by A. J. Ramsey
“Iklsa edlse!”
“Well, I was trying. You seem to be in there pretty good. Is there a particular reason you are stuck like this?”
“GOSJDLEJF!”
“No need to talk like that. You don’t even know my mother. Just give me a second.”
He braced his feet against the bottom of the wall and leaning back pulled with all his weight at the kicking feet. With noise like the button flying off ill-fitting trousers, the legs came free, along with the individual attached to them. The person crashed into the naked man, and they both went tumbling across the ground. Clothed limbs tangled with naked ones as they both grunted and groaned to extricate themselves from what was fast becoming an awkward way to meet. The woman popped up first with an “umpfh.” She brushed herself off before deciding to lend a hand to the man, helping him onto his feet.
They stood across from each other silently.
The woman was dressed in tennis shoes, knee-high black socks, and a black skirt with a button-up white shirt, only half buttoned. She was an inch or two shorter than the man but seemed to stand taller as she looked the man up and down.
The man, as I may have mentioned, wore nothing.
“You’re naked,” the newly-pulled-from-a-hole-in-a-wall-woman nonchalantly said to the naked man.
“You’re welcome,” said the naked man with an air of satisfaction.
“Excuse me?” said the woman with unmistakable anger quickly coming into her voice. Unmistakable, that is, to anyone but someone who had literally just been born.
“I said you’re welcome. Who knows how long it’s been for you.”
“How long what’s been?”
“You know, how long before I came along.” He shook his head at the seeming strangeness of this conversation. “Seems to me like you’re awfully lucky I found you.”
“Lucky? Lucky that you found me?”
“Ummm . . . yes. Listen, are you likely to continue like this? With the constant questions I mean. It’s just that our conversation doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, and I actually have questions of my own.”
“See here, you little newb. You don’t know me. You don’t know how many naked men I’ve seen or why. Call me lucky. I didn’t need rescuing from some man, let alone a naked one.”
“I didn’t say anything about rescuing you, and I don’t know what being naked has to do with any of this, or why you feel the need to tell me about how many naked men you’ve seen. However, now that you mention it, I don’t think you can argue the point that you needed rescuing. I’d think you’d be grateful to me, and yet all I’ve gotten out of this encounter so far is a bloody nose. And a headache.”
“I can give you more than a bloody nose if you would like,” she said, clenching her fists. It was the universal sign that she was ready to punch something, and even the naked man should’ve been able to read that signal. “I was talking about the number of naked men I’ve seen because you are now on that list,” she added.
“It’s a list, is it? I wonder how long that list is. Well . . . one second, did you say naked?”
“Yes. You’re naked.”
“Am I?” It now occurred to the man that perhaps the oddness of this conversation was his fault. He was beginning to feel a breeze in places where breezes are reserved for special occasions.
Upon closer examination of himself, he saw that he was, in fact, quite naked. Not just a little naked, like Oscar dresses, but all the way naked, like some Oscar dresses. Our naked man was sure that this was not how someone carried themselves in polite company, and he rushed to cover himself. He found nothing in his immediate vicinity with which to do that, so he settled for an uncomfortable slight twist of the leg and a suddenly inadequate placement of his hands.
“You really didn’t know you were naked?” she asked.
“I guess not. I’m not really sure of much to be honest,” he said, half to himself. He had turned a particular shade of red, which some people might call Lotus Rouge. I would call those people pretentious.
“Well, I have a bag of clothes somewhere around here,” she said as she glanced around them. She went over and grabbed a backpack, which was on the ground next to some dead bodies that lay against the brick wall. She tossed it over to the man. “Here. You should be able to find something in there.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. If there is one thing I am always willing to do, it’s to help naked people find clothes to put on.”
The man quickly rummaged through the bag and pulled out a plaid skirt, slipping it on.
“A skirt? Interesting choice,” she said with a slight grin.
“Why is it interesting? You’re wearing one.”
“Anyways, I’m Brittany,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Uhhh . . .” he said while sliding on a black leather jacket. “I seem to be having difficulty recalling anything prior to running into this wall. I’m not sure what my name is to be honest.”
“It’s Emal. That’s what’s written on your chest.”
Emal opened the jacket again, and sure enough, printed on him were the letters E M A L. There appeared to be space for another letter, and perhaps there had been more writing below that, but everything except EMAL had been covered with blood from his nose. He wiped at it with a different shirt from Brittany’s bag, and whatever else might have been there came off.
“Hmm . . . I suppose that sounds right. Well, nice to meet you, Brittany,” Emal said, reaching out to shake her hand. This was one of those instinctual things he was sure he was supposed to do when meeting new people.
“I think we are a little past formalities, don’t you?” Brittany said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “I make a policy of not shaking hands with people I’ve already seen naked.” She grabbed her bag from Emal, and pulled out a small notepad from one of its pockets. Brittany jotted a few quick notes while glancing back at the brick wall. She stuffed the notepad back in its place, closed the bag up, and slung it on her shoulders. “Well, I’ve had a great time; I think we shall be fast friends, and now I’m going to be off,” Brittany said, while brushing past him.
