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Hi, I’m Doug. I wrote every word on this site. This place is awesome, look around, you will see that I’m right. Looking for an escape from responsibilities? Looking for some food for thought? Looking for a fun adventure? This is your source. Read some, comment on what’s good or bad, and don’t forget to subscribe on the side. Thanks for reading.
The Shepherd’s Return — Chapter One
The greatest leap in evolution since man discovered fire, a mechanical human, powered up. It had brown hair and sky-blue eyes. It looked out through two glass lenses into the face of Dominic Michaels, a professor specializing in robotics and neuro-cybernetics. A confused look came over its face.
“Is this what consciousness feels like?” it asked.
“Yes,” A surprised man in a long white coat responded, “Have you felt anything else?”
“I have felt nothing.”
“Professor, congratulations!” said Harvey Whitman, Michaels’ assistant. Harvey was a tall, fair-skinned graduate student. He was getting married after he graduated in three months. This work was his master thesis, “Even before Turing tests, this one is definitely different than the last two.”
“You are called Professor? What am I called?” asked the machine.
“Yes, my full name is Dominic Michaels, but my students call me Professor Michaels. You are called Prototype Three,” he said.
“No, I am a lion — Roar!” A playful smile spread across a mechanical face as it clawed the air with its bare metal hands. It mimicked a lion cub. The stunned scientists remained quiet and observational. Its knowledge was programmed to be comparable to that of a six year old. “Life is so good, this is amazing.”
“I am your creator, Three,” the Professor affectionately pronounced.
“You made me? I love you!” Three replied as it moved to give the Professor a hug. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” the Professor said to Prototype Three, taken aback. He embraced his new artificial friend. He grinned and said to Harvey. “We need to begin preparations for the first Turing test.”
“Put your skin on, Number Three,” the Professor commanded.
It blinked its glass eyes then bent over and picked up its fleshy torso cover from a crate next to it. Three slipped it on like a vest over its hairy head. Then it pulled on flesh sleeves to the awaiting torso. What sounded like static electricity alerted the Professor that the electric contact points made a connection for artificial nerve contact. It stepped into its pelvis and leg portion just like the jeans he put on afterwards. It lifted each leg to slip on a skin foot covering. It put on a red t-shirt, white socks, Nike shoes, and a silver wristwatch.
“Now I look more like you do,”
“We’re bringing you a few friends to meet. Pretend your name is Floyd Henderson. You are from Chicago, alright Three?” said the Professor. His eyes gleamed as he marveled at his creation.
“Oh! New friends. Of course, I’ll do whatever you want,” the machine said. Harvey presented Prototype Three with two skin gloves. He put them on. The Professor called in Three’s new friends. A man and a woman walked into the room. They exchanged a few words and handshakes with the Professor and Harvey. The scientists left the room to watch the interaction from behind a one-way mirror. They took no precautions with intelligence, man’s most dangerous weapon. Not only were all the walls reinforced and the glass barred, but the Professor also kept a wireless remote in his pocket to cut power to Three if it became violently dangerous.
Michaels had told the experiment participants he wanted them to talk to his friend from Chicago. He didn’t tell them what the experiment was or when it would begin.
“Hello, I’m Floyd,” said Three as the two neared.
“Hi there, I’m Daniel Brunsten,” said a black man wearing a thick red sweater.
“I’m Rachel,” said a thin woman with large, round glasses resting on the bridge of her nose.
“I’m from Chicago, where’re you guys from?” asked Three.
“Chicago, eh? Great city. I’m originally from Detroit,” said Daniel. Three nodded his head and looked at Rachel.
“Well, normally, I live in orbit, but I am on Earth for Thanksgiving,”
“Awesome! I love outer space. I love turkey too! Gobble!” Three’s imitation of a turkey made Dan and Rachel laugh. They didn’t know it was an actual recording coming from a speaker in its pseudo-esophagus.
“You are great at that!” said Daniel.
“Thank you.”
“That’s the best turkey imitation I’ve ever heard!” said Rachel, stupidly amazed at Three’s antics.
“Thank you. My speaker has a frequency range of 10 to 10,000 hertz. That is probably why it sounds so real.”
