by Justin Olson
The ground crunches beneath our feet, and I’m holding Tickles because he got smart and stopped walking a few yards back. Even though he got us here in the first place.
“How do you know how to get back to our sleeping bags?” asks Seth.
“Polaris.”
“Huh?”
“The North Star.”
“Okay?”
“Polaris is another name for the North Star, which happens to be right above the North Pole. So I found that. If you face it, you’re looking due north. I know we ran north, so we just had to turn and go south.”
“But doesn’t the earth always spin? Aren’t the constellations always changing?”
“Yeah, but the North Star remains fairly fixed. At least up here in Montana. It actually has been known as the Wanderer’s Star because it acts as a sort of compass. It’s almost like an anchor for the northern sky to spin around.”
“An anchor?” Seth laughs.
“What?”
“Even the sky needs an anchor.”
“Now I’m confused.”
“It’s nothing. Just proves a personal theory of mine that everything needs something to ground it.”
I turn and look at him. I still don’t understand what he’s talking about. But I also feel some sort of energy between Seth and me. I can’t explain it other than to say that we just went through what felt like a harrowing experience. There’s a growing history between us, and I like that.
I want to create more history with Seth. Go on more adventures.
“You know a lot about the sky,” he says.
I smile, because I do. I sure do.
* * *
It’s almost morning by the time we reach the sleeping bags, and I’m tired. My head hurts. All I can think about is sleep.
Seth says, “Should we pack so you can get back to Whitehall?”
“Ugh. I guess. Even though I feel so tired.”
We both pack our stuff up in the dark. Tickles on his leash tied to the nearby tree lies down to sleep, and I feel so jealous. But I need to get back home so that I can help look for my dad.
“Ready?” asks Seth.
I’m looking up at the stars as they are ever-so-slowly disappearing into the sky.
“Charlie?”
A week of never ending nights down to two. Then down to not even one. Yet we saw aliens. Right? I believe that I accomplished what I set out to do. Except I’m still here, on Earth, but I think that’s good.
“Earth to Charlie?”
I break my gaze with the stars and look at Seth standing in front of me. I smile and look him in the eyes. “I’m here.”
* * *
As we walk back toward town, we’re relatively quiet. We’re both exhausted and ready for sleep, but that seems like a long way off.
I catch a blinking red light far out in the sky. My head feels like it’s pulsating with the light. It blinks. One. Two. One. Two. Gone.
“There’s the Big Dipper. I can find that,” says Seth, pointing.
I chuckle. “A regular astronomer.”
“Basically I’m a new age Galileo. Isn’t that the astronomer guy?”
“No. Different guy.”
“Oh. Really? Who am I thinking of?”
I can’t hold it in anymore, and bust out a big smile.
“You’re messing with me?” He fakes a shocked and appalled look.
“I would never,” I say in an exaggerated way.
We’ve been walking for a few more seconds when the thought that’s been bothering me for some time, and especially tonight, comes out, “I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty friend.”
“You’re not a shitty friend, Charlie.” It feels like the conversation is over, but then he says, “I am.”
Now I’m shocked and appalled for real. I don’t even know why he’d ever say that. “No, you’re not.”
“No, I am. At first, I only wanted to be your friend because I thought you were super cute. And possibly gay.”
I think about his reasons. “Okay, yeah, you’re a shitty friend.”
Seth laughs, and then says, “But I’m glad we’re real friends now.”
I’m quiet a moment. My thoughts are no clearer on some things, but I do know one thing for sure. “I’m glad we’re real friends too.”
The crack of hazy blue daylight is opening wider by the minute now. The air feels electrified with the coming day.
“Crazy,” says Seth.
“What?”
“It’s another day already. Feels like last night was kind of a dream, doesn’t it?”
I nod. “Feels like that.”
“But a good dream,” says Seth. “One for the books.”
“One for the books,” I repeat.
A REQUEST (FROM THE HEART)
• • • • •
My house looms in front of us as we leave the woods, and looking at it, my perspective changes. My house looks . . . different. It’s like it doesn’t have as much power over me as before. Like it no longer has the power to bring me down. I have no idea why I feel this difference. Maybe because I’m officially the man of the house (at least until my dad gets back). Or maybe it’s because of the night I just had with Seth. One thing is certain, I don’t want my house and room to ever feel like a tomb again.
I call Ted, my dad’s friend, and he says, “Charlie? That you?”
“What’s happening, Ted? Where’s my dad?”
“Charlie, jeez, been trying to get a hold of you all night. Look. This here’s hard to say.”
“I already know he’s missing.”
Seth stares at me as we walk. He holds Tickles’s leash.
“It’s not that, Charlie.”
My stomach drops, and I hold my breath.
“We called the sheriff yesterday. A big search party went out, combed the area, and we found your dad.”
“Oh my god, he’s dead?”
Seth drops his side of the cooler.
“What?” Ted says. “No. No. But he’s mighty injured. Fell a ways off a cliff. Broke a leg, some ribs, shattered his kneecap. Done some other things too.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s at Memorial. Room eighteen.”
