The Sower's Web

Undisturbed by speech, utensils clang, and the deafening chewing of meatloaf rings throughout the dining room.

“Is it okay if I go over to Josh’s house after school tomorrow?” asks Paufren.

“Is this a new friend?” inquires Susan.

“Oh, let the boy go. He’s 18 for God’s sake,” says Dale.

“You’ve never met him before,” says Paufren. Susan looks at him with suspicious humor as he takes another bite.

“Well I’m glad you’re finally making friends,” she says.

After finishing dinner and cleaning up Paufren heads to bed. He takes a newspaper clipping out of his backpack and reads the print over again, shoves it back into the bag, and sets his alarm for four-thirty.

Pastures of pristine maintenance sprawl endlessly— feeding into the lush foliage of the surrounding area. Paufren gazes at the unblemished property from his seat in the back of the rolling cab. His leg bounces within his wool trousers as two identical cars follow. From the first, exits a woman wearing a patterned dress, and in the second, a man with short tweed hair. Paufren, with fretful palms, exits and recognizes the young woman immediately, whereas the short man stares blatantly at Maureen—trying to jog his memory. She notices his gawking and frowns. Tom snaps his head forward pretending not to have noticed as an older woman emerges from the double-doored entryway and stands above them. Her wrinkles cut deep and white wisps of hair catch flight in the wind.

“Welcome to my home,” she says, beaming a smile. “Thank you for joining me this afternoon. My name, if you do not recall from the column, is Abigail Porpse. Although I would love to give you a tour of my property, I expect you are all content to get straight to the point.”

The three find themselves seated in an opulent room. High ceilings reveal skylights that pour speckled dots of warmth on the faded oil paintings and antiques. Abigail wheels over a cart displaying a plant. She pulls out a small electronic box, then hooks a wired clamp to the stem connecting it to the base of the machine. Switching on the box a low hum emits that continues to ring louder and louder.``Bear with me. It takes a moment to warm up,” Abigail assures. Soon enough the hum shifts into a cheery synthesized melody. ``It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Little intrinsic pulses that all blend into a beautiful song.``

“Music will be related to the study then?” asks Maureen.

“I have spent many years cataloging the songs of various plants and as much fulfillment that brought me, it no longer serves me the same way. The human mind is a curious one… much more complex. I would like to take my knowledge of botany one step further today and attempt to conduct sound from the human mind.” Abigail smiles enthusiastically and rests her hands on her knees.

“This is safe for us to do, right?” inquires Paufren.

“I can assure you, there will be no physical pain. I am merely an old woman in search of something extraordinary.”

Tom cuts in, “So, if you don’t like my song, I get squat?”

“You’re an adult. It’s your job to determine whether this is a risk you’d like to take.” Avoiding eye contact with anything but the floor, Tom concedes quietly into his seat cushion.“If you’d like to continue further, you may follow me, if not, the front door awaits your return.”Abigail proceeds to walk down a hall as the three lock eyes.

“Should we trust her?” mouths Paufren to the two.

“No, but I’m not about to walk away from $20,000 just cause some crazy old woman wants to throw her money away,” whispers Tom.

Framed in the doorway, Abigail stands, as Paufren peers from behind her compact figure and sees a room containing three translucent casket-shaped chambers—each bed’s tubes connecting to the conductor in the center of them. Abigail walks to a desk covered in paperwork, adorns herself with sunglasses, and picks up a small black notebook that she holds tightly at her side.

“It’s normal to feel some formication as I start the process,” says Abigail, “once fully synced you’ll dream vividly in this state, as your mind and body will be jolted into REM sleep.”

The three begin to situate themselves within the boxes. Tom tensely adjusts himself, eyeing the apparatus with suspicious paranoia. Abigail paces around the chambers and closes the lids, “It’s time to commence,” she says, “Please close your eyes and let the feeling carry you away.” The whirring of internal fans starts to echo through the room as Abigail flips various switches. Below the cases, a blue glow that flows from the bottoms of the capsules to the vertical port in the center emanates. Paufren notices the static sensation growing throughout his body as he closes his eyes from the now piercing blue hue that pulsates behind him. The white noise of the fans melts his thoughts and he begins to drift away. All that is before him blurs and recedes into blackness.

Tom’s eyes flutter open and as soon as his vision clears he grimaces and huffs a sigh. Dim ceiling lights illuminate a disheveled display of cluttered bottles, discarded microwave meals, and dishes. A small picture frames a smiling Tom with his arm extending to fit a small boy sitting beside him and a cheery woman behind a counter.

“Why’d you do this to me, Sharron,” says Tom as he sets the picture face down on the table. Pushing aside various bills and papers he snags the remote and turns on the box. Click! Tom walks to the kitchen and opens up his fridge, grabs a beer, and before sitting back down notices a door frame leading into a corridor. He approaches and peers. A wooden door stands. Tom looks at it with apprehension. He moves closer, his face stern, eyes unable to break away and his arm extending outward. He turns the knob and the inner latches clack as he hears glass shatter and muffled voices. Opening a sliver in the door Tom sees the stained beige carpet. Dissipating foam and shattered pieces of glass are strewn about the floor.