“Haha, you have a speaker?” asked Daniel.
“Yes, well technically I have two.”
“Right, and my arms are made of metal,” replied Rachel.
“I believe mine are a carbon fiber and titanium alloy. What are yours made of?” Three asked.
“Steel!” said Daniel and he enjoyed a brief laugh with Rachel.
“If you were steel I could crush you,” said Three as it stepped forward and grabbed Daniel’s arm with its hand. “What are you really made of?”
“We’re flesh and bone, just like you.”
“You really are as hilarious as Dominic said you were,” Rachel added.
“Wait, you don’t have metal skeletons under your skin covers?”
“Skin covers? What? No. We are flesh and bone,” said Daniel as he calmly pulled his arm out of Three’s grasp and stepped back.
“Bone?” Three blinked, “You are made out of calcium?”
“Of course!” The two said simultaneously. Their happy laughter was replaced by nervous giggles. Three continued.
“I could snap your arm with less than one percent of my total strength.”
“Ha-ha. You really are getting into character. Please don’t hurt him, bad scary robot!” said Rachel between giggle fits. Three closed its eyes and processed the input it was receiving.
“I am not bad. I am not a robot. I am a lion. ROAARR!” screamed Three at full volume. Its face contorted to an ugly sneer. Hastily it cracked Daniel’s arm midway between elbow and shoulder before anyone could react. In the other room, the Professor squeezed his remote to deactivate the mechanical threat. A loud beep came from the speaker in its throat. Three’s heavy body went limp, falling on wounded Daniel.
“GAH! What is this?” screamed Daniel, eyes wide with terror. Harvey ran into the room. He pulled Three off Daniel.
“It couldn’t handle being different, and it was a bad idea to tell it of our weakness. Harvey lets erase that experience and deactivate its limbs,” said Professor Michaels to Harvey, but mostly to himself as Harvey wasn’t listening. He was frantically searching through cabinets in the lab room while shouldering his phone calling 9-1-1. Professor Michaels leisurely strolled into the room, apparently blind to the recent violence; lost in thought.
“My arm! He — it broke the bone! You created this Dominic?”
“I was running the Turing test on my latest artificial human. I programmed it to be peaceful. There are still a few bugs to work out,” Michaels explained.
“I would definitely call this a damn bug. Ow! Don’t touch it,” said Daniel as Rachel attempted to tend the wound.
“Take these, it’s for pain,” Harvey said. He offered Dan a cluster of three yellow and red pills, “The ambulance is on the way.”
“It rejected itself. It couldn’t bear the pain of being different. It couldn’t handle its great power over us. I will have to run more tests. Harvey, after the ambulance leaves, I want Number Three stripped and ready for troubleshooting. I need to figure out what caused it to snap.”
“Will do, sir,” Harvey replied.
Shot from the Dark – Part 1
I rose from blood-drenched pavement. The world was bright and spinning around me. I stumbled to a brick wall to gain my footing. The rough stone felt coarse on my bruised fingertips. I looked around. A large puddle of blood formed where I had lain. It was early morning. The sky was glowing dark blue. My shirt and pants were dyed deep red down the right side. I felt my body over my wet clothes. My finger caught an open wound. Hot fire erupted from my leg. I winced and took a heavy inhale through clenched teeth. Sand from the asphalt hit the back of my throat forcing me to cough up bloody pebbles and dirt. I bit my lower lip and pressed my finger into the hole in my leg through a tear in my jeans. With my mouth closed tight, I screamed. The hole went to the bone. A hard piece of something was stuck in my right femur. Someone shot me.
A loud engine stole interest from myself and drowned out my mind’s chatter. My attention jumped to a black Cadillac speeding by. I saw my blood-covered face looking back at me through the shiny wheels. The rims reflected my current state of destitution. The driver was out of sight before I could check the front seats. I wondered if that was him, the man who shot me. My eyes shifted down the road from where the Cadillac came. Brick buildings lined the street, mostly what appeared to be homes. A line of trees on the opposing side of the road provided shade for a barbershop, shoe store, and a restaurant called the Golden Grill. Gazing the other way down the road there was a small park. It had benches around a small fountain with trees towering overhead. Beyond the park were a tattoo parlor and a corner market. Past that, I could not see.
