Silken Scales

by Alex Hayes

  I cling to that idea like a hermit crab to its pilfered shell. Yeah. Reverse itself. Duh, Dad. Obviously, that’s what it’ll do. Reverse itself. Why did we drive all this way again?

  The doctor smiles. A sympathetic smile. “It’s a possibility. Not a foregone conclusion.”

  “So there’s nothing we can do?” Dad persists.

  Shut up, Dad. You heard the lady. It’ll reverse itself. That’s what it’s going to do.

  My legs lift me from my seat. “Maybe we should go, Dad.”

  There’s nothing we can do. Nothing we need to do.

  Doctor Everett rises with me. “Let’s give it a few days. If any dramatic change occurs, call me. And if it doesn’t correct itself…”

  Oh, but it will. I’m smiling and nodding.

  The doctor continues, “Corrective surgery would be a possible course of action.”

  Meh. A passing transmutation. Nothing to worry about. I pat Mom’s shoulder. “Ready to go?”

  Dad talks on with the doctor, but I’ve stopped listening. Maybe I should call Rebecca, let her know I’m in town. We could meet up. Have dinner…

  I catch my scaly reflection in the glass door. Or maybe not.

  The sun is below the horizon by the time we reach the George Washington Bridge. Slumped in the back of the car, I focus on what Doctor Everett said, that the transmutation will reverse itself.

  So what if that’s a guess? She’s a doctor, right? So her guesses should be worth something. Like better than fifty percent. More like seventy-five to eighty.

  Then my mind reels back to what Dad said in her office. Glad they’re not my genes he’s got.

  How could he say that? Even if it’s no secret we’re not biologically related, he’s still my dad.

  Marek’s right. Dad’s been making a Brandon Williams clone out of me for the last three years. Even saddled me with his name. Now I wish it was something else… Idris Jacob Smith. Idris Franklin Carter. Idris Tobias Wigglebottom. Anything but Idris Brandon Williams.

  Dad’s obsession with public speaking competitions, with me winning them, that has nothing to do with me. It’s all about him expanding his business, using me as an extension of himself. Forget what I want — what I need.

  My fingers drum on the leather clad armrest, tapping a rhythm that matches my scrolling thoughts. I close my eyes and sink lower into the seat-back.

  The expression on Dad’s face when the doctor talked about my genes. What was that? Horror? Disappointment? Defeat?

  I want away from that look. Those chilly eyes that say, I thought you were going to be something good, Idris.

  How cool it would be to live in a world that doesn’t care if I’m victim to some bizarre skin condition? A place with no expectations, no ideals to live up to, no moral debts to pay.

  My heart falters. Don’t I owe Dad for giving me a good life? Shouldn’t I be willing to give him what he wants? If that means becoming a motivational speaking machine, then maybe I just need to deal.

  But to do that, I need my old face back.

  Arriving home, I tell Mom I’m going to bed and head to my room. The more I can save Dad from having to stare at my scaly mug, the better.

  Jim turns his lizard head in my direction as I walk in. Next I’ll be thinking he’s talking to me.

  His mouth opens and closes.

  Argh!

  I strip to my underwear, trying hard not to look at my green arms and yellowish midriff, and climb into bed.

  A sound wakes me. Or maybe the urge to pee. My smartwatch tells me it’s two in the morning.

  My head slips across my pillow in a smooth arc. I scan the darkened room and see the green and white patterns across Jim’s scaly skin.

  Odd. Usually, I can barely see him.

  I slide out of bed and head to the bathroom feeling better than I’ve felt in a while. Strong and powerful. I pull in a deep breath and feel my lungs expand fully in my chest. On the way to the toilet, I glance up and strangle a scream.

  The Creature from the Black Lagoon stares back at me from across the room, all green scaly skin and ridges on his head. I slam into the wall and grope for the light switch. Luminescence flares and I find myself staring into the vanity mirror.

  At a monster.

  This time a cry does escape my lips as I look at the countless scales covering my arms and torso. I’m green. Not entirely. But mostly. Green.

