Emit

by Jack Beal

  “None are more hopelessly enslaved than those

  who falsely believe they are free.”

  ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  FOURTEEN

  A LIGHT TO DIM THE WAY

  1971, 30 YEARS OLD

  The sun penetrates the void. Only this time, rather than pulling me out, it crawls inside with me. I’m vaguely aware this isn’t supposed to happen, but the thought dissolves like the nothingness that has begun loosening its sinewy grip. As the gloom gives way, a different kind of darkness sets in. It’s one I’m more accustomed to.

  Stars spatter portraits of light across an ebony night. But something’s amiss. The constellations dotting the sky look different: some are warped or upturned, while others are altogether new. The great bear is missing a paw, the twins have wandered far apart, and the space hanging between Orion’s belt loops suggest he’s in need of a diet.

  When I stumble upon Pegasus, my eyes widen in wonder. I watch as a new Earth ascends from inside the winged horse. It streams across the void, chasing after the sun before receding into its light. From the stallion’s wing, a feather falls.

  My skin prickles. If the feathers are signs from the other side, they have no right falling inside the void. Unless…I’m not asleep. Am I inside the void or am I back out? The lines are so blurred, I can’t tell.

  As the sharp odor of gunpowder flares up, the sun dips down. Its final reluctant rays emit through the vacuum like the fallout of a mighty rainbow. Purple with pink. Green with orange. Blue with white.

  Then I’m on the outside, I sigh. But my relief is short-lived. While I prefer this polychrome world to the one stripped of tone, something’s wrong. Purple should go with yellow. Just as green with red and orange with blue. Colors would link complementarily to fit into the equation. But the colors are tangled and confused, suspended far from their other halves.

  Just as I am. I don’t need to rake through the spectrum enveloping me to know one shade is missing: Hazel. I can feel her absence.

  I have to find her! Eyes bulging, I spin through the colors. The pigments intersperse like kaleidoscope beads, creating one perfect scene of symmetry after another. Until suddenly, the swirling becomes uncontrollable. My stomach lurches. It feels like getting taken into the void. As the patterns bleed together, I clamp my eyes tight.

  I wait for the tension to drop before looking around. The colors have been replaced by a muddy brown that encompasses everything. As the smell of gunpowder gives way to that of soil, I understand. My heart’s racing, but I have no other choice. One chary step at a time, I descend into the chasm.

  Rippling towers of limestone soar up around me before meeting overhead like frozen seas of stone. Reaching up, I graze one of the mammoth stalactites with my hand. As I run my fingers along the outlines drawn in red and charcoal clay, the beings on the wall seem to exist, anew. It’s as if without my being here to see them, the paint would simply fade away.

  Stumbling deeper into the hollow, I study the ancient portraits. Horses stand muzzle to muzzle, a megaloceros tilts his head toward the sky and a snake slinks up the craggy rock. A snake in the shape of a horizontal S. “~,” the symbol for sine.

  I peer at the snake, waiting for it to say something. But of course, it doesn’t. It sits there, silently, instigating. “You’re at the center of all of this!” I cry, my voice echoing back at me, accusingly. “You’re at the center of all this!” Goosebumps poke up across my skin.

  When something grazes softly across my nose, I jump. My knees buckle on the way down, sending me all the way to the ground.

  Another feather? I wonder, fondling the loose clay. When my fingers trail over the plume, my shoulders relax. I knew it. But as I grasp for it, my fingers skim across something else. A stone? Tracing the smooth, hard surface, I dip my fingers into its crevices and lift it eye-level. But when the feeble ray trickles over the object, I send it flying across the cavern. Before the skull can hit the limestone wall, I’m bolting for the cave’s opening.

  On the outside, that familiar acidic smell lingers in the still air. The realization slides sickly in. I’m still inside the void. But how is this possible, when everything feels so real?

  I search desperately for an explanation. A tiny flame to light the way. But it doesn’t come. Instead, the sun dips down for the second time across the horizon, sending rainbow streaks across the sky. Here we go again.

