Chapter 27
Jack
The rain powering down distorts the road signs flashing by.
I flick on the windscreen wiper. If only clearing my questions about Maggie was this easy.
I’ve relied on the Google Maps narration to get me to Guildford.
I know the roads well now and I trust myself enough to navigate my way to Dr Levin’s.
I follow the instruction to join the motorway, checking over my shoulder as I join at speed.
I’ve spoken to my parents and they’ve confirmed that it was eleven when the ambulance came.
And that I was not found outside the pub but two streets along.
Completely the wrong direction to where I should have been heading.
As I have for the past week, I try to force my brain to remember more details. But there is just Luke’s face.
The next episode of the podcast I’ve been listening to is waiting like the guilty secret it is. But instead, I put on the radio.
Today will be my fourth session with Levin and every time I think I know what to expect, he comes out with something new.
Last time it was listening to Darth Vader’s imperial march as I stepped on a huge letter J laid out on the floor in bubble wrap, popping the air pockets beneath my feet.
For ‘Ch’ it’s Bob Dylan’s ‘Times They Are a-Changin’’ And honestly?
Even though his methods are… unique, I’m glad of them, and I’d be lying if I was to say that I’m not starting to be able to spot my name on a list, even if I feel like a walking cosplay fan on his way to Woodstock when I read it.
And coming here fills my spare time with something other than thoughts of Maggie and what happened that night. Maybe my drunk ass fell over and that was that. All this time, I’ve been trying to blame someone else, when in fact, it’s probably my own fault, that and a shot of Sambuca.
I’d walked towards Flicks last week, desperate to see her, to talk to her. Every day I think of something I want to share. Hear her laugh as I acted out the bubble-wrap death march; see her smile.
My finger taps on the steering wheel are becoming relentless. I’ve resisted for about half an hour before I click on the podcast.
Thanks for joining us, listeners. Last time we ventured into the realm of premonition, but this week we’re going one step further: Are we hearing people’s thoughts without knowing it?
Sounds crazy. And sadly I haven’t suddenly found the ability to read minds like a superhero, but current studies are saying that the idea of hearing someone’s innermost thoughts is not just something for science fiction lovers, it might actually be possible.
I turn up the volume a fraction.
Let’s dig deeper into the facts, firstly with a very real piece of the brain called ‘mirror neurons’ the part of the brain that allows us to feel, or mirror, the responses of others at the same time as they do.
Researchers have found that not only is ‘mirroring’ a reality, but that it’s more dominant in empathetic people.
When they observe someone experiencing a deep moment of emotion, or are experiencing pain, these neurons spring to life as if they are experiencing it too.
I think of Maggie, the way she cares for Riz… the way she can almost sense when I need space and when I need to talk…
These clever little neurons are why we cringe when someone slams their fingers in a door, or why we feel so awkward that we blush when we watch someone in an embarrassing situation. Empathetic people in particular, often simulate the experience, kind of like eavesdropping on someone else’s lives.
I know, I know, you’re waiting to get to the nitty-gritty; so what if those lines become more tangible and it’s not only second-hand emotions those neurons are capable of?
Here’s the kicker, folks – scientists now believe that these neurons might be able to actually simulate internal ideas or even modes of thought.
Stay tuned after this short advertisement.
I sigh in frustration and slip down a gear.
I know I should turn it off, but over the last week, I’ve found more and more ‘evidence’ of this ‘hearing thoughts’ thing.
Have I shared this with Nell or my family?
No. If I could see myself from the outside looking in, I’d be questioning who the hell this person is, who listens to podcasts about seeing the future and reading minds.
But if there is even a tiny little thread of truth in what Maggie said, then I’m going to listen.
I exit at the next junction, and wait at the traffic lights.
Welcome back! Glad you’re still with me. To recap, we’re looking at how mirror neurons might be capable of more than simulating emotions when we take into account other somewhat unexplainable functions of the brain.
Here’s another real condition: synaesthesia. This is where the senses cross over with incredible results. Some people taste sounds, others see emotions as colours, or feel days of the weeks as specific shapes.
Huh. I think back to my last session. I could hear the letter J, hear the sounds of the Star Wars music.
These types of synaesthesia would suggest that the line between thoughts and perception can be surprisingly blurred.
