Talent

 © Lawrence Buentello

 Kellog was a six year-old boy who lived in a quiet neighborhood in the suburban desolation of Muncie, Indiana. He was blond of hair, thin, and small for his age, and seemed more like a large toddler than a six year-old boy. Kellog's mother always told him that he must have some special quality or talent to compensate for his small stature. But Kellog was still waiting for this observation to be confirmed. As far as he knew, he had no special talents or qualities. Kellog's real name was Jeffrey Connors, but his father had given him the odd appellation one day after a particularly imaginative conversation. His mother, overhearing the remark, said irritably that a father should never refer to his own son as a flake.

“Bring your skates, Kellog,” Janie Birch said from the sidewalk while smoothing down her dress against the breeze. Her patent leather shoes shone brightly against the gray sidewalk. She was proud of her clothes. She was six years old, too, and seemed to be the only other child in the neighborhood willing to play with him. She was a small for her age as well, but she still stood taller than Kellog.

“All right,” Kellog said, and ran into his house to retrieve the skates. They were really too big for him to use effectively, but they fit Janie's feet perfectly. Kellog liked Janie a great deal.

Kellog returned to the sidewalk and watched as Janie buckled the plastic skates onto her nice leather shoes.

“Stand back and let me balance,” she said. She spread her arms and began drifting down the sidewalk angelically. Kellog watched her glide away from him, rocking on his feet as his clothes fluttered in the breeze. These were a shirt and pants his aunt had given him. Baby clothes . But he didn't mind. At least they fit.

Janie drifted just a little more before a strong gust directed her toward the driveway of Kellog's house. Her eyes got very wide as the skates mystically sought the incline and her body turned to follow. She rolled briskly down the driveway and onto the asphalt of the street just as a bright red minivan was turning the corner. Kellog watched in amazement as Janie Birch skated uncontrollably into the path of the minivan—even at his age he knew that the collision might really scrape her up. And so, because he really, really liked Janie—she was very nearly his only playmate—he closed his eyes and wished her into his mind.

Janie Birch disappeared.

The bright red minivan drove over an unoccupied pair of roller skates.

When Kellog opened his eyes he saw the car braking to a halt. Mrs. Murphy jumped from the driver's side door and stared down the street in shock. She slowly seemed to accept the fact that she'd only collided with the skates, despite what she swore she saw, and resignedly admonished Kellog.

“That was a rotten trick,” she told him before driving away.

Kellog, used to derision, simply collected his skates from the street and walked back inside his house.

***

Where am I ? Janie Birch said. Kellog sensed her inside of his head; it felt like a headache without the pain, a heaviness that was only slightly uncomfortable.

“You're inside my head,” Kellog said aloud. He pulled himself up to a sitting position on the sofa. “Mrs. Murphy's car was going to hit you, so I put you in there.”

It's dark in here. I'm scared .

“Don't be scared.”

Get me out of here .

Kellog bit his lip a moment before saying, “I don't know how.”

What do you mean, you don't know how? It's dark. And there are things in here, Kellog .

“That just my dog, Phil,” he said. He'd pulled Phil into his mind about a month before; it was an accident. One morning, while sick in bed, he was thinking how nice it would be to be able to play with his dog, and suddenly Phil was there, literally, in his thoughts. Thereafter Kellog suspected that he'd brought other things into his head without really intending to. Like candy and cookies, and Bobby Wiesner's new bicycle. Bobby's mother had insisted it was stolen by gang members. Kellog always felt a little guilty that he was to blame, and he wasn't even in a gang.

“Phil won't bite you.”

Are you sure ?

Kellog sensed the dog capering playfully next to Janie. Then Janie began gently petting Phil. There may have been other animate creatures moving around his thoughts—Kellog hoped that he hadn't wished too many lizards into his mind, because he really liked lizards, though there had to be at least one or two—

I want to go home, Kellog .

“All right,” Kellog said.

***

Kellog walked down the street to Janie's house and, because he could not reach the doorbell, knocked on the door. Mrs. Birch, a bona fide housewife, opened the door.

