—I don’t always have the story right before I get it out into the ether. My bad. Sometimes, it takes a couple of takes for me to make the story good, just as when I do live storytelling. I think, I have finally made it right with this story and my relationship with my father, who passed over a decade ago. -Roy
"There!" He thrust his arm straight out into the air, parallel to the flat soil.
"Uh huh," said a voice talking over a sizzling grill.
"No, really, right there!"
"Uh huh, right there," said the voice lost in the smoke rolling off some grilling meat.
Simon knew that it was time for drastic measures. So, he went to the wood pile and grabbed a cross section of some old tree. He climbed on top. It rocked hard to one side like a bucking bronco trying to throw a rider. He shouted, "Right there! That is where they landed! They fell out of the sky in a burning starship! It created a crater right out there in our corn field! I saw them."
Nothing, then gravity reacted. It grabbed Simon hard and popped him off the undulating elm chunk. He fell hard on to the ground, and laid there, inert on the green grass.
"Nice. I'll give that an 8.5," the now present voice said.
"Dad!"
"What? That was spectacular. Very close to the tantrum you threw when you wanted to see that movie with the monsters and giant robots. 'Pacific Rim'?"
"It looked awesome!"
"Okay, but you have to admit, Simon, it's hard to believe that anything happened in that plowed and planted field. I'm thinking that tiny thing would have completely burned up in the atmosphere."
"But it did crash into that field. It knocked me right on to my back!" He pushed back.
"Okay. So, it happened. Now what, star man?"
"I don't know..."
Suddenly, as if given a cue by a movie director, a comet, complete with a dusty tail of cast offs, blurred across Simon's line of sight. It rocketed across the dusty farm road as if it was burning across the earth's atmosphere. Then abruptly, the "comet" made an 90 degree turn into Simon's driveway.
"Yep, right on cue. He never could miss an opportunity for a free meal. You know, he always loved your mother's potato salad..."
The closer the "comet" got, the more it revealed itself to be a piece of space junk, all dents, rust, and peeling electrical and duct tapes. It took the entire length of the family's driveway before Simon realized that it was simply Uncle Steve's Volkswagen Micro Bus, circa 1966, which resembled Doctor Frankenstein's monster all cobbled together with pieces from various junkyards.
The Volkswagen Bus came to a sudden stop directly in front of the garage, the quintessential used hippie mobile. The trailing dust cloud descended upon the "old bucket of bolts" like a swarm of angry bees. The doors opened, and the inhabitants popped out on to the driveway: contents under pressure. One small, female member was ejected so hard that she bounced all the way up to the house.
"I have to pee-e-e!"
Without missing a beat, Simon's mother drifted around the expelled, high-speed passenger, tapping the little one lightly on the head as they passed each other. Then, she glided down the walkway from the house to greet everyone who remained standing in the dusty driveway. Everything seemed so effortless for Simon’s mom. Simon was jealous; the only thing greeting him was a cold, lifeless grill, which he just came to realize was cold. Oh, sure, Simon could have wandered over to the ancient MicroBus, but he could feel a tingling sensation in the back of his head. He sat down next to a nearby ash tree and closed his eyes, rubbing at a wet itch which began in the corner of his eyes. He then grabbed his criss-crossed legs and rocked back and forth quietly, trying to still that tingling at the back of his head and warm himself up.
Simon spent the day watching. He tried to join in and be around his aunt, uncle, and cousins, eat lunch, but nothing worked. The day was on fast forward, and Simon could do nothing more than sit motionless on the couch. Simon started to feel sick, so he closed his eyes. He found himself in a room of chairs. It was very white, just three pictures hanging on the colorless walls. The only contrast was a gray, school carpet that covered the entire floor, which was very hard. And there was the smell of cleaning products. He could never pick out one distinct smell, except to say it was chemical. He was alone, but kept hearing someone coughing. Then, everything churned into a swirl of orange and yellow. He was riding on a slow moving Ferris Wheel where the seats were mounted sideways on the turning wheel. A big cross appeared in front of Simon, followed by a pulpit. And then, he found himself alone on the front row of pews, still there was coughing. Even though Simon was very alone in that set of pews, he started to hear talking, a bit muffled maybe. It wasn’t long before Simon could tell that it was he who was talking…about his father and things remembered. He sat in that pew watching himself eulogize his father. It was weird, but it was the dream Simon had 6 weeks before the diagnosis. Another six weeks and Simon would actually be in that pew in a church at his father's funeral. A sharp rap on the shoulder broke Simon's dream.
