Over the Rainbow

by Brian Rowe

  I sighed. I didn’t know if I wanted to hear it.

  “If God really loves you, then why didn’t He take you in the rapture? Why did He leave you behind?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “That’s a question I’ve been pondering ever since I went flying out the cargo hold of that airplane.”

  Mr. Balm's mouth opened wide. “The cargo hold? Why were you in there?”

  “My dad was trying to send me to anti-gay camp, so I zipped myself into a suitcase and boarded a different flight.” The silence, from both men, made me chuckle. “What? Oh come on, anyone in my position would have done the same thing.”

  “I don’t think they would’ve, Zippy,” Frankie said. “Not that what you did was a bad thing. Just… you know… crazy.”

  Mr. Balm shook his head. “Crazy is right. Wow. And he was sending you to anti-gay camp? What?” Mr. Balm’s jaw dropped even farther. “That’s not a real thing, is it?”

  “I guarantee you, it is. They’re not advertised in your local newspaper, but I looked them up. They call themselves something else—reparative therapy is one—but they exist.”

  Mr. Balm raised his empty beer can and clinked it against my glass of water. “Here’s to you, for being the bravest little cookie I’ve ever met. And for standing up to your dad.”

  “Thanks.” I set my elbows down against the table. “But that’s the thing, though. I didn’t stand up to him. I didn’t even see him.”

  “Didn't you just talk to your dad on the phone?” Frankie asked.

  “Yeah. He's coming to find me.”

  “What? Your dad’s still alive?” Mr. Balm asked. I seemed to be delivering to him one sensational piece of news after another, because his mouth was still hanging open, to a cartoonish effect.

  I nodded. “The rapture apparently didn't take him either. Can't say I'm surprised.”

  “Is he all right? Is he worried about you?”

  “He didn’t act very worried.” I sat back, and tapped my fingers against the sides of my chair. “He thinks it’s my fault he wasn’t taken. That he didn’t work hard enough to prevent me from being gay. Can you believe that?”

  “This man should go to jail, I'm sorry,” Frankie said, looking like he might foam at the mouth. “You can't prevent someone from being gay, you just are! This is why Seattle will be good for you, Zippy. For both of us. We'll be able to be more ourselves.”

  “Seattle?” Mr. Balm asked. “What’s in Seattle?”

  “My dad,” Frankie said. “A dad who's actually able to accept me for who I am.”

  “And you, Zippy?”

  “Oh, just the love of my life.”

  “The love of your what?” Mr. Balm pushed his food and drink to the side. “How old are you? Thirteen?”

  “I’m seventeen.”

  “You’re kidding me,” he said. “You look like you’re in third grade.”

  “Thirteen-year-olds aren’t in the third grade,” I said.

  “You get what I mean. Still, though. I don’t care if you were twenty-five. Do you even know what love is?”

  “Mr. Balm, she’s the greatest. She’s funny, romantic. She cares about me. She understands me. She’s everything I could ever want in another person.”

  “Really? Wow. How much time have you spent with her?”

  I opened my mouth. Prepared to tell him how we hadn't physically met, but had fallen in love over the Internet.

  But then the hard, awful truth hit me like a rough slap to the face.

  I stood up, kicked my chair against the table, and walked out of the kitchen. I almost stumbled over Judy in the entrance hall; she was squatting on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” I returned to the kitchen to grab a paper towel. I didn’t see a dispenser anywhere. I opened all the cupboards, pulled out all the drawers. “They have to have paper towels somewhere. Or napkins?”

  “Zippy?” Frankie asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “Everything is the matter! Judy went potty! It’ll stain the carpet!” I tried the cabinets under the sink.

  “It’s not carpet. It’s hardwood. It’ll be fine—”

  “It won’t be fine!” I screamed. “I need a napkin!”

  “Hey,” Frankie said. He jumped to his feet. “What’s gotten into you? Calm down.”

  I marched right up to his belly. “Move. I need to open the drawer behind you.”

  “Why? What for?”