  I hardly bat an eye, and the scene’s already shuffling into a new one. I’m sitting upright, girdled to a stiff metallic surface. My legs and torso are strapped down by sturdy polyester belts. Before me, a half a wheel protrudes from the center of a silver control panel. Black and white buttons, levers and gauges crowd the console, along with a pair of matching red knobs. A wave of nausea washes over me as I remember the day this all started.

  Despite the frigid air, the sweat is pouring off of me. Pulse beating fiercely in my throat, hands clammy, I gather up my nerve. Drawing in a deep breath, I position a trembling palm between the two red knobs and press down.

  But nothing happens.

  No door materializes before my eyes. No rooms slide in and out of nowhere. No little girl with big, black sunglasses appears from thin air.

  Unclipping myself from the armchair, I spin around. Phew. I finally let out my breath. I’m in a cockpit, alright. Only, it doesn’t belong to a UFO. It belongs to an airplane.

  After securing the cabin area, I cup my hands and squint outside. Nobody’s around. The place looks abandoned. Pushing open the door panel, it lets out a weary moan. Shit! I duck my head back inside. Double shit! My heart ricochets in my chest for a few long moments before calming. When I realize the noise hasn’t drawn any attention, I scramble through the doorway and hop onto the landing strip. In the waxing dusk, I’m just able to make out the airplane’s caption: US AIRFORCE.

  A thick ray of light chases through the night before finally coming to rest upon me. “Don’t move!” the airman barks, rooting me to the ground. Faster than a bullet, he’s on me, shining the torch square in my eyes.

  “I’m…I’m…”

  “Robbie Flynn! Well I’ll be!” The airman takes me by the hand and shakes it hard.

  “Why, hello there…” I schmooze.

  “Billy. Billy Hall. You come to check out the goods, huh?”

  After weighing my options, I opt to play along. “That’s right.”

  Mouth drawn up in a backlit grin, Billy throws a thumb toward the aircraft. “This one here was one of the last five C-123’s to return. Pretty impressive!” The smile falters. “Then again, I’d bet this is microscopic compared to the things you’ve seen.”

  “On the contrary,” I gamble. “I find it fascinating.”

  My lies work. The airman perks back up, exclaiming, “I knew you’d think so! These planes are single-handedly responsible for Operation Ranch Hand.”

  “Operation Ranch Hand?”

  “You know? Like Smokey the Bear says…”

  When I can’t finish the slogan, Billy’s expression grows serious. “Don’t tell me you missed the whole mission? Agent Purple? Pink? Green?”

  I think hard, knowing the wrong answer could get me in a heap of trouble. I am, after all, trespassing on government property. A ball of panic settles in my throat. I know the importance most likely lies in the opposites, but I’m drawing a blank. Which shade sits across purple or pink on the color wheel?

  Billy is swinging the torch impatiently, sending streaks of white light splotching through the darkness.

  Wait.

  What if this has nothing to do with the opposites for once? What if I need to be looking at the symbols, rather than the sines?

&nbs
p; My mind harkens back to the lopsided rainbow I watched spilling from the setting sun. Extracting the code from my recollection, I mutter under my breath, “Purple with pink. Green with orange.” I hope I’m right. Trembling, I voice a rocky, “Orange.”

  The airman judiciously eyes the perimeter before turning to meet me face-front. “I knew you were in the know! Naturally, you’d be!

  What’s that supposed to mean? Squinting down, I see I’m wearing the same bomber jacket I put on in 1977. Am I in the military? Did I end up following my dream of being a soldier?

  “One of the great aviation warriors of the final maneuver, this baby helped to dump over twenty million gallons of herbicides into those forests!” Billy explains, excitedly, but I’m hardly listening. Instead, my brain is like the star of a one-man show, processing, organizing and incorporating the newest pieces of information into that same old puzzle of life.