"Let's go out to the stream before dinner and dig around for crayfish," said Cousin Kyle's smiling face.
"Maybe later, Kyle. I don't feel good," sighed Simon.
"Come on, Simon. You do this all of the time. We're not aliens!"
"I’m sorry," said Simon as he slipped off the couch he did not know he was sitting upon and eased his way to his room.
When Simon woke, his room was dark, except for the light of the big moon beaming into the room from the outside like a flashlight beam in fog. Downstairs was dark with only the sound of crickets to hint at a world outside his room. He felt trapped in his bed and could not move. His blankets, which were very wet from sweat, were tightly wrapped around his body like a cocoon. He had to fight to free himself, but eventually Simon made it to his window. He stared into a night of jewels as they blinked and played hide-n-seek behind drifting clouds.
Simon thought of his father. The night was always theirs. Simon's father would tell stories, mostly of adventures and constellations. One included a mighty hunter, Orion, and his two faithful companions, Canis Major, the well-healed dog, and Canis Minor, who was always misbehaving by leaping as high as Orion’s shoulder. Together, they would chase the mighty bull, Taurus, across the sky. For his bedroom window, Simon could not see his gas-burning friends from those late night stories, so he put his feet into his slippers and quietly slipped outside. He stood on the grass as a dewy lawn ornament, feeling the wetness seep into the toes of his slippers.
"You missed the great chase. Wrong time of year for this time of night. Orion and his dogs have already chased Taurus well into the west by now."
"I know. I was just thinking..."
"I know."
"Dad?"
"Yes, Simon?"
"Why did you have to leave?"
"Well. Manufacturer’s expiration date."
"Why?"
"Well, that’s just the way the “Big Guy” set it up.
"Why don't they just tell The Manufacturer to add more time?"
"I tried. Some times you can do that - ask for extra time. But the paperwork is so complicated, and it can take months to filled out. And then, you only ask for one extension, unless you have a great deal of pull with the Big Guy, or you happen to be a cat. Besides, I kind of used my extension the first time I got sick."
"That was a cold place." Tears began to show on Simon's starlit face.
"Yeah, I remember. But it didn't end there; we had some time after that. Hey, you want to know something? You were right."
"About what?"
"That fireball you saw.
"I told you!"
"What can I say, your story intrigued me. So, I went out and actually found the crater, and saw the wreckage. That crater is very tiny; I almost did not see it. They should have completely burned up in our atmosphere, but they didn’t. Hopefully, I can get one of those aliens to talk to an engineer at NASA. Anyway, those little bastards were gonna taser me, or something."
"What?"
"Yeh, I know, but then we got to talking. They're really very nice...once you get past their Napoleon Complex and their need conquer any and all worlds in the entire galaxy."
"Wow. You talked to them."
"Yeh, and they made me an offer. And well, after careful consideration, I think I will take them up on their generous offer.”
“What? What offer?”
“They said our species just might be able to learn from one another. They promised, once their ship has been repaired, to take me with them to their planet. I’d be something like a space diplomat.”
Simon looked at his father, “Maybe it will be like those Westerns on television.”
His father smiled, “Yeh, but instead of a six-shooter, I would have these cool laser guns, maybe something like a phaser. I always wanted to be an--"
"Astronaut." They both said in unison; Simon smiling through his tears.
"I don't want this night to stop," Simon admitted through wet puppy dog eyes.
