Day 199 - Subtitled Story

Subtitled Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

The words floated in the air. It was an amazing sight. People had seen subtitles on television and in films, but they were never prepared to see it in real life. Jacob could warn them and try to prepare them, but it was always a shock. No one really ever expects to see illuminated words glowing in the air in front of them like fancy little holograms. Jacob had been seeing them since he was fifteen.

At first when he was young, Jacob would speak the words, and they would appear and he had no control over them. They were a dull greenish yellow and they appeared in the air in front of his chest if he was standing, or above his head if he was sitting. It was like they knew to appear where they would be easy to read and unobscured by other nearby objects. Maybe it was mental projects based upon what his eyes could see or his mind could register. It was subconscious and Jacob didn’t really know why it was happening. It could be very useful if he was talking to someone that was hard of hearing. It could be an annoyance if he was whispering or in a dark location. It ruined his ability to tell a secret and was extremely embarrassing when he tried to tell his girlfriend at age sixteen that he was in love with her.

His subtitles behaved like low budget television subtitles. If he spoke too fast the subtitles couldn’t keep up with him and only projected half of what he was saying. If he was drunk or slurred his speech the subtitles couldn’t understand and they just ended up as gibberish. The subtitles didn’t understand slang or always spell the words correctly. It was not always the most useful skill to possess.

By the end of high school he had gotten the hang of things and could better control when and what was projected. He had learned to shut them off, but that sometimes took a great deal of mental effort and if he was tired they would slip back on no matter what he wanted. By the end of college, he was a subtitle master. He could change the color and type font. He could project in different languages, even if he didn’t always understand what they were saying. He was assured many times over that the subtitles were mostly accurate, even if they did miss certain local styles and word choices. This came in especially handy when he traveled abroad and needed pointed in the right direction. Every change and special trick did require a fair amount of energy and mental effort and he would grow especially tired at the end of a busy day of communications.

As an adult Jacob’s abilities made an important shift. He developed the ability to think one thing, think another, and project a different subtitle altogether. He could look at a person and not say a word, but his inner thoughts would appear. If someone was spying from the other room he could have a simple conversation but convey a different story totally. None of this was going to give him the ability to become a superhero or superspy, but it did allow him to perform interesting party tricks and share secrets that otherwise he could not. Jacob had learned a trickster’s turn.

And then one afternoon, standing on a street corner waiting for the light to change, a speeding car lost control and jumped the curb. Jacob was nearly killed and was left incapacitated in a coma. Two weeks later, still unconscious, the subtitles began again. It was stream of consciousness gibberish and random half thoughts, but it proved he was still there. Jacob had found a way to give hope to those around him without any awareness or conscious control. Slowly the gibberish began to become more and more coherent.

Once Jacob was aware again, no one ever mentioned the embarrassing thoughts he had unwittingly shared. As his body healed, he struggled to regain the control he had once had, and everyone was incredibly supportive.

As Jacob aged, he used the subtitles less and less. He became more reserved. He had no need for a party trick and no interest in showing off anymore. He never regained his full control or level of skill he had once had, and it privately bothered him to admit his diminished state of ability.

As an old man, he sat quietly by a window in a nursing home. He rarely communicated verbally or via subtitles. Sometimes late in the day when he was tired the names of his children or deceased wife would appear. If he noticed this, it would make him cry, but mostly the words would fade before anyone had noticed them. He grew old. He grew tired. The light of the subtitles faded and flickered, barely visible, barely sustainable. He was weak. He only grew weaker and the lights dimmed more and more.