  If my calculations are correct, the year is 1971. That makes me thirty. I’ve woken up in the cockpit of a plane, a C-123 if I can count on Billy’s expertise. If I also can count on the fact that, this time, I’m awake. To be honest, the present moment feels no realer than the others did. Not realer than watching the sun rise through those messy constellations. Not realer than picking up that bone inside the picture-lined cave. When the fingernail I’ve been gnawing at breaks off, I swallow it whole.

  So, where am I? On a US Airforce base, someplace up north, I’d say, judging from the cold. Still, I can’t be sure. Yesterday it was snowing in Florida. Yesterday, back in 1977.

  I’m used to the idea by now, and yet it never ceases to shake me. Yester-, six years from now, the lesson will be on the opposites. Could this be that lesson’s precursor? Scanning the battleplane-lined landing strip, I take a stab. Maybe today’s clue alludes to strong and weak? Peace and war? Life and death? Then again, why are we always so quick to say life and death, when the opposite of death is birth?

  “That’s over four million acres. Poof! Gone!” Billy is still going on and on. I’m still not listening. All I can think of is what if…? No! I thrust the idea from my mind, but it only loops back again. I was born on the very day that Stalin ordered for Scorched Earth. And the parallel between Agent Orange and Scorched Earth is undeniable. What if today’s lesson doesn’t dwell in the opposites, but in the matches.

  A match to light the way.

  My cognizance swells around the idea like hands cupping a flame, protecting it from the wind and letting it grow. I still don’t know how this is happening to me, but I’m starting to understand why.

  Maybe I was wrong to base my search for answers on the day I found the UFO. What if this whole thing was put into effect long before all of that? The moment my mother brought me into this world. The same moment so many others were thrown out of it. What if I’m here to pay someone else’s debt?

  The little girl from the spaceship pervades my thoughts. “Providence. It’s been preordained.” Taking on new meaning, her words float around me. I want to kick and shout. I want to say I’m in charge of my destiny and I’ll make my own choices, thank-you-very-much! But deep down, I fear it’s useless. I’m stuck in this backward vortex until I figure out how to undo it…or until it undoes me.

  The beam of light shining smack in the middle of my eyes brings me back to Earth. “Y’alright, Mr. Flynn? I thought I was losing you for a minute.” But the stench of corned beef on Billy’s breath propels me back into space. I can see the glob of gelatin on the kitchen table. Hear the deafening whistle. See the billow of smoke. My stomach convulses. My knees weaken.

  No! Not already! I don’t want to go back into the void! It’s too soon! And time is of the essence! There’s so little of it left, and still so much for me to learn!

  But I already know it’s not for me to decide. As the world turns woozily around me, I feel myself falling. Then all becomes dark.

  The first thing I notice is the lack of color. I remain still, waiting for that metallic odor of gunpowder to set in. Only it doesn’t.

  Chickenhearted, I draw in a deep breath before opening my eyes to whatever 1965 has to teach me.

  But when I do, there’s nothing. No strange new world. No rising suns or flashing rainbows. No crackly voice to guide me. It’s all black. Cold and black. Hoisting myself up, I look around. Blacker, yet.

  Memories rock upon the wind like lullabies, dredging up a few mottled lyrics. “When it’s dark and you feel alone, the stars above will be the guide…” But my mother’s voice evaporates as quickly as it came.

  I peer eagerly into the sky, but it’s black, like the rest. Unless…

  A single star beams out. Only, instead of twinkling high over my head, it’s shining out to my left. Awestruck, I watch it grow in leaps and bounds, grumbling noisily as it races toward me.

  Sweat beads up on my forehead. Something’s wrong! Kneel-scuttling out of the way, I shield myself from the star shooting straight at me.

  It stops abruptly.

  “Hey, there!” Billy Hall calls from the window space of an army-green pickup.

  The tension in my chest dissolves in dribs and drabs. I haven’t zapped!

  “Thank goodness you’re up!” Billy hops down from the colossal Jeep. “I don’t know if I could have gotten you in, otherwise.”