"Sorry, bud, it's time. Besides, we are not saying goodbye. I’m just going to an alien planet, right? Who knows, maybe I’ll slip into another universe, and then what tales I will have for you. Besides, do you know how many frequent flyer miles I will get out of this?"
"Stop it," Simon said, half pushing at his father.
"Just know this, my son. Death is not the end, just a door to slip through."
"So, you will come back and tell me your stories?" Simon asked weakly.
"Sure. They’ll be the best.”
“Will they be better than those stories of pirates?” Asked Simon.
“Better than those stories with their tropical islands, ports of call and treasures,” reassured Simon’s dad with a smile.
“Oo, how about those stories of Greek Gods and heroes or Sherlock Holmes?” Simon asked with growing enthusiasm.
“All those guys - Mark Twain, Jules Verne, H. G. Wells....”
“I remember those times the best...when you would read,” said Simon fondly.
“They were fun moments, weren’t they? You all snuggled in, and me with a book,” replied his dad.
“You with all of those funny voices,” responded Simon.
“Hey, mister! That was acting, I’ll have you know,” parried Simon’s dad.
“Acting like a goof ball,” giggled Simon.
“You’re the goof ball, you goof ball,” replied Simon’s dad with a smile.
"Just who in the hell are you talking to," said Cousin Kyle who suddenly turn on a flashlight from behind Simon.
"Yeah, jutht who you talking to, Thimon," echoed little Lily, second cousin.
"Uh, no one," said Simon, in a slight panic.
"Yeh, right. I heard you talking."
"Yeh, with...thomeone."
“Geez, you guys. Just leave me alone,” Simon said, pushing past both cousins to make his way back to the farmhouse and ultimately his room.
“You can’t ignore us, Simon. We’re here until the funeral,” Kyle called to the departing Simon.
“Yeh! You can’t ignore uth, Thimon!” Called Lily.
The birds were singing as the sun rose above the horizon, happy for the warmth of the sun. Simon slowly drudged himself out of bed, unhappy for the light that hurt his eyes. Unhappy for the day he knew would come. Today would be a day of black, he thought, and certainly his world was fairly monochromatic, perhaps toward brown instead of grayscale. He was positive that he had lived through this before; he had forgotten his dream. So, he steeped in a painful, hateful De ja Vu. Breakfast was filled with smiles and laughter and...pancakes. The cousins chased each other around the table, out the door, and around the yard of the old white, gingerbread farmhouse. They were all happy. His aunt and uncle told stories of times they remembered with his dad, even his mother sat at the table with a smile, watching everything transpire before her. They did not miss Simon’s father, not even his mom. Simon sat and trying to stuff the tears welling up in his eyes, trying to stifle his need to scream and yell at everyone to “Shut UP!”
Simon was saved from a potential outburst by the arrival of a long, shiny, black limousine which had pulled into the driveway by the garage. A very thin and very tall, pale man slipped out from behind the steering wheel of the car. The man was so tall and long of limb that his black suit did not quite cover his bare wrists and the floppy, potato sack socks which exposed his ankles. Simon finally was able to offer what passed for a smile on this day; for here, standing on the porch, was the very visage of Charles Addams’ man servant, Lurch.
The rest of the day was a blur. Simon felt tingly, felt removed from himself. He watched his dream play out in front of him, but as if he was watching a BluRay disc, and the person who talking was his uncle instead of Simon himself. He turned away from the pulpit. The only thing on which he could focus was the memory of his father at bedtime and him reading those stories, specifically one very small tale about a very small woman and a very small bone, and a punchline screamed at the top of your lungs, “TAKE IT!!” Nothing else gave him relief. He didn’t see the trees in the distance; he didn’t hear the birds singing, even if they annoyed. All he saw was a world filled with a parade of gigantic faces, one after another. He did not feel handshaking. He did not feel the meaningful hugs. He felt as if someone had tightly wrapped plastic wrap around his body, or re-wrapped his body with those sweaty covers. He could not breath. So, he ran to his room to hide.