  I’ve turned into a lizard. A human-sized upright iguana. Like that gecko dude in those commercials. Only that dude’s cute. I’m a freaking monster.

  I examine my hands. Scaled fingers taper down to pointed fingernails. My palms have finer scales of a light tan color.

  This cannot be real. Somebody snuck in here while I slept — probably had to drug me to do it — and they put on this incredibly realistic bodysuit that makes me look like a Silurian.

  I lift my hands to my face and try to peel the mask away, but it ain’t coming off. I lean closer and look at my eyes. Still dark brown, but with narrow rings of gold on the edge of my irises just before it hits the darkness of my pupils. And my eyelids are golden-yellow and light green, and thicker. With no lashes.

  Shit. What happened to my awesome hair?

  I feel myself freaking out and cover my eyes, then rub my scaly hands over my scaly scalp. Everything’s as smooth as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s head.

  No. This isn’t happening. I’m dreaming is all. Should have known the moment I woke up and saw Jim so clearly in the dark. This is all some whacked out nightmare. I need to take this dream back to bed and sleep it off, and when I wake up, everything’ll be normal.

  “Honey? Are you awake?” Mom’s voice slips through the cracks around the door.

  I jolt upright with a gasp. My bedroom appears normal. I feel normal. Jim is staring at me like he normally does. Well, normally since a few days ago. I take a deep breath and look down.

  Holy goddamn mother of an overgrown Godzilla, you’ve got to be shitting me. I’m still a freaking reptile.

  “Don’t come in, Mom!” Oh my god! What do I say? “I’m naked.” I fumble around for something to cover myself with. Get real. There are no cowled monk habits hidden in my closet. What the hell am I going to do?

  “It’s okay, honey. Just wanted to let you know I’m heading to work. And your father left early for a meeting in the city. He’ll be gone until late.”

  “Yeah, sure. Okay, Mom. I…” Would love to run out the door and ask her for a hug, but… God, I can’t let her see me like this. She’d faint. I sway. Maybe I’m going to. I grab hold of the bed.

  “Are you feeling better today?” she calls back.

  A scream coils in my throat, but I manage to speak normally. “Feeling great. Yeah. On top of the world.”

  “That’s wonderful. Well, rest up, and hopefully you’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  Is she serious? She sounds too freaking enthusiastic.

  “Okay, Mom…see you.”

  As her footsteps retreat down the stairs, I whimper. Minutes later, her car swoops around the horseshoe drive, leaving me in the house, all alone.

  What the hell am I? The unsuccessful result of some mad scientist’s genetic experiment? Because I sure as hell don’t look human.

  I throw myself onto the bed and bury my face in the pillow, trying to shut out reality.

  I’m going to take that thing off him! — Brandon, Please. — No son of mine is going to be taken for a girl!

  Fear overwhelms me as Dad closes in, brandishing something heavy and metal. I scream. And wake up.

  Almost noon. A shiny black coffee mug with a bright yellow smiley face rests in my palms, taunting me. I want to wipe that smug look away. But that would mean spilling my beverage.

  Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I think. Hard. Staying holed up in my room so no one sees me is not an option. My parents will insist on coming in, then they’ll know I look…like this.

  I need to get out of here. I need to go some place I can think. I need s
ome time for whatever is wrong with me to fix itself before I have to look my dad in the face again.

  My dad. I’m not so sure he is anymore. And worse, I’m not sure he’s sure, either.

  My heart clenches, making me swallow back the tsunami of emotions building in my chest. Fear. Hurt. Disappointment. Rejection.

  I imagine running away to the mountains. Making the perfect escape. An opportunity to use my Cub Scout wilderness training. Conquering the wilds. Living a boy’s adventure tale.

  I see myself hiking into the forest surrounding Hopper, building a treetop hideaway, catching fish from the hidden lake Marek and I discovered last summer, my jeans rolled up and toes pressed into the muddy shoreline.

  Birds sing. The sun smiles warmth over me as I lean back, nibbling on a grass stalk.

  And then I remind myself it’s winter, and I’d more likely find myself buried under an icy blanket of snow, frozen into a scaly green Popsicle no one will miss.

