Through Different Eyes

Part III: Causes

Chelpa Feff-Nur could not estimate how long it would be before his people came to rescue him. He made several very patient efforts to explain the numerous factors involved, and it generally gave me a headache as I tried to piece the information together. His hopes never seemed to dim. The level of patience he was displaying surpassed any I could evoke. A quiet confidence exuded from his thoughts. Chelpa assured me repeatedly that his people had received the required data to chart a plan of action, and they were undoubtedly working on a solution. Chelpa lived with me through that first school week. Then he lived through another, and then another. By the end of the first week, it seemed completely acceptable to me that another person was living with me, inside of me. By the end of the third week, I did not have the courage or the wherewithal to admit I truly enjoyed having him there.

The situation did not sit as well with the other people in my life. My parents consistently worried about my mental state. They did not say it in any exact manner, but their behavior spoke for them. Todd never missed an opportunity to take a verbal swipe at me. He speculated openly and frequently that it was only a matter of time before a few teeth got chewed off the cogs in my head. Marla became distrustful of me. My sister was uncertain what to do with a brother who no longer acted or reacted like she thought normal. I was not normal, in truth, by a wide margin. However, the knowledge had to remain private. The relationships with Joey and Nate became strained. I ceased being the freewheeling FreeByte. I was not the cyber warrior they knew or understood. The changes I had undergone were altering the dynamics of our circle. It became increasingly common for me to caution them to use better judgment about the sites into which they wanted to hack. I began to rely on talking to them, instead, as the primary reason for our gatherings. That did not go over very well with either of them. It gradually dawned on me that despite the time we spent with one another, we did not really know much about each other. Without the giddy delight of our illegal activities — and I knew them to be illegal by that point — the hours spent together were fairly dry. Video games could only propel our interests so far. Since they were not inclined to discuss issues and topics, a lot of time was spent in silence. It was beginning to bother me, and I let them know.

“Why can’t we just talk about stuff?” I asked as Joey sat staring at a promising website and Nate spun around in circles in a chair.

“Like what?” Nate asked in a bored voice.

“Like… I don’t know… like life or something?”

“Really fucking great,” Joey mumbled. He looked over at the two of us and then added in a louder voice, “Hey! Raise your hand if you even have a life!”

Nate snorted laconically. His ample stomach jiggled in response. We three stared at one another for a moment. Joey had a blunt manner in addressing the most salient issue.

“Next topic,” Joey grumbled.

“There has got to be more than sitting around hacking into sites,” I whispered.

Nate turned his watery, blue eyes to face me. They looked pinched between his chubby cheeks. I could not decipher his mood, and that was unusual. Nate wore his moods and thoughts openly.

“Maybe I’ll give Sheryl Doyle a call and see if she wants to hook up with me. Maybe bump uglies or something,” my friend said drolly.

“Dude, leave your fantasies at home. Don’t want you sporting a chubby while I’m around,” Joey remarked in a caustic manner.

Louis?

“Joey doesn’t want Nate to get an erection from thinking sexual thoughts about Sheryl.”

Thank you.

Chelpa Feff-Nur’s voice had grown in complexity over the intervening weeks. I could tell when he wanted an explanation of a certain item or phrase simply by the tone he used when he said my name. I also sent along a thought that Nate was truly fantasizing since Sheryl Doyle was one of the most sought-after females in the junior class, if not one of the most prized girls period.

I continue to find your mating rituals most confusing. If Nathan Willis desires this female, why does he not just state his intentions to her? I would believe she would be interested in perpetuating the species at the very least.

“You have no idea how wrong you are!”

I grinned to myself, or thought I had.

“A guy can dream, can’t he?” Nate piped up irritably when he saw my expression.

“Some dreams are too big… and too damn far out of reality,” Joey remarked dryly. “Has she even looked at you once, Nate?”

“She bumped into me.”

“You bumped into her. You did it on purpose. I was there. Remember?”

I settled back in my seat to listen to yet another attempt on Nate’s part to revise history. Joey had told me what Nate had done just before Christmas. Sheryl was standing by a locker with a group of her friends, and Nate veered his ample body directly into hers. Joey stated, and it was confirmed by others, that Sheryl was incensed. She knew it had been deliberate, and she was not pleased. According to the story, she swore at Nate loudly and made numerous demeaning comments. To hear Nate tell the tale, one would get the impression Sheryl had vowed her eternal love for him. The entire incident was pathetic and sad, and a very clear example of our lives in school. I sat and listened as Nate tried to put his familiar spin on the event while Joey eviscerated the story after each sentence.

Nathan Willis’ rendition is considerably altered from the last telling. What purpose does it serve to fabricate the circumstances surrounding the incident?

“It’s like Nate said: a guy can dream.”

Does he understand that he is deluded, if one takes into account Joseph Melman’s eyewitness account?

“Doesn’t matter. Nate knows he doesn’t stand a chance with Sheryl Doyle. She is way out of his league… out of my league, too!”

Louis Albert Moran, you have not yet provided me with an adequate catalog of pertinent factors that are influential in determining the probability of how and when two individuals will find mutual attraction. I cannot form sufficient conclusions without proper information.

Chelpa was being testy. Not long after he started attending school with me, he noticed a considerable shift in my dreaming patterns. The being told me, and I could well believe he was correct, that the vast majority of my dreams were sexual in nature. Chelpa Feff-Nur had studied humans enough to know I was victim to the rising flood of hormones in my body. I was going through puberty, and this was one of the side effects. It was embarrassing to talk with him about what I was envisioning during my sleeping hours. Chelpa offered at one point to remember my dreams for me, but I was disgusted by the idea of hearing about my sexual desires through him. I steadfastly refused each time he offered. It made me wonder if there was a secret voyeur lurking in the depths of my mind. I was often curious to know what he really thought, but I could not bring myself to ask. There were some parts of my personal life — my personal mind — I wanted to keep private.

“I’ve told you before: it’s not really a science. No one knows what makes two people attracted to each other. Everyone’s got their own expectation about what would make ’em happy. It’s different for each person.”

This is a highly inefficient manner to propagate a species. Your race is taking a great risk with genetic incompatibility and mutation. I am somewhat surprised the human species has managed to replicate to the present size of the population. It defies statistical probability of success given the wide variances in method of attracting a mate.

“Chelpa Feff-Nur, you’re trying to tap a dry well here! I’ve never even had a girlfriend before. How the hell am I supposed to know how it works?”

Do you not feel a biological imperative to attract a mate?

“Yeah, I think I do.”

Then how can you be unaware of the requirements for acquiring a mate?

I was getting frustrated. We had covered this topic more times than I could count, and Chelpa was never satisfied with my answers. I had no answers. It was as much of a mystery to me as it was for him. The entire conceptual realm of attraction and dating seemed oddly disjointed in me. Joey and Nate were arguing heatedly over the exact context of Sheryl’s statements. That was also annoying. Sheryl had left no room to doubt she detested Nate’s very existence. It was common knowledge.

“Perhaps you should make inquiries to her about the optimal traits she requires in a mate. You should then be able to highlight those you possess, mitigate those you do not, and find means to achieve greater compatibility with Sheryl Doyle,” I heard myself say, but it was not me.