Again, Simon awoke to a dark room, lit only by the big beaming moon, and sound of crickets. He went to his window and stared into the night. Again, Simon thought of his father, and slowly, quietly, he put his feet into his slippers and quietly slipped outside. He stood on the grass as a dewy lawn ornament, feeling the wetness seep into the toes of his slippers. Though, this time, he was not alone, nor was he joined by his father....
“You have been avoiding us,” Kyle stood next to Simon on the wet lawn.
“Yeh, avoiding uth,” echoed Lily, who stood on the other side of her brother, Kyle.
“It’s just....” stammered Simon.
“It’s just what?” Demanded Kyle.
“I’m sorry. My father...” Simon replied weakly, feeling the cold of dew again on his toes.
“Yeh, I know,” Kyle responded.
“No, you don’t! You laughed and chased! All day long!!! Not once... You didn’t....You don’t!” Yelled Simon, pushing at Kyle.
Lily jumped in. “Thop it!! You are not the only one, Thimon! He wath not our father, but we liked him. He wath nithe to uth. He held uth when we cried when our doggie died. He never made fun of uth. He never laughed at me when I talked, and held me when otherth did. We know!! Tho thop being so awful to uth!”
Suddenly, tiny lights appeared in the middle of the field.
"What the hell is that?" asked Kyle.
"By gum, they got their little ship up and running," said the voice only Simon could hear.
"Pretty," said Lily.
"The ship," said Simon, half stunned.
Simon immediately ran out on to the broken soil of the farm field. Kyle and Lily followed, in excitement.
"Please! Wait! I need more time!" cried Simon.
Tears fell down upon the crash site, as Simon stopped, trying not to step on to the tiny ship that he could no longer see. There was a frenzy of movement darting about the tiny, hard-to-see crater. Catching up and out of breath, Kyle shined his flashlight on to the crater. Suddenly, a series of lights pulsed out of the crater and hit the three children. Lily screamed from the stings she received from those pulsing lights. The boys felt it, too. Simon turned quickly to a look at the little ship and saw his dad touch the outer hull.
"Wait! Please!"
Another pulse and sting hit the kids. The tingle in Simon's head and neck came back. This time, the world began to spin, stars turned into racing comets circling above Simon’s head. He saw Kyle and Lily try to reach out and stop the starship from lifting off the ground with his father hanging on to the outside. Then, all went black.
The next morning, Simon found himself in his room. There was a series of bug bites or a rash on Simon's skin where the little lights hit and stung. In fact, all three children had them. They all kept silent, for any of the adults would not believe the tale of night and lights. Besides, Kyle and Lily still weren’t sure if last night was not anything more than a dream. For most of the day, they all stayed silent. Finally, later in the afternoon, Kyle, with Lily in tow, came up to Simon who sat in the tree next to the old barn. They both climbed up to the very limb Simon sat upon.
“He’s gone,” said Simon quietly.
“I know,” said Kyle. “We watched. We tried to stop them.”
Lily reached over her brother and put her hand on Simon’s arm.
Simon began to cry; he couldn’t stop himself. They sat there in the tree until the sun started to kiss the horizon. The sun faded into a gray layer of air at the horizon and turned bright red. It was then that Simon finally shared a tale that he had been holding inside himself for a very long time. It was a tale of a father, a dream funeral held weeks before the actual funeral on the previous day, and aliens crashing. The two cousins listened. Just as the first star, the wishing star, appeared in the sky, there was a call for dinner. All three kids looked at that first star, climbed out of the tree, and slowly made their way to the old gingerbread farmhouse. Simon held Lily’s hand.
And later that night, after the adults all went to bed, under the stars, the three children laid an old lego astronaut in the crater which they almost did not find. Then, Simon, feeling so much lighter, began to share the stories his father often told under a night sky. The three cousins huddled together, thinking of Simon’s dad, constellations, and aliens.
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