Skyquakers

by Conway, A. J.

  People like us, she repeated in her head. It was a weird thing to say.

  Dylan woke her with a call at two A.M. She flicked on the light and wearily answered, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Babe, seriously, babe. You have to come into the city tonight. Free shots! Come on! It’s Davo’s 21st and we’re off to the foam party! I’ll see you there, kay?’

  ‘Goodnight, Dylan,’ she said, and flicked off the light.

  He called her twice more after that, but she ignored them.

  It turned out that Psycho lived in Melbourne too. Neither could believe their uncanny luck. They exchanged phone numbers and began texting occasionally. At first, it just began with infrequent messages: a new memory he just remembered, or asking her if she remembered what colour the skin of her ‘Baba’ was. This went on for weeks, coupled with late-night chat sessions on VVEE as well as less-serious conversations about their individual lives. Psycho was an urban photographer, he claimed, which, to Lara, translated to ‘Instagram user’, but he sent her images of his work and they were stunning. He managed to capture the gorgeous colours of sunset behind Flinders Street station, or a rainbow arching over deserted power lines along a highway. He showed her grey images of a man in an overcoat and an umbrella crossing the city streets, or rowers along the Yarra River at dawn, but his fascination with the sky was undeniable. Storms, rainbows, sunsets, and lightning were featured in most of his art. He told her that his love of storms and lightning probably came from all those nights of being beamed up into the clouds. Lara explained her fascination with her curtains as a child, and he agreed it was probably the same thing.

  ‘They were just like every other influence in our lives: like lessons from our parents, like TV, like school and music and our association between smells and memories,’ Psycho said, ‘It’s not like being brainwashed, it’s just… habits, practises that we’ve come to enjoy, or come to associate with specific moments in our past which trigger happiness.’

  ‘You should be a psychologist,’ she joked.

  ‘We should meet,’ Psycho said suddenly on VVEE.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think we should meet up, just for coffee somewhere.’

  Lara sat back from her keyboard and hesitated. It had been nearly a month since they had contacted each other, and frankly she had enjoyed his company as words on a screen far more than she anticipated. But to meet each other seemed a little too far. Her fingers hovered over the keys, about to type: ‘I’m taken,’ but instead she held them there.

  ‘There are some things I don’t think I can trust online,’ he said, ‘important things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Just meet me. Please?’

  She retracted her fingers from their position and instead wrote, ‘Where?’

  Psycho suggested a small place in South Melbourne, a local café called Two Birds One Stone. She put her phone on silent, in case Dylan called, and went inside to take a seat by the window. She ordered coffee and it calmed her nerves. But why was she nervous? It felt like a blind date, and the first sight of this mysterious character from an online chat room could either be love at first sight or, more likely, a catastrophic disaster coupled with public embarrassment.

  ‘This is stupid. This is stupid.’

  ‘Hi,’ said a voice.

  She looked up to see a guy standing by the chair opposite hers. He was young, skinny, wearing a buttoned navy blue overcoat and a yellow scarf wrapped around his neck. His hair was dark, wavy, uncut, but the rest of him was clean-shaven. He wore rectangular glasses and had a copy of The Other Boleyn Girl in his hands. He was like a Bohemian schoolboy.

  It was only when he sat himself down that she realised he was Psycho.

  The boy smiled. ‘You look a little shocked to see me, Lo.’

  She was, very. ‘I just wasn’t expecting… well, you’re… how old are you?’

  ‘Nineteen,’ he said. He unslung his hessian bag and placed it under the table. ‘I’m not what you expected, am I?’

  ‘Not from an alien conspiracy chat room.’

  He laughed. ‘I only idly fiddled with that thing every now and then for the same reason you did: to prove I wasn’t crazy. But if I found one person, just one other real person out there who knew what I knew, then perhaps I could sleep better at night. And I did.’

  She shook her head. ‘I feel stupid talking about this.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s not normal.’

  ‘Why does it matter if it’s normal or not?’ he said. ‘Why does anything matter if it’s normal? We’re the most abnormal species to ever walk this planet.’

  ‘How do I know you’re not just making fun of me? This is just some sort of troll, isn’t it?’

  ‘What? No. I would never.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She got up to leave. ‘I made a mistake. I was never… I mean, it was just a dream and—’

  Then Psycho recited the key phrase, ‘The cow says moo.’

  Lara paused where she stood, half in and half out of her seat. She stared at him. He held her gaze and smiled. ‘Fructzul een mrauu. I looked it up. It doesn’t mean anything in any language. Google had it confused with something between Romanian and Dutch. But you know what it means, don’t you, Lo?’

  Reluctantly, she answered, ‘The cow says moo.’

  He nodded and offered her to take a seat again. She did. He ordered them some scones and jam from the waitress and then returned to smiling politely.

  PILL

  Lara and Dylan argued for nearly a week. He claimed she was ignoring him; ignoring his calls, constantly making up petty excuses not to see him, as though he took her three A.M. hang-ups personally. Their overlapping day and nightlives had not changed, but Dylan sensed the changes in the little things, and her constant distracted mind led him to believe she was trying to keep secrets from him. In part, it was true, but it was nothing significant enough that it warranted all this arguing: she had a new online friend, so what? Dylan didn’t know Psycho. They didn’t share any common interests, so why did he care how many times a day he emailed her?

