston Herald subscriber on Shane’s route, and was often awake before sunup plotting out game plans at the desk in his garage. He had stepped outside to call in his dog when he saw Shane, half dazed, slumping up the hill.

After the surprise of being caught daydreaming, Shane thought his breathing would calm down, but it didn’t.

Boy, are you even payin’ attention to what you’re doin’? coach asked firmly. You gotta focus, Sullivan, focus! You’ve got a way to go if you ever expect to play like your... Coach’s voice trailed off as Shane’s daze worsened. He was looking into Coach Collins’s eyes, but couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying.

What the hell is happening to me? Am I hyperventilating? Shane wondered. The shock had triggered his adrenaline, but his tired body was frozen in place. He saw an eerie glare around Coach’s silhouette as if he was blocking the sunrise. He felt his head ringing like the moment a headache turns into a full-blown fever. The sun doesn’t come up there... it’s not even... What Shane saw next made him stop trying to figure out what was happening to him.

As he stood paralyzed, he watched Coach’s intimidating face become blurry and slowly change. He could only stare and try to breathe. Coach’s appearance seemed to transpose into a different one. His face looked almost the same, but with less hair, and more wrinkles. Am I watching him age? Shane searched for any explanation, when his eyes focused a bit more to see the wrinkles leave Coach’s face and reveal a different likeness. Wait, he’s not older, he’s just– not Coach. But it’s so much like him, maybe it’s like a relative. Like his dad or something? How in the hell is this happening!?

"Now don’t ever forget son, ya learn by doin’, a mysterious voice echoed from the faint image. If ya wanna truly understand somethin’... go out there and live through it. Take the chance. Go for the big risk..." The piercing voice, like the face, was similar to Coach’s, but belonged to someone else. Shane stood stunned, pupils fully dilated, not knowing what to think or do.

Sullivan! Have you heard a word I’ve said!? Coach bellowed. Shane was snapped back into reality. Everything was normal. It was dark, no glares. Coach was Coach. He was still rambling on about how the weather affects the game. Shane wasn’t even breathing heavily. But he had been absent for Coach’s entire talk.

Umm, uhh... Shane struggled to try to blend back into the conversation.

We’ll be playing the four-four-two today and keeping the ball flat on the ground. I’m telling Coach Morgan to do the same with the JVs. I hope you listen to him better’n this! Hard to believe you’re related to the smartest sweeper who ever ran my defense, Coach grumbled.

Yes, Coach, Shane blurted in a late attempt to show respect.

Just don’t make me sorry I spoke up to have you moved up to the JVs a year early. We have big expectations for you, young man. So keep your head clear.

Slightly dizzy and unsure of what had just happened, Shane checked the date on the front page of the next paper in his bag. October 1st, 1974. He shuffled along, dragging his feet exhaustedly for the rest of his route. Shane always wore out his sneaker treads too fast from dragging his feet. He also hunched his shoulders, especially when he carried his newspaper bag. At his height in the early morning hours, he could have been mistaken for a slender old man shuffling through the darkness.

What in the hell was that? Shane wondered. I mean, I know I can daydream up a storm, but damn... I almost passed out! Who was that sketchy old face, a ghost? Learn by doin’... What kinda crap is that? Hafta figure this out later, musta been a dream. Nobody’d ever believe me anyway. Thank God I’m almost home, it’s wicked cold out here. He plodded up his driveway on Old Connecticut Path and slipped back into his small colonial house, and back into real life.

Shane always felt like he was sneaking out and sneaking back into the house when doing his route. The whole house was pitch dark and quiet when he woke up each day. He usually startled himself awake a few minutes before his alarm went off at five o’clock, paranoid he would oversleep and be late for everything. He knew how to climb off his top bunk, navigate the obstacle course of the bedroom floor littered with dirty clothes and sports equipment from him and Bobby, get dressed, and get down the tiny hall past the joining bathroom and girls’ bedroom to the rickety loft steps. The stairs in this small colonial house looked more like a slanted old ladder with railings. But even if they did squeak under the weight of footsteps, this never awakened anyone, since the family was used to many structural noises. Their home was a two hundred twenty-three-year-old historical landmark known as The Butler House, and they were proud of its age, and forgiving of its faults.

