The Dead Story of a Birthmark

Chapter 5: Friday Night Stories

A surplus of food trucks was lined along the walkways in the open quad area. The large field directly behind the quad area was filled with chattering people who had laid out blankets and chairs to watch Scream on the giant projected screen. Flint and I had just ordered from Sam's Grille, which apparently had gourmet-Esque sandwiches and burgers.

"Fifteen bucks for a steak sandwich… this better be the best damn thing I'll ever eat," Flint bitterly scoffed. We walked away from the truck but made sure to stay within earshot of our order. "And that's not even counting the side of steak-fries… that was twelve bucks! California inflation is brutal."

"To be fair you went here first," I pointed out. "I was the one that originally wanted to go to that pizza truck."

"Yeah but that's boring. And plus I was supposed to pay," he angrily accused. I looked away and started whistling, pretending to have not heard his question. "Once we're done with this, drinks and desserts are on me." His tone didn't reflect confidence, which made sense. Flint had been struggling with money for a while now; classes clouded his schedule and no on-campus jobs would hire him. I, on the other hand, had an allowance from my dad. As great as this sounds, though, my dad doesn't want me to get a job or to pull any student loans. Once, he even threatened to stop paying my tuition if I got a job. I've always found it stupid, but I suppose it was his way of letting me know that he's still my father, and that he won't let me get too far away.

"Look, man, I can't help it if my dad's giving me three-hundred a week," I half-bragged. "If I don't do anything with it he'd think that I'm saving up for moving out of state." Flint laughed when he heard this.

"How'd you think he'd react if he found out that you can touch your birthmark which renders you to see into a past life that we just recently discovered was actually murdered in our city?" We stared at each other blankly, trying to process the bizarre statement. "That was probably the longest and weirdest sentence I've said in a while, huh?" I couldn't help but chuckle when he said this.

"Order 115, steak sandwich and steak-fries!" called out a boisterous voice from the Sam's Grille truck.

"Ope, that's us," Flint giggled happily. He jogged up to the truck to grab our food, but struck up a conversation with the worker; he was probably bargaining for some extra blue cheese sauce in order to get past the fifty-cent fee. Meanwhile, I waved to a couple of friends who were walking by.

“Yoooo Scarman, whattup?” Sean, the left burly friend, called out to me. "Me and Teddy are going to the field… we got a good spot to watch the movie, wanna come with?"

"Nah I'm good." I smiled weakly. I haven't known Sean and Ted for that long, but they are fun to hang with. Sometimes, though, Sean comes across as a stereotypical jock, who would only befriend some people for the purpose of making himself look good. I was no exception since he would very often ask me about my birthmark, always mistaking it to be an actual scar. Because of this, I would only hang out with them in my spare time.

"Ah man, why not? I'm telling you, we got really good spots in the front!" 

"Yo, what's up Sean?" Flint had come back with the food, carefully balancing the utensils and sauce packets on the side of the bowls. "Whatchu been up to?" Flint held up a fist, which Sean reluctantly dapped; he didn't look too happy to see Flint.

"Ah nothing, we were just heading out to the field. We'll see y'all later." Sean motioned at Ted with a slight wave of his hand, and the two disappeared off into the crowd. I grabbed the bowl of fries out of Flint's hands, mouth watering from the delicious garlic smell.

"Mm, this shannwich ish pretty gerd," Flint mumbled, already chewing a mouthful of steak. "Threy werrnt kidding about the gourmet." Indeed, the food did have a distinguished flavor to them. The fries plate was especially well made; it had the right amount of seasoning and texture for the steak, and the fries were thick and crispy. Despite eating from a beautifully constructed bowl of truck food, I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable.

"Flint, do you think that Sean doesn't like you?" Before I could explain any further, he responded almost instantaneously.

"Most definitely yeah." He had just swallowed an impossibly large bite of food. "Now maybe he doesn't hate me, but he damn well would prefer to hang out with someone else."

"But when we were playing pool that one day… he seemed cool then."

"Yeah? Well, people change. Or maybe he just thinks that I'm not pitiful enough." He took another large bite out of his sandwich. "Look… I don't care if someone doesn't like me… right now we gotta talk about your past life."

"What is there to say? Now we know– or at least have an inclination– that I was murdered in the past. We quickly came to that conclusion and then immediately ran over to get food… there isn't anything else to say." I shoveled another juicy batch of steak into my mouth.

"Bro, I know you're not that stupid," Flint frowned. Sure, you may not have a name or a look, but you know that he was probably killed!"

"And?" I wasn't catching on, which visibly annoyed Flint.

