I sit down on the other bench and look across at her. “Is your apple delicious?”
“It’s okay.”
“How come you’re sitting out here with a piece of fruit instead of having dinner with your family?”
“None of your business,” Michelle says.
She looks away for a moment. Her face is tight with concealed pain. The swing, moving back and forth on the branch, makes an occasional high-pitched squeaking noise.
“My own family is having turkey meat loaf,” I tell her.
“My sister says it’s worse than dog food. I would rather be sitting out here with you. Can I help push the swing?”
She looks back at me. “Uh-huh.”
I put my feet on the other side of the lever. She pushes it toward me. I push it back to her. Our toes brush.
“There’s a new club forming at school,” I tell her. “It’s an environmental group called the Teen Green Team. I am thinking of joining.”
“I heard about it,” she says.
“So are you thinking about joining, too?”
“No, I’ve got orchestra practice after school. Anyway, it sounds like kind of a waste of time to me. Things are so messed up. How can anyone make a difference?”
I look back at her and think about the last readings we took from space. Global warming melting the ice caps. Deforestation on every continent. Coral dying. Fish stocks crashing. Poor Planet Earth spiraling into ruin. “Maybe you’re right.”
“No, you should join,” she says. “Seriously, you should try it.” She hesitates a long beat. “Tom, I’m sorry I called you an alien.”
“You were angry at me because of your shoes,” I say. “I understand. I hope you were able to clean them.”
“I just threw them out.”
“Human vomit has an adhesive quality that makes it difficult to dissolve, but warm water and soap would have done it.”
Michelle takes another bite of the apple. Her blue eyes study my face. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Please.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way. Why are you so weird?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do you intentionally try to act weird? Or is that just the way you really are?”
I wish I could answer Michelle’s question truthfully. I would like to tell her about the Galactic Confederation and its wise and benevolent policies. If she knew that there were thousands and thousands of gentle and peaceful life-forms out there, watching over and helping each other, she might be able to go into her house and have dinner with her family and sleep better at night.
I would also enjoy telling her about some of the beautiful things I’ve seen on my space voyages. This sunset on Planet Earth is quite pleasant, but it doesn’t compare to the rainbow twilight of Tau Ori or the pink comet showers of Kaus Meridianalis.
But of course I can’t tell her any of these things. All I can do is hint at the truth. “It’s just the way I am.”
“Why?” she asks. “I’ve lived next to you all my life and I just don’t get it.”
“I guess I’m not like everybody else,” I tell her in a whisper. “I look at life on Planet Earth a little differently.”
She finishes the apple and flips the core into the gathering darkness. “But why? You haven’t answered my question.”
I look back at her, open my mouth, and then close it again. The metal swing brackets scrape over the tree branch above our heads.
“Okay,” she finally says. “None of my business, right? It’s getting cold. We’d better go in.”
15
To:
[email protected] Subject: How to Sauté a Skunk
Revered Galactic Confederation Elders. I am once again encrypting this entry, using a file name that no Earthling will be tempted to scan.
My first day on Planet Earth is finally over. This is indeed a cruel and violent place.
All is now silent in the Filber home, but two hours ago there was a terrible fight between my mother and father. It took place in their bedroom so I did not witness the encounter, but I could tell by the cries and sounds of breaking objects that it quickly escalated into violence.
My sister finally started screaming for them to stop, and my father fled out of the bedroom, up the stairs, into his attic office. I believe he is still there, trying to put his brain to sleep with late-night TV.
GC ethicists may be right that we should eliminate the human race before new weapons of mass destruction wreak havoc on the weak, or destroy the global environment, but after my first day on Planet Earth, I see another reason we may need to use the Gagnerian Death Ray. All humans seem to live in such a perpetual state of pain that putting them out of their misery would be an extremely merciful act.
I am not speaking merely of physical pain. Every person I have gotten to know so far seems to be lonely, confused, and wallowing in sadness and regret. There is no logical reason for such pervasive torment. Humans seem inclined to create for themselves as much suffering as they can possibly endure, and sometimes even a trifle more.
As I write this on Tom Filber’s laptop computer, my right leg is stretched out on a chair, with an ice bag above the kneecap. Tom’s body sustained several cuts and bruises when I was beaten on the way to school this morning. I have applied primitive human medical techniques such as ice, disinfectant, and Band-Aids to these wounds, but they still hurt.
I am willing to suffer pain and indignity to complete my GC mission, but I now see that there is a serious risk of being maimed or even killed by an enraged Earthling. I have there fore decided to carry my Emergency Contact Wibbler with me at all times. I am encasing my ECW inside an old package of miniature sugar doughnuts so it will escape detection by an overly inquisitive Earthling. If I am threatened with imminent annihilation, I will wibble the spaceship at our prearranged decimeter band frequency.
Please respond immediately. If I send an emergency wibble, it means the situation is dire.
Speaking of dire situations, I have just finished reading the new Lugonian plea for the immediate extinction of Homo sapiens and the resettlement of Planet Earth. It must be terrifying when one’s home star stops generating energy from nuclear fusion. I feel for the young Lugonians, living under the constant threat that their sun will experience gravitational collapse into a black hole.