Once down in the kitchen, he had the floor plan memorized in the dark. He’d grab his canvas bag from the hook on the wall by the phone, tiptoe past his parents’ room through the living room and out the side door. He didn’t need to be so quiet once downstairs, since his mother was usually working third shift at the hospital. His father was either working extra hours or passed out drunk after his night shift. Shane’s mother was a nurse at Mass General, and his father worked for the department of transportation as a conductor on the T. Both worked hard, and didn’t have much presence in Shane’s daily life. So, slipping in and out of the house was always easy.

After coming back in, he made his way upstairs where everything was as dark and as dead as he’d left it. Shane turned on the first light of the day in the tiny bathroom that joined the two siblings’ bedrooms. He got undressed, wrapped himself up in his robe, and started the shower. The old house was always terribly drafty and cold much of the year, so the shower made a great deal of steam that warmed and comforted Shane. As he hung his robe on the door hook, he turned toward the mirror and noticed his tall, awkwardly thin body and shaggy red hair in the reflection. With a scowl on his freckled face, he stepped into the hot shower and pulled the door shut. His feeling of luxurious warmth was short lived, as the combination of alarm clocks, radios, and creaking pipes was the daily cue for his sisters to awake.

Shane heard the usual sounds of stirring from the girls’ room. The doors of the tiny walk-through bathroom were plank wood, hung on their original hinges with an old-fashioned latch. They slanted down at the top to match the tapered ceiling. The door opened from the girls’ side and the floorboards groaned as someone walked to the sink and stood in front of the big three-foot mirror. The shower door, made of clear glass, had fogged up from the steam so Shane retained a momentary shred of his privacy. The blurry person on the other side gave three loud taps on the glass and slid the shower door open just a crack.

Time’s up, Shaney. It’s been more than five minutes, save us some hot water, would ya?! It was Tammy. She was wearing her last boyfriend’s old football tee shirt as pajamas. Shane couldn’t remember the guy’s name, as Tammy dated many football players. She pulled off her shirt and grabbed a towel to make a temporary skirt.

Keep it runnin’ Shaney, I got it next, she said.

Don’t call me Shaney, Shane muttered. He peeked at Tammy in the mirror, then quickly drooped his head and stepped out. He reached for his towel with a shameful expression and a slouching posture. He tried not to look too obviously as Tammy’s towel dropped to the floor. She paused at the glass door, caught Shane’s eye in the mirror, and got into the steamy shower. I bet Jimmer will be wishing he was me again, Shane thought to himself as he started brushing his teeth. He’s always beggin’ for a peek at Tammy and Jeannie, and carryin’ on about how gorgeous they are, how I’m the luckiest prick in the world. What a jerk-off! He felt a chill and finished brushing his teeth. As he fumbled to put on his robe and re-hung his towel, he got a look at himself in the big mirror and couldn’t help but wonder if Tammy had looked at him. Nah, she and Jeannie practically raised me, no big deal for them. Besides, I’m like the skinniest kid in the eighth grade, and she’s been with all those muscle-head jocks. How embarrassing, I have to share a bathroom with two girls that all the guys are after. He rolled his eyes and started combing his hair.

As if on cue, Jeannie barged in and banged on the glass.

Time’s up, save some for me! she called in her shrill voice. Hey Shane, all set for school? She turned away from him and started to unbutton her pajama top.

Yeah, almost... just gotta get dressed, he mumbled, bowing his head and walking back toward the door to his room.

Get some breakfast honey. And dress warm, it’s gonna be freezin’ today. Check the wood stove, ’kay? Jeannie called after him with a caring tone.

Uh-huh, Shane replied. As he swung the door shut with his heel, he caught a glimpse of Jeannie pulling off her pajamas and switching places with Tammy as she got out of the shower.

Jimmer’s right, Tammy’s boobs are bigger, he thought to himself shamefully. Get outta my head you perv. I’m never telling Jimmer about this stuff anymore. He got dressed quickly, left Bobby in a sound sleep and climbed downstairs. Lucky bum, his first class at Fram State isn’t ’til like 10:00! He makes it look so friggin’ easy, and he gets to do whatever he wants. And all the popular girls in high school like him even more now than when he was the super-jock there. Sucks. He stoked the fire in the wood stove, downed his cereal, and left for school. On his way he replayed in his mind the bizarre experience he had with Coach Collins, and still could make no sense of it.

