Radio Sphere (6 page)

That anti—love beast sprung back into view. It had been waiting; knowing I would return; knowing there would be no joy in letting me live; knowing there would be glory in my pain. Built like a lion and the size of a bear, the bulgasari are monstrous beasts that destroy with violent ease, explosive movements, and terrifying glee. The beast had weight as it careened through rusted down garbage dumpsters that had formed an accidental wall with ease and, perhaps, to show me how
nothing
I was before it. Teeth; dozens of mismatched, chunky, nasty teeth; some broad and dull others sharp and peaked, but the look in its eye made it a terror: a green electric glow from inside its pupil that chortled like a hundred children lost in the dark. Glowing green blazed in lighting—like lines tattooed over the monster’s back and along its ribs. Its head was mostly mouth, a powerful jaw; the rest of it was muscle with eight inch torn—metal—like jagged claws tearing forth off five seven—digit paws.

I tripped.

Last I heard from Iktomi was: “George?” said in a long, flat tone that echoes the halls of the deepest darkest backward of my mind to this moment.

Then I fell onto bright pink and yellow blooms looking up at two men with skin as brown as the sky, clothes like none I’d seen before, and strange qualities to their voices— who appeared seemingly out of nowhere. We’d vanished from where I was to somewhere nearby. The first man had a tuxedo suit that was so clean he seemed to be from another dream and the whites of his teeth sparkled with astral beauty.

“My name is Dinesh, do not be afraid.” His speech was both calm and aware, “you are in danger here, Sir, but Gangrim and I have come to help.”

The other man, more brutish, wore leather lamellar armor and bracers that had been chewed on by large creatures.

“Bulgasari,” Gangrim said.

Gangrim revealed a large, seven—branched sword he called Chiljido that was made of crystal or something of equal wonder. The blade itself was wet with fresh blood, Gangrim carried that smell deep within himself as if forever marked by the battles he has fought.

“I’ve been fighting Bulgasari since the aliens came. Dinesh will take you someplace safe until our friend arrives.” Gangrim then left with the speed of a shooting star to fight the beast.

Dinesh’s grace, a pure adroitness, whisked us from the imminent danger of the beast and the molder of South Boston, south and into the water. Not into, but onto. Dinesh held us afloat as if we could stand on the water surface by his sheer power of will.

“The old harbor,” he said, “it was nice here this morning.”

“What, what was that? How did you…?”

The force of the blows between Gangrim and the beast caused the sea to wave at the sky with jealousy.

“A mind divided against itself will surely fall, George. The lysergic acid doesn’t help.”

“Lie… sir…?”

“Never mind. It’s in those apples, most foul, where did you receive them?”

“I got after I left Saraswati. I broke the ones she gave me.”

“Saraswati sent you?”

“We are friends. I felt bad about breaking her apples, so I was happy when Iktomi offered to give me more.”

“These are impure. Fundamentally dirty. Can you not tell the difference?”

“I do… feel…” I gazed into the remainder of an apple in my left hand.

“It is a feeling like these waves— some strong, others insane, but they all repeat and feel like different lives— You must not worry. All will pass, if you allow it it will pass smoothly.”

“Where are we?”

“Haha. No worries my friend. We are safe here.”

“Yeah. This is nuts, man.”

“As anything else, it is nothing more than a ride. The ride will end and you will only remember the parts you want to remember.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Okay. Clouds fill the sky, but, you know, they’ll soon go away.”

“Wise words, my friend. Just keep waiting here with me a little longer. Gangrim called a friend of ours to take you home.”

An almost golden haired monkey arrived on a small, floating cloud. Dinesh lifted me with one arm onto the cloud; it was neither passable nor impassable, yet warm and fluffy. I instantly felt drowsy.

Gangrim rejoined me, “Haeng un.” Dinesh dashed to fight the bulgasari.

“Hang on?”

“It means good luck.”

“I’m trying to go over there,” I yawned, pointing to a large black cube across the bay.

Half looking, Gangrim said “You cannot.”

“Why?”

“Your true journey lies not here. Join this monkey on his journey, he owes us this labor.”

“Then where am I supposed to go now?”

“A wise man once said: Take the world in a love embrace, fire all of your guns at once and explode into space.” For only a moment I closed my eyes.

The next instant I awoke next to the golden haired monkey in time to watch the cloud disperse into vapor wisps. The monkey seemed to smile and nod. I stood up, but the wind was strong and the rust flecks scratched my skin as they whirred about the city air.

The falling gyre that transfigured the Earth changed us too.

You thought we were crazy.

You thought we were alone.

A universe empty to us.

When we understood differently, you refused to. You tried to explain away the transmissions, but once we heard them, once we saw those alien images, once our planet was reduced and forced to reform, anarchy! A divide that became one sided and soon the
ones
like me had to make a decision. The many chose to ignore and live with ignorance in their hearts. We few chose differently. We chose to seek. We knew things would fall apart.

It took two secluded decades for us to build the ships. Ten times four million of us could have come, but we could not find enough willing to explore: the first alien species and us without wonder. The creature’s transmissions show us their lives, their location, and their love of Lucy.