Joey and Nate ceased their bickering. They glanced at me, then at each other, and then shrugged in unison. Against all reasonable expectations, they had begun to accept the occasional outburst from me. The reason why I chose such odd phrasing remained an enigma to them. I, however, knew exactly what had happened.

“Chelpa! Damn it!”

It needed to be stated.

Chelpa Feff-Nur had a means wherein he could drop a thought into my part of the brain, and I would recite it before realizing it was not my idea. I was clueless as to how he performed the trick. Chelpa had explained the theory to me at one point, but I was not conversant with the actual inner workings of the human mind. He seemed to know the function and structure as if it were his own. It had something to do with the speech center, and how he could bypass the filtering process. While Chelpa Feff-Nurr stated his success rate at instigating me to speak for him was well below ten percent, it felt like a sneak attack each time he did succeed in doing this to me. It often infuriated me to the point where I would not speak to him for hours on end. That was the only recourse I had which seemed to chasten the alien in my brain.

“Optimal traits?” Joey asked with a trace of derision in his delivery. “Optimal, huh?”

He looked over at Nate. Nate shrugged again.

“I think Scott Palmer is the optimal trait.”

“Got that right, dude,” Nate muttered darkly.

“Tall,” Joey stated snidely.

“Built. That dude is ripped,” Nate added.

“Captain of the wrestling team.”

“Wrestling is so gay,” Nate commented on Joey’s item.

“Yeah, like Sheryl is gonna pick one of us over him,” Joey concluded, ignoring Nate’s remark.

“We’re smarter than he is,” I countered, and it was poor argument in light of the present condition of the three of us.

“So! It’s not done us any good so far!”

Joey had a point, but I was waiting for the other side to rebut. I was not disappointed.

I beg to differ.

“Maybe it counts for something on your planet, but you don’t see many movies where the scientist is whooping butt and getting all the attention! They’re usually the first ones to get killed.”

I have noticed a discernable lack of respect for those engaged in the sciences. It appears your people prefer athletic prowess to scientific gain.

“You’ve got a good handle on the obvious.”

I was not being sarcastic, Louis Albert Moran.

“Sorry, but it’s sort of depressing to think about.”

The addition of Scott Palmer’s name to the conversation put a damper on the evening. Nate slipped into a mild form of depression, and Joey became even surlier. I liked Joey quite a bit, and had since the second grade, yet there were times when his growing cynicism about the world ground me down. It was bad enough having to put up with my own grim thoughts about my condition without having Joey accentuate it with his vast litany of complaints about society. Half the time I agreed with him, the rest of the time I turned into an imitation of Nate. It was just too depressing to think about.

“I’m gonna motor back to my house,” Joey announced a short while later. “I want to check out some of these sites.”

“Why ain’t you into hacking no more?” Nate asked and spun around to face me.

“I’m still into it… it’s just that I get caught a lot… and get grounded… and yelled at,” I replied.

That was not entirely true, and Joey pointed out the reason why.

“Dude, you know how to cover your tracks. You’re just being retarded.”

“Yeah, you try covering your tracks at three in the morning when you can’t even think ’cause you’re so tired!”

“Get your own system,” Joey suggested. It was a familiar argument between us. His parents had paid for his system: I was relegated to the family computer. My parents steadfastly refused to let me have a personal computer system.

“Sure. You go ask Chuck right now if he’ll buy his kid a computer,” I retorted with ire.

Joey looked away from me. My father was formidable when it came to the computer. He had drafted a series of rules regarding its use. When Joey or Nate visited, we were not allowed to close the office door. Secondly, we had to leave the computer running so he could examine it after we were done. Although he could never prove we were up to no good, he had made it a habit to walk into the office unannounced on a routine basis. Before Chelpa had arrived, we had already learned how to hide our activities right under my father’s nose. It was the presence of the other being in my mind that had curbed my appetite for unseemly Internet snooping.

“I don’t get why your parents hate you,” Nate said in nearly a whisper.

Your parents do not hate you.

“They don’t hate me,” I responded, nearly on top of Chelpa’s statement.

“They sure act like it,” Joey quipped.

Your parents are concerned for your welfare, as well as your character of person. They monitor your activities to protect you from mistakes you might otherwise make.

“I know,” I said, and I was not certain as to whom I was directing the reply.

“Maybe you need to get some new ’rents,” Nate mumbled.

“Trying telling Chuck that,” Joey remarked in a very good imitation of me.

“Not me!” Nate and I blurted in unison.

We were, after all, able to end our time together with a shared laugh. The glum aspect hanging about our heads lifted a bit. An enemy shared made friends of the unlikeliest people. In truth, my father was not my enemy for all he acted the part at times. Joey and Nate were afraid of him, and I firmly believed my father liked that arrangement. Despite assurances to the contrary, I knew my parents were not overly fond of Joey Melman. They thought he had led me astray too many times in the past. I never once admitted to them that it was I who did the leading when it came to the computer. Joey’s photographic memory had been a tool for me. Nate came along for the ride, and he seemed to enjoy it no matter how bumpy the road. Unlike Joey, my parents liked Nate even though they did not overtly display it. I think they were playing the role of controlling parents to keep us from as much trouble as they could.

“Gonna roll, dude,” Joey said and stood up.

Nate stood up as well. He tended to follow the lead of whoever chose to take it, and rarely took center stage himself. If I had low self-esteem, Nate’s had reached a nadir. His weight was a big obstacle in his life. Nathan Willis had been a chunky kid ever since he moved into the neighborhood. The general perception he was mentally slow, which I knew was not true, had made him an outsider from the very beginning. Joey and I took Nate on because he, like us, had limited social options. Nate was a very nice person in reality. Underneath his lumbering exterior was a compassionate and gentle young man. He never meant anyone harm. Moreover, he was not as touchy as Joey, and he balanced our trio very well. Nate Willis was a good friend to me. I had been noticing that fact more and more over the last couple of weeks. I understand now why I was beginning to see the world in a different light, but it was not clear to me then.

My friends let themselves out of the house without my attendance. I heard Nate wish my parents a good evening, and Joey remained in his stony silence. It was that difference in demeanor that separated the two for my parents. I traveled up to my room in a strange emotionally blank state. My schoolbooks were not calling to me in Chelpa Feff-Nur’s voice, but I went to them regardless. I started to study since I could think of nothing better to do. It was not until after I completed reading a chapter in my literature book that I realized Chelpa had not said a word to me in some time.

“What is it, Chelpa Feff-Nur?”

Please, clarify your inquiry.

“Why are you being so quiet?”

You are studying.

“Liar,” I mumbled.

I do not see the point in insulting me.

I took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes. There was a rich quality to the mental voice of Chelpa that was growing increasingly complex the longer he was with me. Whereas I had to depend on the facial expressions of humans to divine parts of their intentions, I received the same from the manner in which Chelpa spoke. There was a sub-text to his words encoded in the tenor of the voice I perceived. It was his personality taking shape in the only manner available. At that moment, I knew he was fibbing.

“Come on, tell me what’s bugging you. Something’s on your mind.”