TWO

On the corner of Old Connecticut Path and Hardy, Shane met up with Paige. A feeling of relief came over him, as he saw her coming out of the corner of his eye a few moments before she saw him. Finally, someone who understands, Shane thought. Maybe she can make some sense of my crazy-ass daydreams. Or, at least she’ll listen. Shane and Paige had been friends since kindergarten, which was rare in a middle school where most boys viciously teased and pretended to hate most girls, and vice versa.

Damn Shane, I can hear you draggin’ your feet a block away! Even before I saw you, I knew’d it was you.

Hey buddy, Shane replied. Still tired, I guess. Couldn’t sleep, woke up too early... I think I was walkin’ in my sleep on my route this morning. The Coach freaked me out somethin’ awful.

Really? Paige’s dark brown eyes widened with interest. What’d he do?

Well... Shane hesitated. He always told Paige everything, but this was more bizarre than usual. This is gonna sound crazy but, I think he caught me daydreamin’, and like –he scared me so bad– I kinda started dreamin’ on him. I mean like, right while he was talkin’ to me.

Paige looked at him quizzically. Huh?

Yeah, ya know, like... I could see him and hear him yellin’ at me, but then he got all blurry and hazy, like a... a dream. And his face changed too, it kinda blurred into an old-guy-Coach, or like an old relative or something. Shane peered at his confidant, hoping she wouldn’t think he was a total freak.

Uhh, sounds kinda nutso to me, Shane, she replied. You been smokin’ some of Bobby’s grass?

Oh, very funny. Just forget about it, ya freakin’ retard! Shane scowled.

Okay! Mellow out, chucklehead, she answered with a slight grin. The awkward pair schlepped on to school in silence, red cheeked and puffing visible breaths in the frigid morning air. Perhaps part of their successful friendship was due to their ability to stick together in silence. This set them apart from the typical middle school maturity level of arguing and dirt slinging that most kids prided themselves on. They could toss around profanities with the best of them, but Shane and Paige had an unspoken bond from a lifetime of close friendship which they somehow knew should be valued and protected.

Shane sat next to Paige in their first class, social studies, which helped him stay focused for at least the first part of the day. His attention still wandered off at times but in this class, Paige could keep him in check. They sat toward the back of the class, so she could poke him when he gazed out the window daydreaming if Mr. Golasso wasn’t looking, or kick his feet when he leaned on his hand and his breathing got louder.

Today Mr. Golasso was going on at great length about their new family research project. ...This project will count for a full quarter of your grade this term and is to be taken very seriously. All students must research their family line and submit a five-page research paper addressing two main queries: how did your family change our rich American history, and how has American history changed your family...

Shane’s attention was fading in and out, just barely enough to get the main idea and spin a new mental picture of how he might have a long lost relative who was a World War II fighter pilot, or maybe spy in the Revolutionary War. He’d skimmed his textbook already, and had a genuine interest in American history, especially as it related to Boston and its role in the American Revolution, but as always he couldn’t stay with the dry, monotone lecture in the classroom so his attention went its own way.

...and when you’ve compiled as much research data as possible, Mr. Golasso blathered on, you need to consider all historical events on America’s timeline, and how they align with your family history’s timeline, and deeply reflect on how these lines affect each other in your narrative which will be due no later than...

The bell snapped Shane out of his seat, eager to get out of the class. Paige rolled her eyes at the huge assignment, and muttered, See you at lunch, as they filed out into the hall.

Shane made it through his morning classes without being noticed, which was a daily goal he was usually glad to achieve. He entered the noisy cafeteria, focused only on his safe little unpopular corner where he sat with his two friends. He slipped into his regular lunch spot next to Jimmer and across from Paige and opened his sack lunch.

Anything good today, jerk-off? Jimmer asked kiddingly.

Nah, just baloney, kinda like your freakin’ head, ya skid, Shane fired back.

The two boys had played soccer together for years and shared a common sarcasm that was a bit harsher than the friendship he had with Paige.

Hah-hah, back at ya, spaz! Jimmer retreated by flipping Shane a middle finger and shoving half his sandwich in his mouth.