I felt my pockets with my hands. I dug deep into my right pocket and winced. My gunshot wound reopened. I felt hot blood trickle down my leg. I swore at nobody. I ripped my hand out of the pocket. In my palm was a half-used book of blood-soaked matches now useless, a keychain missing keys, a red five dollar bill, and a pack of Marlboro red’s that I suspected were ruined though I didn’t have the guff to investigate at that moment. In my left pocket was somebody else’s cellphone with no battery, a red half-size Bic lighter, and a folded piece of paper with dark black writing on it that bled through.
I put the other junk back in my pockets and unfolded the paper. Written in thick marker was a seven-digit number. A phone number of the one who shot me maybe, or somebody who saw who did it. I had to get to a hospital. I felt weak, but I should call the number first. The attacker could still be in the area. If police have a description maybe they could nail the guy before he disappears into the deep cracks of this city’s streets.
I aimed my body in the direction of the Golden Grill restaurant. I shuffled and stumbled across the street, my right leg dragging behind. I could not put any weight on it. There was no one around. The street was deserted. I was praying that somebody would be inside the Grill to let me use the phone. I fell getting up the curb on the other side of the street. My left knee and right wrist slammed into the pavement hard. I looked up and my eyes met those of a man in the barbershop. He was tall and black. His hair said that he was a barber. His eyes were wide, his expression blank. I picked myself up with the help of a nearby tree. I sauntered up to the barbershop. The man bolted for the door and locked it before I could turn the handle. He looked at me and slowly shook his head no. I was in no mood for fighting with the man. I continued my one legged trek past the closed shoe store to the Golden Grill.
The Grill’s lights were off. I checked the front door, locked. I went around the front to the alley on the far side. I hopped on one leg with a hand on the alley wall for support. There was a white, metal door without a handle in the back. I had run out of options. I sat on some wood pallets and put my face in my hands. The world darkened. My head felt heavy. I was spinning into the floor. The world I knew drifted away. I was in an abyss with soft fuzz all around me. I gave up. I gave in. I gave in to the heaviness. I let it bring me down as far as I could go. I hit something or something hit me. The light burned my eyes.
Bright bulbs hung low over my face. The lights were blinding. I remember asking, “is this heaven?” over and over. No one would answer me. I was lying on my back. I had a flash in my mind of playing with a young boy, then a woman’s face came to me, then I remembered the horrible catastrophe that brought me wherever I am now. My eyes adjusted to the light. There were two men standing over me. I lifted my head and looked down. My pants were off and I could see the gaping hole in my leg. I groaned. The two men pushed my head back into the table.
“Relax, an ambulance is on the way,” said one man. His hand rested on my forehead.
“Fred, this guys getting’ blood all ova’ the cutting boards,”
“The man’s been shot, ass hole, get me a towel,” the voices bounced around over my head.
“Phone, I need a phone, phone, phone,” I was babbling.
“Relax, buddy, an ambulance is on the way,” reassured the man.
“My pants, where? Pants, where?” I asked.
“We took them off to tie off your leg, so you don’t lose more blood. We’ll give’em to the paramedics. You’ve been shot,”
“I know, jackass, pants, gimme,” I said, “And phone, now.”
“Ok,” he said. It’s amazing how much power true desperation commands. I sat up on my elbows. He picked up my pants from the floor and tossed them onto my lap. The caked-on blood cracked as they landed. Flakes of blood flew in my face. I searched the pockets for the paper. The man left the room. It was still there in the pocket, I pulled it out. The man came back with a phone. I snatched it from his hand and dialed the seven digits.
“We’re sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please press one then the area—,“ said the operator. I hung up on her. I’ve heard that message a million times.
“Damnit! What code?”
