“You have obvious feelings for Soliloquy,” Zia observes. “Tell me about her.”
For me, this is unprepared ground. I’ve never revealed to anyone the depth of my affection for her. Tiptoeing into it, I lay out her home environment.
“Soliloquy never knew her father. For her, family life consisted of her mother, Bethany, and her grandmother, Helen. No men to speak of. No brothers, no uncles, nothing. She’s always lived with her grandmother. And her mother, unfortunately, is only a sometime figure in her life, usually off in some corner of the Earth spreading the word of God, or at least her version of the word.
“Bethany is said to be bipolar, delusional, schizophrenic, and a dozen other things, depending on whom you speak to. Mostly she is unpredictable. One day she’ll be the most entertaining person you ever met, humorous and light, and then the next day she’ll be ugly and poisonous to the point you never want to see her again. Not a good combination. It drove a lot of people away.
“What she does have going for her is beauty. She’s endowed with long brown hair right out of a hair product advertisement. She has proud eyes that sparkle and lips that make men go stupid. She’s graced with a body that makes women jealous. She can be brilliantly smart or incredibly dumb, depending on the moment. More than once, my uncle referred to her as a roller coaster ride.
“For me, she’s always been Ms. Iverson, Soliloquy’s crazy mom whom I rarely see. My parents, on the other hand, seem to know her intimately. She’s been a favorite topic of conversation for as long as I can remember. Usually, the conversation revolves around Soliloquy’s well-being, which is probably why Soliloquy and I grew up as virtual brother and sister, or at least like close cousins.
“Soliloquy adores her mom and always counted the days until she would see her again, which was hard because her mom typically showed up unannounced. I can’t count the number of times Soliloquy waited an entire day at her grandmother’s front door in expectation of her mother’s promised return, only to have that promise broken. But Soliloquy never gave up, never held those broken promises against her. If there was a new announcement in a letter of her return on some specific date, Soliloquy was at that front door, from early morning until late at night. Her grandmother, sometimes finding her asleep in the doorway with her head against the doorframe, would wake her to go to bed. It was sad how she would bounce right back the next day, reading her mom’s letters again, making excuses for her non-arrival, looking forward to the next letter and eventual return.
“Finally, her mother left and never returned. She continued with the letters from around the world, even sent pictures, but she stopped making false promises to return home. She became a mother in writing, someone Soliloquy would continue to know only through their one-way correspondence. And still Soliloquy never gave up. She often talked about how great it would be when her mother finally returned. She made up conversations they might have, how Soliloquy would impress her with her grades and her plans for the future as a doctor who can take care of both her grandmother and her mom in their old age. And still, her mother stayed away.
“But this time, instead of talking about the card and her mother’s someday-return, she shoves the card into her back pocket and tells me that she had another speaking-in-tongues dream. She thinks it was brought on by the arrival of the card.
“Soliloquy’s speaking-in-tongues dreams are always about her mother’s final speaking-in-tongues episode. Her mother sometimes spoke in tongues in church, and her outbursts were unpredictable and lasted, at most, only a minute or two. The short speeches came off as a foreign dialect, but for Soliloquy, it might as well have been nonsense because she never understood a word.
“But all that changed with her mother’s final episode. When it happened, Soliloquy was resting her head against her mother’s arm. She was drowsy and half asleep from the warm air and monotonous sermon. She told me that her eyes were nearly closed when her mom’s body jerked away from her and became rigid. She started speaking in tongues in a loud halting voice, an octave lower than her normal voice. The cadence of the words, the accent, and the commanding tone echoed her previous episodes.
“She told me that, on this occasion, it was as if she were listening to her Spanish teacher delivering sentences she could translate into English. For the first time, as Soliloquy’s mother spoke, Soliloquy’s mind simultaneously translated her words.