"Dumbass, do you ever use your brain? We can look at police records; there's bound to be some sort of murder report either online or in a book." I pondered the thought. Would it be that easy? Is the answer to this aching query simply within a computer's reach?

"Then there's probably some place in the library we can look at," I said, hoping to provide an alternative answer. "I doubt that it'll be easy to find online, don't they update police records daily?" Flint shrugged at the thought.

"Yeah, but it won't hurt to look. I doubt that there'll be many murder cases that happened in this area." As he replied, someone bumped into his side, causing a bit of the steak sandwich to fall apart. "Ah dammit! This thing's falling apart." He consumed the rest of the sandwich as fast as he could and threw away the wrapper in a nearby trash can.

"Don't go choking yourself out now," I chuckled. "One wrong chew and there'll be another police case to record." Flint nodded as he chewed like a chipmunk, making random indiscriminate gestures. Eventually, he pointed towards the field where the movie was playing, indicating that it was our next destination. "Alright, let's go," I scooped in the remaining meat and fries, trying not to stuff my cheeks like Flint. Although, before I could set off toward the movie, he took hold of my shoulder and pulled me back.

"Nope, we're getting dessert and drinks, just like I promised," he grumbled in between deep burps. "We're gonna go on a sugar high and forget all of this murder nonsense for tonight." 

"Sure, you're the boss." I nodded in agreement and followed him to a funnel cake and ice cream fusion truck, where we stood in the back of a lengthy line. After steadily moving up to the front and seeing Flint nervously look through his barren wallet, I pulled out some bills and paid for our unnecessarily expensive ice cream scoops. Afterward, we set out to the field amongst the heavy flow of people, who, similarly, was heading to the field. The slow flow of the crowd impeded our journey to the field; it was a wonder that so many people were here tonight, even considering that it's a Friday event.

"Yo Marc, is that your girl?" Flint nudged me to the side, pointing with his messy ice cream cone at the backside of a girl, who had hair that looked astonishingly similar to Melissa's. "This is your chance, bro! Invite her to watch the movie with you!"

"Man, quiet down… not right now!" I hissed under my breath. I tried to get a better look at her, but there were simply too many people for me to look past. "I can't tell if that's her."

"Don't worry, just keep an eye on her. Once we get to the field there should be more space, then you can shoot your shot." Upon hearing his advice, I did my best to not lose sight of the girl. Every now and then she would turn her head, giving me little context about whether or not she really was Melissa. The girl had the same brunette hair, the same peach-warm skin tone, and the same body type as Melissa. Although, pretty much fifty percent of the female students had this same look, probably due to the typical Southern California style. We trekked for what felt like a couple more blocks, before finally surpassing the lines of food trucks and reaching the grassy plain. On it were groupings of picnic blankets, lawn chairs, tents, and all sorts of camp-esque spots. At the far end of the quad was a giant screen, which was projecting what looked like the last few kill scenes of Scream. It was practically impossible to hear the movie among the light chatter of the crowd, but that didn't seem to deter anyone. The girl had finally stopped and started texting on her phone. 

"You were right Flint, that is her!" I nervously exclaimed as we walked past her. Sure enough, the light from her phone contrasted the dark night sky, illuminating the oh-so-familiar face of Melissa Greenwood. Not wanting to seem like a creep, I looked away and continued walking with Flint. 

"Bro, what're you doing?" Flint stopped in his tracks and held me by the forearm. "I'm tired of hearing you always fawn over her, but now's your chance that you can do something about it!" He had a point, but I was still too nervous to comply.

"Well, what're you gonna do? Sit down and watch by yourself?" As I said this, a small group of guys waved at us, calling out Flint's name.

"What a coincidence, some dudes from my Critical thinking class," Flint grinned. My heart dropped as he walked towards the group, waving duplicitously at me. "Imma hang with these guys, you go ahead!" Left alone and with nothing to do, I was practically forced to make my way toward Melissa, who still stood in the same spot texting on her phone. She was presumably waiting for some friends before sitting down which meant that now was the perfect time to strike. I weaved in between groups of people, trying my hardest to not block the movie screen whilst making my way toward her. Confidence steadily flowed into me, filling me with a comfortable, courageous warmness. All I need to do is go up to her and say hi. 

"You can do this, Marc. All that needs to happen is to hold a conversation," I thought to myself, now feeling more capable than ever. "All that needs to happen is for you to walk up to her, and say–" an irritating buzzing emitted from the inside of my right pants pocket, disrupting my thought. In a moment of pure aggravation, I pulled out my phone to discover that Dr. Father was calling me. Out of all times, why did my dad have to call right at this moment? If the call was ignored, he'd probably barrage me with worried texts and give me a stern lecture the next time we meet. With no other choice, I pressed the answer button and put the phone to my ear.

