Hi, my name is Cassie. You the new therapist?
…
Well that is good. Therapists come and go, though. So I won’t stick to the script.
…
Yeah, I guess I can tell you about myself. I would usually start off by telling you that I am older than I seem, younger than I feel, and just about sick of the world I live in, but I know already that you wouldn’t care in the least. And that doesn’t bother me.
…
Why? I don’t know. It just doesn’t bother me. I know the way things are. And how they will be. And how they have been.
…
Do I think I am crazy? You should know the answer to that without me having to answer. I am absolutely crazy. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, right? There is not a definition of crazy that is large enough to contain my own special kind of the stuff. But it is not like I stand in corners asking the walls if they have seen my shoes or anything. I am not bag-lady crazy.
…
Pessimistic? It is not my fault I can see the world for what it is. I call that being a realist. I can be positive. I like your shirt by the way. See?
…
Reminds me of a circus event. Elephants and lions and acrobats. Just crap flying everywhere.
…
Do I like circuses? Who doesn’t?
…
Well I am sorry for you. Scared of the clowns?
…
By the way, you should call home. Your son is choking on a carrot and your wife is downstairs vacuuming. She can’t hear him. If you call now you can save him.
…
Yeah. I told you I was crazy. Of course you think I am kidding. That is what has made me crazy. “Sadness unto all those with deaf ears and blind eyes, for those that see and hear mourn you all and themselves as well, for you pay them no mind.”
…
Something I heard somewhere. I am not sure from where. But in my case it fits the bill. Your wife is about to call you hysterically. Your son has passed on. But don’t worry. You will get up, turn around, and forget everything that I said.
…
Oh yeah, go ahead, answer it. No… no… I don’t mind the interruption.
…
Yeah you can come back and see me. It sounds like an emergency.
…
Ok. See you later.
…
Well, well, just me and the walls. Again.
…
Have any of you seen my shoes?
…
Shit.
A Little Slice of Heaven
“Isabella!”
Shut up.
“Isabella!!!”
That’s my father yelling again. Always yelling, my father.
“Isa – bella!”
Isabella is my mother. They have been fighting again, about…. My father has a problem. Well, not a problem, an epidemic. He likes the to play the field, even though he is supposed to be in the dugout. He cheats.
There I said it.
He cheats!
Why my parents stay together, is beyond me. Last weekend their fighting got really bad. My father had a date pick him up at our small house in lower Queens. At our house! Now, I know my father is smarter than that. I know it. And, well, having a date pick him up at our house didn’t make my mother too happy. She just cried.
“Isa – bella!”
Why can’t he shut the hell up?!?
Mother is not home, you drunken slob. Oh yeah, another great thing about my father, he can’t hold a job. My mother goes to work, comes home, goes to bed. My father then wakes up, takes the money and blows it all on the sauce. What a jerk-off.
I don’t love my father. And he hits me, he hits me HARD.
And screams. He always yells at me, “Vinnie you little shit! Why don’t you succeed, why don’t you try?!” And I cry. But I always think to myself, “why don’t you?”
“Why don’t you?!?!” I scream inside my head!
Because if that came out, he would probably put me in the hospital. And right now, he is sitting upstairs with a bottle of the cheap shit yelling for my mother.
“Vinnie!”
I look up at the house. I’m playing in our small cramped stoop with my baseball. I love baseball. The Yanks are my team. Don’t talk to me about the Mets. Forget about it. The Yanks, though. What a team! Whenever I can, I sneak into the park to watch a game.
“Vin – nie!”
He’s really piss-ass drunk, now. And I know if I don’t go in, he’s probably going to lay into my little brother.
Time to face the damn music.
I walk slowly up the small brown stoop, aged by the incessant smog and sun. The pollution is baked right into the stone. Baked. First step, second step, third. I open the tattered screen door and look up into the darkened house. I hope he’s on the couch in front of the T.V. Slowly pushing the door, so it won’t creak, I put my foot inside.
“There you are you little Shit!!!” he screams violently.
I am thirteen, not really a little shit anymore. My dad comes running at the screen door. I don’t move. He grabs the door and throws it open, as if he wants to rip it off of the hinges like a loon escaping from their institution.
I don’t move.
“Little Shit! Where’s your MOTHER?!” And he slaps me.
I feel the quick shock of a thousand pin pricks spread slowly across my face. My vision blurs then clears. Then I hear my mother walk up behind me on the step. He grabs me by the hair and drags me into the living room.
“Stay here! And don’t peep,” He says as he turned back towards the door, “or I’ll rip your little faggot heart out.”
