Lumen

6. Souls

In the weeks leading up to the survey winter began to bite. Walking to school was no longer enjoyable as I huddled into my repulsive maroon school jacket to keep the wind from ripping my face off or the rain from lashing down my neck or sleet from sticking to my hair. Not that the damn jacket ever made much difference, it wasn’t even waterproof.

The bright side of winter was that coffee shops had stocked up on their Christmas coffees and hot chocolates. My staples throughout dark mornings were gingerbread lattes and cinnamon hot chocolates, especially when I had ice staring to crystallise in damp hair.

The morning of the survey was particularly vile. Freezing, misty rain hazed down over the city and there was enough of a breeze to seep straight through my clothes and chill me to the bone. I stood nursing a latte with my bright red, numb fingers curled around the circumference of a take away cup as I waited for the train. My breath plumed in smoky columns, far lighter –and healthier- than the blue-grey spirals of the suited smokers.

Shifting from one cold foot to another I regretted my choice of canvas shoes but it was too late now. Indeed, I was wishing I had another layer, despite the t-shirt, jumper and jacket combo I was working. The scarf I had pulled from my floordrobe wasn’t substantial enough either; my mum’s summer scarf definitely did not provide enough protection from the harsh Scottish elements.

Eventually the train arrived and I dodged my way past commuters to grab a seat by the window, not next to a toilet and with a table. This small achievement actually brightened my mood. For most of the journey I soul watched but it was a remarkably dull affair. Too many people obviously hated their jobs so much that their light gradually dimmed the closer the train drew to Glasgow. One woman looked as though the prospect of going into work would kill her. Her soul had all but stopped glowing which reduced her skin to an ashy grey colour despite the optimistic layer of beige foundation and rosy blusher.

I had not seen my soul since that night it appeared in the mirror but I wanted to try something. The train was pulling out of Bishopbriggs. I took a deep breath and thought of the happiest memories I could. Relaxing further back into the seat, my skin glowed in the same way it did before. What I hadn’t realised before was that it was warm; my previously numb fingers were suddenly flooded with warmth, as if I had plunged them into a bowl of water. I took another breath. As I exhaled, out came my blob, my soul.

It bobbed just in front of me and I couldn’t help but smile to myself. The undulating mass let out those soft rays but under that – what I hadn’t noticed before – was that the surface was smooth, full of orange, red and yellow hues and shimmering whites, like an opal but warm. The beauty made me smile dopily.

For a moment I gazed the very core of my being before I remembered why I’d bothered bringing it out in the first place. Shutting my eyes I pushed. I tried to direct all the positive energy I had in my body towards the dull woman. She had looked so empty. I imagined her suddenly overflowing with light and energy with sparkling eyes and peachy coloured skin. For some reason I found myself breathing heavily, my body pulsing with the beat of my heart. I forced my eyes open, only to see a huge ball of light pulsating in the middle of the carriage and my soul rope and the soul rope of the dull woman were connected to it.

I was feeding her!

With every heartbeat I was pushing energy into her.
________________________________________

“Excuse me? Miss, are you alright?”

“Should we call an ambulance? She’s still not waking up.”

“No, I think she’s coming round, look.”

A moan escaped my lips. Every limb was heavy.

“Wha ‘appened?” I mumbled to the small gathering of people around me. Despite my best efforts my eyelids were not opening fully.

“You fainted,” a soft voice said kindly. I traced it to a woman in her late forties with big brown eyes and a bob cut. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” I stammered, suddenly very awake and very embarrassed. “Thank you.”

I scrambled out of my seat and into the small aisle.

“Do you need anything at all?” asked another person.

“No, really, I’m okay. I don’t know what came over me,” I babbled, cheeks burning as I backed away from my audience.

Once on the platform I bolted. As the embarrassment subsided confusion took hold. Why did I faint? Surely it can’t have been a bad thing? She looked so much happier, healthier even.

“Fuck…” I muttered as I shoved my train ticket through the barrier.