“Her mother delivered the message to no one in particular, looking straight ahead, oblivious to Soliloquy. When her mother finished, she raised her hands to her head and buried her face in them. Soliloquy couldn’t tell if her mother was embarrassed or silently crying. A moment later, another voice from another person rose from the silent congregation. It was the same dialect and the same tone. This time it was just noise to Soliloquy until the person speaking repeated the message her mother delivered. Once more, the translation was immediate and—to top it all off—this time she distinctly heard her name. The message was for her and only her. But Soliloquy had no idea what it meant, nor did she comprehend why she was suddenly able to understand the words. And why her?
“The message was she would lose the one who meant the most to her, but the loss would be her gain. Soliloquy said there was more to it, but her understanding of it, so clear moments before, faded almost immediately, leaving only the foreign words behind.
“Completely confused, she reached out to her mom, touching her arm delicately, even reverentially. Her mother dropped her hands to her lap and looked down at Soliloquy with tired eyes. She smiled while the pastor’s voice, which had stopped when Soliloquy’s mother began, now droned again to address the congregation, explaining what happened and letting them know the message was for someone in the church. Soliloquy thought to herself, Me! It was meant for me! but she never said anything.
“People always asked her mother to interpret the messages for them, but she was unable to even guess. She would tell them she didn’t know what was said or whom it was for. She claimed to be just a vessel.
“After that incident, Soliloquy had speaking-in-tongues dreams, again and again, always of the same incident, always disturbing, always the two of them in church with the same untranslatable words. It was a frustration for her until that day in the barn.
“Soliloquy says, ‘I understood it this time, the words my mother said. She spoke and I translated.’ Soliloquy’s eyes bore into me with such intensity that I have to look away. ‘The entity said I would metamorphose from larva to butterfly. That losing the one who meant the most to me would be the beginning of the change.’ When I bring my eyes back to hers, I see emotion in them. In that moment, I realize that in her mind, it’s me she’s going to lose; me who means the most to her. Unfortunately, ‘realizing’ and ‘embracing’ are worlds apart. I’m slow to absorb the revelation. Feebly, I divert away from it. ‘When your mom left you with your grandmother and never came back—maybe she’s the one who means the most to you, and it was the beginning of you becoming independent and adult.’
“‘She hasn’t left. She still sends letters and pictures. She may not be with me physically, but she’s always in here.’ She points to her head. ‘It can’t be referring to her.’
“‘Maybe it’s for some far-off, distant time,’ I offer half-heartedly, knowing it isn’t.
“She shakes her head again. ‘No. This time there was an urgency about it, something more like a warning than a prophecy. It felt immediate like it was going to happen today.’ She steps closer, traces her index finger along my hair, touches the back of my neck and pulls me to her to press her lips softly to mine. It’s a wondrous moment that alters time. She pulls back, holds me with her gaze and says, ‘It’s you, Messenger.’ My heartbeat pounds in my ears, my chest tightens and my jaw goes slack.
“I start to say something—I’m not sure what—when my dad calls me to come and help him. Soliloquy looks out the barn door, then back at me, her eyes fierce with passion and concern.
“She’s never expressed any ro
mantic feelings for me. This is an historic moment. And the kiss! Oh, the kiss!” I smile to myself just thinking about it. Saying I’m floored is putting it lightly. I’m struck to the core.
“You’ve long held deep feelings for her,” Zia interprets.
Maybe it’s the drugs in my system, but Zia’s words release some rhapsodist inside me. “She was my moon and stars, Zia. Her presence had a gravitational pull on me like the dance between the oceans and the moon. When she was near, I found myself thinking and doing things I ordinarily wouldn’t consider. I...” My sentence breaks off as I choke on my words. I will miss her forever.
“I understand, Messenger,” Zia softly assures me. “You’re at that age.”
I sigh, then continue my tale.