I hear my mother come in. I hear the door slam. I hear my father start to yell. I hear my mother start to scream, pleading for him to change his ways.
“Change?!? You expect ME to … Don’t cry! Don’t cry! Or I’ll give you something to cry about!”
I clench my fists. Here it comes, I know it.
SLAP!
No more! Something just rips itself inside of me. I feel a redness explode in my chest as I run to my room…
SLAP!
I grab my baseball bat…
SLAP!
I hear her cries for him to stop. I run back…
SLAP!
…out to the living room. I run into the kitchen grasping the bat in both of my hands, careful to not choke up. I see my mother trying to block his blows but failing. I see his hand start to turn into a fist….
I scream. “NO!” And I swing the bat.
I swing HARD.
I feel the bat make contact, the blow travels up the bat into my arm, through every part of my being. The first blow takes him at the back of the knees. He drops like a brick.
I pull up the bat to strike again. I see my mother astonished and crying.I see something in her eyes. Shock? Sadness? Fear?
Of me?
No. No more hitting. He’s on the floor looking horribly pathetic.
“Get out.” I say as cold as my tears will permit. “I’ll take care of the family now. Never come back or I’ll put this bat through your fucking skull. We don’t need you. We don’t need you.”
He looked at me. Pushed himself up off the floor, dusting off his stained pants. He stumbled out the door. I heard the screen fall back and make its banging noise.
And we haven’t seen him since.
Tommy’s Very Secret Journal, Stay Out!!!
Excerpts from Case File h0054-3a, Item 01, “Tommy’s Very Secret Journal”. Artifact located after initial contact date, Sigma 02-12-12. Released to Special Committee for study by Contact Group. Excerpt collection, commenting, and collation provided by Contact Group, as follows. Excluded material was found to be non-identifiable and not pursuant to case. Dates intentionally removed.
Excerpt 1 – first mention by Tommy of Suzie
My name is Tommy. I am eight years old. I was born in Colorado Springs, CO. I live in Evergreen, CO with my family. I have two brothers and one sister. I am the third children (sic). My mother is a home designer, she helps make new homes pretty. My father is a realtor, which is just a fancy way to say he is a salesman of other people’s houses.
I have an imaginary friend. Her name is Suzie. Suzie loves me. I love her. She is my best friend. I can’t tell anyone about her. I did a couple times, and got in big trouble with Mommy and Daddy. Suzie tells me that she has been with me since I was 2 years old. I talked about Suzie for a long time when I was a baby, but when school started, Mommy was upset that I still talked about Suzie. She took me to a doctor today.
Mommy bought me this notebook. I like to read. Mommy says I should write stories. Stories about my invisible friend.
Suzie said that she agrees with Mommy. I will try. I want to make Mommy and Suzie happy.
Excerpt 2 – second mention, first signal notation!
Today was my birthday. Everyone forgot. Mom was working, Dad is traveling, my horrible brothers don’t care, and my sister is at a sleepover. I turned 10 today. 10! And no one remembered my birthday.
Suzie did. She sang me a beautiful song and told me that we should take a hike tonight to the lake. She told me that she could show me something special. I asked her what she meant. She doesn’t want to spoil the surprise.
<<CC: Different handwriting – note the loops and the change in direction on the flow of the characters>>
It is a surprise, and you will like it, Tom.
<<CC: returns to Tommy’s native handwriting>>
I hope so Suzie. You are the only one that calls me Tom. I like Tom.
Excerpt 3 – day after above excerpt (#2)
Suzie and I walked up to what my dad calls the Thunder Tree. It is an old burnt tree that is cracked in half. In the summers, we come up here for picnics in the meadow. Thunder Tree burned down when I was two years old. Dad said it was a hell of a storm.
Suzie told me to walk past the tree and head to the lake. At the edge of the lake, she told me to step into the water. I didn’t want to get wet. She told me to be brave. I was.
I walked on the water. It was like firm ground. It was amazing! I could see the fish under my feet, and even a turtle!
Thank you Suzie! That was a great!
<<CC: Second signal notation, again notice the changed pattern in the writing.>>
You are welcome, Tom. You mean the world to me.
Excerpt 4 – (redacted) In which Tommy and Suzie discuss puberty and human physiology.
<<CC: security clearance required for this passage due to genome modification and the resulting questionable homeland security concerns, please contact administrator for further details. Appears that integration was accelerating with Tom’s permission, the details are graphic.>>
Excerpt 5 – first mention of integration success by Tommy
I started my biology unit today. We will be dissecting a toad in the next couple weeks. Yuck. I am not very excited about the slicing and dicing, but Suzie has started talking about the finer points as we go through the material. I love having my own study partner. Being a freshman is hard, but having someone else to talk to helps. Since I can talk to her now without speaking out loud, it makes it so much easier. She told me she is like lace, laying gently over me. It has taken a long time to get to this point, we have grown a lot together since she first asked. She is whispering to me now about constellations, telling me to wrap my journal entry up. She loves the stars.