“Actually, I’m not really—”
“Great, glad that’s settled. We’ll be seeing you,” Brittany said with a little wave over her shoulder as she started moving briskly down the tube. If he really thought about it, Emal might have realized that she was walking away from him as fast as she could, but he didn’t really think about it. About a hundred feet back from the brick wall, the tube came to a four way intersection. She stopped in the middle and briefly looked in all directions.
“Ummm,” Emal said in her direction, as loudly as one can say ummm, which is surprisingly not very loud. Go ahead, try it.
“Yep, no problem. We’ll be . . .” Brittany said, trying to make her voice sound as if it was fading away. She turned right and disappeared.
Emal briefly wondered if perhaps he should chase after her. She hadn’t really seemed to be looking for company now that he thought about it, but he had the rather large problem of not really knowing where the hell he was, what he was doing here, or how to get where he didn’t know he needed to go.
This is actually a major problem everywhere these days. Lots of people tend to sit around wondering what they are doing, what they might be doing instead of what they’re currently doing, and how to get to where they are pretty sure they need to go. They typically wait for something or someone to happen to them rather than decide for themselves. Mostly, they end up dying of boredom or diabetes in front of the television and then are eaten by cats. People being eaten by felines has become such a problem that the government proposed a neighborhood watch program to keep an eye on the number of cats coming and going from people’s homes to determine who has died. The theory, of course, being that the more cats visiting a home, the more likely they were to be eating someone and not there for a pleasant visit. While a well-intended program, it ultimately failed because no one wanted to work the crazy h
ours of 3rd shift, which is when cats normally perform their eating of diabetic limbs.
Emal waited for something to happen as he stared down the tube. He was no longer that innocent, naked man running through the tubes with reckless abandon. Although, he had never actually known he was that man.
It occurred to Emal now that he was all alone, and he felt the weight of that loneliness pressing down on his brain.
Either that or he had a concussion.
It’s a lolcat’s life
~
Emal contemplated his options as he continued to stare down the tube. He could try to follow Brittany despite her apparent objections to the notion. Of course, he didn’t know if that would be helpful since he didn’t know where she was going. He also didn’t know if the direction she was going happened to be the direction he too needed to be going. Is there anything more frustrating in life than not knowing what you don’t know?
He stood there some more. When nothing exciting seemed likely to come from that direction, he turned back toward the brick wall.
Nothing continued to happen.
No one came to help him.
He peered at the hole he had pulled Brittany out of but saw nothing except more bodies. None of them moved as he watched, and he decided not to poke anyone. After all, he had already been kicked in the nose once, and he didn’t feel he needed any more of that in his life right now. The clogged opening likely extended to the other side of the brick wall, but it was packed too tightly with a jumble of limbs to go that way now. He thought about the bodies for a moment before remembering he had seen others, earlier when his brain hadn’t been ready to register them.
He looked around, finally noticing that there were a few people collapsed against the side of the wall. Closer examination of some revealed large bruises on their foreheads that would indicate they had run into the barrier like he had. Some had crumbled right there, while others had stumbled off the path to die elsewhere. Most of the bodies were naked like he had been, but not all. Some were dressed in apparent costumes; one in particular was wearing a long trench coat, a black fedora hat, and some plain white tennis shoes. He considered these clothing options for a moment before taking the hat and the shoes. White tennis shoes, plaid skirt, leather jacket, and fedora hat. He was dressed for success.
This brick wall had clearly interrupted whatever I was supposed to be doing. So I need to find a different way around, and perhaps then, I might remember where I am supposed to be going.
Emal walked down the tube, coming to the intersection where Brittany had disappeared. The path straight across looked the same as the one he was in—a little dark and a little dirty. Clean enough that you could live comfortably, but you might not invite guests over. He considered taking the road on the right like Brittany had, but he thought running into her again might be awkward. More importantly to Emal, the tube looked terrifyingly dark. A breeze from there gusted past, revealing a foul stench that made him gag. A wild animal sound followed the breeze as well, making the decision not to go in quite easy. Something is almost certainly lurking in there, waiting for an easy meal. The tube to his left meanwhile looked like it had been built by German contractors. The walls were whitewashed and clinical looking. He was pretty sure he could have an appendectomy done on the floor and not risk any infection. Good thing I didn’t follow Brittany after all; she clearly isn’t right in the head.
He took the path on the left.
This tube was more like a very large hallway. It wasn’t rounded like the others, but square. It was a good twenty feet across and twenty feet to the ceiling; the whole thing appeared almost as though it had never been used. The lights above were so bright, reflecting off the white walls, that it meant he couldn’t see very far in front of himself. Emal continued on despite his blindness. He walked slowly around some mild twists and turns, encountering nothing. He was nervous, ambling blindly through this unknown world and didn’t like this new feeling. It was better than the feeling of running into a brick wall, but not much.
After walking for fifteen minutes, a scraping noise caused him to jerk to a stop. His heart attempted to keep moving without the rest of his body, and he felt it begin to pound. Bringing a hand to his chest to keep his heart from its apparent escape attempt, he cocked his head to the side in an effort to hear better while placing his other hand over his eyes to shield the light.