I have known several Lugonians and found them to be among the most charming and gentle creatures in the galaxy. There is no doubt in my mind that if they inherited this jewel of a planet they would quickly clean it up and cherish it. The endangered life-forms on Planet Earth would thrive under their wise stewardship.
Nevertheless, humans got here first. They are native to this world, and they cannot be exterminated merely out of sympathy for the Lugonians. I will require a little more time to complete my evaluation.
For a species of such limited intelligence, humans are surprisingly complicated. I have experienced their cruelty firsthand and my body literally bears the scars, but I have also seen that some members of the species are capable of friendly and generous behavior. My neighbor is a kind girl, and Miss Schroeder, the school psychologist, was attempting to help me. I must not be rushed to judgment in condemning them all.
It is now two in the morning and I am online and wearing earphones. I have listened to every song in Tom Filber’s extensive music collection. These fall into three genres: hip-hop, punk, and industrial. As I write this, I am listening to a gangster rapper named Shorty D. Long singing about putting a cap in his ho.
One can draw a straight line from the epics of Homer to this rap song by Shorty D. Long. All of human art seems dedicated to the glorification of violence and the romanticization of the impulse to procreate. The first is frequently called warfare and the second is known as love. They are both, of course, empty and artificial constructs.
Today in class I was introduced to William Shakespeare’s plays. I am now perusing them online. They are full of brutal violence and f
rustrated lovers.
I have just finished reading Romeo and Juliet, the most famous human love story. These two teenagers are so infatuated with each other they both end up dead for no reason at all! Romeo poisons himself and kisses Juliet. Juliet wakes up, sees that he is dead, and kisses him to try to share the poison. Only human beings would try to invest two teenagers’ hormonal attraction to each other, culminating in a simple touching of the lips, with such absurd dramatic poignancy.
The body of Tom Filber requires at least a few hours’ sleep a night, so I will sign off in just a moment.
I look out the window and see that the light has finally been turned off in Michelle Peabody’s bedroom across the way. I wonder what kept her awake so long into the night? Perhaps it was the same thing that kept her out on the swing during dinnertime.
I wonder what her bedroom looks like. Pink seems to be a color that many girls favor. But Michelle doesn’t seem to me like a pink girl.
But I digress, venerable Elders. Please assure the Preceptors that I am focused and hard at work. Today was a big first step. Tomorrow I will no doubt gain a much keener appreciation of what it means to be human.
Please keep monitoring for my emergency wibble. Suburban New Jersey turns out to be a war zone, and I may require your intervention at any moment.
Signing off now. Your humble evaluator, Ketchvar III.
16
Earth mission, day two. I am a little more careful about walking to school. Avoid bullies. Don’t take shortcuts through secluded alleyways. When necessary, duck behind trees and let obnoxious classmates pass by. This is known as street smarts. I, Ketchvar III, am learning to survive on Planet Earth.
I see some older teenagers coming and hear their raised voices. Ah, here’s a convenient member of family Fagaceae, genus Quercus. I duck behind the large oak tree and wait for them to pass.
A few seconds later I hear a deep voice. “Hey, slow down, Flabber, I mean Filber. I just want to talk to you. You owe me twenty dollars.”
I hear my sister’s voice answer, “I don’t owe you anything. I wrote the paper.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t pay twenty dollars for a C.”
“We can get low grades on our own, Boulder Butt,” another voice chips in. There is mocking laughter.
I peek out from behind the tree and see that three boys, even bigger than Scott, are walking right behind my sister. She holds her cello in one hand, keeps her head down, and tries to walk very fast.
The tallest of the boys has a baby face, sandy brown hair, and enormous biceps. He grabs her backpack and tugs on it. “Where’s my twenty bucks? Did your old man find it and piss it away already? I saw him yesterday at the Emerald Tavern. He was having a liquid lunch. Is that his office?”
My sister tries to walk away from them, but the big kid is not letting go of her backpack. “Whoa, Nellie. Did anyone give you permission to leave? I want my money back, and I’m not playing around.”
I recall how it felt when Scott was picking on me and no one came to my aid. There is no one on this street who can help my sister except me.
I spot a single-seeded nut of genus Quercus on the ground, encased in a cup-shaped cupule. I bend and pick up the acorn and hold it in my hand. As an evaluator it is my duty to observe but not interfere. On the other hand, she is my sister.
“I wrote you an A paper,” Sally says. “It’s not my fault if Mr. Sanderson’s an idiot.” She tries to sound calm, but I hear panic in her voice.
“Whose fault is it?” the big kid demands. “You didn’t do the job. Give me back my money or this is gonna get ugly fast.”
Sally tries to get away but he won’t let go. His friends laugh as she gets more and more upset.
“Watch out, Jace. She might sit on you.”
I access the consciousness of Tom Filber. Should I throw the acorn and try to distract them?
Are you crazy? comes the response. That’s Jason Harbishaw. He’s the worst bully in the whole high school. Stay hidden! Just be glad it’s not you.