What synaesthesia reveals is that the brain’s sensory restrictions are not as fixed as we once thought.
Visions can bleed into thoughts and the internal can be affected by the external.
So if that clever brain of yours can mirror and blend perception with internal thought, maybe the lines of our thoughts and others isn’t so clear cut. Might that be why we know what someone is about to say before they say it? Perhaps that’s why empathetic people have such keen insight.
Is it too big a leap to believe that these blurring of lines could link to telepathy?
Still the Scully to my Mulder?
That sentence alone should have me switching this off, but here I am.
Let’s turn to what experts call the ‘Theory of Mind’. A uniquely human ability to deduce what someone is thinking through the tiny clues we give away about ourselves: desire, fear, intention. We do this all the time, in crowds, pubs, offices, romantic relationships.
This is how we as people navigate social situations.
But consider this for a moment: if mirror neurons, coupled with synaesthesia and the Theory of Mind interlink, maybe, just maybe, empathetic people aren’t simply attuned to the mind and emotions, but actually feel or see or hear them? Might this be actual telepathy?
Perhaps. Maybe the real question isn’t if mind reading is possible, it’s: are we already doing it without knowing we are?
That’s it from me today, folks, but before I go, consider this: the next time you get a shiver of knowing something about someone, or that moment when a loved one’s unspoken thoughts seem to echo in your own head, don’t dismiss it.
Because maybe, just maybe, your brain, in its quiet, miraculous way… is listening.
I know this is some guy who is probably hosting from his parents’ house without so much as a P or an H or a D anywhere in sight, but there’s a bolt of possibility. That it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility to question if Maggie could be telling the truth.
I shake my head and let out a long breath. I’m so desperate to believe her, that I’m trying to convince myself that the impossible is plausible.
I turn off the engine as the jingle runs, looking over to Levin’s door, the blonde woman from next door waving a hand.
Christ, how did I get here? A year ago I was about to expand my business, get married. I knew my place in this world. And now I’m a guy sitting in his car listening to podcasts about hearing thoughts, who has to use Star Wars bubble wrap to find the letter J.
I’ve never felt so alone.
* * *
‘Lick it,’ Levin says pushing a green plate towards me.
‘What?’ I look up at him, his eyes peering over his thick glasses.
Levin rocks on his heels and points to the red squiggle in front of me.
‘Lick it.’
‘Why?’
‘Jack, you need to trust me if you’re going to make more progress; now lick the strawberry lace thingymebob.’
I hold my breath tightly, then exhale, bending down and tentatively licking the top part of the squiggle.
I stand back up. ‘Now what?’
‘I mean lick the whole thing. From tip’ – he points to the top of the squiggle – ‘to toe.’
I shake my head, but bend back over the table, running my tongue over the shape.
‘Now tell me what letter it is.’
‘I don’t know, C?’
‘No. Try again.’
I repeat the action, concentrating on the shape. ‘Z?’
‘Good. Again.’
My tongue is getting sore, the sugar is all gone and my tongue feels numb.
He removes the strawberry lace and passes me a pen.
‘Circle all the z’s that you can find.’ I look down to the symbols, the words that are vibrating on the page.
I sit down, clutch the pen and run my finger along the symbols.
And then the weirdest thing happens. I taste them.
The z’s. I can taste the strawberry, feel the sugar on my tongue.
And if I can taste letters then is it too far a stretch that Maggie believes she can—
‘Nine out of fifteen. Excellent! Fancy a stroll?’
I don’t have time to answer before he shrugs on his oversized mac that makes him look like he’s wearing his older brother’s hand-me-downs.
Levin leads me out to the back of his building. The space is small, but the sun is shining on the patch of green lawn. On it is a long blue blanket curved into a shape, like a river.
‘I want you to concentrate on the blue shape, and while you do’ – he pulls out a small white paper bag and shakes it at me – ‘suck on this.’
I frown but take out a boiled sweet and put it in my mouth: lemon sherbet. The smell and taste immediately bring Maggie into mind. God, I miss her.
‘Are you trying to give me a tooth cavity then tell me no pain no gain?’
‘No.’ He frowns, sucks on his own sweet. ‘I want you to walk the letter, taste the lemon and tell me what letter you think this is.’