Sucks about the new history project huh? Paige mentioned between bites. That is gonna take a ton o’ work! Five pages? Reflect on how family and timelines affect each other? What a load o’ crap! How freakin’ beat is that? Paige vented.

Actually, I didn’t get that part, Shane admitted. Doesn’t ‘reflect’ mean to like, remember stuff that happened to you? How do we do that if we weren’t even born?

Reflection means like sunlight shining on glass, or like a mirror. Golasso’s a moron, Jimmer snapped.

Hey Paige, you still got that dictionary? asked Shane.

Yeah, but it sucks. S’posed to be a pocket dictionary, but all the definitions are like three words. It never helps.

Aw what the hell, look up reflect. Jus’ for shits and giggles, Shane suggested. Never wanting to let her friend down, Paige pulled out the small book and thumbed through the pages with a hopeless expression looking for the word reflect.

Oh, here it is. Reflect. Whoa, twelve definitions! This book never has that many, check it out, Paige pointed at the list of alternate definitions. The boys glanced at it upside-down from across the table but were both too lazy to move.

Aw, jus’ tell us, Jimmer whined.

Okay, okay, Paige continued. "Most of ’em start with ‘to cast back,’ like casting back light or an image... but there’s a couple different ones too. Like this one: ‘to think, ponder, or meditate–as in to reflect on one’s virtues and flaws.’ Oh, and this last one: ‘to give a particular impression–as in: The test will reflect your knowledge.’"

Shane and Jimmer both looked at Paige with slight frowns, as if this was a more intellectual topic than they had bargained for during a lunch period.

Well, I guess it just means we have to think really hard about whatever we can find– and write whatever the hell we want. Damned if I know, Paige concluded.

Before they knew it, the bell rang signaling the trio to get up and rush off to their separate classes. Good luck in your game, Shane! Paige called as they went separate ways in the hall.

Try not to get your legs broke with those JVs, Jimmer added with a trace of jealousy in his voice. He was not called up as Shane was, and still played on the seventh and eighth grade modified soccer team.

Shane just nodded, put his head down, and dragged himself to class. He had forgotten how much he liked away games, and before he knew it he was getting out of class early for the bus ride to Natick.

Too bad chicken pox took out the whole varsity midfield. The coach looks mad as hell to have to use me at varsity center-mid. I’ll show him. He doesn’t know what I can do on the field. We kick off, and I’m running the show, directing the midfield, faking my mark out of his jock, threading the needle with a perfect through-pass, then I break off and sprint an overlap run just in time to strike the high cross with a diving header! Goal in the side netting! What a play! The varsity guys gather in the center circle to give me high-fives, but look at me kinda funny like they’re wondering ‘who the hell is this skinny JV kid!?’ I bet they’ll remember me now. Who knows, it’s early in the game, maybe I’ll get a hat trick and be in the paper. Whole school’d flip right out if...

Sullivan! Kirk, the captain of the JV team was staring at Shane over the back of the bus seat. Shane was daydreaming while feeling the sun on his face in his window seat of the bumpy bus ride. Lace up your cleats, we’re almost there. JVs play on the upper field, you’re carryin’ the balls, and we warm-up right away, so hustle your ass up there.

Sure thing, Shane responded, looking down. He was a bit embarrassed and wondered what Kirk’s impression of him was. Crap, maybe he thought I was sleeping. Or, no. He probably knew I was daydreaming ’cause he gave me a job. People always give ya jobs just when ya don’t need one. Or maybe he even thought I was getting focused on the game, I coulda’ been doin’ that.

During the game, Shane played about half the time and split shifts with the left and right winged defenders. Although he wished for center midfield, he was at the bottom of the totem pole and put in at random times when the defense got tired. The Framingham Flyers were losing almost immediately, but Shane was making tough plays and not letting anyone get by him.

Gotta keep it up, fast feet, smart passes, stop everything... Shane mentally coached himself while on the field. At least they haven’t scored on my shift, so even if we lose, the coaches will know I’m a solid player. Just as he finished the thought and began backpedaling, a Natick midfielder streaked to the corner and lofted a beautiful cross. The ball soared to the middle of the goalmouth as Shane followed his mark