Excerpt 6 – Tommy’s discovery.
Suz showed me how to seperate my thoughts from hers. She told me that I was my own person, and that I had every right to my own thoughts, feelings, and self. It is getting easier to pull my attention away from her. It helps when I talk to others.
I have made some good friends this year. I thought Biology and Chemistry would be my worst subjects, but at this point, I don’t think I have a worse subject. Suz helps me with everything in her own way. Last night, I was at a study group with my friends, and George asked about my homework after everyone else left. I told him it was already done, and he asked me if he could sneak a look. I trust George… he is a good friend. I don’t think he was looking to cheat, just get some direction. So I helped him. While we were chatting I accidentally mentioned Suzie. He gave me a strange look when I blurted the thing about an invisible friend. Good thing we were alone, because he probably thought I was nuts. I laughed it off and told him I was messing with him. He didn’t look too sure. But eventually I got him to laugh about it too. That was close.
I confronted Suz about it on the walk home. She told me that we were unique. I had just thought it was taboo… something everyone just didn’t talk about, like sex or Aunt Margie’s live-in “friend”. All this time, I thought everyone had a voice inside their head. I thought everyone had an invisible friend. I thought that is what everyone was talking about when they talked about the little voice saying what is right and what is wrong. All those other things… the holy spirit… the internal dialogue… the subconscious…. all a lie. No one else has their own Suzie.
Suz explained that other people have the internal thoughts, but she herself was not one of those things for me. She lifted my arm and changed my eyes to see. I could see her… bound within me, under my skin, near my bones, wrapped around me in the most intimate way. She explained to me that we were the only ones like this in the entire world.
I don’t know why, but I cried.
I still am sad about it. Not about being alone in this with Suz. But I am sad for all of my family. My friends. My teachers and fellow students. All of them, alone. So very alone. Not a single one knowing what true companionship is like. Not a single one of them knowing what it was like to have a best friend with you all the time. Not a single one of them feeling complete love from the other… the sense of devotion that I get from Suz when we are talking about the stars, about the principles of fusion and quantum mechanics, about the underlying fabric of our universe.
All of you out there, like solitary candles in the dark. It is so sad. My mom and dad, brothers and sisters…
I am lucky.
Excerpt 7 – The last entry in the artifact diary.
I graduated today, two years early. I should say that both Suzie and I graduated. I was top of my class, Valedictorian. I was class president, number one track star, and state record holder for the 100 meter and high jump. I could have been a world champion in anything.
I am holding back. Suzie and I were both holding it back. She told me she was waiting for something from me. Maturity? A certain level of understanding?
HA. She just told me that she was waiting for my short hairs to grow in.
The reality is that I am much more than human. Suzie, a crystalline entity that has inhabited my body since she crashed into Earth when I was only two years old, has made me something more. Something complex and meta-human. We can talk to cell phone networks without cellphones, we can communicate with satellites without the operators knowing we are there, we can hack on the internet in real time without a computer sitting in front of us. Wikipedia, Google, the deep internet, unseen sites that have been around since before I was born, university learning programs, governments, very scary people and organizations… all of it… open to me at a moment’s whim. We just need a signal.
And Suzie is telling me to point out that the porn was ‘handy’ too. Har de har har.
But that isn’t just it. She has made me stronger. I never got sick as a kid. My brothers and sister did. Everyone thought I was just a hardy kid. Suzie made me strong, fast, and healthy. I can run faster than anyone, jump higher than anyone, run longer than anyone. I can hold my breath under water for long spans of time (hours, we tested it last week). She can finely control my digestion and metabolism. I can eat anything. Literally. Last week, I ate a bar of soap, fourteen ball bearings, small loops of copper wire, a platinum medallion that I picked up in a pawn shop, and some nickels from the 1950s. Suzie ‘processed’ it into a subdermal mesh for interfacing with electronics at a physical level. I just touch things now, and I understand them. Fundamentally.
We are building something cool. Something to take her home, and I am going with her.
But first we have decided to leave a message. Mankind has to know that they are not alone.
So if you are reading this… now you know my own personal journey in this. Know that I was not forced or coerced. Know that she gave me the choice many times to separate. Know that Suzimerieralil, Explorer First Class, and second of fourteen aboard the Chalsineei, has been the best part of me all these years.