  It wasn’t the content of their conversations which bothered him though; it was the blatant exclusion of it all. Dylan would walk into the room and see Lara giggling over her phone. When he asked what was so funny, she’d declare, ‘Oh, nothing,’ and continue admiring her screen. When he called her during the day, asking if she wanted to have lunch on Chapel Street, she told him she already had plans. She spent a lot of time on her computer on whacky sites, and if he asked about them, she’d simply say they were for her studies. But of course, these were all lies to keep Dylan from the embarrassing and inevitable long talk she would have to have with him in order to explain all her actions. By separating her two worlds, one lived by Lara and the other by Lo, she unfortunately left Dylan to only wonder if there was something – or someone – else keeping her from him.

  But Psycho never intended that to happen; he had no interest in anything but the continuous search for the truth. He declared his social life, and the social lives of others, were not of any interest to him. Lara disagreed. She wanted to know about this kid, where he came from and what his story was, but he kept reiterating that it was all so boring and mundane. Even his real name was too boring to share with her.

  ‘Come on, what is it?’ Lo typed on her VVEE chat screen.

  ‘Not telling.’

  ‘Okay, boring names… John?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Allen.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Norman. Oh, it’s got to be Norman.’

  ‘Hell no.’

  ‘Normal Norman of the norm.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What do people call you then?’

  ‘They just call me Psycho.’

  It soon became apparent that meeting Psycho at Two Birds One Stone was a mistake. Partly because of the fighting it caused soon after, but also because Lara’s dreams rapidly intensified from that night onwards. Her upright jolts
in bed were so sudden and so loud that they woke Dylan and frightened him half to death.

  ‘What is it? What? What?’

  She calmed herself and placed her hand on her rapid heart. ‘It’s nothing. It’s nothing.’

  ‘No, it’s not nothing,’ he insisted. He turned on the bedside lamp. ‘Are you okay? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing!’

  ‘Lara, seriously, I can’t help you unless you talk to me.’

  She shook her head. ‘You can’t help. It’s just a nightmare.’

  ‘About what?’

  She rolled over. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  He pulled her back. ‘You’ve never tried to explain.’

  ‘I’m tired. Stop.’

  ‘No,’ he demanded. ‘This has been going on for too long. Something’s not right and I deserve to know.’

  ‘You deserve to know?’

  He stared at her for a moment. ‘Is there someone else?’

  She blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Is there another guy? Is there someone else?’

  ‘Why would you ask that?’

  ‘It’s a pretty simple question, Lara.’

  Angrily, she gritted her teeth and hissed, ‘No. Happy?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Why are you so keen to know what’s going on in my head all the time? Or who I’m texting? Or who I have lunch with and what sites I’m on? And why does this matter at one A.M.?’

  ‘I just want to know! I need to know,’ he begged. ‘Why won’t you just tell me?’

  ‘Because it’s embarrassing.’ Lara threw aside the sheets and turned to sit on the side of the bed. She hung her head and fiddled with her fingers in her lap.

  Dylan shuffled over and waited for her. ‘Tell me,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’ He paused. ‘Oh, Christ, are you pregnant?’

  ‘No,’ she half-laughed.

  ‘Oh, good.’

  Lara shrugged and softly mumbled under her voice, ‘I… Well, I believe I was abducted by aliens.’ Then she turned and looked at him, to see what his immediate reaction was. Outrageous laughter or a sour face of resentment was the least she could hope for.

  But Dylan only said, ‘You’ve told me that before, you know.’

  ‘I have?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He swung his legs around and sat with her. ‘But I thought it was a joke.’

  ‘Up until a few months ago, so did I. But I keep having these dreams and they’re getting worse.’ She rubbed her head, as though these visions were causing her physical pain. ‘You must think I’m crazy.’

  He shrugged. She didn’t like that response. ‘Come on, Lara, really? You’re a scientist.’

  ‘I’m a sociologist.’

  ‘Still a long stretch from aliens and UFOs.’

  ‘It’s more than a belief though. It’s a memory. Right down to the mrauu.’

  ‘The mrauu?’ he asked.

  ‘The cow says moo,’ she recited. ‘I learnt how to say it in another language when I was really young and… Oh, god, I’m a crazy person! Listen to me!’ She collapsed onto her pillow and curled up into a tight ball.

  Dylan comforted her and stroked her hear as she hid her face in her hands.

  ‘I don’t want this,’ she mumbled into her pillow. ‘I don’t want this in my head. I just want to sleep.’

  Dylan found her some sleeping pills in a kitchen drawer and offered them to her, to help her relax and get a good night’s rest for once. She gulped them down with some water and then waited for them to kick in. Dylan sat opposite her, smiling. He promised to take care of her through this stress. That’s what he called it: ‘stress’. Lara smiled back dopily and was then escorted back to bed. She slept without a stir for the rest of the night.

  ‘We need to meet. Now,’ Psycho texted.