I hang up before Ted can say anything else. Seth looks at me with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”
“He’s at the hospital. They found him. But he’s injured.”
“I’ll bring Tickles back if you want to go?”
“It’s fine. Geoffrey’s house is literally right there.”
We drop off the camping supplies in the garage and head to Geoffrey’s. I knock quickly and we enter. Geoffrey is snoring loudly on the couch.
My forehead is pulsating again. I press my finger to it. I can’t feel anything.
“Geoffrey,” I say loudly.
He keeps snoring.
I let Tickles off the leash. He runs his little legs to the kitchen.
“I’ll have to come back,” I say, and head out the door. Seth follows me out.
“I’ll call you later to see how your dad is doing,” he says.
This stops me in my tracks. “You’re not coming with me?”
“Maybe it should just be you and your dad.”
The thought of being alone, without Seth, digs a pit into my chest. I hate the empty feeling. And I both hate and love that I need Seth in my life right now. “Can you please come?”
“I’ve never met your dad.”
“You can meet him now.”
“Why do you want me to go so badly?”
I shake my head. “Because.” Because you make me feel connected to the ground. Maybe you’re my anchor. “Just . . . come on.”
A FALLING STAR
• • • • •
For the first time in weeks, my dad is home. He’d been lost in the woods. He’d been stuck at the hospital. But now he’s situated in his bed.
Ted is the last friend still in the house. He pats my dad’s shoulder. “Glad to get you out of there. I’ll check on
you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Ted.”
“Charlie, you need anything?” Ted asks.
“I’m good.”
The front door closes and we’re alone. No friends. No Seth. No nurses or doctors.
“You look tired,” I say, standing by his bedroom door. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“Charlie?”
I stand there looking at him.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. You’ve been mad ever since your mom left.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re mad at me. You’re mad at your mother. And I think you’re mad at yourself.”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about? I’m not mad. I know she’s out there. And she’s coming back. Someday. Her and—” Shit. I didn’t want to go there with my dad.
“And? Aliens? Is that what you were going to say?” My dad shakes his head with his jaw clenched. “Charlie Dickens, you’re a stubborn pain in my ass. You’re going to be a sophomore in a few short weeks. It’s time you grow up. And accept the truth.”
“I know the truth. Mom was targeted by—”
“Enough!” My dad scoots himself up in his bed. “Enough of this bullshit, Charli. You know your mom wasn’t abducted by aliens. You know it. Your mom had—has—some major issues. But she wasn’t taken. Look me in the eye and tell me that much. She left us. She did.”
“No. Not by choice.”
“It was only her choice. I let this alien thing go on for a while because I thought it was some weird coping thing. But it’s gotten out of hand—it has been out of hand for some time, and that’s my fault. I think you truly believe your mother was taken by aliens, and that scares me, because she truly believed they were coming for her.”
“I need to go.”
“No, you need to listen to me. I’ve kept this from you because I didn’t see the point in sharing it—especially after she left. And she never wanted you to know—”
“What?”
“Your mother is schizophrenic. She was told that by a doctor shortly before she left us. Now she’s in Indiana. With her mother.”
Schizophrenic? What in the actual fuck is he talking about?
“Your mother left us in the middle of the night, Charlie, and I can only assume she kissed you good-bye; for her sake I hope she did. But she didn’t so much as come near me.”
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
“I was hoping you’d leave the past behind you and move on—forget the nonsense, especially when you started high school. But I don’t think that’s working. So grab my phone.”
“Why?”
“Come on.” He holds out his hand. I walk over to his nightstand and hand him his phone. He types something and presses send. “Check your phone. Maybe it’d do you good to call that number.”
“I gotta go.” I close the door to my dad’s room and run outside to stare at the sky. It’s the only thing I think I know.
What the hell is my dad talking about?
I want to quickly forget that entire conversation, except I don’t think I can.
PART FOUR
A VAST NEW WORLD JUST WEST OF MYSELF
A QUIET SUNDAY
• • • • •
This is not how I expected to spend my first weekend after school started. But here we are.
Here’s the setup: The phone rang. The phone rang again. And again. And though I could kind of hear it in my state between sleep and consciousness, it didn’t wake me up until call four or five. My eyes pop open, and I run downstairs in my boxers and answer the landline phone. “Hello?”
After I hear the news, I rush into my dad’s room. He’s snoring, and his cast-wearing legs are above the covers; I try waking him, but he keeps snoring. I look at his nightstand and see an open bottle of pain pills.
“Dad.” I shake him. “We need to go. Now.”
More snores.
I stand there wondering what to do. Dump water on him? No, he’d kill me.
I yell, “Dad!” But it’s like his mind is somewhere else. Only his body is present.
I don’t have time for this, so I run back up to my room, put on clothes, and head outside. I take my dad’s keys and drive his car to the nursing home.
The streets are deserted in Whitehall at five a.m.