Gracefully and with a loud purr, a large cat leapt into view from nowhere in particular.
Emal opened his mouth, emitting a quick scream in a much higher pitch than most men would’ve liked. His heart took his open mouth as another opportunity to escape. He dryly swallowed it. The cat spoke, and Emal peed himself a little.
“i can haz cheezburger?”
The cat was an orange tabby of indeterminate breed, and it was staring at Emal with bright eyes that seemed to reflect every light in the ceiling. Emal bravely edged further toward the cat, eyeing it warily. He had no reason to mistrust the animal, but since this was his first interaction with another species, and it was asking about food, he was rightfully cautious. Actually, this is a universal mistrust when all animals encounter an alien species for the first time.
In these new encounters, lunch questions always arise.
The first question is “Can I eat this new thing for lunch?”
1. (a) Does it taste good?
1. (b) Will I want to eat it again?
1. (c) Does BBQ sauce mask its flavor enough that I will continue to eat it even though it tastes like wet cardboard?
The second consideration is “Can it eat me for lunch?”
2. (a) Does the other animal have a BBQ sauce bottle in its pocket?
2. (b) Can I outrun it?
2. (c) Can I outrun my friend?
c. (1) When did my friend get so fast?
1. (a) Should I pull a Shane-shooting-Otis move on my friend?
If none of these questions result in someone having someone else for lunch, the other questions are inevitably: “Would you like to go have lunch?” And, of course, upon agreement, “How do you feel about BBQ sauce in relation to the lesser condiments?”
“Excuse me, just passing through,” Emal said, wishing to avoid any discussion of BBQ sauce. The cat sat about ten feet ahead, and its eyes followed Emal as he attempted to tiptoe around it.
“i can haz cheezburger?” the cat asked again as it began walking toward Emal. The cat rubbed up against Emal’s legs and purred its cutest purr.
“I’m sorry; I’m afraid I don’t have any cheezburgers. I doubt I would make a tasty one either, BBQ sauce or not,” Emal chuckled in a misguided effort to deflect any ideas the orange tabby had.
He ventured to keep walking around the cat, but it began to slowly weave in and out of his feet. Emal did his best to avoid stepping on the creature, and they started an awkward dance. He would take a hesitant step forward, and the cat would weave around his legs forcing him to stand on one leg for a moment to ensure he didn’t bring it down on the animal. If Emal had had a gym teacher, one that taught dances in gym class for reasons known only to them, the teacher wouldn’t have been pleased with the dancing effort.
Emal decided to change tactics and knelt down, offering his hands palms up to prove he didn’t have any hidden cheezburgers. The orange tabby sniffed carefully for any evidence of BBQ sauce and rubbed its head on his palm.
“Well, hello there,” Emal said. Maybe I needn’t be so nervous after all; the cat felt nice under his hand. It was fluffy, warm, and the bright eyes appeared intelligent as they gazed at him.
“y r u wearing hat?” The cat asked politely.
“I thought it looked quite nice,” Emal said while adjusting his fedora.
“a no, iz not nice.”
Defensively, Emal again adjusted his fedora; he considered what this cat would taste like, but the instincts he had felt earlier kicked in. His instincts told him that people who ate cats had very few friends and were invited to even fewer dinner parties.
“Wer r u goin?”
“I’m not sure actually; I need to find that out.”
“Srsly?
“Seriously. You see, I ran into a wall a bit ago, and my memory is a little fuzzy.”
“Ur goin teh wrong wai.”
Emal quickly pulled his hand away from the cat. Asking for a cheezburger was disturbing enough, but now it’s suggesting that it knows where I need to go. Emal watched the cat very carefully, and it watched him back.
“Srsly, umm . . . I mean . . . seriously? Which way should I be going? Where should I be going? What am I meant to do when I get there? How do you know this?”
“i can haz cheezburger?”
“I really don’t have any cheezburgers,” Emal said more forcefully this time. “What were you saying about the wrong direction though? Can you help me?”
The cat ignored him, turning away slightly to begin licking one of its paws. Emal begged the cat for help again, and it ignored him. He even waved his hand in front of the cat’s face while making strange noises in a bid to re-engage the animal. It continued to ignore him.
Maybe I’m the one who needs a cheezburger, Emal thought. Here I am having a conversation with an orange tabby, expecting it to result in useful information. I don’t think cats are really known for their ability to provide directions to lost travelers. And now that I consider it, speaking to cats is likely one of the signs of starvation. I genuinely need to find some real people to talk to. In order to get both directions home and directions to a ham and cheese sandwich.
He stood back up and went to walk past the cat once and for all when he felt a sharp pain in his calf.
“Owww,” he said hopping onto one foot and checking out what was clearly a scratch mark. “What did you do that for?”
The cat began licking its paw again as if nothing had happened. Emal turned and started to walk away yet again when he felt a sharp pain on his other calf. This time a little blood began to drip out on the white floor. He let out another cry of pain and turned back.