  “Thanks,” I allow Billy to help me to my feet before climbing up into the pickup.

  “Hope you don’t mind I took the liberty of looking up your address in the white pages. I can drop you off on my way to Cleveland.”

  When we finally pull up to the house, it makes me think of a dark, little cuckoo clock. My gait is slow and calculated as I approach the front stoop. It’s as if, with each step, I’m expecting a little bird to pop out and the house to light up. But it doesn’t happen. Not when I’m climbing the steep cement steps. Not when I’m searching my pockets for the key. Not when, coming up empty-handed, I reach for the bell.

  I’m almost surprised when the door swings open. I’d been starting to think she never existed at all. But here she is, standing before me in flesh and bone. Despite the six years that have passed, she’s hardly changed. Only this time, the tears on her cheek are those of relief.

  “Hazel!” Wrapping myself in her arms, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. My emotions are churning inside me faster than the whirlwind of early January snowflakes flurrying across the threshold.

  A cold spot on my shoulder makes me draw away. The bomber jacket is wet with tears. “What is it?”

  Her voice is brittle. “Why did you leave me here all alone?” After watching her close the front door, I follow her silently into the kitchen.

  The truth is I don’t know. I have no recollection of the events prior to this very moment. “Shhh, shhh,” I try to console her.

  “I couldn’t even leave the house, for fear of what they’d say, of what they’d do.” She thrusts the faucet handle upward, filling a silver teakettle to the brim before slamming it on the stove. “You know how they treat me here! Why did you go?”

  A tingling creeps up around my temples.

  “Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” Reaching into the cupboard, she pulls out two cups and saucers.

  How can I explain what I don’t know? Hurling my gaze downward, the prickling surges into my fingertips. My fingers feel bloated and numb, like one of those strings of sausages at Jake’s.

  With a sudden tilt of her head, Hazel shifts her focus onto my hands. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she could see the guilt permeating my body, one limb after the other. Her voice is shallow when she asks the question I’ve been dreading most, “Are you fooling around on me?”

  My eyes paint frenetic paths across the room. Did I hone
stly think there’d be some perfect excuse hanging in the air? Instead, the faces of Belinda and the bleach blonde skip paralyzingly through my mind. “I don’t know,” I gulp.

  “How do you not know?” Her voice is brash and yet her hands are shaking enough for the cups and saucers to be rattling noisily together.

  “Because something horrible is happening to me! Nothing makes sense! You’ve got to believe me!”

  “Explain yourself.” Her words shine like a rescue line through the darkness. “While you’re at it, you’d better start from the beginning,” she adds.

  And just like that, that beacon of hope is but another flame to dim the way. When was the beginning? Or, rather, when will it be?

  Hazel taps her nails repetitively upon the countertop. “I’m listening.”

  It’s just the two of us, but my palms are sweating as if I’ve been asked to stand before all the world. Staring down into my teacup, I stumble over my words. When they finally come, they’re muddled and raw. “I’ll try my best, but as you’ll see, it’s going to be hard. You see, the beginning is quite possibly at the end. Mine is a story of time. But what is time, anyway?”

  Eyes glued to the tealeaves swimming around in my cup, I describe the UFO, the little girl, and the big jump into the future. Then, retreating upon footsteps I haven’t yet trodden, I detail the places I’ve yet to see and the people I’ve yet to meet in a future I hope isn’t only a past. With a quivering breath, I tell her about the strange, crackly voice filled with enigmas. “I balanced the equation and followed the signs. They’ve led me here to you.”

  I look up. As my gaze fuses with Hazel’s, my resolve falters. Her eyes aren’t brimming with tears anymore. Instead, they’re staring vacantly at the countless orange shreds that once were a napkin.

  She doesn’t believe me. But I refuse to give up now. I’m too close. I’ve come too far. I’ll make her believe me. “I’ll prove it!” I blurt.

  “You can’t.” Her tone is as taciturn as her eyes.