The Enhancement

This story is by Sandy Juker and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

A pair of brawny seventh graders, both two years older than me, hooted and hollered, “Keep going Connor! The best ice is in the middle.” They didn’t have the guts to step on the frozen reservoir, but daring me, the little guy, was right up their alley.

I ran, and jumped, and glided across the pond like a star in the Ice Capades. “Come on, guys. What are you afraid of?”

The ice rumbled. Like lightning, a crack zipped across the pond. I froze, glaring at my feet and the widening crevice between them.

Inky blackness engulfed me, and I flailed as I sank. I gasped, gulping frigid water. My lungs seized and burned.

When my feet touched the concrete at the bottom, I rebounded, clawing my way toward the dimming light.

***

They told me I was unconscious for two days. I just remember waking up to the sound of my mom’s voice. She was cussing at my dad, using language that I’d only heard from Uncle Gerald. Grounding words if I said them.

Weird thing was, her lips weren’t moving, and Dad was just gazing out the hospital room window as if he hadn’t heard the tirade.

I stared at Mom, her lips still pursed as she ragged on Dad. “Our son may never wake up because you couldn’t be bothered to fix the $%@#’n fence around that $%@#’n pond.” She clamped her arms tight across her chest.

I blinked. Is this for real? Mom never swears. But then I heard Dad’s voice. “Damn kid, what the hell were you thinking? I’ve told you a hundred times to stay away from that reservoir.” His lips never twitched. “God, please spare my boy. His mother’s gonna blame me for all of time.”

***

At first, I was afraid they’d be embarrassed if I told them I’d heard their thoughts. As the days went by and I’d been privy to private musings I’d rather forget, revealing my new ability would have been too embarrassing for all of us. I never knew Dad was fascinated by Mom’s tush. And I don’t think he would’ve wanted me to know. So, I kept my gift to myself.

For five years, I never once revealed that I could read minds. Not everyone’s mind, just blood relatives. It’s like my veins are a wireless conduit to their brainwaves. Family reunions are a cacophonous nightmare.

At least they were until I discovered the kill switch. Just like the onset of my mind-reading ability, learning to turn it off was purely by accident.

Suffering through a bombardment of family conversations and thoughts at the Thanksgiving Day table, I pressed a thumb against my trachea, wishing for the silence of that near-drowning experience.

The thought waves stopped.

I scanned my relatives. Every word flowed through moving lips. The critical banter that spewed from Aunt Margie’s mind, suppressed. Dad’s tush appreciation squelched. Mom’s subliminal cussing silenced.

I wanted to shake my fists in a triumphant gesture, but as soon as I separated my thumb from my trachea, the deafening ruckus resumed. “Oh damn!”

Mom glared at me. “Bite your tongue, young man. What’s wrong? Isn’t the turkey moist enough?” Then, from her mind. “You ungrateful little twit. Haven’t lifted a finger all $%@#’n day.”

Her words, like a match to a powder keg, blasted me out of my chair. “Why would you call me an ungrateful twit? I offered to help this morning, but you called me a $%@#’n nuisance and shooed me out of the kitchen.”

Her eyes widened. “I’ve never uttered such foul language.”

My lips quivered. “You’re right. You didn’t say it, but you thought it. And I’ve heard every unspoken word and curse that’s gone through your mind since I came out of that coma.” I locked eyes with Dad. “And you. I’m so sick of your lewd thoughts about my mother’s… my mother’s butt.”

I lurched backwards and clamped a hand over my mouth. Gaping mouths sucked every sound from the room. In that moment, before the family’s collective mind grasped what I’d said, I dashed out of the room.

Six blocks and forty “oh craps” from the house, I stopped to catch my breath. I pressed fists against my heaving sides and turned to look back. Multi-ambered leaves cloaked the sidewalk, and like the season, I knew life was about to change.