Oh… and by the way…
We will be coming back.
Microcosm
I once stood on a cliff edge, looking down. I am not one to suffer vertigo, but at the time, I felt a bit of unease seeing so much *space* between my own two feet and the trees, rocks, and bushes far below. I thought to myself then, if this ledge were to shift, I would have a long way to fall before I hit anything. Then I thought, perhaps that isn’t so bad. Perhaps the freedom of falling would be worth the sudden stop at the end.
I once sat on a boulder, not too far from that cliff edge. I was on my own share of time; my watch had yet to remind me that I had somewhere else to be. The sun was bright. So very bright, and the edges of the sky seemed to be wrapped down around me on that mountain. I enjoyed the heat of the sun warmed rock underneath me, closed my eyes and listened to the slow melodic tongue of the elder pines speak through the wind. I felt something else, a hand closing on mine, and I didn’t feel so bad. The wind took things from me. Secrets, pains, fears… and in its place, I heard the songs of the aspen, the spruce, the pine. They sang their timeless songs and I absorbed what I could, an overused sponge in a shallow pan.
I once stood in a shower, years before I got to that cliff. I was at camp, and I was crying profusely under the fall of the hot water. We had water discipline at the camp, the cabins had a lot of kids that needed to bathe, but no counselor banged on my door, so I just let the water run. I am pretty sure they knew I was crying. I tried to be quiet, but even quiet sobs can escape the harsh sound of water hitting stone and wood. I turned off the water, dried quickly, and dressed. As I left the facility, the counselor asked me if everything was alright. I lied.
I once fell ill at a camp, a year or two or three separated from the shower. I went to the nurse’s station and she took my temperature, felt my tonsils and prodded me off to a cot in her office. I feel asleep quickly. I woke up at five the next morning, and bleary eyed, she shooed my out the door and told me to head back to my bunkhouse. The sun was coming up then, but the sun had yet to show its face over the distant rise of the mountains. The morning was cold, the gravel crunched lightly under my small feet, and I felt the world wake up around me. The blue air hung from the ceiling of the world, and in the murky grey dawn, I felt the world snap a step to the left. I felt a complete sense of peace.
I once took the trash out late one summer night, a span of years since that night of illness. I was living at home still, a teenager thinking the world was shit, and I felt the need to look up. The sky was black, but as I looked, the pinpricks of a billion stars opened up before me. In a moment as brief as a sneeze, I felt the world spinning underneath me, and the slow cosmic turn of the universe above me. I felt that hand again. It pushed me down to my knees and held me in place as I experienced a mere fraction of the bitter cold of the vast distances between our tiny little planet and the infinite dark that separates everything.
Not too long after that… I found an old picture of my dad. He was standing on a beach, with a rock under one foot, his face timeless in the beard I think of him always having, his smile so much like my own. He was smiling for someone holding that camera on the edge of the cold ocean behind him. Massachusetts, I think. There is a lighthouse I have never seen. And that smile, that I only see in the photograph. The same smile that was in my baby book, of a new dad, playing with his infant son. The son kept trying to grab his glasses, or his nose, or just to stop the raspberries from being blown on his little stomach… who knows? But those photos, taken thousands of miles and years apart are the only pictures I know of with my dad smiling. I like to think he was smiling on that beach thinking of the boy he was rolling around with on the floor. In contrast, the tears are without count, and they rolled without notice. Except for the one that was shedding them.
Let’s flash back here. Take the time machine to a boy about to hit puberty, living in a very small hole of an apartment. I was a latch key kid, my mother worked a number of jobs. I can’t remember how many. What child ever really knows what their parents do? It was late, I was by myself, and I stood on a sidewalk that looped around the building, praying. I was praying that if God could, please make me fast. Or strong. Or smart. God please let me find something to get out of here. I now know he gave me time.
Time spools around me, the threads of a hundred complimentary and sometimes conflicting memories settling around me like chaff. I can reach out and follow them for short distances before they loop back on themselves, or get too knotted for me to trace. These threads touch each other in strange ways, associating with one another like drunk strangers bumping into each other on a dance floor. They have strange paths that lead other directions, and even I, the holder of these memories, have a hard time seeing where they lead.
But I have a father. He gave me genetic code, and an imprint to pass on to future generations. But I have another father too. Someone else that pushes the world a nanometer to one side for me, or pushes me down to make a realization about the nature of the universe.
There is comfort knowing that while one left me, the other was there. And I know who my father is. And some quantify it with a book, or a song, or a religion, or a big stick to hit others with. I quantify it with threads, and tears, and the warm sun, the breath of trees, the spinning of the very earth beneath my feet.
And time.