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I, Rogi Remillard, was born in 1945 in the northern New Hampshire mill town of Berlin. My mother Adele sadly died moments after my birth, my father having already perished in the Battle of Iwo Jima six months earlier. An orphan, I was taken in by my Onc’ Louie and Tante Lorraine, even though they already had six children to feed.
However, I always had the feeling that someone was missing from my life and there would be the accompanying feelings of relief and loss I couldn’t reconcile, the odd recollection back in the mists of time of having lashed out somehow in panic. It was only when I was older, when I found out to my horror that I had had a twin brother who had tried to strangle me in the womb, having wrapped an umbilical cord around my neck.
Fortunately in self-preservation, I had had a hand between the cord and my neck which had saved me (that was all that had saved me, wasn't it?). Even in the womb, I had known how to survive and took some comfort from it. But when I pressed for details as to how my twin had died, after an uncomfortable silence I was just told that he had been stillborn.
I had a cheerful upbringing and got along with my rough and tumble cousins. I grew up tall and skinny but eventually filled out a bit. From a young age, I was aware of possessing certain mind powers, but in my naivety, I assumed at first these were commonplace. When I quickly realised I was the only one in the family like this, I learned to keep quiet about it and turned to science fiction and fantasy books instead to find answers, any answers. There was no one else to talk to about it, that was for sure!
It was in this time that the seed of owning my own bookshop one day was sown.
I tried quietly experimenting with my powers and had some hits and misses. I couldn’t read other minds, but when being amongst crowds started bothering me, I managed to learn to raise a mental wall that made me cope better with people from then on. I practised moving small objects by myself and had success, though I definitely kept that to myself! Growing up came with its share of cuts and bruises and to my relief I had enough self-redaction to heal them.
When I was sixteen, I met a pretty, quiet girl called Marie-Madeleine Fabre in the library and we had occasional chaste dates. She liked science fiction as much as I did and we would discuss books we had read while walking along the banks of the scenic Androscoggin River north of the pulp mills. She also taught me to birdwatch and she would grace me with her lovely smile whenever I spotted something unusual.
When a bout of mumps was going around, I was so alarmed that I focussed my redaction gift to the best of its ability on myself and the illness passed me by. People said it was lucky that I had avoided it, but deep in my heart I knew better. If I had pride in my gift afterwards, could I be blamed?
When I left school, I went to work at the paper mill like everyone else and eventually saved up enough money to buy an engagement ring for Marie, for we spent as much time as we could outside work hours. Chastely, of course, for we never did anything more than holding hands and shy kisses before parting.
To my delight, Marie agreed to marry me when I eventually popped the question. Upon our marriage, we moved into a rented house, with family chipping in to help make it comfortable for us both.
We enjoyed the bliss of being a newly married couple and within the year, Marie was pregnant, much to our happiness. When our son Denis was born, I swore that we would both be loving parents and that he would never have anything to fear.
Denis was well-behaved for the most part and to my surprise, I would sometime sense faint flutters from his tiny mind against my mind screen in his presence. I had passed my mind powers down to our son! When I held him in my arms at his christening, to my amazement, I felt his infant mind trying to bond with mine. Pleased and delighted, I welcomed his attempt and eventually our father-son bond deepened.
It took some convincing on my part to let Marie know of my talents (I had been wary of talking about them aloud until now, even to her) and how special our son was, but she eventually came around. It helped that she had some telepathic ability of her own that the mother-child bond was strengthening, which brought new depth to our marriage. I was truly alone no longer… and perhaps there were others out there?
Denis was followed by twins Matthieu and Catherine, both with strong personalities leavened with a mischievous streak which made for a lively household at times. They both too at a young age had the ‘mind glow’ I had learnt to associate with potential powers to come, much to my pride.
Some of the garden was overgrown and by chance, one of the children found a brooch in there that was thought to be covered with nothing than paste jewels. But once it was cleaned under the tap, Marie looked more closely at it and took it the day after to a local jeweler.
To our amazement, it turned out to be a real diamond brooch that was worth a tidy sum – enough to pay for the deposit on a rundown shop that would do well as a bookshop. There was even an apartment on top that we could live in; it would be a tight squeeze, but we were willing to get by. I had been working at the mill until now, but I was glad to hand in my notice for good.
We named the bookshop Eloquent Words and it sold science fiction and fantasy… with a section in the back devoted to higher mindpowers. You never knew who would be interested, after all! The twins showed signs of telepathy and moving objects with their minds, which meant at times there was much giggling and hiding of things that their poor papa just happened to be needing.
When she was older, Catherine begged us for a cat and somehow we found ourselves acquiring a Maine Coon that became master of the household.
Growing up, Denis had more brains than Marie or myself and was eventually able to win a scholarship to a good college. He also wanted to find more people with mindpowers like himself, and in time he succeeded … as well as gaining enemies with mindpowers, as well.
But that’s a story for another time.
FINIS