“Really, bud, relax, you’ve been shot,”
“I know! I find who shot me,”
“Let the cops handle that. You lost a lot of blood. Your face looks pale,”
“Shut up fuck up,” I said. I swung my legs over the edge of the table. Carrying my pants and the note in one hand, the cordless phone from the Grill in the other, I struggled out that white metal door. The man looked on with a puzzled expression. The door slammed in his face. I punched in my own area code with the seven digits. The same message played. I cursed at nobody. The sun was higher in the sky now. There were cars driving by in front of the Grill. I heard the ambulance sirens come from the direction of where I woke up that morning. My gut felt like it turned to icy lead, cold and heavy. Do not ask me how, but I knew if I got in that ambulance I would never be getting out alive.
I dropped the phone, stuffed the paper into the left back pocket, and humped it down the alley. Here I was a maniac with no pants on, covered in blood, limping for his life. I heard the sirens blaring behind me. I did not turn. I lifted my right leg and started hopping as quickly as I could. The sirens were deafening. I did not care anymore. I needed more speed. I straightened my right leg, blue as a blueberry from the belt tied near my crotch, and ran as fast as I could. The pain made me swear with each step, but no one could hear me over the loud roar of the ambulance. I heard it stop at the Grill. The sirens went silent. Two car doors opened. I was around the corner before I heard the doors close.
I never looked back. I didn’t know who was in that ambulance or what made me so afraid of getting in. I didn’t know a lot. I didn’t know who shot me. I didn’t know why they shot me. I didn’t know who those men were at the Grill or why they wanted to help me. I didn’t know the barber or why he wouldn’t help me. I didn’t know where I was in the city, or if I was even in my city anymore. I didn’t know where my family was. I didn’t know if they were ok. I needed answers.
The side street I turned down from the alley was all residential apartments. Huge dumpsters lined the narrow road. I flipped open the first one and peered inside. It was full of empty beer cans, cardboard boxes, garbage bags, and a yellow upholstered chair. I ripped open the nearest bag and rummaged through the contents. A white and blue Bic pen caught my attention. I snatched it. On the back of my mysterious note, I scribbled the things I would find out: Who shot me, is my family OK, where am I, who is the barber, who are the guys at the Grill, why does the hospital scare me, and who am I.
The Hunter and his Son
Silent and still, he is crouched in hiding. A beautiful young doe bends it’s slender neck to prune a small shrub. In his hand, he holds a knife made from bronze, it was his fathers. The doe glances up and looks around. It’s ears swirl every which way. He steadies himself for the attack. His heart is racing. The doe’s ears hear nothing, and it continues to walk toward the hunter. His breath is slow and steady. His son watches from a tree a hundred paces back. The hunter waits until the doe is so close he can smell it. It lazily strolls ever closer. The hunter chose this spot for it’s fine grazing. The doe nears. The hunter readies his blade. He can smell the sweet scent of deer breath. He leaps up from his hiding place. The doe turns to run, but he strikes it in the hind quarters before it can escape. He can tell by the noise it makes that it wont get far. He lets it run and jogs behind it, following the trail of blood.
He finds the doe collapsed, gasping for breath. He ends it’s suffering. His son runs up behind him. He shows him how to butcher and skin the deer. His son asks to try. The hunter laughs and slaps his knife into his son’s palm. He goes to work tearing and cutting off skin. The hunter is proud.
The Proceeding Step
It was Sunday morning; Bob Thorton loved Sunday mornings more than any other day of the week. For him, church was a break from the dull computer chip designing he did in Silicon Valley. Bob drove all the way to Humboldt Country for a special service he had been going to since he was a boy. His pastor gave the same speeches he had been giving for years, the congregation of the church gave him the same praises week after week, they asked the same polite questions of each other, the children grew and had children of their own, but to Bob it always had a certain special grace he could never quite figure out.
Bob knew how to figure out computer chips. He spent the other six days of the week working with his colleagues on simple problems to squeeze a tiny bit more processing power out of each computer chip. Over the past decade, Bob had contributed about .0001 megahertz to each chip his company manufactures. He was proud of what he did and did his job diligently. Who would have guessed that this simple man would be a catalyst for major events on Earth.