We had no way of communicating with them prior to our arrival. We had no way of predicting their mentality, their acceptance, their understanding. The Earth was far less ready than we. Knowing there was more out there, among the stars, would change them, we only wanted to learn about them, to help temper the attitudes of isolationism and broaden the narrow views on both sides.

We failed.

For some reason I was having trouble jumping on a trampoline for six hours in nothing but this cute red and yellow two—piece. I had only seen clothes like that in old magazines and photographs that were faded brown. It could have been longer, the jumping. At apogee I could see car races over the fence, but otherwise I was only surrounded by warm oceanic air. It was so nice, or it would have been if my legs weren’t burning from their constant exertions. The sky was blue like in paintings. I don’t know why I didn’t stop bouncing, especially as I began to sweat so much that it soaked the once strawberry red of my swimsuit into a more rosewood color that I wasn’t in the mood for since it grew dark, almost blood—like. The sweat glistened off my skin, which was gross, I couldn’t help but want to shower, and even though I wasn’t sticky from sweat yet I knew that was coming and I was already uncomfortable. It was nice to see a blue sky— I’d never seen that before. It was nice to see a yellow, soft sun— never seen that either. For once the chirps birds sounded melodic instead of frantic, clawing. It really was so nice, for a time.

My belly growled as if in extreme hunger and from my mouth sprung the squeal of a rhino. All my body fat collapsed in on itself and I became a flesh skeleton, but as I did a back—flip the fat came back and more, my stomach distended like a pregnancy. I could feel my back and breasts ache. I coughed up blood. A stillborn fetus jettisoned out of me, bouncing with me while I wished it had lived at least as much as me.

I returned to normal. I decided to focus on the sweat droplets as they flew off my body with each bounce into the open sky, through space and time, delving through long uncut blades of grass to splatter on fresh dirt.

Real children require attention and care, all the time. You can’t even blink or they will get into something. In dreams they are an external expression of your inner change, or vulnerability, I had read. Dreams can be anything, can’t they, so why couldn’t I dream something new each night? Why did I have to feel alone when surrounded by people.

There was something bothering me about everything biological, but I chose not to think about it. I didn’t want to think about that baby. I chose to be distracted.

Chad had been missing for over a week. Eleven days. Dad didn’t utter an indication of his thoughts, but I knew he was thinking Chad jumped. I knew Chad would never, could never, I don’t know why, I just knew, but jumping was the easiest thing to believe, wasn’t it? Because: Do people love only eating bread and water in between dwindling supplies of nutra—meals? Because: Do people enjoy every day brown skies and every night enforced curfew, no running water, minimal electricity rations, and crazy radiation addled minds doing whatever they please? The worlds we’d seen in art and movies had much more ingrained possibility than ours. Things seemed bleak on the best days. That’s why it was easy for anyone to believe Chad had jumped.

I’d stolen my father’s torch.
³⁵
He had other weapons, several in fact, so he wouldn’t miss this one. I figured the torch had the most utility. I knew exactly where Chad had gone, Weeks Cemetery. I knew of the graveyard since the family wanted to bury Grandpa at Weeks, but of course couldn’t.

I was half way there before realizing how mindlessly I’d rushed after Chad, selfishly, on this stolen, dirty, mud coated bike.

The back tire wasn’t inflated properly, the handle—basket kept my gun from falling and after a few hurried miles I stopped caring how dirty the contraption was. I brought no food, just my thoughts of food once my belly began to rumble. I brought no shelter, which somehow made me miss my apartment and the thought of camping out made me even miss the couch.

I envisioned my old people sitting in their Jesus room with a modest fire lit, holding each other close on that chilly evening, discussing their favorite passages from Psalms and thanking each other kindly for their input. I imagined they had individual favorite lines, had them embroidered on pillows, but they accepted each other without a wavering thought or feeling.

I imagined some brat playing my Yoshi’s Island, but when I realized they didn’t have a way to recharge the battery; I felt bad for them. I wondered about what kind of person they were: boy or girl, nice or mean, good or bad.

I realized a growing rumble within me and tried to ignore it. I realized I didn’t know what I was doing and that I couldn’t admit to myself why I was doing it.

My head ached, and I grew more and more irritable about everything. I wanted my Yoshi’s Island back, and Chad; why did you have to disappear when you could have stayed home? You could have been safe and warm at your place or mine. There was no need for you or I to have gone out to the unknown. I regretted it all. Why couldn’t we have been honest? Why couldn’t everything just be wonderful, and simple, and easy, and mine?

I needed to concentrate on my task, but I couldn’t; all I had were scatter brained imaginings that got blurrier and blurrier the more I looked into them.

It took me over six hours of imaginings and realizings until I got to that damn cemetery. Forever and not long at all, which made me realize the danger of the situation and that I shouldn’t be day dreaming there; I hadn’t noticed my follower at all.

“Are we there yet?” He asked in a friendly, natural way.

I almost shot him, in the face, but— click click— the safety was on.

“Get away from me!” I demanded, and flipped to red.
³⁶
Even beat—brains know what that means. “Don’t get any closer!” Had he been following me since the train?

“I brought you apples,” he said while holding out a bucket full of strangely shaped red things the size of small fists that looked as if they belonged next to a ginger jar in fiction.
³⁷
My stomach was audible. I was on the verge of passing out.