But she’s my sister. There’s a family bond.
There’s no bond. She hates your guts. Let her take her lumps.
Sally yanks hard on her backpack to try to free it, and it pops open. Books and papers fly out and land all over the ground. “Now look what you’ve done, Flabber,” Jason says. “Here, let me help you pick that up.” He pretends to help but kicks a book out of Sally’s hand.
“STOP IT!” Her voice starts to crack apart.
I step out from behind the tree and hurl the acorn. This is the first time that I, Ketchvar III, have ever tried to intentionally harm a fellow living creature. I hate to admit this, but as the acorn connects with Jason’s head I feel a thrilling sense of satisfaction. I can only conclude that having assumed the body of a human being, I am now subject to their primitive bellicose impulses.
“Ouch,” Jason shouts. “What the hell was that?”
I duck back behind the tree.
“What was what, bud?” his friend asks.
“Something whacked me in the head!”
“It was just a stupid acorn, dude. There it is on the grass. It must have fallen off this tree.”
“No, somebody winged it at me. It wasn’t you two fools?”
“Not me,” says fool number one.
“I didn’t throw an acorn at you,” the other chimes in.
“And it wasn’t Boulder Butt,” Jason notes. “Who else is here?”
They look around. I flatten myself up against the oak tree. Perhaps I should have followed Tom’s advice. It appears that to survive and flourish as a human being on Planet Earth, it is a wise policy not to try to help someone else in trouble.
Footsteps approach. I have no place to hide. I consider pulling out my Emergency Contact Wibbler, but that would expose and terminate my mission and doom species Homo sapiens over a single thrown acorn. Surely I can find a way out of this on my own.
Jason spots me, grabs my arm, and drags me out of hiding. “Look what I found!”
“Unhand me,” I say.
“I might un-head you,” Jason growls. “Did you throw this acorn at me?”
I look back at him. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“You were harassing my sister.”
“Her ass is definitely pretty huge.” Jason laughs.
Sally has now gathered up all her papers. She tries to sneak away while they’re focused on me. “Hey, where are you running off to?” fool number one demands.
She glances at me. “He’s the one who hit you with the acorn. Take it out on him!”
“I’m gonna take it out on him,” Jason promises, and steps toward me with a cruel smile. “C’mere, punk.”
EEE-EEEPPPP. EEE-EEEEPPP. A siren shrills from the street behind us. Jason instantly lowers his arm and drops the acorn. A police car has turned up the block. It pulls to a stop next to us. The window rolls down and a cop calls out, “Is there a problem here?”
“No, sir,” Jason says. “We’re on our way to school.”
“Then get going,” the cop says. “School is that way!”
Jason and his friends walk away.
The cop looks us over and frowns. “You’re Graham Filber’s kids, aren’t you?”
Sally doesn’t seem inclined to identify herself with me in any way. She busily checks her backpack to make sure all her papers are there.
“Yes, sir,” I say. “He is our father and we are his off spring.”
“I hear he’s been hitting the sauce a little hard.”
I am at a loss. “What is hitting the sauce?”
“Don’t get smart with me. Tell your father to ease off the booze or Sergeant Collins is going to have to have a talk with him. Now off to school. Move it.”
Sally and I hurry down the street. The police car trails us for a short while and then veers off.
I am alone with my sister.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She is walking with her head down, much the way
she looked when she was trying to escape from the bullies.
“You should not be writing their papers in exchange for money,” I advise her. “That is called plagiarism and it is a serious academic infraction.”
She continues walking quickly, ignoring me.
“Don’t let their insults bother you,” I add. “There is no shame in having a prominent gluteus maximus. In many human cultures, a large buttock region is considered a desirable sign of strength and fertility in females.”
She looks at me. “Do me a favor? Shut your mouth and spare me the sarcasm. And whatever you heard today about my business stays my business.” Her eyes narrow dangerously. “If you breathe a word of it, I swear you’ll regret it.”
We walk on a bit. The brick facade of Winthrop P. Muller High School appears in the distance.
“Is our dad really hitting the sauce?” I ask her.
“Who knows and who cares. He’s even more of a loser than you are.”
The main entrance of our school is now visible. “Let me go in first,” she says. “You stay back here. Don’t let people see us together.”
I stop walking. “Okay. Goodbye, Sally.”
She takes two steps toward the school and then stops walking. She hesitates and then looks back at me. For one moment the mask of bitterness that she seems to wear at all times for self-protection falls away. “Why did you throw that acorn at Jason?”
“Because you are my sister and you needed help.”
She considers this for a moment, and I see that my words and my friendly tone almost get through to her. Then she pulls back, and the mask slams back across her face. “Yeah, right. Since when do you try to help me?”
I glance at my watch. “Since six minutes and twenty-seven seconds ago.”
I see a glimmer of doubt on her face. Then it is replaced by her usual look of cold disdain. “Whatever game you’re playing, give it up,” she says. “ ‘Cause it won’t work. Don’t follow me to school. Don’t even talk to me. Keep your mouth shut about anything you heard. Just stay away from me.”