The western sky was orange, pink, and blue. Violet vastness began to settle over the San Vallejo Mountains to the east. A rooster clucked passively despite Jesse’s growing frustration, and the anxious prodding of his feet caused the rooftop gravel to make muffled crunches. He hurried toward the chicken coop, opened the door, and walked in.
Still, the rooster remained and belted out a caw.
“Fuck!” The bird panicked and fluttered its wings. “I thought I had it this time.”
Yusef stood well behind Jesse near the ledge of the rooftop, observing him. “I know, Mubtadi. You became too eager. You need to complete your focus, not jump to it as soon as you feel it, or think you feel it.”
Jesse sighed, then walked out of the giant cage and slammed the door behind him. The sky shuddered. Then the skyline of surrounding rooftops and buildings began to lose focus, as if a mirage.
“Calm, Mubtadi. Come sit and focus.”
Shutting his eyes, Jesse put his arm out toward the floor in front of the coop. A cushioned mat appeared and he set himself down, sitting on his legs.
“And let us work on making that language… more intelligent, Mubtadi.”
His eyes closed, a half-smirk came across Jesse’s face. “You trying to turn me into a goodie, old man?”
“Oh, I would never dream of such a thing, Mubtadi.” He cleared his throat with a forced cough. “Now remember where you are. Take control of your dream.”
The horizon calmed and the surrounding skyline returned to focus. The rooster settled back down and clucked again.
This was the third night that Yusef was overseeing Jesse’s practice on creating and opening his very own pylon. Before, every time Yusef brought Jesse to the Plane he had constructed a pylon specifically for him, and he created a way for Jesse to open it within his own dream without him really knowing. Jesse learned that it required a lot of preparation and focus because a pylon was a permanent way that a Reader could manifest a portal from the subconscious of their own dreams to access the Plane. The more the design of the portal resembled something within the den of the dreamer, the easier and safer it was to access and exit the Plane. Jesse insisted that the chicken coop from his old house reminded him of being home more than anything, so he was attempting to imagine it here at the apartments.
He also learned that losing a connection to the Plane abruptly or by force could be problematic, as was the case with Yusef when he was attacked by the wraith. Even without a wraith, if a Reader felt enough pain or distress they would be forced to awaken and booted from the Plane, experiencing aftereffects similar to Yusef’s. Not being able to access the Plane for a length of time then left a Reader susceptible to infiltration, because their haze would be accessible and unprotected on the Plane. To make matters worse, there was a visible essence that evaporated from a Reader’s avatar, the bodily form they inhabited while on the Plane. This colorful essence would begin to make its own way back to the defeated Reader’s haze, leading anyone willing to follow and track down the essence straight to their den.
Now Jesse had to envision a portal that he constructed from within his subconscious. It was something that represented or reminded him of his core self: the person he always was before he grew up, or as most people do it, force themselves to grow up. The time was coming for Jesse to take charge of his own destiny and manifest his will deep beyond his subconscious to a breaching point into the Plane.
Jesse steadied his breathing. His psyche formed various images on the back of his eyelids but he avoided the temptation to explore them. Instead, he used his mind’s eye to push past the visages and illusions. The rooster crowed and the shrillness brought him back to his childhood. Before everything changed. Before he did. He was trying to retreat within himself, a trust fall backward into his own id.
Maria’s face, then her body appeared briefly in his mind. Then Portola’s campus, Racha, Xotchitl, Moises, Raymond, and Carolina’s wraith. The thunderous violence of that encounter reminded him of pale, fluorescent-filled nights in the old house when the family was still together, except for Mamá, of course. The sudden silence before Papá would act out and throw a beer bottle. The scraping of the chair against the ugly linoleum and the rumble of the flimsy kitchen table getting shoved aside by an angry mountain, suddenly reddened and awakened. It would explode with steaming magma and giant dark clouds that filled Jesse’s eyes and heart with doom.
And yet Junior stood by, a statue without a hint of fear or anger. No matter what age Junior was in Jesse’s memory -- even when he was younger than Jesse now -- his brother always seemed bigger and older than him. Then there was Erick, who would witness the eruption with brooding, his face getting hotter and holding back a rush of lava just beneath the surface.
“Jesse!”
His eyes fluttered open. He and Yusef were no longer on the rooftop. Jesse was sitting in the old kitchen. The cheap, shadowy lights and the broken beer bottle both drenched the walls. Yusef stood in the doorway behind Jesse. “Shit,” Jesse said.
Yusef cleared his throat and said nothing.
“Fuck. I meant, ‘shoot’ or some shit.”
“Well, I suppose that is progress. We will call it a night here, Mubtadi.”
“Yeh. A’ight.”
“Ah. There is one more thing, Mubtadi. My apologies, I almost forgot.”
Jesse looked up and didn’t get an immediate response. “What? What is it?”
“You have progressed. Not just spiritually on the Plane, not just physically here in the waking world, but mentally as well. I am very proud of you, Mubtadi. You are ready to advance further.”
Jesse didn’t realize it at first, but his eyebrows suddenly felt like they were going to float off of his forehead. He furrowed them downward and put on an intimidating look. “Yeh, what?”
“I am going to arrange with your counselor to change your schedule. It is time to put you in some more challenging classes.”
“Aw, fuck.”
“Beg your pardon?
“Ah, fun. Fun. That sounds… that sounds great, ‘Sef.” Jesse said, deflated. Then a thought came to him. “Honors classes? Like, English?”
Yusef gave Jesse an inquisitive look. “Yes, that is one class I was thinking about transferring you to. Or perhaps Honors Biology.”
“Yeh… English,” Jesse repeated, a far-off look in his eyes now. He thought of Maria’s shiny legs and her careless fingers twirling her hair in his new Honors English class. He knew she had his same English teacher, Mr. Klinkhammer, but for Honors. Replaying her in his mind from Spanish class, Jesse loved watching her flats hang off the tips of her toes as she let a shoe dangle from her crossed leg under her desk. Having another class with her would improve his chances so much, not to mention just being around her was an intoxicating thought. What if she was in all of his new classes?
“Jesse!”
“What!”
“You were ignoring me. I was trying to ask if you thought that would be too much for you to take on next semester.”
“Oh. Yeh, I heard you. I was just trying to think about it. Yeh. Do it.”
In the morning, Jesse ignored the notifications on his phone and crawled out of bed to power through a ten-minute round of dumbbell curls, push-ups, crunches, and weighted squats. He knew he had failed again last night. But he also had come to realize that failure was a part of success. He realized he was uncovering and facing things his mind had buried over the years, both knowingly and unknowingly. This, too, was progress.
He felt good about his advancements. Checking over his homework and putting it in his folder, he was also pleased and impressed with himself in his academic improvements.
Jesse was about to zip up his backpack when he spotted his green spiral notebook, in which he was compiling the various poems and free-writes about Maria.
The unfamiliar positivity he was feeling this morning spurred a moment of inspiration and he needed to put pencil to paper. He needed to get down the clear image he saw in his heart of how this love he felt for her was most genuine and powerful. If it could change him this much, what would it do for her? Where could this love take him once he finally was with her?
Looking at his phone, he cursed as he realized he wouldn’t have enough time to finish this poem before he had to leave for school. Jesse grabbed the notebook, tore out a sheet of paper and titled it, “My Nightingale.” Then he hurriedly creased the loose paper into his hoodie pocket.
“Imma finish this shit before I even get there,” he vowed to himself with a clenched fist in the air. He chuckled at himself. It was crazy to think how far he had come in such a short time -- and how far he was going to go in just that day. “Maria Fonseca is finally going to know who I am.”