  With a hefty sigh, my gaze slips to Jim and my brow furrows. I stare at the three-foot iguana and thrust out an accusing finger. “Is this your doing? Did I catch some nasty lizard disease from you?”

  No such luck. If my problem was a disease, there’d be the chance of a cure. Doctor Everett didn’t find one.

  Reverse itself, she said.

  Is there any hope?

  I tear paper from a binder on my desk and scribble a note.

  Mom, Dad... Need to get out of here for a bit. I’ll be in touch once I figure things out. Love Idris. P.S. Please remember to feed Jim.

  I tape the note to Jim’s terrarium, pull on a steel-gray hoodie and head to my closet. Some digging produces a duffel bag, into which I stuff clothes and bathroom necessities. I scoop up my backpack and dump my school books onto the bed, then pile in my iPad, phone, laptop and charger cables. The rest of the space, I fill with food raided from the kitchen…crackers, energy bars, cheese, sliced ham and some yogurt drinks.

  As I head to the back door with my bags, my eye catches the last of the Christmas clementines sitting in a fruit bowl. I stuff two in my coat pockets.

  Reaching the door, I stop short.

  What am I doing? Where the hell do I go?

  The answer comes a nanosecond later. The Thorny Rose.

  Just need to convince Marek. I send my best friend a text. Mar. Urgent. Need your help.

  My feet are wearing tracks into the kitchen floor when he finally answers. Wassup bro?

  Need asylum.

  Say what?

  Need to get outta here. Can you pick me up?

  I tap a rhythm on my phone for nearly three minutes.

  Id, you’re testing me. This better be good. Was talking to Brianna. Be there in five.

  Twenty minutes later, the Toyota rolls into the driveway. I slip on a Knicks cap, pull my hood over the top and tighten the string to hide the gruesome green.

  Marek reaches the back door as I open it, sees my face and shrieks.

  F-sharp.

  How can a guy, with a voice as low as his, hit a note that high?

  “Jeez, Id, what the hell you doing to me? Take that lizard mask off.”

  I swallow. “I can’t.”

  “Say, what?”

  “It’s not a mask.” I push past him. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What. The. Hell.”

  My bags are on the backseat and I’m hunched over on the passenger side by the time he’s climbed in.

  “You’re shitting me, right?”

  I lift my head and look at him. Straight in the eyes. “Wish I were, man. If I could rip it off, I would, believe me. But this mug is all mine.”

  My friend stares at me for a full minute. Finally, I roll my eyes, turn away and hunch over again.

  Marek starts the engine. “Put your seatbelt on.”

  Guess his mom raised him right.

  “Yeah.” I sigh and pull the strap on, even though the idea of smashing my marsh-green face into the windshield holds some appeal.

  He stops the car at the driveway entrance and glances over. “Where we going?”

  “Thorny Rose.”

  He nods, and I can tell by the way his eyes stick to the tarmac and his hands grip the steering wheel, that he’s struggling to keep his mind from spinning out of control.

  I get it. Because I’m right there with him.

  “Not a virus, is it?”

  “No. I’ve been tested for just about every type of disease. I’m not contagious.” I freaking better not be.

  His features don’t shift from their bemused, slightly lost look. “That’s good.”

  Good? There’s nothing good about any of this. I’m a monster.

  I drop my face into my hands.

  Marek lets out a harsh breath. “Sorry, bro. Just trying to take it all in. Chill. We’ll deal. Don’t lose it on me, okay?”

  I struggle to do as he says. “Okay.”

  The Toyota pulls into the Thorny Rose parking lot, tires sliding over the rough-plowed asphalt, and rolls to a stop. I grab my things while Marek unlocks the back door.

  “Can I stay here for a few days?” I ask, once the door’s closed behind us.

  Marek looks at me through the low light. “Stay as long as you need. I’ll work things out.”

  “I don’t want my parents to know I’m here,” I add. “Don’t want them coming looking for me. I can’t face them right now. Not like this.”

  “Thought they knew what was up with you, Id?”

  “This…” I spread my hands, indicating my entirely green body. “Happened overnight. Before, I was greenish with a few scales. I still kinda looked like me. Now I look like—”

  “Yeah, got it. Say no more.”