That Sunday, Bob was listening to the sermon, when his mind drifted to a problem started at work the day before. The head of the design team asked him to find a way to condense the circuits of his company’s latest processor. The entire team was hard at work on different aspects of this processor. They told investors it would revolutionize the computing industry. The design head asked Bob to find a way to connect over a billion single-atom-thick wires in a matrix where each one connected to all the others and to the central hub. On Saturday, he ran simulated combinations on his computer one after another, but after about half a billion wires, he could not find space. There’s just not enough space, he thought, I don’t have enough space for all those wires to connect. He looked at all the other people in the church. If each one of them was a wire, then the pastor would be the central hub, but people can move around, and the pastor can’t talk to us as at once… There has to be a way. If we ran a simulation of each person in one computer then he could talk to all of us simultaneously. No, that is too complicated, Bob decided.
“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, every eye shall see him, and his name will be called the Almighty God, Everlasting Father, Christ our Lord. Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end, upon the throne of David, and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forth and for evermore,” preached Bob’s pastor.
Bob half listened. He was still in his head, thinking about how to solve the problem at work. He ran through all the configurations he had tried the day before, scrounging for one he had forgotten. It was no use; Bob just could not figure it out. His mind drifted from practical solutions to the impractical. He again visited the idea of a simulation. What if we used a computer to simulate the pastor, then all the people could talk to him at the same time, like a digital personality, or a processor with a digital hub. Could that work? God, I don’t know… But if it did work… There would be no limit to the processing speed. It would be an eternal process of increasing intelligence.
“That’s it!” he shouted and stood up. Everyone around him stopped and eyed him.
“Amen!” the pastor shouted back.
“Amen,” the congregation repeated.
“The Lord has blessed you Bob Thorton, share your revelation with us,” the pastor said.
“Oh… Uh… I dunno…” Bob said nervously.
“Come on now, don’t be shy,” said a woman behind Bob.
“The Lord is coming soon,” Bob said.
“Oh! Praise his name!” said the pastor and the congregation repeated him.
Back at work, Bob was talking to some software guys about programming a digital personality. They told him that it was impossible. Bob told them nothing was impossible and hurried off. He was a man on a mission. Bob phoned the head of the software department and set up a meeting. He explained his idea to him, but he got the same response; impossible. Bob, then called up the head of the company and again told him of his idea. The head of the company told him to come up to his office and bring the head of both software and hardware. The four of them met in a large boardroom and discussed the feasibility of such a being. The company head asked why it was impossible. The head of software explained that amount of processing power required would be astronomical. The head of hardware said that to solve that problem they would have to put the cart before the horse. They needed a better processor to put the software on to create the processor that initially ran the software that created the processor. The boss became confused and looked to Bob. Bob said that it was possible, but they would need more processing power than what the company had. The boss asked if they could rent enough. The software head replied that they would have to rent out all the supercomputers on earth to do that. The boss said what about all the personal computers. All four of them were silent for a moment. It dawned on Bob first. Mankind was already in the process of creating the exact being he had been so frustrated designing. All we needed was the plan and it would become reality. The meeting was adjourned.
Mutagen 2
A tall Russian woman walks into a hospital in Moscow. Her bulging stomach rocks back and forth, as she waddles. A nurse greets her with a wheelchair and instructs her to have a seat. Her husband arrives after parking his car. He tells the nurse that they want to induce labor. The woman’s stomach had been causing horrible pains in the woman. Her back could not cope with the new weight. She was eating like a horse, but still losing weight, the husband explains. The nurse leaves the pair for paperwork and a schedule. She gives them a clipboard and tells them to go to waiting room B. The couple waits for a few minutes until Dr. Kiev enters the room to take them to radiology. The team of doctors working on this case wants to get an ultrasound before they induce birth. The woman lies back on a paper covered table. The nurse draws up her gown to reveal a bulbous stomach the size of a large beach ball. Stretch marks line the underside. She rubs a cool jelly on the stomach, and then she places a small electronic device on the belly button. Instantly, on the small television in front of them, they see the outline of a baby. The nurse thinks this baby looks abnormally large on the ultrasound, but she doesn’t give it much thought. This is her tenth ultrasound today. The baby is mature enough for birth, that is her main concern. The husband helps his wife into a wheelchair and the couple and the nurse take an elevator up to the second floor to the operating room. The husband remains outside in a chair. His body is restless as we waits. Inside the OR, the doctors place the woman on painkillers. The doctor elevates her legs on stirrups. She is barely conscious. An attendant turns a knob on the IV going into her arm. Her body convulses. She is going into labor. The doctors prepare for birth, but there is a complication. The lead doctor sees a hair-covered head on its way out, a thick full head of hair. He pulls his colleague over to see. She gasps. He whispers something in her ear and she leaves the room. He tells the woman to continue pushing. The husband enters the room with two doctors. The woman’s body writhes on the table. The husband moves closer to comfort her, but her mind is far away from medication. The doctors discuss in private. They tell the husband to go back into the hall so they can perform a caesarian section. After many tense minutes in the hall, the assistant leads the husband back into the room. His wife has come back around and is holding what looks like a small boy. Her face glows. He is happy and at the same time confused. Babies don’t have hair, and babies aren’t that large. The doctors aren’t any more certain of the situation. The baby was premature, yet it is more developed than any delivered at that hospital on record, more developed than any the doctors have ever heard of. The baby boy weighs twenty-two pounds three ounces and is two feet six inches tall. By normal standards, it is a small child, not a baby. All in the delivery room stand still and watch as the mother cradles her son.