Any weight applied to the brain tissue would result in irreparable harm.

“You’re stalling.”

Many of my previous assumptions and hypotheses about your species have been under revision. My subsequent observations have revealed the spurious elements. Direct interaction with your species has pointed out several inaccuracies. I am taking time to correct my informational repository.

“Such as?”

I was curious to learn how someone as vastly intelligent as Chelpa Feff-Nur could be wrong in the manner he presented. It was a bit unsettling to hear an edge of uncertainty in his voice. It was an infrequent occurrence when he did not want to answer me directly. Even his last answer avoided stating what he was really thinking.

I am troubled by the rigidity of the social class system of your world. It is based in part on economic demographics, yet there is also an underlying set of controlling factors centering on individual internal perception. One does not travel through the strata of his or her own volition: the status is determined by a group consensus. However, nearly any member of the society can apply a new perception and, if presented strongly enough over time, it can alter the status of the individual in question in the minds of other members. By the same token, I find that rising through the levels is far more difficult than descending. I had assumed traversing the class strata was a fluid process. I was gravely mistaken.

I wanted to ask him to repeat the statements in English, but I somehow understood the core idea of what he was saying. I was exceedingly aware of how mired I was in my social class, and all efforts I had made to rise above it had ended in failure. Quite often I got the impression people did not want the status of others to change. I understood that for one to ascend another had to fall. No one wanted to sink below his or her current status. It was a vicious game played both covertly and overtly. I had witnessed the gossip mill at work, and saw how entirely effective it was at knocking the pillars out from under someone. Perhaps I was fortunate in this regard: no one was actively seeking to reduce my status. I was not worthy of such attention because I was not perceived as a threat to anyone. It was grim realization.

I was certain this topic would disturb you, and thus my hesitation in answering your query.

“Can’t escape reality,” I replied in my natural voice.

It appears members of your species believe they can alter reality merely through their thought processes. How others regard you does not change what I know, nor does it influence my perceptions. The evidence upon which they formulate their assumptions is erroneous and seldom takes into account the actual facts.

“Facts don’t really play a part in it, Chelpa Feff-Nur. It’s what they want to believe. If they can get everyone else to believe it with them… then it is reality.”

The logic is faulty.

“I never said it was logical. It’s just the way it is with humans.”

I felt sorry for him once more, and it was not the first time. At the very beginning Chelpa Feff-Nur had been a limitless well of positive energy. He had a myriad of beliefs about the human race based on the observations he had made in the privacy of his vessel before the accident. However, he was disabused of another notion about us each day. I suspected it was beginning to weigh down on him. A pattern had developed where we would talk about his world and people during the dark of the night. The longing he was feeling to return was becoming steadily more pronounced. I could not blame him. Even if I were trapped in a place that was different and new, I would ultimately want to return to the familiar. I believe his experiences with me were teaching him that life in other parts of the universe did not always live up to expectations. It must have been a severe blow to the desire in him to study our kind.

“You know, we’re not all bad.”

I made the statement to lift my own flagging spirits as much as his.

There is tremendous potential in your species, Louis Albert Moran. I have not lost my belief in this fact. What I had failed to take into consideration is that evolution is a long process, and it cannot be rushed. Your people will evolve, as they must and will over time. I believe I have been given an example of how tenuous the process can be at various points in history: for all the existing promise, it can also go astray just as easily. However, there is always hope… and that will never abandon me.

“Do you still think it was worth it to use me as a host?”

The benefit is beyond measure, Louis Albert Moran. I have experienced your world as you do, and the instruction it has offered cannot be underestimated. I have a wealth of data that will be invaluable. There are moments when I believe passive observation is not always appropriate to the actual study. While it affords us the opportunity to witness the natural course taken by a race, it does little to explain how or why a certain course was chosen. Although I am aware of the great harm that can be inflicted on an evolving species by direct contact, the risks may very well be justified by the knowledge gained.

“I’m not at risk of anything, Chelpa, and I don’t think it’s gonna spread from me even if I was.”

Your assessment is flawed, Louis.

“How?” I asked in mild indignation. I wanted to be at least partly correct.

I grant you have and will suffer the immediate impact of my presence, whether good or ill, and thus you will influence others in turn. The effects cannot and will not remain localized. I have already detected a significant degree of modification in your standard method of operation. It has not gone unnoticed by those closest to you. Hence, the impact is beginning to broaden. The longer I am encapsulated within you, the greater the influence will become. Time will multiply the causal relationship.

“I, ah, suppose.”

Your species already possesses the knowledge of the effects of observation upon the target. Once the trajectory has been altered through observation, there is no predictive value in the past course. It is, as we have discussed before, the conundrum of Schroedinger’s Cat. The level of determinacy based on past events is nullified, and the degree of future indeterminacy is exponentially compounded. Never fail to take into account that the act of observing alters the future. Since this is true, the magnitude of alteration through direct interaction is incalculable. Moreover, it will change the path of anything else with which the observed comes into contact. Thus, what is happening to you will affect your family and friends.

Chelpa Feff-Nur had been trying to beat the concept into my head for nearly two weeks. I tried to ignore the effects my behavioral changes were having on those around me. My family continued to treat me as if I were on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. Joey and Nate, while better equipped to deal with the transformation, had shown signs they were losing patience with me. FreeByte had not ridden free and wild in cyberspace since Chelpa took up residence in my head. I could not bring myself to engage in what I was discovering was felonious activity in front of him. Joey, who for all intents and purposes was my best friend, was not appreciative of my newly found sense of caution. Nate was not swayed by my personal changes, except that the tensions arising between Joey and me were unsettling for him. If our group fell apart, we would all suffer a tremendous loss. We were all we had in the world outside of our homes. Try as I might, I could not halt myself from recognizing the validity of Chelpa Feff-Nur’s warnings.

This was the prism of time. It was magnifying the effects each day as the past was divorced from the present and obscured the future to a greater degree. Because I was constantly trying to keep the surreal situation secret, it was leading me to act in entirely new modes. I was less combative with my parents. I did not engage in petty squabbling with my siblings. I did my homework. I ate my vegetables. I refrained from illicit forays on the Internet. I was becoming interested in aspects outside of my small existence. I was beginning to look at the world and starting to see my place in it. I was but one person. I was small. I was, more or less, insignificant despite Chelpa’s admonitions to the contrary. The most surprising element of all was the level of personal happiness I was finding. I had a friend unlike any I had ever known. It was a deeply fulfilling and satisfying relationship. The alien and I would argue periodically, but it never became personal. At least it never became personal with him, and I was learning to emulate his method of operation. I had gone so far as to employ it with Todd, Marla and my parents. I could not logically or rationally deny that Schroedinger’s box had been opened, and I knew the condition of the cat. Curiosity three weeks before had not killed it in any sense.