  ‘I can’t. I have a presentation to give on Friday and I need to work on it. We’ll catch up on the weekend.’

  ‘Ha-ha, funny one.’

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘Wait, you’re serious?’ he asked after a lengthy pause.

  ‘About my presentation? Yes. The whole board will be there and I have to get my data in order.’

  ‘Lo,’ Psycho wrote, ‘there’s not going to be a presentation. There’s not going to be a board. There’s not going to be a weekend.’

  Lara felt something quiver in her gut. She cautiously keyed: ‘Why?’

  ‘What did you dream of last night?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘I took some pills.’

  A pause.

  ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You didn’t see it.’

  ‘Didn’t see what? What are you on about, Psycho?’

  ‘We have to meet right now.’

  ‘Lunchtime, maybe.’

  But Psycho couldn’t wait; he showed up at the community centre an hour later to eagerly find her. She didn’t want to meet with him today – she honestly did not have the time – but he chased after her down the corridor and caught up with her on her way to get some coffee. To the sound of her screen-name being shouted, Lara, arms full of papers, spun around and was shocked to see him in her workplace. As usual, young Psycho was dressed in the most indie of clothes, this time a flannel shirt and brown jeans, with a Live Below The Line rubber bracelet on one arm.

  He adjusted his glasses once he came to a halt and panted, ‘Found you. Finally.’

  ‘I can’t do this right now,’ she said. ‘Can it wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘Ha!’ he laughed. ‘Is there somewhere private we can talk? Do you have an office?’

  ‘I only have a cubicle.’

  ‘Okay, well…’ He dragged her hastily down the corridor by the hand. They weaved through a series of cubicles and social welfare workers’ offices until Psycho spotted a stationary closet where the printers and fax machines were stored, along with shelves of paper, pens, and envelopes. He dragged Lara inside and shut the door behind him.

  Lara was becoming agitated. ‘This is a really bad time.’

  ‘Damn it, you shouldn’t have taken pills!’ he barked. She had never heard him raise his voice before, but he was mad. ‘Now you’ve missed everything.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Psycho paced around the tiny room in aggravated circles. ‘It was crucial,’ he hissed. ‘These dreams were crucial. By missing just one, you’ve missed all the important information they were trying to give us. Months and months of preparation, gone! This could ruin the whole process.’

  ‘What process? What the hell are you talking about?’

  Psycho pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Last night was it,’ he said. ‘Last night was the last dream you’ll ever have. The last dream we’ll all ever have. Lo, the reason we’ve both been having these visions, and the reason they’re getting more and more frequent and more intense, is obvious, isn’t it?’

  She stared blankly at him. He spun away and puffed his cheeks. ‘Jesus, I can’t believe you haven’t got it yet.’

  ‘Psycho, for god’s sake, what am I meant to be getting?’

  Psycho just shook his head at her, but then his expression of serious concern switched instantly into girlish, jittery laughter.

  At Two Birds One Stone, Lara and Psycho sat awkwardly across from each other, eating scones and sipping coffee. Although they had never met in person before, gradually they both settled and came to realise they were no different to their online personas, which they had been sharing with one another for the past few weeks. Despite their one obvious connection, there was little else which made either a unique individual. They had both grown up with relatively normal lives, normal family structure, normal schools and normal ambitions for the future. They enjoyed movies and mojitos and both thought money was ruining politics. Neither were perfect students. Neither had been in trouble with the law. Neither could bear to watch reality TV.

  People like us.

  ‘But why us?’ she asked h
im.

  ‘I don’t know. There must have been some selection process, I’m sure. Maybe some sort of personality test, to make sure to weed out the unstable or unfavourable subjects.’

  ‘Personality test? I was two!’

  Psycho shrugged. ‘One of many theories. How is your study going?’

  He was able to switch from conspiracy to casual small talk so flawlessly; it was as though the former was of no enormous concern to him. Perhaps that was the predominant difference between them: denial versus acceptance. Psycho was so comfortable with himself and with the belief that he had been beamed into the sky by hyper-intelligent beings, and yet Lara was losing sleep and struggling to concentrate at work.

  She watched his smiling, kind face for a moment and said, ‘It’s fine.’ She looked at her watch. ‘And I should be getting back.’

  ‘Well, maybe we should do this again soon.’

  ‘Maybe, yeah.’ She reached for her bag, but then paused again. ‘One more question.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘What would you do if they came?’

  He arched his eyebrows over his rectangular glasses. ‘If they came? Down to here? Publically?’

  She nodded.

  Psycho grinned. ‘I’d welcome them with open arms.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to meet them. I want to know them, know where they came from and how, and I want to communicate with them and hear their secrets and tell them mine. I want them to take me away from this boring, mundane life. This whole planet bores me! I’d rather go with them.’ He brushed away his scraggly fringe, which was constantly hanging in his eyes. ‘I can’t imagine where they’re hiding or how they’ve escaped all our satellites and all that junk we have pointed upwards, but they’ll show their faces soon. I suspect it’ll happen sometime in our lives.’

  Lara smiled pityingly and said, ‘They will never make themselves known.’