As I stand before Soliloquy in the barn with its history of odors, I’m so overwhelmed to hear my feelings for her, repressed for so long, are returned, that I can’t respond. “Fortunately, my dad calling me is the time-out I need to collect myself. My response has to be calculated and correct. I think Soliloquy understands this, because she tells me, ‘You better go.’ She softens, smiles, and continues with characteristic mirth, ‘The world can’t function without you, Messenger.’
“I’m in a daze when I step out of the barn. Soliloquy just kissed me! I’m the most important person to her. How cool is that?! I walk at least a foot off the ground toward my dad and uncle.
“The spell is almost broken by ominous dark clouds I notice racing over the mountains in the distance. The sky above is clear in all other directions, so the thunderhead coming in from the west is a surprise. The weather is supposed to be nothing but sun. But for me, it can’t drown out the new rhythm in my head, playing on repeat, Soliloquy and me. Soliloquy and me. Soliloquy and me!
“If it was any other time, I would have been thinking, Weathermen. What other job is there where you can you be wrong half of the time and not get fired? Or maybe, Yahoo! We need as many clouds as we can get. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll get rain. We always need rain in the desert. But Soliloquy’s message is music that can’t be overridden. I’m lightheaded and euphoric.
“When I get to where my dad and uncle are working, my dad tells me to take charge of the steel pike while he levers from another point with a second steel pike, but I’m in another world and just stand there stupidly. He looks at me, then looks back at Soliloquy, then looks at my uncle and shakes his head.
“Guessing at my state of mind, he moves me like a puppet into position. He gently takes my head in his hand, turns it toward the rock, and says just as gently, ‘Let’s concentrate on this for the moment, son. You can get back to Soliloquy in short order.’ When I glance his way, I see that he wears a half-smile and his eyes twinkle with amusement.
“My uncle yelling, ‘C’mon kid, we haven’t got all day!’ forces my return to the present. With a few blinks and some mental effort, I’m back down to earth enough to take my position and put my weight into the pike. When my dad sees that I’m finally with them, he does the same with his pike. My uncle gets the shovel in place and guns the engine.
“With grunts and sweat and the roar of the engine and a final swear word from my dad, the rock pops free from the ground.
“Watching from the sidelines, Soliloquy cheers, ‘Yay!’ My dad exclaims, ‘Damn, that was a mother!’
“My uncle wipes his brow and then looks to the west. He points and brings the clouds to my dad’s attention. When I look up at them, I see they’ve made remarkable progress.
“My uncle makes a what-the-hell? face and says, ‘Where did they come from?’
“We all stop and stare at the amazing clouds that have come out of nowhere. My dad looks at the landscape below the sky and wonders aloud, ‘Where’s the wind? Clouds moving that fast, you’d think the plants would be bending in the breeze.’
“My uncle answers, ‘Upper stratosphere, different layer. I’d hate to be in a single-engine plane caught by surprise in that.’ Their sudden appearance is so extraordinary that we just stand and watch them advance.
“When they’re almost directly above us, they darken, roiling around angrily. A massive lightning charge arcs within them. Moments later, a deafening boom cuts through the air. Everyone makes a ‘Whoa!’ sound.
“My uncle, being the jokester, asks my dad, ‘Say, Bob, just how far away is Area 51? Think this is another government experiment?’
“My dad plays right along, ‘Could be a conspiracy of dunces. Think we should get the Geiger counter? Maybe it’s leftovers from a covert nuclear test and when it rains we’ll all glow in the dark.’
“Uncle Ted responds, ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Think we should record it for the weather channel?’
“‘Done and done,’ Soliloquy says, holding her phone camera up to show she’s recording the event.
“By now, my mom, Twizzle, and Forbes are on the scene and watching the spectacle with us. The disturbance above boils ferociously. Fiery charges of orange and red explode within it like some sort of aerial warfare. White sparks peppering the edge of the clouds morph into a spider web tangle of thin lightning that writhes across the undulating surface of the formation. Thunder stutters within the turmoil like a Fourth of July fireworks finale.
“‘You smell that?’ my mom asks. ‘Like something electrical burning.’