Chelpa Feff-Nur accepted me without complaint or judgment. It took me two weeks to accept his earnestness and honesty. I had lived so long under the collective aegis that I was a geek and a loser I was rendered nearly incapable of believing I could be thought of otherwise. I had begun to see my race through the eyes of another that were quite different from my own. The latent anger brooding within me was being chiseled away. In its place stood a sorrow for the condition of my people. Chelpa’s continual statements about the promise my species held was infectious, and it changed my perceptions drastically. I did not comprehend at the time what it all meant. I was maturing at an accelerated rate due to the influence of the alien in my head. I was unable to appreciate the personal advancement at that moment in my life, yet I was dimly aware of it in a few respects. My teachers were astounded at the serious student who had suddenly emerged out of the apathetic boy. I admit the grades I was bringing home were greatly aided by the tutelage of Chelpa Feff-Nur and his unbridled passion for knowledge, yet I was actively taking part in the exercises.  On that score my parents had no complaints. They even seemed to be enjoying it to some extent. I also sensed they were taking credit via the strict rules they had laid down regarding my computer use. Even though they were not directly responsible, they were safe in believing it because I could not tell them what was instigating the change. In this regard, Chelpa Feff-Nur had altered their lives and, in no small measure, given them an extraordinary gift. My parents would never know how much they owed to him.

The evidence needed to prove Chelpa’s point was provided only a few days later. It came through a telephone call. While the call was important in its own fashion, it also raised an interesting mystery. Each time I talked on the telephone, Chelpa Feff-Nur retreated far into my, or rather our, brain. He explained to me what it did to him, and my sympathy for his being trapped in a foreign body grew. It seemed the telephone receiver had a dual effect. First, there was a high-frequency whine he could hear that I could not. From what he told me, it was painful in a form that did not make sense since the brain has no nerve endings within the cerebral material. Second, the radiant magnetic field of the receiver made him woozy, almost drunk. His sentences were nearly incoherent for a few minutes after I finished with a call. It was quite surprising to hear an inebriated voice in my mind when I hung up the phone. Thus, he learned after I did that Nate was coming over to have me help him with some homework. This was a turning point for me. Joey was the de facto tutor between us, and I was intensely curious to discover why Nate had singled me out for the honor.

“’Cause you’re not as mean as Joey is,” Nate said flatly after he arrived and was holed up in my room. “He knows a lot of stuff, but he treats me like I’m an idiot or retarded or something like that.”

“He treats everyone like that,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, maybe, but I still don’t like his shit when I’m trying get through something.”

I was flabbergasted. Nate never spoke ill of Joey. He never spoke unkindly about anyone. I could not imagine why he was being so candid with me.

“It’s that photographic memory of his,” I said slowly. “He doesn’t understand not everyone can memorize something instantly. I think he gets… I don’t know… gets impatient with us.”

“Doesn’t mean he has to be a dick about everything!” Nate complained, and I agreed.

Joseph Melman is in an unusual set of circumstances: he does not know how to temper his reaction to others because of his abilities.

“He’s still a dick most of the time.”

He remains your friend, and casting aspersions upon him is not constructive.

Chelpa had called me to task. It was a rare Sunday afternoon in many respects.

“Louis… I don’t know what’s been going on with you lately, but… you’re just… sort of easier to talk to now… I guess,” Nate sputtered. “Todd keeps saying you got brain damage when you went back in the swamp a couple of weeks ago, but I don’t think so. I know you don’t know what went on, ’cept maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe something good came out of it.”

Nate had no idea how correct he was in the assessment. Chelpa Feff-Nur had found the means to survive his accident, and I was now benefiting from his presence. Regardless of his constant warnings about unintended results, I had little to complain about. Granted, I acted oddly at times when I was caught up in a conversation with him, but that was about the only negative consequence I could find. It was on the top of my mind as I listened to Nate.

Neither you nor I can make any assumptions or predictions as to the final effects my presence will bring to bear on your life. We must remain cautious concerning our level of integration. I am beginning to fear you are growing dependent upon my being, and that could be adverse in the future.

This was not a new warning from Chelpa Feff-Nur. I was blithely ignorant to any notion I was growing dependent on him, but I was. There is an addictive quality to not feeling alone in the world. This was an aspect I would learn about later, and it would be painful.

“The other day when you said we never talk ’bout stuff, I know what you mean,” Nate said quietly. “I just didn’t think you guys wanted to hear what I have to say. Not that it’s really important or anything.”

“It’s funny, but I think my folks did me a favor banning me from the computer after I crawled out of the swamp,” I replied.

“How’s that?”

Indeed, how is that so?

“I guess I started listening to what I was hearing and watching everything that was going on,” I answered both of them.

Self-preservation is a remarkable force.

“You’ve been kind of quiet a lot,” Nate rejoined honestly but not critically. “I was wondering if something was getting to you.”

“If he only knew!”

I suspect Nathan Willis might be more accommodating than you imagine.

“Should I risk it?”

That would not be wise. I was merely speculating about the apparent quality of his character.

“Something did get to me, Nate,” I said, and also added a small amount of mental smugness. “And I’m still trying to figure it out. It’s like I keep thinking about why everything has to be the way it is. Why can’t it be different?”

“Like what?”

“Like… everything! Look, we know how everyone thinks ’bout you, me and Joey, and it’s like we play into it. They say we’re dweebs, and we act like it. When did they get to decide who we are?”

Nate stared at me. I could tell from his expression he had pondered the same thoughts. It was a question lurking under the skin of our existence. My association with Chelpa Feff-Nur seemed to bring it to the surface more often in one form or another. My friend seemed to be weighing the statement.

“Only problem is how to get ’em to change their minds,” he opined after a few moments.

“Maybe it’s not their minds we’ve got to change. Maybe it’s ours.”

“Dude, you really are a freak sometimes,” but the grin through which Nate spoke said differently.

“I keep wondering why we have to act like they think we should. What’s the point? Why let them tell us who we are?” I challenged.

Indeed, why?

“You’re the one who got this started, so you better be ready to help bail me out!”

Explain, please.

“I’m going to need some back-up material. I haven’t really thought this through all the way.”

The start is promising.

“Like it’s gonna make any difference,” Nate replied dourly.

“So you’re going to admit defeat without even trying?”

“Jesus, Louis! We’re already defeated! What good is it gonna do to make ’em hate us even more?”

I was appalled. It dawned on me that Chelpa Feff-Nur had been battling my negative self-image from the start. I received at least one sincere word of thanks from him every day for saving his life. Time and again Chelpa had made me feel important in small ways, and the cumulative effect was impressive. This is not to say he did nothing but stroke my ego. If my facts were wrong, he corrected me. If he thought my reasoning about an issue was faulty, he would tell me. The single, greatest difference was almost so subtle I nearly missed it: Chelpa Feff-Nur did not condemn me for my ignorance. He sought to dispel it. I was awarded common, decent respect from the voice in my head for no other reason than I was a conscious, living being. Nate was offering me an example of the direction I had been traveling. I had been nearly as disgusted with myself as he was with himself. Chelpa, having sensed this about me, showed me a way to climb out of the hole of self-loathing. Chelpa Feff-Nur nurtured the geek inside of me. He appreciated it. He called it my personal promise for the future. I believed him as I had never believed myself. The friend trapped in my brain had not handed me self-worth: he had given me the means to discover it in a fashion that would benefit me the most. I stared at Nate with a mix of horror and pity as I contemplated the last few weeks of my life.

The worth of your person was never in question.

