Only Alien on the Planet

by Kristen D. Randle

  But this. This was so much worse. We weren't just talking about feelings here—we were talking life and death. We were talking a guy in a hospital who could die just by thinking the wrong way. And it wasn't just between Smitty and me; people I didn't even know knew every little detail. They all knew what I'd done when I'd kissed him, and they all felt like now he should have rights to my life. Like I'd sold my soul, and I didn't even know who I'd sold it to. Because I really didn't know anything about Smitty, about what he was inside. And I was not at all sure I was going to like what I found there.

  “What if I hate him? What if it turns out he's somebody disgusting or controlling or something?” I said, not even meaning to speak it out loud.

  “Come on,” Caulder said, giving me a look.

  “I don't like this,” I said. “I don't like this.” I don't think I was even aware that Caulder was standing there. I think I was beginning to panic.

  “Don't you think it's a little late for that after last night?” Caulder asked, and there was a flash in his voice of what sounded like anger. And then I knew whose side he was on; he was part of the trap. Like it wasn't his fault in the first place. I heard that anger and something exploded in my brain. I had never hated anybody in my life the way I hated Caulder at that moment.

  I stopped walking. He went on a ways before he realized I wasn't with him. Then he turned and looked at me.

  “I don't have to come back here,” I hissed, my eyes burning holes in his face. I meant what I said. Nobody could make me do this. For once in my life, I didn't care if every human being in the world hated and despised me.

  Caulder started to say something, then evidently thought better of it. He shifted his weight and waited.

  “This is not…” I said, but I was running out of coherent thought. “I don't like any of this,” I said between my teeth.

  “It's not a game anymore,” he agreed, as if I had been the game player in the first place. We stood there, glaring at each other.

  “Shut up, Caulder,” I told him. “You just shut up. You have no right to say a word to me.”

  He folded his arms and looked away. He took a long breath and lifted his chin a little, and when he looked at me again his face had changed.

  “Would you really leave him in this place all alone?”

  The doctor's door opened. We watched her coming down the hall toward us. “Okay, guys,” she said once she got close enough. “Let me tell you what I'd like you to do.” She kept on walking, and Caulder fell in behind her, looking back over his shoulder at me. I drifted along behind them, not committed either way.

  “I'd like to see you here as many afternoons as you can afford. The more time you spend with him, the quicker things are going to settle out, okay? All I want you to do is just be there with him. Do the best you can to treat him and each other the way you would in a normal, everyday situation. Except you have to keep in mind that emotion—especially his own—is a language he just doesn't speak yet. Don't expect him to pick up anything subtle. And be nice. And patient. But don't patronize.”

  She stopped outside of a closed door. “Keep in mind he's under sedation, and he's tired; we're going to keep this visit very short. Do not expect anything from him today. And no interesting incidents, please.” She was grinning when she said that—but she was looking at me.

  Smitty's room was a lot like the doctor's office, meant to look like an old fashioned bedroom. I think that was supposed to be comforting, but against that wallpaper, the big hospital bed with its sterile white sheets and chrome railings was disturbing.

  Smitty was in the bed. The sight of him was deeply shocking to me. It was like he'd starved overnight, wasted away. His eyes were dark smudges on a still, pale face. There were wires running from his body to the monitors over against the wall. The room was full of soft beeps and electronic hums.

  He seemed very fragile. I wondered how I could have felt threatened by this.

  He opened his eyes as we came in, and seemed to watch us. But I don't think he was seeing much; an IV bottle hung right above him. Even so, under that empty look, Caulder slowly came to a stop, his eyes silver around the edges.

  “Hi,” Caulder said softly.

  Smitty closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh. Caulder glanced at the doctor. She nodded and led us out of the room. “It'll get better,” she said, stopping in the hall. “He seems to be a tough-minded kid. If we can just get that toughness working for him instead of against him—” she lifted a hand and then dropped it. She smiled at us. “Real friendship can be very healing.”

  “How long is he going to be here?” Caulder asked.

  She shrugged. “Long as it takes. So. See you Monday. Check in with me when you get here. Any questions? Okay.” She smiled again, and then she turned around and went off down the hall. We went down the hall the other way, neither of us saying anything. Caulder held the door for me as we left the building.

  “So,” he said carefully. “Is she going to see both of us on Monday?”

  I shrugged a little coldly. “I gotta get my math done some way.”

  He laughed like he was letting off a breath he'd held too long. “You had me worried for a minute, back in the hall. I'm glad you're sane now.”

  “Thank you,” I said, but I was thinking he shouldn't go jumping to conclusions. I was going to be seeing that silent face in my dreams for a long, long time.

  chapter 12

  I told my family the story. Not because they asked—but because they didn't. I couldn't tell them exactly everything, because of the fact that I didn't understand everything, and I left out a lot of the end, including the kiss. If I had been sure that what I'd done was immoral, I'd have told them about it and felt better. But what I'd done was only strange, so I had no such relief.

  They were very supportive. And, of course, they expected me to act in a mature, responsible and philanthropic manner; the weight of it made me tired. But it was only what I had started expecting of myself, the moment I'd seen the waif in the bed.