I kept my head down and walked as fast as I could out of the station and into a waiting taxi. It was the shape of a standard black cab but this particular one was a moving advertisement for Irn Bru.

“Where to, hen?” asked the gruff driver over his shoulder as I bundled myself into the back.

“Um, the Hilton Hotel. One near the, eh, Mitchell Library,” I told him, consulting the slip of paper I’d dug out of my jeans pocket.

“Nae baw’er, hen.” He pulled away and into the hubbub of inner city driving, full of traffic lights and one way streets. “You’re the second person U’ve had tae take there the mornin’. Some survey right?”

We were stopped at some lights, surrounded by other taxis and pissed off commuters.

“Yeah, ‘bout our time in education apparently.” I sat on my hands to try and warm them; the ten second exposure to the miserable day had frozen them again.

“Oh aye? Sure you’ve got hunners to say. Ma sons dae that’s fur sure. Furever complaining,” laughed the driver. It was a deep throaty laugh, full of fondness for his sons. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Hadn’t really thought about it much to be honest. Got no idea what they’ll be asking, like!”

We exchanged banter for the rest of the journey; he regaled me with tales of getting caned for pulling his best friend’s chair away when he went to sit down and for accidentally cutting a chunk off one girl’s ponytail. Despite my laughter I was glad we no longer had to suffer the bite of a cane for answering back in class.

All too soon we had pulled up in front of the towering hotel. It looked to me as though it was trying to prod the low hanging clouds which thankfully had ceased its downpour of misty rain but the air was still full of moisture. I paid the taxi driver and hurried into the warmth of the foyer. It was cavernous. I could see the fancy gilt staircase of the floor above and the chandelier bathed the interior with soft light. Making my way to the long mahogany reception desk I was embarrassingly aware of the fact the wet rubber soles of my shoes were squeaking loudly on the shiny marble floors.

“How may I help you, Miss?” asked the dark haired man at reception. He glanced over my slightly damp, very student-ish appearance and his slick smile faltered. A flicker of annoyance flashed through me.

“Yes, you can actually,” I said, feeling affronted. I had every right to be there! “Would you be able to direct me to where the student survey is being held, eh, Jason?”

Jason was obviously was not used to people using his name so helpfully provided by his name tag as he flushed rather impressive shade of red: a red very similar to that of my canvas shoes.

“Of course, Miss.”

He hurried out from behind the narrow desk and motioned for me to follow him. His shiny black shoes clacked across the shiny marble. I doubt I could have looked any more out of place next to the sharp suit in front of me. As he recovered from the name shock his glow was brightening as he slipped into the professional comfort-zone.

The event room was situated in the depths of the hotel, through plush corridors with thick carpets. A few people passed us, mostly looking as though they were heading to the gym or spa. I envied them in that they could stay in a 5 star hotel and do whatever they liked for days at a time.

Our last holiday had been when I was eight. We went to the Spanish coast for two weeks but it was far from being relaxing.

“Ah and this must be Helena Irving!” A pleasant voice broke across my reverie. “That’ll be all Jason, thank-you for showing Miss Irving to the function room.”

Jason scuttled off after a quick inclination of his head. The owner of the pleasant voice was a tall man in his late twenties. He was tall, slim and dressed entirely in black. Sharp suit, narrow tie, expensive looking shirt and gleaming pointed dress shoes: all back. Apart from the polished silver buckle of his belt. There was a soft glow emanating from his pale skin which suggested a strong soul. I couldn’t help but marvel at the way it encircled his ash blonde hair like a halo.

“Pleasure to meet you Miss Irving, I’m Samuel Taylor.” He extended a hand towards me, his icy blue eyes holding mine. “I’ll be working with you this afternoon.”

“Hello Mr Taylor,” I murmured, grasping his surprisingly warm hand. I couldn’t help but note he had the same gold coloured ring around his pupil that I have.

His lips curled at the corners and he waved me into the vast room behind him.

“Do enjoy.”