“Nate,” I said gently and quietly. “You mean something to me. You’ve always been a real good friend to me. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Not even Joey. I know what you are, who you are, and I like it.”

Nate had slumped down into the bulk of his body. As I spoke, he glanced at me with suspicion. It annoyed me. I did not display it on my face. I wanted him to know I was being honest. He needed to hear it, and I needed to say it. I had to make Nate understand I truly considered him a friend.

“You know something?” I continued in the same calm manner. “I’m tired of being what other people want me to be. I don’t give a shit what they think anymore. I never did anything to anyone. Neither did you. They don’t have any right to dump us. They’re no better or worse than we are. Remember when you asked me what happened to FreeByte?”

“Yeah,” he replied in a guarded voice.

“Why does he get to have all the fun and not me? Huh? What’s so special ’bout sitting behind a monitor being what I want to be and nobody knows? It doesn’t make any sense, Nate. That ain’t living: it’s hiding.”

“So… what are you gonna do?”

There was spark of interest in his eyes. I preferred it to the defeatism it had replaced. Maybe, just maybe I thought, I could get him to follow along and we both might end up a little happier. It was worth the risk since there was nothing to lose.

“Just… be me and not worry ’bout it any more. Hell, they already think I’m dweeb, so I might as well enjoy it. You know, it’s not so bad being us. We have fun in our own way. We do stuff nobody else does, and it’s really pretty cool. They make fun of us ’cause they don’t understand it. That’s not our fault: it’s theirs. You know what I’m going to do?” I concluded with a question laced with the bravado of FreeByte.

“What?” Nate inquired and narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not gonna care any more ’bout what anyone thinks. If they don’t like it, so what? I’m not hurting ’em, and I think that’s what counts most. I’m going to go on even if they never get it. See, Nate, it’s not them holding us back: we’re letting ’em hold us back. This isn’t a fight with them: it’s a fight with ourselves. I want to evolve. I want to be more than what anyone thinks I can be. I’m tired of feeling like shit. Stick a fork in my ass and turn me over ’cause I am done!”

Crude, but commendable. Very commendable.

“Maybe, but I’ve got you to thank.”

Consider it a well-earned return favor.

I smiled. I suddenly grasped the flaw in FreeByte. I was never certain if what I was doing on-line was legitimate. It was fun because it was dangerous to some extent, but there was always a nagging feeling it could all go horribly wrong in an instant. That was the thrill, and it was a cheap one. Joey was caught up in the thrill, and I do not believe he understood why. Chelpa Feff-Nur had allowed me to glimpse the other side, and he did so simply by remaining true to who he was. For all I knew, he could be the king geek of his home world. The difference between us was that he completely and thoroughly liked himself. It made all the difference in the world, and in two worlds for that matter.

“It can’t be that easy,” Nate responded when several seconds had ticked by.

“Probably not, but it’s a hell of a lot better than sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I’m telling you, Nate, and I know this for a fact: there’s a lot of stuff out there we haven’t even thought of yet. If we play it right, we might get to be the ones who discover it first,” I said eagerly.

Nate settled back on my bed as he thought about what I said. My eyes never left his face. I desperately wanted him to believe in me and in what I was telling him. It would not be easy at first, as he stated, but it would be less stressful if neither of us were alone. Chelpa had told me many times that a fear shared was a fear reduced. If Nate would listen to me, then we could work together to get Joey to join us. He needed a change as badly as we did. Joey was growing increasingly bitter by the day, and I hated to see him dissolve into it. His black attire was affecting his character. He was beginning to resemble the color internally. Darkness had descended upon my friend. I wanted Joey to look up and see the stars, see the hope.

“Okay. Let’s say for a second you haven’t gone totally off your nut…”

Explain, please.

“Assuming I have not gone insane.”

Thank you. I can attest to the fact the assertion is valid.

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes in droll amusement. The situation was ironic, and I appreciated it. A voice in my mind was telling me I was not insane. It was a crazy notion. Moreover, I found I was beginning to speak like Chelpa Feff-Nur in my own head.

All change begins internally.

“… do when everyone starts to get down on you?” Nate had continued.

I had missed part of the question, but it was obvious what he was asking.

“Like that would be any different than it is now,” I countered. “It’s not them who’s gotta be different: it’s us. It’s what we think that’s important. If they call us freaks or losers, we can’t believe them. We gotta stop taking their crap. They’re gonna feed it to us as long as we let them. It has to end with us first.”

Aptly stated despite the scatological references.

“Just not care, huh? That’s the answer?”

“Um, not really. I think we have to care more about ourselves first. If no one else believes in us, then we’ve got to believe in us. No one will take us seriously if we don’t,” I responded thoughtfully. It was all coming together in my head. “You know... if we stop believing all that garbage, maybe they will, too. I think it’s our turn to shape reality for a while.”

Nate was shaking his head a little. I understood he was experiencing difficulty accepting what I was saying. I was challenging his long held, negative beliefs. It was not an easy battle; however, I had an excellent role model upon which to base my actions.

“Dude, you sure you didn’t hit your head or eat paint chips or something?”

“Even if I did, is what I’m saying that crazy?”

“No, I guess not,” Nate said resignedly. “Where are you getting all this stuff, anyway?”

“Just talking to myself a lot. That’s all,” I replied with a grin.

I am not you, Louis Albert Moran.

“You sure about that?”

I was feeling energetic and mischievous. I was completely unconscious of the towering mental hurdle I had managed to clear. I was on the other side. I liked it, and I wanted Nate to join me. Then, we would tackle Joey and drag him, kicking and screaming if we must, until he was standing with us. What Nate or Joey would never know, could never know, was that a fourth person would be with us as well. I privately considered what their reaction would be if they learned they were looking at something more than one person when they looked at me. I was not entirely me, and they were completely in the dark about the truth. More than ever, I was realizing how distinct Chelpa Feff-Nur was from me.

Of that I am most certain!

I thought I heard something close to a laugh in Chelpa Feff-Nur’s voice. It was a good sound. I got the impression — despite the humorous aspect — he was accumulating important data from the exchanges and revelations with Nate. Chelpa did not need to tell me what to say or think. I had discovered it on my own. Once I had gotten started, the path seemed clear. I was beginning to understand the biggest hurdles were not the ones set up by others, but the ones I personally erected. I added this to my storehouse of knowledge concerning the ongoing debate between Chelpa and me. The question of how reality was affected by perception had never been settled between us. He was an empiricist to the core, and I routinely stuck to a modified approach.

Reality cannot be shaped by mere will.

He had been listening in on two conversations.

“The understanding of reality is shaped by perception, so I still think reality itself is shaped by what we think.”

There is no evidence to support that supposition.

“Later, Chelpa Feff-Nur.”

I had to derail the argument. Someone else needed me at the moment. My other friend needed me.

“Look, Nate, if we don’t try, we’ve already lost. Even if things don’t turn out exactly like we want ’em to, is it really gonna be any worse?” I asked, returning to an earlier point. I wanted him to see the simple effort itself was worthwhile.

“No, I guess not,” he replied and returned to a dejected manner.

An idea sparked in my brain. I was suspicious of the source, but it was too tantalizing to cast aside. I seized and claimed it as my own.