  I take a deep breath to settle myself. “Mar, you’re the best.”

  He grins. “Yeah, n’don’t you forget it. Come on, let’s look for some blankets. Looks like you’re sleeping in the gangster pad tonight.”

  Once the bed’s made, I drop onto the sectional and present a quick action plan to Marek, along with my debit card.

  “So, the bank and grocery store?” He pockets the card and reviews the shopping list I texted. A few basic essentials, like bread and peanut butter.

  He heads upstairs. “Make sure you bolt the door after I leave. Don’t need another body turning up. Especially one with your, um…scaly cheeks.”

  “Body?” I jog up the staircase after him and notice the extra weight in my shoulders. Muscle mass I didn’t used to own. “What body?”

  He pulls on the door handle. “Some homeless person. Don’t worry about it. News sites say the body was dried out or something. Probably been there a while.”

  I hurry to the door as he steps outside. “Dried? As in vampire sucked?”

  “Don’t know, bro. They found it in a dumpster not far from here, though, so keep the doors locked and the upstairs lights off.”

  Great. Welcome to the freaking neighborhood. “So, probably some drunk guy who fell in and whacked his head.”

  I can see him now…An old guy in a holey sweater who landed in a pile of those little white crystal packets they put in luggage. And after a couple of days, he looks like an Egyptian mummy. What a way to go.

  Marek comes back with a couple of hundred in cash and a grocery bag of food. “Here.” He hands me a door key. “Had a copy made.”

  I stare at the key. “Thanks.”

  “I’d better go. Ma’s expecting me home for dinner. Don’t burn the place down, okay?”

  My head nods as I see him to the door. “Got it. Lock the door. Keep the lights out. And don’t burn the place down.”

  He punches my shoulder. “Hey! You been lifting weights or what? Seems like you’ve got yourself some horses under that hood.”

  I shrug. “Goes with the Godzilla look, I guess.”

  Doctor Everett mentioned skin transmutation, but she didn’t say anything about what might happen underneath. The ridges on my scalp and two bumps above my forehead aren’t exactly skin deep. I res
ist the urge to rub them.

  Once Marek drives away, I lock myself inside the Thorny Rose and lean back against the door. A rhythm starts up in my head. Makes me want to move. So I walk around the nightclub, weaving between the tables, and the next thing you know, I’m dancing.

  Nothing lighthearted. Heavy chords thrum in my brain, fitting the drama of a movie like Jaws, or Stoker’s Dracula.

  Is that what I’ve become? A movie monster? Maybe I could make millions starring alongside Katherine Waterston in the next Alien.

  I throw back my head. How can I even joke about this stuff?

  Finally, hunger wins out over the dumps. I haven’t eaten…all day.

  The coiled spring in my stomach starts to loosen at the thought of PB&Js. Hold the J because I didn’t ask Marek to get jelly.

  I rifle through the grocery bag and find two loaves of sourdough, a jar of Justin’s Classic PB and… Score! Marek bought strawberry jelly. He is the man.

  I inhale half a loaf, half a jar of peanut butter and half the jelly. Sated, I collapse on the sectional and tap to a new rhythm.

  Boredom pushes me near the edge. There’s no Internet here and I’ve put my phone in airplane mode, in case Mom and Dad fly to the cops and try to track me down.

  Maybe in a few days, it won’t matter. I’ll be normal again and can go home.

  But every instinct tells me that going back to normal is the biggest pipe-dream I’ve ever laid claim to and that I might as well make reservations at the Everglades National Wildlife Refuge and start packing.

  14

  Cadi

  Fresh snowfall blankets the driveways and paths around the farm’s outbuildings by midmorning. I make for the old barn to pay a last visit to Roly-Poly’s kittens, knowing that, by the time I return, they’ll be full-grown cats.

  By the time I return… What a blessed phrase that is. I will return.

  While fellow seniors stress over SAT scores and college applications, my concerns have always been more fundamental. Having a roof over my head and finding a job.

  For the first time, those worries have been eased.