  “There could be napkins. You’re blocking it.”

  “There could be napkins anywhere in here—”

  “I said, move, damn it!”

  He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “What is your problem?”

  “You’re hurting me,” I said.

  “Tell me what’s wrong. We don’t have time for you to start losing your mind.”

  “Of course we do,” I said. “We have all the time in the world…” I shoved my hands against my cheeks, and the tears started to flow. “There’s no rush, don’t you see? There’s no light at the end of this tunnel.”

  Frankie loosened his grip on me. “What are you talking about?”

  “She’s gone.” I slipped away from Frankie and slumped down against the cold marble floor. He leaned over and tried to pick me up, but I pushed him away.

  Mr. Balm searched the kitchen, and grabbed a napkin from the drawer farthest to the right. “Don’t worry about your dog. I’ll clean up the mess.” He stepped out of the room, like he wanted to give me and Frankie some alone time.

  Frankie dropped down to his knees and pressed his hand against my shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on, Zippy.”

  “Don’t you get it?” I said. “Mira.”

  “What about her?”

  “I’ve been talking to her for two years, Frankie. She’s perfect. In every way. If the rapture really happened, then the very first person God would have taken… was her.”

  He wrapped his arm around my back, pulled me close. “But you don’t know that. She could still be in Seattle. You can’t give up on this, okay? I won’t let you.”

  “It’d be nice to know where we were,” I said. I tried to stop the tears from trickling down my tired cheeks. I wiped them away with my thumb. “Wait, maybe Mr. Balm knows. Mr. Balm?”

  “Yes?” He marched back into the kitchen and tossed a loaded napkin into the trash compactor.

  “You wouldn’t know what city we’re in, would you?”

  “Of course I do. We’re in Warm Springs.”

  “Warm Springs?” I had never heard of it. “What state is that in?”

  “You guys don’t know the state you’re in?”

  Frankie and I shrugged. There hadn’t been a single sign on the trail.

  “You know the year we’re in, I hope.”

  “1999, right?” I said, with a slight grin.

  “Good. Yeah, this is Oregon. We’re two hours outside of Portland. Driving distance, that is.”

  “How far is Portland from Seattle?” Frankie asked.

  Mr. Balm tapped his fingers against his lips, thinking. “About three hours.”

  “So we’re five hours away.” I smiled, and tried to forget my theory about Mira. “That’s not far at all.”

  “No, and there was that car on the driveway,” Frankie said. “We just need to find the keys!”

  “Oh my God, you’re right. Come on.” I pulled myself up to my feet, and wiped the last tear away. “We should probably check the bedroom. Maybe they're in there?”

  Mr. Balm dangled a ring of keys out in front of us. “Just found them.”

  “Oh, excellent,” I said. “Let’s go, Frankie. We have no time to waste.”

  “I thought we had all the time in the world,” he said, with a knowing grin.

  I shrugged. “No, you’re right. She could still be there. I can’t give up. Not yet.”

  “Amen,” Frankie said, and stepped past me. “Here, I’ll get Judy.”

  Frankie stepped into the hallway, but I didn’t follow him. I glanced
up the stairs. “Oh. Duh.”

  I stared at Mr. Balm, and he stared right back. “You’ve got an idea,” he said. “I can tell.”

  “Not an idea,” I said, backing into the hallway. “A necessity.”

  I pushed past Frankie and raced up the staircase.

  “Where are you going?” Frankie asked.

  “Just be a minute!” I shouted.

  I found the top floor and opened the first door on my right. I didn’t find what I was looking for. I checked the two bedrooms again; nothing. I opened the last door at the end of the hall, the one I hadn’t opened yet, and turned on the lights. It was an office, complete with a mahogany desk, a broken printer—and a good old-fashioned PC computer.

  I loved hearing the loud, comforting ignition of the system. I sat in the hard black chair and scooted up to the cluttered desk, which looked like it had been used in recent hours. A cold mug of coffee sat in the corner, as did a half-eaten egg sandwich. I waited for the main screen to pop up.