  The first thing the doctor did when we got to the clinic on Monday afternoon was check us out on the equipment. She took us into an empty room and showed us a monitor like the one they had on Smitty. “Not that I think you'll need to mess with it,” she said. “But you never know.” She showed us how to read the meters, how to tell when we should be going for help.

  If she expected the demonstration to bolster up my confidence, it didn't work.

  “Don't push him,” she said to us finally. “Don't talk about the situation. Don't bring up his family. Talk about school. You talk. Don't expect him to. He's having a hard time matching up the vocabulary in his mental database with the feeling of the moment. It'll come; he's incredibly bright. But for now—I suspect he feels very much at a disadvantage. Maybe even humiliated in front of you all. Think how you'd feel. And remember, he's still somewhat sedated. Just be kind. Be normal.”

  Caulder rolled his eyes at me as we followed her down the corridor. Be normal. Of course.

  “Okay,” she said, pushing open Smitty's door for us. “Good luck.”

  For once Caulder didn't stand back and let me go first. He was too passionate about this. I could see Smitty over Caulder's shoulder as I followed him into the room. “He's asleep,” Caulder whispered to me. Heaven knows the kid looked like he needed it. Smitty's face was still absolutely shocking. He was like something out of a refugee camp, hollow eyed and drawn.

  He wasn't asleep. His eyes had come open when Caulder whispered. He watched us as we came softly into the room, his face unreadable as ever. Caulder saw those eyes and froze, staring. They were looking at each other for the first time.

  Caulder cleared his throat. “I'm sorry all this stuff happened to you,” he said, his voice gone rough. “I hope you don't mind that we're here.”

  Smitty didn't answer. His eyes flicked across mine and then away. He closed them again and he sighed, a long, slow breath. “Come in,” he said finally, and for a moment, I was af
raid Caulder was going to faint. You could hear the medication thick in Smitty's voice. He sounded like he was trying to talk through a dream.

  “I'll get some chairs,” Caulder said. I took a step toward the bed, and then another. Smitty's eyes were still closed.

  All I did, I swear, was touch his hand. The way he looked was so pitiful, and I didn't stop to think. I just reached out and touched him.

  Alarms went off. Immediately his body went rigid, and suddenly he was pulling his breath in hard down his throat. The monitors went absolutely haywire and Caulder flew out of that room on the wings of panic. I jerked my hand away and stood there like an idiot, staring down at Smitty.

  The whole thing didn't take longer than a second—one of those kind that feels like years. Then, head pressed back into the pillow and chest heaving, he was trying to bring himself back. His hands were clenched in the sheets. You could feel the tremendous effort he was making for control.

  And when he finally opened his eyes—what did he see? Me. Me with my mouth open. Me wishing I could drop right through the floor and die. He kept his eyes on me for only a second, breathing like he'd run a long, long way, then he closed them again. He let go of the sheets.

  Caulder and the doctor came in like the cavalry to the rescue.

  It was the first thing I had done. The very first.

  Smitty sighed. The doctor stood in the doorway for a moment, reading the monitors. She nodded at Caulder and left. She hadn't even looked my way. My cheeks were flaming.

  “Geez, Ginny,” Caulder said, scowling at me. And then he looked at Smitty. “Are you okay?” he asked. I'd never heard Caulder's voice like that, so gentle. I was beginning to think Smitty hadn't heard him when Smitty finally gave a little nod.

  “Good,” Caulder said. His eyes turned silver again and he started messing with his notebook.

  I stood there watching Caulder—I had to look at something— and then I swallowed, and made myself look down at Smitty. He was not looking at me.

  “Sorry,” I said. I felt so stupid.

  He didn't answer me at all, but some color came up in his cheeks.

  Caulder was sitting way out on the edge of his chair with his hands kind of clasped together between his knees. I sat down in the other chair. I didn't know what to do with myself.

  “I've been wanting to talk to you for so long,” Caulder said. But then he said, “Forget it.” He picked up his World History book and started leafing through it. “Forget it. We're supposed to be doing our homework.”

  Smitty just lay there, breathing, staring at the ceiling, one hand lying over his heart.

  Caulder spent the rest of the time reading to us out of the text while I drew pictures in my notebook. I didn't belong here. I was only making things worse. But when I thought about not coming back, it made my heart sore.

  We'd been there about forty-five minutes when Caulder took a quick look at his watch and got up. While he put the chairs back, I put on my coat. Caulder picked up my books and gave them to me, and then we stood beside the bed.

  Smitty looked up at us vacantly. “Not necessary,” he said, his voice slurred and ragged.

  “What isn't?” Caulder asked.

  There was a long pause. “Coming here,” he said.

  “You mean us?” Caulder asked, sounding surprised. “You don't want us to come anymore?”

  Smitty said nothing.

  “I hope you don't mean that,” Caulder said, putting one hand on the bed. “Are you saying you don't want us?”

  Smitty closed his eyes. “No,” he said finally. And then, “Come.”

  “All right,” Caulder said. “That's what we were hoping.”