“Why’d you come here to have me help you ’stead of going to Joey?”

“We already covered that, Louis.”

“Yeah, we did,” I conceded. Joey could be a royal pain, but that was beside the point. “All right, why do you even want someone to tutor you?”

“Do you want to repeat ninth grade?” His question was loaded with sarcasm.

“No, and that’s my point,” I said, sidestepping his reaction. “You’re trying to change something for yourself. You don’t want to fail, so you’re even willing to put up with Joey’s crap. All I am saying is what I’m gonna do is no different than what you’re doing right now.”

Interesting analogy.

Perhaps Chelpa had not given me the idea.

Nate was wrestling with the concept, and it was obvious by his expression.

“Dude, if we can put up with Joey Melman, then we can put up with anyone!”

I watched the scales tip. There is an unspoken rule of discourse with teenagers, at least in my part of the world: once an idea is presented, further discussion is put on hold until it is actually in operation. Nate did not mention it again for the rest of the afternoon. I took that as a very good sign. Instead, he turned to the homework with which he was struggling. Science was troubling him, and I thought it was a good omen since I was in direct contact with the greatest supply of scientific knowledge on the planet. I grinned as Nate pulled out his assignment. This was going to be easy, I thought.

You will not face any challenge assisting Nathan Willis with this particular series of questions. You completed the assignment yesterday.

“Wait! What are you saying?”

I am merely stating you do not need my fund of knowledge in this instance.

“You can’t back out on me now!”

That would be physically impossible to achieve.

“You know what I mean!”

Perhaps I do, and yet I perceive you assumed I would lend assistance with this project. I am sorry, Louis Albert Moran, but I cannot become involved. I believe you have failed to take into account the tertiary nature of my presence in this endeavor. You and Nathan Willis possess adequate knowledge to attain satisfactory results.

“Chelpa Feff-Nur!”

I was greeted with silence. Chelpa had retreated to a part of the brain where I did not have direct access to him. He was hiding, and he wanted me to know he was purposely keeping himself out of reach. Chelpa Feff-Nur had learned to play the silence game with consummate skill. He was now using my favorite tactic against me. I was incensed. It was as if he were reneging on our arrangement. Regardless of my loud, internal protestations, Chelpa Feff-Nur remained tucked away. I had to tutor Nate on my own. Although I was seething inside, I was forced to grudgingly admit Chelpa was right. I had done the assignment, and I was able to assist Nate with little difficulty. Hindsight is a wonderful perspective. Chelpa was canny. His intelligence was extraordinary, and he could use it subtly to remarkable effect. The alien in my head had been paying closer attention than I realized. He had listened to what I had said to Nate. Although there is no means for me to prove it now, I believe Chelpa Feff-Nur left me to tutor my friend unaided to give me a taste of the future. He understood the rules of observation better than I, and he seemed to know at that precise moment any interference from him would have a negative impact. Despite my anger, which he willingly braved, Chelpa was the wiser of us and displayed it in small one act.

Years later I would try to construct the causal relationship between my actions and the effects they had on the future. I constantly tried to form a coherent scheme that had a definitive starting and termination point. It was a foolish mental game, if fun, because all the parts were tightly integrated. Had one piece been different, there is no means to predict the outcome. I often returned to the night I sat in the office secretly hacking away at a server. Had I not been there at that exact moment, I would not have seen the glow in the swamp. Had I not seen the glow, Chelpa Feff-Nur’s existence would have been erased by automated emergency mechanisms. Had Chelpa died, I have no idea what would have become of me. Yet all of this is and was academic and begged an extended causal relationship. Why was I in the office that night? The answer was found in my past that did not involve the alien whatsoever. It stretched even further back. My parents were involved. The men I was named after, and their wives, were included. It kept stretching backward until I reached the point where the universe was created. I have since formulated a theory of which I am certain Chelpa Feff-Nur would be very proud: each moment is structured perfectly. They exist because there is no other manner for them to exist. This does not mean I believe in destiny. Rather, each second — even a fraction of a second — rules out all other possibilities when it comes into being. The universe is in both harmony and chaos at the same instant. Everything depends on an uncertain future. The range of probable possibilities must remain nearly limitless within the constraints of physical laws. Our freedom is found as each moment evolves. It does not take an enormous event to change the future. Everything is important, whether we realize it or not. Nothing is insignificant. Chelpa understood that. He helped me learn it.

It did not matter if it was an accident or if it was destined for me to meet Chelpa Feff-Nur. Our atoms had collided with one another, and the future zoomed off in a new, unpredictable direction. The notion brings me comfort now, but it was not so when I was fourteen. Nate was a challenge. Our atoms collided on a regular basis. Joey was the embodiment of a collision that wanted to happen. The following week witnessed the battle to put my ideas into motion. There is a physical law of nature with permutations of unbelievable proportions. Simply put: a body at rest tends to stay at rest, and a body in motion tends to stay in motion. I was trying to contravene the current state of inertia. Not caring about what other people perceived and how they reacted to those perceptions was more difficult than I imagined. We are taught, and it is veritably ingrained in this culture, to base our sense of self on others’ perceptions. This realization was simultaneously a blow and a support to my theory of perception shaping reality. I had not fully anticipated the resistance Joey and Nate would present. They were entrenched in their thinking, along with the rest of our small society, and breaking the barriers was a formidable task. I was constantly forced to present the rationalization for my actions and ideas. It was exhausting. My friends did not want to believe me or put faith in the concept of change being a controllable force. In truth, change is almost impossible to control. Once it starts, it seems to have its own mind about where it wants to go. I lay in bed a week after tutoring Nate wondering if I had met my match.

This is no more challenging than the night you saved my life.

“That was easy compared to this! It’s like those guys don’t want things to get better,” I said out loud.

The unknown can be frightening, Louis Albert Moran. You, yourself, were terrified when first you saw me.

Chelpa Feff-Nur had a point that I could not dismiss. I had and continue to chide myself for my initial reaction at seeing his body emerge from the craft. I had been disgusted and horrified by it because I failed to recognize him as a living being. Lying in bed that night, I could not conceive of what had made me act like that. Chelpa’s life had hung in the balance of my reactions. He could have died, and I never would have known what a tremendous creature he was. There was, however, a fine distinction between the night in the swamp and what I was currently facing.

“Chelpa Feff-Nur, I had a reason to get over myself. There wasn’t time to think about it all if you were going to live. Joey and Nate… they don’t have a reason to think any different. They keep telling me it could get worse. That’s a scary thought.”

You have sufficiently presented examples to them of the nature of change. It is a constant with which they live each day. You have also enumerated a plethora of reasons why the change is necessary. The current condition of their lives is untenable if they wish to mature. However, I believe you have failed to assess the state of change you are influencing. Do not forget that neither Joseph Melman nor Nathan Willis has demurred from open discourse with you. I sense they are evaluating the relevant factors and trying to determine the most probable outcome.

“Think you could explain it to them ’cause I’m getting tired of arguing?”

That is not a wise course of action, Louis Albert Moran.