“Yes?” She was a tall, heavy woman, and just a little imposing. She stood toweling off a dinner plate. “Oh, it's you, Jeffrey. What can I do for you?”

“I came to bring Janie home,” Kellog said.

Mrs. Birch stared down at him for a moment, then took a step beyond the threshold to peer down the street. “So where is she?”

“I'm not real sure,” he said, truthfully. “She was going to get hit by a car so I wished her into my head.”

Mrs. Birch ceased wiping her dish. “You really are a flake, Jeffrey. Now where is Janie?”

“She doesn't believe me,” Kellog said, specifically to Janie.

Kellog, I'm scared! I want my mommy !

“Jeffrey, where is my daughter?”

“Right here, in my head.”

Mrs. Birch, decidedly unamused, stooped to grasp Kellog's arm. “No more games! Where is she?”

Kellog !

Kellogg, being a six year-old boy, had accumulated too few life experiences to select one more reasonable. Since he couldn't bring Janie to Mrs. Birch, the only logical solution to his growing panic was to send Mrs. Birch to Janie. So he closed his eyes and wished Mrs. Birch into his head. The dinner plate struck the floor in pieces.

Where am I ? Mrs. Birch asked. Kellog felt her in his mind, taking up a lot of space. She said a few interesting words that Kellog really didn't understand. Who is that ?

Mommy, is that you ?

Janie? Janie, my baby, what happened?

We're inside Kellog's head .

What ?

We're inside of Kellog's head. I was going to get hit by Mrs. Murphy's car so Kellog wished me inside his head. This is Kellog's dog, Phil .

I hate dogs , Mrs. Birch said crossly. Jeffrey, get us out of here right now !

“Please don't shout, Mrs. Birch,” Kellog said. “Really, I just don't know how to get things out of my head after I put them in.”

Just do the opposite of what you did to put us in .

“I've tried. It doesn't work.”

Mrs. Birch, exhibiting an unnatural calm, only sighed. Then she said, Jeffrey, go inside of our house and get Mr. Birch. He's asleep on the sofa. Tell him what happened and ask him to help you .

“Okay.”

***

Kellog stepped into the Birch household and searched for Mr. Birch. He found the kitchen first, however, and stopped for a cookie. After that, he found Mr. Birch sleeping on the living room sofa as Mrs. Birch had said, and reached out to prod him in the ribs. Mr. Birch slowly came to consciousness and regarded Kellog groggily.

“Hello,” Kellog said, “I'm Jeffrey.”

Mr. Birch sat up and rubbed his eyes. He tried focusing again.

“You're Doug Connor's boy,” he said. He was a tall, thin man with very thick eyebrows. Kellog was never fond of wooly caterpillars, and so watched them moving up and down on Mr. Birch's face with trepidation. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Mrs. Birch told me to ask for your help.”

“For what?” Mr. Birch regarded him again, his thick eyebrows fairly dancing on his forehead. “Jeez Louise, you're tiny.”

“Yup.”

“What did you need help with?”

“I need help getting Mrs. Birch and Janie out of my head.”

“What?”

Kellog recounted the story of Janie and Mrs. Murphy's minivan and his subsequent attempt to reunite Janie and her mother. Then he asked if he could use the bathroom.

“Sure, it's right down the hall to the left,” Mr. Birch said. “You go take care of business while I find Mrs. Birch and ask her what in the hell you're talking about.”

“All right,” Kellog said, hurrying to the bathroom.

When he finished he returned to the living room where Mr. Birch stood with his arms crossed.

“I can't find my wife,” he said, “or my daughter.”

“That's because they're in my head.”

He's always been a little slow on the uptake , Mrs. Birch commented. Keep trying, Jeffrey .

“In your head,” Mr. Birch said. “Wait a minute. Doesn't your father call you ‘Kellog'?

“Yup.”

“Little wonder.”

Very slow , said Mrs. Birch. Tell him that his wife is getting really ticked and that she needs his help immediately, damn it .

“What?”

Just repeat what I said .

“All right.”

“All right, what?” Mr. Birch asked.