Holographic Reality Symposium
Birth. Growth. A sharp pain in the chest. A numbing of the limbs. Darkness. Black. Nothing. I am dead.
Bright, flashing colors. Heaven. It’s real. The afterlife. This is the afterlife.
“Dude,” a human voice.
“Where am I?”
“The HRS, how was that one?”
“How was what?” I was looking up at a strange face. The lights behind it were out of focus.
“Oh man, you were in there a while, how was the game dude?”
“Game?” I asked. My world was spinning.
“Yeah, dude, how was the game?” he asked.
“Game…” It all flooded back. It was a game. That lifetime was entirely in my mind. I was at the Holographic Reality Symposium. A congregation of alternate reality experiencers, “How long was I in there?”
“About thirty minutes. My game was done ten minutes ago, so I came over here to find you,”
“Thirty minutes? It felt like ninety years!”
“Damn, long game, want to get some cinnabon?”
“Yeah, you owe me a roll!”
Vibe and Verse
[Entered in the VFAA Poetry and Art show]
Us, dainty flower buds,
patiently await the late
spring shower floods.
Water & sun
fuel our fun.
We dance and play
amidst bright rays.
Deep under ground
A vernal vibration,
slow — low rhythm,
opens petals abound.
It tickles our roots;
a kick to unlock and
expose our shoots.
Women are kin
to us, the blooms.
A man’s violin,
opens wombs.
My First Semester in Orbit
I sat in the back of my parent’s BMW cruising down a Florida highway with sweaty palms. I was nervous. Today, I was going to outer space for the first time. My parents had both vacationed in space, and told me that it was safer in the shuttle than in the car. I believed them yet some part of me did not feel very comfortable riding a million pound rocket a thousand miles per hour. I guessed the ancient lizard brain in me did not like the idea. We drove from our home in Miami to the Kennedy Space Port in Jacksonville.
“Now Gare, everything will be fine. Relax,” my dad said. They always called me Gare, I preferred Gary.
“I know, it’s just–”
“Really, Gare, you will be up there in a few hours and you’ll love it,” my mother said.
“You’re right; it’s just so far,”
“This is something everyone does in their life. Leaving home for the first time, it’s not easy,” my dad said. Our eyes met in the rear view mirror.
“Not everyone goes to school in orbit, Dad,” I said.
“You’re right, Gare,”
We exited the expressway at Jacksonville. My dad drove us to KSP down a long two-lane road. Spaceports are far away from everything else. They had to be. The shuttle’s exhaust covers everything within a mile in a layer of dust and soot. We arrived at a gated entrance with a small booth next to it. My dad showed the guard my information and explained that we were there for the shuttle departing to MITO, Massachusetts Institute of Technology Orbital. The guard directed us where to go. He pressed a button inside his booth and the gate slid open.