I was also getting tired of that particular response. Chelpa was becoming more obdurate regarding direct intervention on his part. I was starting to feel abandoned. He would talk to me about the issues, but he would not lend me any form of real advice. There was a part of my mind, which did not seem accessible to Chelpa Feff-Nur unless he chose not to acknowledge it, that believed I had entered into the plan without proper deliberation. At the time I had first made the proposal to Nate, it seemed the correct course of action. Lying in bed that night, I was filled with doubt.

I ask you to remember that Joseph Melman and Nathan Willis are subject to the same peculiarities of human cognitive awareness as you. There may be aspects of which they are wholly ignorant.

Chelpa was not afraid of ignorance, whether it was his or another’s. He seemed to accept it as a natural state suffered by everyone to varying degrees. It never failed to amaze me. Moreover, I do not think I had ever heard Chelpa Feff-Nur use the word stupid. The word may not have been part of his vocabulary. I believe it was part of his encompassing optimism: Chelpa appeared to believe every conscious being was capable of learning. I did not have the same faith as he. I believed there were limitations to what a person could learn. Perhaps it was what made him more advanced than me. It could also have been a fundamental difference in how we regarded the human species.

“You’d kind of think they’d be more aware of it now after all the arguing we’ve done,” I muttered at the darkness of my ceiling.

You may wish to revisit your assumption regarding the layers of consciousness in your species, Louis. The theory of a human subconscious is valid from my observations. I have stated before you possess numerous attributes and thoughts below your threshold of immediate recognition.

“Like what?”

This is not a subject area that you are predisposed to discuss.

“Give one example… and make it something I can really identify with. Okay?”

I require some time to consider this issue.

“Sure. I’m not going anywhere you ain’t.”

Your grasp of the obvious is rather astounding, Louis Albert Moran.

I chuckled out loud. This had become a joke between us. I snickered while Chelpa Feff-Nur retreated to his private demesne in my skull. I thought back to the number of times I had leveled the same joke at him before he finally asked why I made the statements. He rightly commented it was insulting in nature. A few days worth of discussion passed before he understood that humans could and did show affection toward one another through the use of insults. It seemed absurd to him, and it is in several regards. However, the ability to take a jibe from someone without taking offense, I pointed out, was a hallmark of respect between two people. I grant I did not explain it so eloquently, but Chelpa got the idea. After a while, he began to feel free to poke fun at me when I was stating the obvious. That, almost singularly, made me sense we had transcended to a new level of friendship. I actually enjoyed it when he said it. I believe he did as well, and he never took offense when I abused him with the statement. Chelpa Feff-Nur had a very reserved sense of humor, I came to discover, but he did have one.

Louis?

“Still with you.”

Obviously.

I laughed again.

I have deduced an area of thought that you might find interesting to know you are unaware of on virtually all levels.

“Shoot.”

Explain, please.

“More slang, Chelpa. It means go ahead and say it.”

Thank you. Very well, then, there is a comparative difference I would like to elucidate, if I may.

“You can if you tell me what that is.”

It is a situation I believe offers the best possibility of explaining the issue.

I nodded my head. I wondered if he felt the motion.

I am aware of the motor-reflex synapse activation when you perform physical motion.

“Oh.”

We have discussed at length the incident that occurred between Nathan Willis and Sheryl Doyle. I understand Nathan was acting out of a deep desire to attract the attention of this female despite the fact his chances of success were minimal. Both you and Joseph Melman have referred to this as a fantasy, or a situation wherein Nathan is prone to confuse fact with fiction.

“Yeah, so? What does this have to do with me?”

It concerned me when you and Joseph took such liberty at making a jest of his attraction to the female since I assumed the two of you were also possessed of similar desires if this is a common psychological feature of the human species. Since you have displayed an aversion toward discussing the intricacies of the topic, I was left to test my hypothesis without advisement.

“Ah… so, ah, what’d you find out?”

I understood the bare basics of what he said. Chelpa Feff-Nur was in his observer mode, and there was a cool detachment in the manner he was presenting his findings. It was making me a bit nervous. Chelpa only resorted to this method of disclosure when he believed I would not like what he was going to say.

You are replete with a rich fantasy life.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered.

Since you have asked, I shall. While you have persistently endeavored to maintain a frame of reference that is similar to that of your peers, your subconscious mind has revealed a sharp discrepancy between what you would choose to believe about yourself and the biological imperative of your existence.

“What are you talking about?”

That what you purport to seek during the lewd discourses with Joseph Melman and Nathan Willis is diametrically opposed to that which you truly desire.

“Huh?”

You are currently engaged in a struggle of willful ignorance about your biological disposition.

“English, please,” I said out loud.

The realms of your sexual fantasies bear no resemblance to those iterated by either Joseph or Nathan.

“Which means?”

You desire an emotional and physical bond with a male of your species. It is your biological imperative of which I speak, Louis Albert Moran.

I could have sworn I heard a gunshot right after Chelpa Feff-Nur spoke those words. My mind went blank. I went into a mental deep-freeze. I was paralyzed. I knew, more or less, my eyes were not blinking. I could feel them drying out as I lay there in shock. I began to adamantly and categorically deny what Chelpa had told me. I refused to believe he was being honest. I silently began to accuse of him of deliberately lying to me.

I do not lie to you, Louis Albert Moran.

“Yeah, right! Tell me another one. Get real, Chelpa, and stop pulling my leg,” I retorted. There was a nervous tremble to my voice.

Firstly, I do not understand the parameter of your request. If I am to tell you another of anything, you must specify a specific subject. Secondly, there is only one reality I am aware of at this time, and we concurrently share it. Finally, I am unable to perform the physical…

“Stop messing with my head!”

I yelled inside my skull. It silenced him for a moment. I was shaking. He had no idea of what he was accusing me in his statements.

I am accusing you of nothing, Louis Albert Moran. I am simply stating the results of my investigation. I apologize if my conclusion disturbs you, but it is based on all relevant and salient information at my disposal. I have not fabricated the data.

The empathy that tinged his voice rattled my nerves even more. Chelpa was not rescinding his conclusion: he was trying to make amends for the severe reaction he caused. My mouth went dry as I replayed his statements. There was one specific word he had not said, perhaps he did not understand the colloquial usage, but it was there in my thoughts. I tried to shield them from him, despite knowing it was a useless effort considering how easily he was able to intercept my thoughts.

“No! You’re wrong, Chelpa. You’ve messed up! You don’t know squat about humans and your data is flawed.”

I was committing a heinous breach of etiquette regarding our conversational rules. I did not care. I was not going to accept what he was telling me he knew. Chelpa did not know me, I concluded vehemently. He had misjudged my dreams and me. He was in error. He had to be. Chelpa Feff-Nur could not begin to imagine what such a proclamation would do to me both internally and socially. I steadfastly refused to believe.

I do not understand the cause of your animosity, Louis. Please, explain.

“I’m not gay, you fucked up little monster!”

I had crossed the line. I thought I was doing it in reaction to what Chelpa was doing to me, and I was blinded by fear and rage. If he was hurt, I was glad about it. He had no right, as far as I was concerned, to turn my world upside down with his ridiculous speculations.

Please, forgive me. I acted against my better judgment in raising this issue. I am sorry.