Kellog dutifully repeated Mrs. Birch's statement.

Mr. Birch reddened visibly. He reached down and grabbed Kellog's arm. “I'm going to march you back to your mother and give her what for, letting a delinquent like you run loose in my house.”

Mrs. Birch cursed roundly.

Kellog became frightened and began to cry. Mr. Birch tugged him unrelentingly toward the front door.

“Come on, flake,” he said.

In an act committed purely in self-defense—since he was certain his mother would not at all be amused—he closed his eyes and wished Mr. Birch inside his head. Or perhaps he had simply panicked.

Jeez Louise ! Mr. Birch said.

You dumb oaf , offered Mrs. Birch.

Kellog felt the two senior Birches come into close proximity. He tried to concentrate on more pleasant things as he stepped from the Birch residence, politely closing the door behind himself.

***

Kellog wished to be well hidden in his room before his mother came home from the grocery store. He was extremely reluctant to tell her about his troubles with the Birches. He lay in bed as the three of them talked endlessly to him, trying to give him advice on how to think them out of his head again. He tried every maneuver they suggested, too, but nothing seemed to work. After a while, Mr. Birch asked Kellog to wish a flashlight into his head, which he gladly did.

After a collective scream from the Birches, though, Kellog sensed some commotion in his mind, as if the Birches were running about with frantic energy. Kellog decided it was best to just read some comic books while they kept themselves busy. Unfortunately, reading always made him drowsy, and he soon fell asleep.

He awoke to the sound his mother and father having a loud discussion in the living room. Kellog rolled out of bed (the legs of which had been neatly cut down nearer to the floor) and settled by his mother's side.

“The police searched everywhere,” Mrs. Connor's said, “but they couldn't find them anywhere. Gloria Birch's sister came to take her to their bridge game and found the whole family missing. Their cars were still in the garage. The only thing they found was a broken dinner plate and a towel on the floor.”

Kellog's mother noticed that he was clutching her leg, so she bent down and pulled him into her arms.

“Right in our own neighborhood,” Mr. Connors said, self-consciously throwing the deadbolt on the front door. “You never know what kinds of maniacs are roaming the streets these days.”

Mrs. Connors kissed Kellog's forehead. “My poor baby could have been taken, too. I'll never leave him alone again. So small and defenseless.”

“Tomorrow, I'm going to call those security people,” Mr. Connors said, “and have them install an alarm.”

“And some bars on the windows.”

Mrs. Connors, evidently feeling more secure at the thought of bars over the windows, set Kellog on the floor again. Kellog stepped to the sofa and pulled himself up. While his parents talked, he tried to locate the Birches in his mind. Phil was still in there, barking at the lizards. Kellog was beginning to feel terribly guilty about the matter.

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Connors asked him. She stepped to his side and stroked his hair. “Poor defenseless baby.”

“Yup,” Kellog said, “I'm fine. I just had a bad dream.” Then, feeling that he just had to say something about the circumstances of the afternoon, added, “And I put the Birches in my head.”

Mr. Connors stared blankly at his son. Certainly by now he was used to such statements, though Kellog wished he didn't look so resigned all the time.

“One day we're going to have to have you look at some ink blots,” Mr. Connors said.

“He just watches too much television,” Mrs. Connors said. “It's psychological compensation.”

“Sure it is,” said Mr. Connors.

“He has to do something to balance out his inferiority complex. Such a little boy.”

“Why couldn't he just collect stamps?”

Kellog couldn't remember too many of the details of the dream he'd had after falling asleep in his bedroom, but he was sure there an earthquake or two was involved, and comets falling from the sky. Oh, yes, and several gigantic snake creatures. Kellog always had a big imagination. But he didn't like having nightmares. Perhaps he shouldn't read so many comic books—the snake creatures had really frightened him, and there seemed to be only one way to satisfy their wriggling, hissing demands. That was too bad, too, because he really liked Janie. But at least he'd found a way to remove the Birches from his mind.

“Tomorrow,” Mr. Connors said, “I'm buying a gun .”