“For me, it’s like the IT room at school where they keep all the servers: the aroma of ozone, digital and wired.
“Suddenly, the soup of ferociousness above us bumps out in size and then, just as quickly, shrinks back, as if it pulsed for a brief second. In response, the air around it goes wavy, like ripples in water struck by a pebble. We all watch in dumb fascination as the shock wave fans out.
“And then it hits. That ripple of hot air hits us with such force that it knocks everyone, surprised and unprepared, to the ground. It’s like a great glob of warm gelatin slammed into us, driving us off our feet. And it hurts! One minute I’m standing, and the next, I’m crumpled in the dirt. I think I hear Soliloquy scream. I look over at her and see shocked eyes, her mouth an oval of surprise. In that instant, my stomach goes queasy.
“My mother is on her feet, yelling, ‘Into the Hobbit Hole. Everyone!’ Her voice is absolute authority. ‘We do not want to be out here if that happens again. Bob, let go of that steel pike. It’s a lightning rod. You do not want to be holding it at this moment. Ted, get away from that metal digger. I do not want to see you fried by lightning. Everyone needs to be in the shelter, NOW!’
“I push off from the ground and head over to Soliloquy, who has never been introduced to the Hobbit Hole. I say, ‘Come with me if you want to live’ in a Schwarzenegger accent, reaching out to help her up from the ground. I have no idea why I decided to use that most inappropriate moment to steal the line from the Terminator movie, but I’m a sixteen-year-old boy so that’s my excuse. Anyway, it worked. She reaches out for me. I grab her hand and continue, ‘It’s in the house. Just follow me and my mom.’
“When I get her to her feet, I see that my mom is already at the entry to the house, moving Twizzle and Forbes through the door. She reaches inside the doorway, retrieves a remote, and starts punching code on the display screen.
“I start leading Soliloquy toward the house when the pandemonium above pulses again and we’re thrown to the ground once more, sprawling in the dust. Dirt fills my mouth when I slam into the earth. The buildings around us groan and squeak in distress. The windows in the cars pop as their roofs dent inward from the strain. Tires blow out. I hear what sounds like one of the weaker outbuildings in the distance crash to the ground. Glass breaks. The cacophony of destruction is a steel file grinding over sensitive nerves.
“I still have Soliloquy’s hand in mine. I look over at her and see her lips are bloody and her cheek is scratched and bleeding. ‘You okay?’ I yell above the staccato of thunder above. She shakes her head.
“My mother’s voice breaks through the air, ‘Let’s go! Now! Get your butts in here before the ne
xt one!’ My dad and uncle yell something, too, but my mom’s voice is all that registers with me. A set of hands belonging to my dad grabs me by the arms and pulls me up. My uncle is next to Soliloquy, hauling her up. We all break into a run. Soliloquy and my uncle, who are in the lead, hit the door first. I’m next, and my dad follows. Inside, my mom is at the Hobbit Hole—the bookcase concealing it is slid to one side. The circular door to the hole is swung open. She passes through the door and takes the steps beyond two at a time. Everyone follows, except my uncle, who stays at the top of the stairs to close the door and activate the auto-sliding bookcase back into place. Beyond us, inside the depths of the hole, I hear the emergency generator starting up as my mom shifts us off the main power grid to our own supply.”
Messenger’s Soliloquy Chapter 3
“‘What is this?’ Soliloquy asks. She is looking around, dazed as if she just discovered a secret door beneath a bed she’s been sleeping in for years.
“‘This’ is something only my family knows about. We are in a five-foot-wide corridor with a concrete floor that slopes downward thirty feet to a gray metal wall salvaged from an Iowa-class battleship, with an open metal hatch door in the center of it. Concrete walls are painted happy yellow. Blue-tinged fluorescents run the length of the concrete slab ceiling. Blood red utility pipes run along one of the walls.
Aliens, Tequila & Us: The complete series Page 3