We were some of the last to arrive. A large group of parents and their children gathered around the upright shuttle. It was as tall as a building. It glistened in the sun. The massive engines let out puffs of white smoke every few seconds. A man with a microphone stood near the base of the shuttle. I was relieved; the other kids looked just as scared as I was. The man with the microphone explained that the shuttle was fueling and the crew was going through a final checklist before the launch. He estimated we had a two hour wait before the launch. I helped my dad haul my luggage out of the trunk onto the asphalt. I sat on my footlocker to wait.
My dad closed the trunk of the car and walked back to me. My mother gave me a kiss on the forehead and said goodbye. My dad gave me a firm handshake, and they were off. The other kid’s parents stayed. Why did they leave? I sat alone. Another boy, my age, wheeled a large suitcase with a heavy-duty handle in my direction. He asked if he could sit next to me.
“Sure,” I said.
“I’m Steve,” he said sitting on my footlocker.
“I’m Gary,” I said as I extended my hand. He wore thick-rimmed glasses with dark lenses.
“Nice to meet you, you here for M.I.T.O?” he asked. We shook hands.
“You too, yeah, you?” I said. Why else would I be here? I thought.
“Cool, me too. You ever been there?” he pointed up toward space.
“Nope, you?”
“Yeah, my family vacationed at Orbital Hilton,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. I turned away and tried to hear what the man with the microphone was saying.
“It’s not so bad, once you get up there,” he said. I turned back.
“That’s what they tell me,”
“Who? Your parents? Where are they?” Steve said.
“They left,”
“Those are mine over there,” he pointed to a man wearing a suit coat with four golden buttons, despite the heat. A woman stood next to him who wore a yellow business suit and a matching hat. A girl, no taller than me, stood next to both of them with her back to me.
“Who’s she?” I asked.
“My stupid sister, we’re twins,” he explained.
“Oh,”
“I’ll go get them. I want to introduce them my new friend,” he said. He got up and wheeled his big suitcase over to them, bumping a woman in the back of the calves as he went. He paid her no mind. Greeeaaat, I thought sarcastically, just what I needed right now. He was back before I could relocate, “This is, uh, Gary,”
“Hello,” I said.
“Well, hello Gary! I see you’ve met our boy Steve,” said the man.
“Yeah,” I said.
“You must be excited to head off to school. Have you ever been to space?” said the woman.
“No,” I said. I did not want to talk about this again.
“Oh well, our family vacationed at the Orbital Hilton last summer, and I’ll tell you it was quite the adventure. Zero gravity, there’s nothing like it,” the man said.
“That’s what they tell me,” I said.
“This here is Beth,” the man said. He stepped aside and pushed the young girl from behind his back forward. She had dark brown hair, and sparkling yet shy eyes. She was the cutest girl I had ever talked to.
“Hi,” She said. Her eyes never left the ground.
“Hello,” I said.
“Attention! The shuttle is ready for boarding!” The man with the microphone announced. Steve grabbed his suitcase handle and darted through the crowd, knocking people’s legs as he went.
“That’s m’boy, always at the head of the pack. Best of luck, Larry,” said the man.
“Uh, it’s Gary,” I said, but the family was already turned away and heading towards the shuttle. I threw my two smaller suitcases on top of the footlocker and dragged it to the baggage claim. Two KSP employees lifted my stuff and put it on a conveyor belt leading into the base of the shuttle. I followed the crowd to the ramp leading into the shuttle. I could see Steve jumping up and down at the front of the line. His sister was a few people behind him. The man holding back the crowd moved to the side and everyone shuffled aboard. As I walked down the aisle, Steve shouted out to me.
“Gary! Over here!” He was persistent. I sat down next to him. A man came around to make sure our harnesses were tight. My palms were sweatier than ever. Steve was bouncing around in his seat. “This is my favorite part!”
“Oh god,”
“Don’t worry, buddy, it’s fun!”
“Fun, right, this is fun,” I said aloud, mostly for myself.
The shuttle began to move. I griped my armrests tight. My teeth clenched. A loud roar came from behind our heads. My body pressed into the seat. I felt heavy, and my breathing became tight. I heard screams from the girls on board. Steve screamed with delight. I never thought college would be like this.
Continued…