"Hey, get the fuck out of the way!" a random student yelled at me. "You're covering the best part!"

"Sorry! Sorry…" I walked off of the field, and away from Melissa.

"Hey bud, how're you doing?" my dad asked from the other end.

"What do you– sorry. I'm doing good." I paced around the sidewalk, dodging the continual flow of people entering and exiting the field.

"Oh, were you busy? It sounds like you're outside somewhere."

"Yeah, I am," I hopefully exerted. It would be ideal for my dad to realize that I was doing something important, and for him to call later, but none of his calls ever went that way.

"Oh! Okay, I'll try to be quick then." This, often empty, statement tended to be true a small percentage of times. Most calls would push to an hour, full of invasive questions about college life and suggestions for what I should do. Very rarely there would be times when he would ask for favors for his job, which included a drab walkthrough of listening to his presentations or looking over hospital records. Unfortunately, it seemed like today might be one of those days. "I have some stuff about regulatory affairs; needa get some outside source to make a list of general medical needs."

"Mm ...And you want me to be that source?" I bitterly puled. "Today?"

"Hey! Don't take that tone with me. If I'm giving you three hundred dollars a week then the least I can expect from you is a little bit of help." Each word that came out of his mouth only raised the desire for me to retort, for me to argue back. I didn't even ask for an allowance! You forced this upon me! I want to have my own job, my own life… but you're holding me back!

"Ah no! It's just that I'm at the Friday event right now, and there are a lot of people. It's kinda hard to hear you." I was hoping that he would let me off the hook once he heard this information.

"Oh, you're just at the school event thingy?" my dad asked.

"Yes– yeah! I'm hanging out with several friends right now!" I exuberantly exclaimed. Maybe this is my chance. Maybe I'll be home free!

"What a relief! I thought it was something important." My heart dropped when he said this. "Okay, listen. I'm going to end the call, so can you go back to your dorm and call me back really quick? I'll walk you through what I need." He was already intent on me helping him as soon as possible. I looked around, hoping to find some reason, some excuse for me to stay.

"Um– I'm with a— a girl! We're doing some homework and–". My dad had already ended the call before I could finish my statement. In clear frustration, I shoved my phone into my pocket. I had almost rubbed my face, but stopped in realization; it wouldn't be great to have a vision in the middle of the walkway. Remembering what I was planning to do, I swiftly looked around for Melissa. She was no longer standing in the expected spot, looking at her phone; it seemed that she might have already found a group to sit with. Just one instance, please! Let me at least say bye to her! But she was nowhere in sight. Not wanting to get chewed out by my dad later on, I quickly walked back the way I came from, towards the dorms.

"Did you get the email? If you see it, open the second link, cus the first one's a p*f," my dad instructed me through the speaker. On my laptop were a multitude of tabs, all of which were irrelevant links and old assignments. So many tabs were open, in fact, that the websites were having difficulty loading, so I had to delete a good number of them.

"Uh hold on, I didn't even open it yet." Once a good amount of tabs were closed, I clicked into an empty tab and opened up my email. Among the hundreds of unopened emails, my dad's stood out the most; I have gotten far too used to his basic work email, CallawayTom333. When I clicked his name, two similar links appeared on my screen. "Yeah, I see it now. You said to click on the second one?" My mouse hovered over the second link, which read MedicalReports.doc.

"Yes, that's the one. When it opens you should see an outline, requiring a list of differing needs for a medical patient. Pretty much any hospitality-related demands you can think of." The document looked exactly as he had described it, looking much simpler than I had expected it to look. Reading the silence, my dad commented, "Yeah, I know. I probably could have done it myself, but the board demanded an external source to fill in the document. Since you've been hospitalized most recently you'd be perfect for answering from an accurate point of view." I nodded, but quickly realized that this was a call, so he wasn't able to see me.

"Alright, that makes sense. I'll get started on it right now." Neither of us talked as I typed away on the document. There were simple queries such as 'In terms of comfort, list the main things that a patient expects when hospitalized' and 'What components do not reach the quality that is expected of a hospital room? (List as many as possible)'. I typed short, basic answers for each one, but enough to satisfy the objectives. Meanwhile, my dad was breathing heavily, probably reading through some of his other work. Around ten minutes passed until my dad broke the straining silence.

"So… anything else happened since Monday?" he asked. "It was a pretty scary thing… that seizure… but I trust the doctors here so…". He seemed to be bothered about his inaction following my release from the hospital. It wasn't really his fault, though, I supported the idea of going back to school.

