Chương 19: Book 2 - Chapter 1 A

Tomorrow is July 4th, 1984 and my birthday. I'll turn eight years old. My name is John Wayne Cook, I have a photographic memory, a documented IQ somewhere above 170 and I'm omniscient. Earlier this year I gained the ability to remember future events. Events where alternate future versions of me go anywhere and do practically anything. The things they experience and learn I can remember. There is no practical limit to what they can learn, experience, or discover because there are no limits to the number of them.

Sometimes the memories of those futures that will never happen talk to me. Right now I'm losing a fight with my Mom. I am desperate to go to Fort Worth, Texas for the US Chess Open tournament. It starts on August 4th and ends on the 12th. I want to go and win. Winning is not the hard part. Five weeks ago I played 200 skilled chess players, 40 at a time, simultaneously. I won every game but one, and that was a draw with an internationally ranked chess grandmaster.

"Mom, it's my only chance. If I don't go there is no telling where they will hold it next year. It's just Fort Worth, that's hardly far at all," I complained.

"I just can't take you. It's a week long tournament, I just can't take the time. I have to finish packing, and we have to get settled. Mattie starts her new school on the 13th, the day it ends. I'm sorry but there is just no way," Mom said with finality.

"If I find a way, can I go?" I asked.

"I'll consider it. Until then, please go do something outside," Mom requested. Following Mom's orders, I went outside and got on my bicycle. The hot vinyl seat was a quick shock against my shorts. I pedaled hard down the street, feeling the familiar, jarring rumble of the thick tire treads over the asphalt cracks until I hit the whirring crunch as the road turned to gravel. Past the old cemetery and onto the farm road that led past the fields and to the river.

It was nearly two miles down to my usual spot on the Canadian River. I dropped my bike in the tall grass, and moved to where I could do Tai Chi without being seen. The low, steady murmur of the river, thick with summer humidity. The faint roar of water falling from the hydroelectric dam only 4 miles upstream. I slipped instantly into the Brush Knee and Push form, my movements slow and deliberate, designed to push away the pent up frustration of losing a fight to my Mom.

As I focused and relaxed into the moment, the tension left me. I felt the last knot of annoyance dissolve when I transitioned to Parting the Wild Horse's Mane, opening my arms wide to the bright blue sky. The movement quieted my mind, allowing the noise of the world to recede until nothing was left but the slow, focused breath in my chest. I moved into the Now. The voices of the future came. They weren't a shock, but a gradual filling of the silence I had just created, like a chorus waiting for the conductor's cue.

"You know there is a way."

"Mom is going to be so mad if I do it," I responded silently to the voices.

"We know exactly how mad she will be. The choice is yours. It's not particularly important."

"It impresses the right people at the right time."

"The question is how important is it to you? Do you do it for the plan, or do you do it for the glory, or do you do it for the fun of pulling it off, no matter how mad everyone gets? Why do you live the life you're living, what makes it worth the effort?" You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"I like the idea of flying my plane the best, but if I do that I'll get grounded, literally, for years."

"The choice is yours, as always," the voices concluded.

"I'm going, but I'll fly commercial," I said, making the decision out loud. There were currently three viable options. One, not go. Two, take a commercial flight from Tulsa to Fort Worth. Three, take my brand new Pterodactyl pTiger ultralight airplane. The problem with number three is that it comes unassembled as a kit and has not yet arrived. There is no medicine for regret. I know I could solve all those problems. It would have been so cool to fly myself to the competition.

I had chosen not to do something that my memories said would be awesome. I felt regret. My family was planning their normal birthday/holiday celebration. This year my grandparents would be coming to join the celebration for the first time. I was expecting a lot of presents this year. I wasn't getting extra presents just for turning eight. I was getting presents for a lot of different reasons. I had just graduated from High School and been accepted to start at TU, the University of Tulsa, this fall.

I had sent a letter to my Grandma Beth with winning lottery numbers and a dollar. She had won millions of dollars. I had instructed my Grandpa Joe on how to invest in the stock market, and he had already tripled their winnings in the last month. While I was looking forward to cashing in at the party, I did have some money of my own. I had $2, 000 that had come as an advance on a book I wrote while finishing high school.

$1, 000 for the book in its original French, as it had been a school assignment, and an additional $1, 000 for the same book in English, which also was a school assignment. My party on the 4th went well. Dad, as on every fourth, acted as safety officer and master of ceremonies.

"All right, for those of you who don't know our traditions," he said, nodding at my grandparents who were standing in the backyard with the rest of the family just after sundown.

"Johnny launches the first rocket. Then everyone else will get a rocket to light. Since it's an even year, the order is youngest to oldest."

"I'll be helping Mattie again this year," Mom added. I stepped up to my rocket and pointed the lighter at the fuse. Dad had already set the rockets up for firing. It whooshed into the air and exploded into a brilliant red starburst.

"Yay! My turn!" Mattie shouted, and ran to her rocket. Mom took the lighter from me and holding it with Mattie's help, lit it and hurriedly backed away with her. This one was a brilliant green and blue. Mom did hers next followed by Dad. Grandma preceded Grandpa, and finally it was my turn again.

"Every year," Dad explained, "I look for the biggest rocket I can find for the birthday boy." He stepped away and came back with a truly massive rocket.

"This year I think I got something extra special." Grandpa helped him set it down and then watched as a trigger cord was unrolled.

"Rule for this one is everybody has to stand on the other side of the house in case of a misfire. Joe, can you take everyone around? Johnny and I will just go around the corner of the house to hit the trigger button." Grandpa eagerly directed everyone around to the front yard, where they all stood looking up. Dad set up the trigger and once we were both around the corner, showed me how to fire it.

"Five, Four, Three, Two, One!" I shouted loudly so everyone would know it was about to go. I hit the trigger: there was a pop, a hiss and a huge roar. It was rapidly visible overhead and seemed to climb forever. It disappeared into the night sky, then it became bright like daylight as it exploded. The sound could be felt, and I could hear all the neighborhood dogs howling. Birthday traditions are awesome.

"Amazing, Dad. You get a better rocket every year."

"Happy birthday, Johnny."

"I'm eight, Dad. Time to start calling me John." He gave me a look, grinned and picked me up, setting me on his shoulder as he walked around to the front of the house.

"No promises, but I hear you."