Nathaniel Diego Belfort, Diego to everyone but his mom. An energetic young man in his mid twenties, discovers he has the ability to teleport. His adventures and misadventures take him all around the country, then all around the world. Several diary entries were found recounting his pursuit of understanding, testing the boundaries of what he can do and then how that applies to his life as it is and as it could be.
December 17, 2017
Dear Diary,
I told Jamish today. I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe I wanted him not to believe me. Maybe I wanted him to scream and freak out. Maybe I wanted him to be like me. What if he was.
Would we go on adventures? Would we explore the heavens and delve into the depths to test our resolve? Would we forsake everything we are and discover who we could become?
I'm talking like he's my true love. Like my soul mate. I mean, I like him a lot. I obviously trust him, but I don't love him. I don't want to spend all my time with him. I don't really want to let him see my soul.
I don't even want you to see my soul. Paper. You're just made up of compressed bits of mulched wood. Washed in solvent and bonded by pressure. You don't have emotions. You can't feel. You can't see. You can't comfort me when I'm hurting. But you listen. You don't judge. Maybe I love you instead. I already take you everywhere. I already tell you what's in my heart. You know my fears. You are abreast of my triumphs.
I drank coffee today. I even put cream and sugar in it. I saw a recipe. You put heavy cream and sugar in a small sauce pan. You stir it. Like, really really stir it. Then you boil water in a different sauce pan and you pour it through this filter filled with coffee grounds that looks like an elf hat attached to a small wire handle. Then you pour water through it again and again until the color of the water has been tainted by the coffee. You then add the coffee to the simmering cream and sugar. Then you stir. You stir until there's peace in the land. Until the cows come home. Until the world has ended.
The sip was sweet and hot. It burned my vulva.
I love that joke. People always correct me. “You mean uvula? You don't have a vulva.”
Every time. Never fails.
I am afraid I'm at the cusp of my potential. Well, I am thinking maybe I don't know how to determine my potential. What if there is more I can do. Do I even want to figure that out? Do I even want to try?
My heart hasn't stopped pounding since popcorn. Obviously I'm still alive so yeah, it would still be pounding. You know what I mean. My heart is beating really hard. Almost through my chest. The sound of the metered thumps initially drowned out the sound of the whimpering. Then it drowned out the sounds of my breathing. Now it is drowning out the sounds of my self doubt. I am being steadily reminded that I am still alive. I can cry all day, but here I am. I can doubt myself for whatever reason, but yet I remain.
I am thinking maybe I should set myself some goals.
Try to go somewhere I have never been.
Make a friend in a place I have never been. (maybe these two should be switched?)
Visit every country in the world.
Maybe figure out if I need a passport with stamps?
See if you can get a stamp from a place without going through an airport.
Investigate travel visas.
Learn sleight of hand.
Visit mom and dad more often.
Finally go see Tabi's apartment.
Call Tomas once a month.
Condense goals list.
This goals list is too long. I like 11 the best. If I just complete that one by erasing the first ten, do I win?
No, he said to himself. You (he), don't (doesn't) win. You (he) lose(s).
Sometimes I wonder why I am such a stickler for correct spelling and grammar if I am the only person that is ever going to read this.
Or. I know you're not paper, but, what if you, yes, you the person reading this, what if you are not me. What if you didn't write this? Well, firstly, rude. Why do you think it's OK to read someone's diary? Secondly, thank you for finding this diary, how else would my story get out? I am likely dead. See, I can teleport. I can just think of a place I have been and then boom, I poof myself there. Yes, poof. I like it. Characters in comics “blink”, “bamf”, “translate” and all other manner of word, but nobody poofs. Well, I do. I poof.
Dead. I am likely dead. You see, just because I can will myself somewhere doesn't mean I will be safe when I get there. I poofed from on top of a building and poofed mid air and I fell on this girl. Literally the prettiest girl I have ever seen, but I landed on her. She was pissed and it was in New York. She could have killed me. Another time I poofed while riding a bike down a hill and poofed to this skate park and hit a jump right as I arrived there. What if there was a kid there? What if someone was coming down?
There it is again. The sound of a pound so true my chest feels bruised. The meter feels like 200 beats per minute. I am chasing myself through the fields of doubt in my head and heart. I am weary from the flight. Breathe.
So far I have been lucky. I haven't hit anyone. I haven't collided in a way that would cause serious harm. I haven't died. Yet. I don't want to die. I am just scared of my excitement. I don't want to be reckless. I don't want to be any more reckless than I have been. I don't want to be any more reckless than the consequences of which I am willing to handle.
Here I am gazing
into the eyes of the night,
find me light, I plea