"No, nothing else happened," I lied. "If anything I'm feeling better than ever."

"Oh, okay. That's good. It was a pretty packed week, and I couldn't keep you home, so–"

"Yeah dad, it's fine," I said, finally understanding the intentions of this call. He was probably riddled with guilt throughout this entire week, so he needed a moment to call me and make sure I was okay. 

"That's great, buddy. Remember, if you have any problems then I'm one call away; I'll be here for ya." It was a touching comment, but it didn't change the fact that I was frustrated at him interrupting my moment with Melissa. "Your friend, Flint, he's a good guy. I talked to him while you were still waking up and it seems like he really looks up to you as a friend. So, whatever you do, try not to ruin that friendship, okay?" I hummed in accord, thinking of nothing else to add. "Ya know, when I went to college I had a friend like that. With how much we hung out together we were practically brothers… but once I met your mom, things grew a bit distant between us." A sentimental silence followed this comment, associated with me ceasing typing on my laptop.

"What was mom like?" It's been a while since I asked that very question, but it is somewhat of a nice story. My dad laughed upon hearing this.

"Well she was a big hot shot," he laughed. "THE big hot shot, if you will. In college, there were floods of guys that would always ask her out, and she denied every single one of them. I guess she wasn't very interested in dating at the time."

"But you were one of the guys she said yes to?" I insinuated. My dad overzealously laughed again.

"No, that's where you always get the story wrong! I wasn't any better than any of the other guys, so she most definitely said no to me. The only shining difference that made me the special one was that I persisted, and never lied to her. If I have to be honest, I asked her out around eight… or maybe nine separate times. It was only the last one where she finally agreed to a date… probably just wanted  to get it over with." He paused in a moment of thought. "Date night came, and I was nervous as hell… all I wore were a pair of wrinkly jeans and a black polo shirt. I didn't have a wide selection of nice clothes at my apartment, but I did my best to look good. When I picked her up from the house my heart was fluttering like a small, excited butterfly. I drove us to a nearby, but fancy steakhouse, and sat us down for dinner there. The first couple of minutes of the date were just awkward stares and blank looks at the menu. I knew that this was my only real moment with a girl like her, so it was not to be wasted. It took some mental prep but I eventually worked up the courage to ask the key question–."

"How's everything going on in your life?" I finished for him. My dad clapped his hands together in pride.

"Exactly. A simple, yet high-stakes question. I thought that I had ruined the moment with a question that seemed so serious, but before I knew it, she started spilling out all sorts of confessions and problems in her life. There was just so much pent-up stress and emotions that she had been keeping to herself, filling like an overfilled bottle. There were some points where she had to take a deep breath before continuing on her spiel." 

"And you just listened to her, right?"

"Yep. Did nothing but listen. I still nodded and voiced some thoughts in order to show her I was listening, but overall I let her talk most of the time. Eventually, the date ended on a positive note, with her even suggesting a second one the next week. One thing led to the next, and eventually, everyone was talking about how lucky ol' Tom Callaway was with the school hottie. Of course, CSUB was much smaller back then, so the word was able to spread around quite quickly." He paused again, making small sighs while he was in nostalgic thought. "Well, you know the rest of the story. We graduated, I got a lucky position in the hospital, she became an assistant in a small business, and we moved in together. At this point, we had been together for more than a year. We both brought in money for the apartment and started saving up for an actual house. But, as you know, she had unexpectedly become pregnant with–"

"Me," I finished. This was a part of the story that I never really liked, but I listened to him continue anyways.

"Right… and we were so happy. But money was an issue and time management was already difficult, so how in the world would we handle a baby? Well, we were young and dumb, so what really could you expect? All we could think about was how we would spend every moment of our free time with you. We even considered sealing the deal and getting married. I was so ready– so prepared to pop the question, to finally be considered one with the woman I've been dreaming of… but then, things changed. She was supposed to be due in two months, but you were already forcing your way out. She drove herself to the hospital from work, even though she shouldn't have been working in the first place." He gave a weak laugh, which sounded more forced than natural. "Then… you know… a young body having a premature birth… maybe it was too much to handle… or maybe she was too malnourished that day…". He stopped talking altogether. This was a story that was all too familiar, yet always seemed so hard to go through whenever it came up.

"So… how come you barely have any pictures of her?" I asked. This was a vested curiosity of mine for practically my whole life, especially since I have always heard stories about her. Even so, I've rarely seen any pictures. There were a few times I asked him before, but I never received a full answer.

"Oh, just never got around to taking many," he responded unconfidently. "With work and student debt at the time… didn't really have much time to focus on the little things." 