This morning’s sky: I call this painting Heaven’s Gate and the Accompanying Golden Rods Embracing Another Beautiful Soul.
The nurse on duty is a guy I’ve never met. Probably because he only works the night shift and I’m never there at night.
“Where’s your dad?” he asks.
I race past him. “Coming.”
I get to Grandma’s room, and there’s nothing wrong with her. She’s sleeping and her breath is soft and peaceful.
The nurse is right behind me. I turn to him. “What do you mean she’s dying? She seems fine to me. She’s sleeping!”
“Sir, calm down. Just wait.”
Sure enough, after a moment she stops breathing for a period of ten seconds. “Oh my god. Grandma? Grandma? Is she dead?”
Right then she takes another breath.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” The nurse walks out.
Her following breaths are irregular. Every time she stops breathing for anywhere between five and fifteen seconds, I find myself holding my own breath. This couldn’t be more torturous, because I don’t know when her nonbreathing will hold out, that one time when there’ll be no more in-breaths.
I look upon my grandma’s body. I’m sure she doesn’t know who she is or what she has done with the last few years of her life. But I know she isn’t going to be alone before she leaves on that rocket ship for another planet.
I take a step closer and grab her hand. Her skin feels sticky and cool. It’s the skin of a dying person. I lean in and whisper into her ear. “It’s okay, Grandma. I’m here. It’s Charlie. Remember me?”
“Charlie?” she mumbles. I can barely make it out, but she says my name.
My heart flutters, and I can’t believe she’s still kind of conscious. “Yeah, Grandma.”
In the lowest, softest voice, but somewhat garbled, she says, “I love you.”
My eyes fill with tears. I squeeze her hand more tightly. “I love you too, Grandma. I love you so much. And I don’t want you to leave me.”
Again in the same quiet, low voice she says, “It’s time. I’ve been a great big burden.”
“No, Grandma, that’s not true.”
“You’re the only one who’s been here for me. I’ll never be able to repay you for that. Except to say that I’ll always watch over you, Charlie. Even gone, I’ll be here for you. Keep chasing your UFOs.”
I can’t help the tears. Her eyes have yet to open, and her breathing becomes a series of quick short breaths.
“I will, Grandma. I will.”
“Who are you talking to?” I look over and see the nurse standing in the doorway. “Sometimes I think they’re completely gone, and other times I think they can hear us.”
“She was just talking to me.”
The nurse looks at me with pity and nods. “Then you just experienced a miracle, because between the morphine and her own body, she’s out cold. At least she’s not experiencing any pain.”
“You mean there’s no way she could be awake?”
He shakes his head. “No way. I’m going to try your dad again.” He leaves and walks down the hall.
I look over to my grandma, who smiles at me, her eyes still closed. She grips my hand more tightly, and I hold on as she goes on the last ride of her life.
THE NEW TRUCK RIDE
• • • • •
The weird thing about life is that it doesn’t ever plan itself very well. In fact, I think the universe is against plans. “Plans?” it says. “Who needs ’em?” Except, us humans tend to run with plans. And I had one for today, before my grandma died.
I have been saving work money and Tickles walking money and birthday and Chri
stmas money so that I can buy my very own truck.
At 2:00 p.m., I walk to the guy’s house.
At 2:24 p.m., I’m sitting in my new 1975 GMC Sierra pickup truck. It’s gray with black trim, and it’s mine. I’m driving to pick up Seth. He knows all of the news, so I’m hoping things don’t get awkward.
Seth comes out of his house when he sees me pull up. I get out of the truck, leaving the door open. He nods. “Look at this baby.”
“What do you think?”
“I like it.”
The truck isn’t much to look at. The wheel wells are slightly rusted. It has dents and scrapes. But it runs. Or chugs, actually. Kind of coughs, too.
But it’s mine.
Susan walks out of the house. “Oh, Charlie.” She walks up to me and takes me into her arms. She smells so kind and warm and motherly, like fresh-baked cookies and candles and lavender laundry detergent all rolled into one sweet smell.
She rubs my back. “You poor boy.”
Seth takes a deep breath. “Are you sure you want me to go with you?”
I break away from Susan’s grasp and wipe my eyes and then nod. “I need you there with me.”
As I’m driving, he says, “I’m really sorry about your grandma.”
“Can we not talk about that today? I mean, there’s nothing to say. She fell asleep and never woke up. Probably had no idea what even happened to her.”
Seth reaches out and briefly rubs my shoulder. He’s been more touchy as of late, which is sort of annoying, but I haven’t said anything.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
I look over and see Seth fidgeting with his thumbs, and I think of my grandma. After a few seconds he looks over at me and smirks.
I look at him and then back to the road. Then back to him. He’s smirking at me, and I can’t help but smirk back.
He laughs, and then I join in.
Soon we’re laughing as I drive around town. Past old houses and more old houses and a few newer houses. None too big, none fancy.
“Truck works pretty well for being so old,” I say.
He nods.
I watch the road and feel the truck bump and bounce along. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” I ask.