It did change, but not the way I expected. Prepared to minimize my awareness of everyone’s private thoughts, I practiced a generic response. “I hear so many thoughts at one time that I can’t really distinguish the source.”

But very few of my relatives mentioned their own thoughts. They wanted to know what everyone else was thinking.

“Is Aunt Margie planning to divorce Uncle Gerald?”

“Will I inherit Grandpa’s coin collection?”

“Are Mom and Dad going to get me the electric guitar that I asked for, for Christmas?”

I used the same generic response to avoid answering their questions. They not only stopped asking, but made excuses to duck out of the room. I was used to scuttling away, seeking quiet, but this was different. My cousins, my aunts and uncles, and even my grandparents shunned me.

Mom and Dad became guarded. No more mental cursing in my presence. No tush appreciation when I was around. They became distant, stifling their thoughts.

Not that I blame them. But as much as I’d hated keeping the ability a secret, this was worse. I’d alienated my entire family. To make them feel safe, my room became my haven. A very lonely haven where I spent my time writing poems about rejection.

Before revealing my ability, I had wondered if there was a medical cure for my condition, but I didn’t want to give it up. Since the revelation, the gift has felt like a curse.

“Mom, Dad, do you think a doctor could help me? I don’t want to read minds. I want to be normal, so everyone will quit running away.” I scrutinized their faces.

Mom looked at me with a frozen smile. “We can talk to a doctor, if you’re sure that’s what you want.” Though she tried to hide her excitement, her mind flipped uncontrolled cartwheels. “Oh, yes. Yes! Please, let a doctor help. Quiet, he can hear you.”

Dad’s rigid jaw, steeled to conceal emotion, flexed as he spoke. “Of course, Connor. Whatever you want.” His mind betrayed his self-control. “Thank God! It’s impossible to control my thoughts all of the time. Let’s get this kid to the doctor.” He smiled, cocked his head and looked away.

I ignored their private zeal and asked, “What kind of doctor can fix mind reading?”

Mom tapped on her phone. “A neurologist treats brain injuries. I’ll make an appointment.”

The skeptical doctor required a battery of tests, including having me speak words that Mom or Dad would read silently. Kind of like a ventriloquist, only I was the dummy.

The neurologist reviewed scans and X-rays and concluded that I had a compressed nerve in my neck. He prescribed a regime of physical therapy and anti-inflammatory injections, but nothing changed. As a last resort, he said, “A minimally invasive posterior cervical foraminotomy will relieve the pinched nerve.”

The morning of the scheduled surgery, I stared at myself in the mirror. I can’t go through with it. I couldn’t remember what it was like before the gift. But stopping it would be like tearing half of the pages out of a book. For the rest of my life.

I tromped downstairs to the breakfast table. My parents lowered their coffee cups. Ignoring their startled thoughts, I blurted, “I’m not going to do it. I’ve changed my mind.”

Dad, tightened his lips, but his mind spoke loud and clear. “Oh hell, son.”

Mom slapped her hand over her mouth as if she could prevent me from hearing her thoughts. “But I can’t stand this anymore. You’ve got to do it.”

I plopped into a chair, defeated by the twisted torment on their faces. Since I managed at school where I couldn’t read minds, I supposed I could learn to get by at home. “What time do we have to be at the hospital?”

***

Post-surgery, the anesthesia wore off.

Like improved vision after cataract surgery, the brain waves of every person in the room flowed with crystal clarity. Not just Mom and Dad’s, but the doctor’s and the nurse’s thoughts roared in my head.

Oh no! The intended elimination had become an enhancement. My gift now included everyone, not just family. I clamped my eyes shut and tested the kill switch. I sucked in a relieved breath, thankful for the silence.

Mom clasped my hand. “Well, did it work?”

I studied her expectant face and glanced at Dad’s hopeful expression.

“Um…yeah. Yeah, it worked.” I lifted my thumb from my trachea and heard my mom’s subliminal reaction.

“Hallelujah! I’m so $%@#’n relieved.”