  “Come on,” I said. “Work, you bastard.”

  Finally it appeared. I scrolled through the applications on the left side and clicked on the tab for America Online.

  “Yes!”

  I typed in my username (zippitydoodah) and my password (jurassicpark), and waited those agonizing thirty seconds for the AOL home page to arrive. After the screeching of dial-up finally ended, I heard the warm “Welcome!” and the pleasing “You’ve got mail!”

  But I didn’t look at the mail; I looked at the buddy list on the right side of the screen. I clicked all over it in search of SparkleFlower. But she was offline.

  “Damn.”

  I sat there for a few seconds, rubbed my palms together, hoping and praying her screen-name would pop back to life. But it didn’t.

  I pointed the cursor at the e-mails section. I had one new message. I clicked on it.

  “Please,” I said, and closed my eyes.

  I tried to picture Mira. I’d had a specific image of her in my mind from day one, but now that image had been replaced with a girl rising toward the sky. She wasn’t panicked, and she had no regrets; she was ready for the next chapter of her life. She didn’t wave back at me or blow me a cute kiss. All I saw was Mira disappearing behind a cluster of clouds.

  I opened my eyes to see the subject line of the e-mail: ARE YOU OKAY? It had been sent at 6:06 AM this morning. It was from Mira.

  “I don’t believe it,” I said.

  I had mixed emotions. I was shocked that God hadn’t deemed Mira worthy enough to be taken, yet at the same time, I was ecstatic she was still here, still alive.

  “Did you leave her for me, God? Did you?” I shook my head, and started to read Mira’s message.

  Hi Z,

  Are you okay?

  I'm okay.

  Do you know what happened?

  I don't.

  People are missing.

  All my friends are gone.

  My mom and dad are still here.

  We were in the basement

  watching Practical Magic

  when it happened.

  Please write me when you can.

  I hope you're okay.

  I love you,

  M

  I re-read her e-mail three times before I clicked on the REPLY button and tried to put my thoughts into words. I didn’t want to tell her everything. I didn’t want to sit there for an hour and write a novel about what had happened to me. I wanted to be brief and to the point.

  I needed to tell her I was alive.

  My fingertips roamed across the keys, and I typed the short message.

  Mira,

  I’m so glad you're all right! I was so worried. I’m okay too. You might not believe this but I’m in Oregon, and I’m coming to see you! I don’t know when I’ll get to another computer, but I’ll try to write you again. I don’t know how I'm still alive but I guess God works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he? Send me your address, and I’ll come find you. I can’t believe we’re finally gonna meet!

  Miss you and love you,

  Z

  I hit SEND and waited for that whoosh sound to signify that the e-mail had gone out. After I double-checked that the message had been delivered, I turned off AOL and shut down the computer.

  “Zippy?” Frankie shouted from the entrance hallway. His voice was faint. “Is everything all right?”

  I smiled and raced down the hall, down the staircase. I opened the front door. “Come on, Frankie. We have to go!”

  I held the door open. Judy stepped out first. Frankie stopped in the doorway, and turned to me.

  “She messaged you, didn’t she?” he said.

  I couldn’t hide my infectious grin. “You were right. She’s alive. I don’t know why I didn’t think of finding a computer. That was so stupid!”

  “We’ve had a lot on our minds. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  When Frankie stepped out on the porch, Mr. Balm appeared to the left of me, a large backpack strapped over his shoulders. “You guys leaving?”

  “Yeah,” I said. My feet found the welcome mat. “What’s with the backpack?”

  “It’s got everything I need,” the man said. “I've got a gun, an ax, a grenade...”

  “A grenade?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been saving it since Vietnam, for the perfect occasion. This bad boy's an M67, so lethal it can blow up the world's tallest giraffe into 100 pieces. You never know when it might come in handy. Such I learned in the war—”

  Mr. Balm stopped. A loud roar from the driveway sent me down to the cement ground. Frankie screamed, and Mr. Balm jumped in front of me, his fists clenched. Judy liked to confront any animal that headed her way, but she leaped into the bushes and hid, not a good sign.