  Smitty didn't look at us again. “Okay,” Caulder said. “See you tomorrow.”

  Silence.

  Caulder led the way out the door. The doctor met us in the lobby. “How'd it go?” she asked. She was looking at me.

  “Maybe I shouldn't come back,” I said. I was right on the edge of embarrassing myself; I had to keep blinking. It wasn't like the doctor couldn't have told how upset I was.

  “Don't you want to?” the doctor asked.

  “That's not it,” I said. “I don't think I'm going to be any good at this. I'm afraid—” I shifted my books around and fixed my eyes on the woman sitting behind the desk across the room—"I'm going to end up slowing things down.”

  The doctor reached out and patted my arm. See? Like just a normal gesture.

  “I think you ought to keep coming,” she said. “I think he wants you to. Trust me. It'll get easier. Okay? It will. I'm almost sure. Come tomorrow. See how you feel then.”

  Caulder kept talking at me, all the way home, trying to cheer me up. But he didn't understand. I couldn't say much back to him.

  And then, of course, the family wanted to know how things had gone. I told them that Caulder thought we'd had a grand success—he and Smitty had held their first conversation. Smitty had said three things. It was all a miracle to Caulder.

  “You didn't connect with him yourself,” Charlie guessed later that night when we ran into each other in the hall outside the bathroom.

  I stopped and leaned against the wall, hugging my robe around me because I was so cold. I'd been cold like that all evening, maybe for days. “Worse than that,” I told him. “I made a total fool of myself, Charlie. I hate being a jerk, I just hate it.” And then I told him what happened. It was almost the hardest thing I'd ever done, trying to talk about it. “After that,” I said, keeping my voice as level as I could, “he wouldn't look at me. He wouldn't even look at me.”

  Charlie sucked his toothbrush thoughtfully.

  After a minute, he pulled the toothbrush out and pointed it at me. “Maybe,” he said, “he was embarrassed. Maybe that's why he wouldn't look at you. Think about it. Everybody's treating him like he's a psycho case. And then he spazzes out in front of you. How's he going to feel? Especially if he likes you. I think he's probably totally humiliated. I would be.”

  And so would I. I'd never thought of it that way.

  “If he has any normal feelings at all, he must feel totally weird about himself,” Charlie said. He started into the bathroom. “And always remember the male ego,” he added, grinning. He gave me a little wave and closed the bathroom door.

  I did a lot of thinking that night. I tried to climb inside of Smitty's head and see things through his eyes. It was very difficult. You don't know this person at all, I told myself. Not at all. And you're so full of yourself, how will you ever learn anything? I figured out, finally, I was going to have to forget everything I ever knew, forget everything I had ever assumed or expected. This was a new thing, something I had to learn. Because I wanted to.

  So, I did go back the next day, holding on as hard as I could to Charlie's perspective. I tried to forget myself. I took a completely passive attitude; I watched. Over the next couple of days, I began to pick up on Smitty's new language. A sigh, a change in his breathing—how stiffly he held himself, whether he was looking at us or not, the amount of sheet he had wadded up in his hand, the tiniest tightening around his eyes or his mouth, these things began to take on the significance of a shout.

  But things weren't coming along fast enough for Caulder. I think what he'd expected was some kind of sudden awakening on Smitty's part. “How are you feeling?” Caulder would ask. Or, “What do you feel like doing today?” Or “How's the food?” He was expecting answers and conversation and friendship. All he was getting was the occasional vague answer, and never to a direct question.

  Smitty didn't look directly at us very often, but you could tell he was aware of us. He was listening. Undoubtedly, he felt the waiting. The hovering. It really must have been painful for him, very embarrassing.

  I tried to explain things to Caulder. “You're too impatient,” I said. “We need to spend more time talking to each other, so he can hear us, instead of trying to involve him directly. You're pushing him too hard. Let me remind you, sonny—you can get real nasty if someb
ody pushes you when you don't feel like talking.” But Caulder wanted to hear words out of Smitty in the worst way, and I knew what he was like when he had his mind set on something. There was no way I was going to talk him out of asking his questions.

  So, one day, at the end of that first week, when we'd just come in and Caulder hadn't had a chance to take over yet, I decided it was time for me to intercede. Praying that I wouldn't do anything wrong this time, I stood close to the head of the bed. “Smitty,” I said quietly, holding my books hard against my chest. “I don't want to bother you, but I wonder if you'd mind helping me with my math. I'm getting behind.”

  Smitty blinked at the ceiling.

  “I wouldn't ask, but I really need the help.” This was absolutely true. All I'd had for help was Caulder now for days. I was dangerously close to losing my grade.

  When Smitty did a slow nod, I got a little adrenalin rush. Caulder pushed a chair into the backs of my legs just then, and I was glad to sit down. “Yes,” Smitty said. They still had him on drugs, and his reactions were slow. He turned his head and he looked right at me for the first time since that night. It kind of took my breath away.

  “Yes, what?” Caulder asked, sitting down in his own chair.

  “We're going to work on my math,” I said lightly. I bent over and put the rest of my books on the floor.

  “Are you sure you're ready for that?” Caulder was asking him.