“You’re such a bum, Stanley. Ain’t good for nothin’. Do you hear me?”

“Why don’t you try yapping some more, Mini. See what happens.”

“I’ll tell you what, if you don’t get your ass off the couch right now, I swear to God, Stan. I’m gonna leave you both. You’re a good for–” Stanley stands up, towering over Mini as her words disappear from her lips.

Tom backs away and closes the door, but the sound of a hard smack and Mini’s yelp reverberate through the hall despite his effort to shield himself. Tom’s face clenches as his eyes begin to well with tears. He slams his right fist against the wall and drops the bottle from his left which clatters and rolls at his side. Tom’s footsteps echo through the hall with increasing speed as he closes his eyes. “It’s not real,” he says, “This isn’t real.”

“Tom?”

Tom looks and sees his neighborhood. Paufren stands in front of him holding the handles to a bike; rolled newspapers stacked neatly inside the basket.

“Where did you come from?” asks Tom.

“Home, but I have to deliver papers now,” says Paufren. He starts to walk his bike further down the street. Tom watches him for a moment until he finds himself pacing behind the young man. Paufren glances behind his shoulder as he hears Tom’s footsteps.

“I’m going this way, too,” says Tom. Paufren shrugs indifferently as he chucks another paper.

“So, what isn’t real?” asks Paufren.

“What?”

“Did you see something?”

“No.”

“I thought you might have seen something too.”

“Well, I didn’t, so let’s drop it.”

The murky sky shadows the two as they stroll down the street. Puddles of previous rain ripple in time with the wind. The water illuminates with red and yellow hues, shining from the flashing sign before them that reads: Tally’s Diner. Maureen stands in front of the building talking firmly with another young woman.

“What about tomorrow?” says Sophia.

“I can’t. I have to take Mia and Doe to school and then straight back here. Mom said she’s short again this month.”

“Well, when can I see you, Maureen? It’s been a week since we’ve hung out, and it’s been a month since we’ve even been on an actual date,” whispers Sophia.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Well call me when you find the time I guess.” The young woman walks away.

“Last stop,” says Paufren, grabbing a bundle of papers and heading for the diner door.

“I don’t think I should be here,” says Tom, looking up at the sign.

“Why? Not a fan of pancakes?” says Paufren facetiously. Tom ignores him as he stares at the sky with a somber expression. “Suit yourself.”

Inside is packed with customers. Voices echo through the room competing to be heard. Maureen dashes through the room carrying meals back and forth. From across the room, a woman speaks, “Ma’am, could you take these dish bins away. They’re ruining my appetite.” The sounds of the chaos begin to fuel Maureen with rage as they all blend and fill her mind. Her thoughts become muddied with the needs of everyone around her.

“Sharron, can you grab the dishes when you have the chance, I’m too slammed up here,” shouts Maureen through the window.

“Maureen!” Paufren waves from the front counter. She glances his way momentarily. Paufren, upset by her dismissal, follows her, “Hey, Maureen. I have the papers for you.” Maureen continues to ignore Paufren as she rapidly fills ketchup bottles.

“Earth to Maureen?”

“Just leave them on the counter, Paufren, can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Yeah, well, I just wanted to say hello.”

“Hello.”

“Who’s that girl you were talking to?”

“A friend.”

“A close friend?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. What does it mean?”

Maureen sighs and heads for the door. Paufren follows her.

“Maureen!”

“What?”

“Let’s just get out of here.”

“I’m finding Sophia.”

“No one’s going to take you seriously if you keep walking around with her.”

Maureen sighs and pauses before saying, “Stop pushing people away, Paufren. It’s sad.”

A bright light jolts Paufren awake and he shields his eyes with his forearm.

“Welcome back,” says Abigail, “Nice work from all of you.”

“What the hell was that?” says Tom groggily.

“I assumed that you’d have some questions going forward…” She opens her black notebook and shows them a page filled with mathematical equations and diagrams, “I have more experience with the human brain than I may have let on. Although the natural oscillatory sounds we and plants produce are quite fascinating, it is more manipulation than a pure recording. Music though is like an empathic human… soulful, meaningful, uplifting. There is some magic to passion and today one has proven themself.” Abigail glances towards Maureen.

Maureen’s eyes widen, “Did I?–”

Abigail smiles and winks.

“What a waste,” says Tom as he storms for the door.

Paufren looks vacantly towards Maureen who ecstatically bounces up and down. Abigail escorts them back to the main door and hands Maureen the check for $20,000. Paufren stands awkwardly in the doorway as Maureen exits to wait for her cab.

“Paufren, before you go…” Abigail pulls out a small black notebook, “I want you to have this. I think you’ll find use from it.”

Later in the evening, Paufren sits in his bed and takes out the black notebook. He flips through the pages and laughs, knowing that yesterday he would have mocked himself for keeping a diary, but something felt different. For some reason, that voice was obscured, and as things became clearer, he felt a depth unknown to him before.