  The large yellow creature appeared at the end of the driveway, low to the ground, just past the Camry. It scowled at us a second time. The animal didn’t look like any I had seen before; it was a demon half-breed of tiger and house cat, about five feet long and three feet tall, with monstrous black claws, and sharp teeth that protruded at least ten inches out of its mouth.

  “What the hell is that?” Frankie asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “Mr. Balm?”

  He bent over a little, and stared at the animal. “Yeah?”

  “Now would be a good time for you to grab that grenade.”

  “No,” he said. “I'm only going to use it when it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “What would be more necessary than this?”

  “Wait!” he said. “I have an idea. Hold on.”

  Mr. Balm ran inside and closed the door behind him.

  “Oh God,” I said. “He left us!”

  Frankie took a step back, then another. “Come on, Zippy.”

  We walked back toward the door; it seemed a mile away. Frankie’s hand grazed the doorknob, when the animal sped across the driveway and stopped right in front of us, close enough to sink its teeth into our skulls.

  “Nice kitty,” Frankie said.

  “I don’t think that’s a cat, Frankie,” I said.

  The cat-tiger mutation roared again, and moved even closer.

  “Oh my God,” he said.

  “Are we going to die?”

  “We're not going to die.” Frankie pulled me close.

  But before the animal sunk its teeth into us, Mr. Balm jumped back out onto the porch. The animal lunged for the old man’s arm, but he pelted it away with a large silver pizza pan, which he held in front of him like a Roman shield.

  “Shoo!” he shouted. “Get!”

  The animal leaped toward Mr. Balm, but he blocked the hit with the pan, again.

  “You want food? Huh?” He waved a pizza slice in front of the animal’s face. Its eyes followed it. “Here! Here’s some food!”

  Mr. Balm threw the pizza slice out toward the street, then threw four more, like triangular Frisbees. I watched, stunned, as the animal trudged back down the driveway, toward the food. It inhaled the pizza in a matter of seconds
.

  I waited for it to come back. I waited for it to finish its appetizer and head back over for its flavorful main course. But it didn’t—it devoured the last cheesy slice, and kept on walking.

  Mr. Balm turned to us, a heroic expression on his face. He strapped his backpack on and tossed the pizza pan down to the grass.

  “Whoa,” I said. “You just… you just…”

  “I know,” Frankie said. “You saved our lives!”

  He tilted his head to the left, tried to appear modest. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

  “That thing was going to kill us!” Frankie shouted. He ran up to Mr. Balm and hugged him like he was his own father. “How’d you do that? That pan wasn’t strong enough to hold that thing back!”

  “I think it recognized me,” Mr. Balm said, surprised by Frankie’s affection. “I bumped into it last night, in the dark. It’s less threatening than it looks.”

  “What was it?” Frankie asked. Beads of sweat dripped off his forehead.

  “I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’m not going to let you kids out of my sight. It’s a strange world out there, and I’ll forever regret it if you two continue without my help.”

  “Really?” I said. “You’d come with us?”

  “Of course. What was your destination? Seattle, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Good. There’s something I need in Seattle, too.”

  “Yeah? Well, that's perfect then.” I shrugged at Frankie. “So are we ready?”

  “All ready here,” Frankie said.

  “Me too.” Mr. Balm turned around. “Where's the dog?”

  Judy appeared from behind the bush, shaking. Frankie and I took turns petting the poor terrier and we both kissed her tiny head. It took a minute, but she bounced back to her normal self, and raced up to Mr. Balm. She leaped to his knees and tried to get him to pet her, too.

  “I guess Judy wants you to come with us,” I said, with a grin.

  Mr. Balm petted the dog, but he stayed focused on me and Frankie. “All I ask of you guys is that you stay close to me, and that you do as I say. I’ve faced a few of these creatures already, and I’ve been in lots of dangerous situations before. I guarantee you, if you want to survive this, whatever this is, you need to follow my directions. Understand?”