"Hm." Just as I expected, another half-answer.

"Well, bud, I think you've answered well enough." The document was shared with both of our accounts, so he was able to see my work.

"There's still another section–"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. That part is optional. You gave good enough answers." The sound of clicks and typing emitted from the speaker, from him presumably downloading the file. "I'll let you off the hook now, kiddo. Go party, or whatever you do on Friday nights." I couldn't see him, but I could practically sense his cheesy smile from the other side of the phone.

"I will, thanks… love you, dad."

"You too buddy." There were a few moments of silence before I ended the call. I usually wait for the other person to be the one to hang up since I don't like the obligation of needing to end the conversation. This time, though, it felt necessary to have that chosen role. Afterward, I spent the next ten minutes doing nothing but blankly staring at my laptop screen, and watching the default background screen. 

Thoughts flowed through my head as I rethought everything that my dad had just told me. I've always known that my mom gave birth to me prematurely and that it was a fight to get me to a healthy status. I was just four and a half pounds and barely even had the strength to cry. Along with my frail body was also the birthmark, which only became visible on the third day. Even though it wasn't related to any health issues I had upon birth, it still looked like a permanent sign of how much pain I put my mom through. 

I've lived my whole life thinking that it was by pure unlucky coincidence that I was born into such horrible conditions, but what if it wasn't by chance? What if my past ability is the very thing that somehow caused my mom's death? There must be some sort of connection between my ability and my birth. With this newfound thought, I went back onto my laptop and searched for the birthmark theory. It didn't take long until I found a small public forum, titled What is the Birthmark theory? On it was a chat stream of several people who were commenting on several ideas about birthmarks.

"Anyone else have any weird dreams? Sometimes I have realistic dreams where I actually feel like a different person!" one commenter said.

"Not really dreams, but sometimes my behavior changes in certain situations!" someone replied. Out of all of the comments I've read, not one of them seemed to have a similar experience as mine. Everyone seemed to be having strange coincidences with their birthmarks, but nothing seemed to prove anything concrete. Hoping to find a pattern, I quickly linked my account to comment in the thread.

"For anyone who's had these dreams/visions, were you born prematurely?" I kept it short and simple. Hopefully, the responses will have some use. Without warning, the door unexpectedly unlocked, and a sweaty Flint walked in.

"Man, where the hell were you?" he panted. "I was chillin with those guys for a while until I saw Melissa hanging out without you!" He glanced at my laptop screen and shrugged in disappointment. "Man… what did I just say? Tonight we were supposed to ignore all of that birthmark stuff and have fun."

"Yeah, I know." I closed my laptop and rubbed my eyes. "My dad called me before I could make a move… wanted me to do something for his work." 

"Oh, you lying ass–"

"I swear I'm not lying!" I stood up in defense. "I was right there, about to shoot my shot, but I didn't even get a chance to say hi!"

"Well, what about that then?" Flint pointed at my closed laptop. "If your dad wanted you to do something important, why're you looking at posts about your birthmark!?" I took a deep breath, calming myself down. 

"Well, on the call with my dad, I asked him about my mom again," I said seriously. Flint immediately relinquished his disappointed attitude. "He told me about how he met her, but most importantly how I was born."

"I thought you knew all of that already?"

"Yeah, I did, but I haven't thought of it in a long time. But when he talked about how I was born premature, it got me to thinking. What if my early birth has some connection to my birthmark ability? If there is one then maybe we can get a step closer to finding out how this ability started, and maybe even how to control it!" Flint looked deep in thought.

"Well… that's good to know." He walked over to his bed and sat on top of his covers. "But it would've been nice to worry about that some other time."

"Look, I already told you that I practically had no choice," I groaned. "I needed to help my dad. You know what'll happen if I ignore his calls."

"Yeah yeah yeah," he sighed. "Well, you're lucky that I'm still a good friend."

"Huh?" I looked at him in concern. "What did you do this time?" He smirked a bit

"Well, when I saw that Melissa wasn't with you, I went over to talk to her. I initially thought that you guys were watching the movie together, but she said that she hadn't even seen you once. So– being the good friend I am– I told her that I was looking for you for help with my notes. Ya know, just some made-up bs. She mentioned how she also needed help with the class notes, so I gave her your number." I stared at him in pure shock.

"You- you what!? You could've at least called me!" He waved his hand as if saying 'You're welcome, it's no big deal'.

"Look… long story short, I told her that you wanted to do a group study sesh, so I invited her over to help out." We stared at each other silently, waiting for some sort of response. Opening my dry lips and clearing my throat, I was able to work up the inclination to speak.

"...you what!?"