I could feel him recede. Chelpa Feff-Nur drifted backwards in my brain on almost a physical level. Even though the act made me shudder, I started to hate him. In the month Chelpa had been with me, he had never once lied to me or presented false information. I was terrified that he knew something about me I did not know. I was terrified over how he knew it. The alien had direct access to all parts of my mind. He had informed me of what I was thinking long before I even realized it on several occasions. A war was emerging in my brain. What I wanted to believe and what was stated as reality were locking horns. I broke out into a cold sweat. Chelpa had retreated so far back into our shared brain that I could detect no trace of him. I did not know how he managed it. I wanted to find him and throttle his bloated pink neck. I could not grant him the right to come into my life, after I had saved his, and make a pronouncement that cracked the very foundations of my self-perception. I thought he was acting the coward for running away. I wanted to fight him.

I am not certain if I slept that night. Most of my memories are shrouded in hazy paranoia. Minutes and hours exchanged places with a bewildering frequency. It was a night that stretched into forever, but it could not stop the sun from rising. I was mentally and physically exhausted when the alarm rang next to my bed. I slapped at it, knocked it off the nightstand, and lay in bed staring angrily at the ceiling. Chelpa was still invisible, and that raised my ire another notch. I had not heard so much as a whisper from him throughout the entire torturous night. I hoped he was feeling as terrible as I did for what he did to me. I still refused to believe there was any truth in what he said. In the distance, I could hear the shower running. Either my father or brother was getting ready for his day. I did not want to go to school in my present condition. The problem was my mother was no easy sell when it came to sickness. I wanted to kick myself for not having gotten up in the night and gone wandering out in the swamp. Another unexpected trip would have given me a reprieve for the day. As it was, and since I was not covered in mud, I knew I would be forced to go to school when my mother failed to find any symptom of illness. I was close to frothing at the mouth by the time I heard the bathroom door open. Without waiting to see if anyone else was waiting, I barged out of my room and into the bathroom. I needed a shower in the worst imaginable fashion. I felt stained, and I wanted to scrub it from my body.

I made no apologies when, quite a while later, I stormed out past Todd and Marla toward my bedroom. They glared at me because I had spent an inordinate amount of time in the shower. I slammed my bedroom door closed behind me. As I proceeded to get dressed and crammed my schoolbooks into my backpack, I vainly attempted to avoid all thoughts of what Chelpa had wrongly declared. I refused to admit I was what he said I was. It proved to me he had very little understanding of humans in the end. His assumptions were based on what he spied in my dreams, and there was no telling how warped his translation would be. Dreams were strange things and often meant nothing. Even I knew they were an assemblage of extraneous garbage collected by the brain and strung together to form some sort of meaningless but coherent pattern. They meant nothing. I was convinced Chelpa Feff-Nur was completely wrong in his conclusions. I could not believe otherwise.

“Morning, Louis,” my mother said casually as I walked into the kitchen.

“Maybe for you,” I grumbled my reply.

She glanced up at me. I misread the look on her face because I was too consumed by my own thinking.

“Someone have a rough night? I heard you talking to yourself again last night.”

“Jeeze! Can’t anyone get any privacy in this place?”

“Excuse me!” My mother rounded sharply on me. “I don’t remember asking you for any lip, young man. You can take that smart mouth of yours and march right out of here!”

“What about breakfast?” I asked in a less hostile manner.

“Who’d want to sit at a table with you?”

I was banished from the kitchen without a meal. As I wandered back to the living room, muttering darkly to myself, Todd slammed his shoulder straight into mine. The morning was turning out to be worse than the night.

“Thanks for using up all the hot water, dork!” My brother snarled at me.

“Screw you! It’s not like you don’t do it every single day!” I loudly rumbled back at him.

My mother craned her neck around the wall that divided the kitchen from the living room and glared at me.

“Watch your mouth, Louis!” She admonished.

“Why don’t you ever say that to Todd any time he calls me a dork? Huh? Did you know it means penis?”

I could tell by the look on her face I had not only crossed the line with her, I had left it about one hundred miles behind me. I seemed to have a penchant that day for offending all of the adults in my life.

“Sit down and shut your mouth,” she hissed at me. “And don’t even think of going anywhere after school. I expect to find you sitting there when I get home!”

I was so enraged I could do nothing but obey her. I slammed my body down on the sofa, and that earned me another nasty look. Todd stood above me looking pleased and smug. He had wanted to get even with me for using all the hot water, and he had succeeded admirably. I was too engrossed in my emotions to see the warning signs and had snapped at his bait just like he wanted.

“Nice move… dork,” he whispered at me before slithering toward the kitchen.

I hunkered down on the couch in a seething fury. Marla walked by a short time later and mumbled an obscenity at me for the shower incident. My father followed along a few minutes later. He knew by my position and surly expression I had been sentenced to the living room by my mother. I endured the sounds of their having breakfast while both my mind and my stomach roiled. Had I thought about it, I was not certain I would have been able to eat. Before I was allowed to escape to the relative safety of school, and after I suffered another round of abuse from my siblings, I was treated to a stern lecture by my parents. It was filled with chastisements about not showing proper respect. They warned me they would not tolerate my constant state of swinging moods. I only half listened, and protested silently to each complaint they listed. My parents were being grossly unfair. I had shown more stability over the last four weeks than I ever had before. It raised a sore issue with me: Chelpa Feff-Nur. I was grounded to the house for two days, as well as being banished from the computer and any visitation by friends. I accepted their decree in icy silence. I knew I had to hold my tongue still. My parents would have added to my punishment without hesitation.

“Dude, what’s up with you?” Joey asked me when he plopped down in the seat next to me.

I had been riding the bus in a muddled state and lost track of the stops. I could not halt the stream of thoughts running through my head regarding Chelpa’s deduction about my sexuality based on random dreams and notions. It had turned my mood even blacker when added to the unreasonable punishment handed to me fifteen minutes earlier.

“Bad morning, Joey. Just let it go,” I grumbled.

“Hey! Where’s Mister Positive? Mister We-Change-Everything-If-We-Just-Think-About-it?”

My necked popped as I craned it over to drill holes through Joey with my eyes. Fortunately for him he had very thick skin, and my eyes did not produce death rays. We stared at each for a moment, and then I popped in a different fashion.

“Fine! You’re right and I’m wrong,” I snapped at him. “Life is so screwed up there’s not a damn thing we can do about. We’re stuck. We’re not going to be anything but losers the rest of our lives. Why even bother trying? It’s not worth it. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking!”

Joey looked at me as though I had hit him. He opened his mouth, but I was in no mood to put up with his cynicism. I decided to give him a taste of what he was like because I was in the same place he was at the moment.

“What? Oh, gee, I’m sorry, Joey. Was I a dick before you could get around to it? Please, forgive me! I’ll just shut my mouth and let you whine about how bad your life is. You can’t change it, and you want to know something? You’re right. Life totally sucks and it always will. Why’d I even bother trying?”

Joey closed his mouth. He gave me one hard, long stare. In complete silence he rose from the seat. I watched him get up and move to an empty one. I was alone, and everyone was mad at me because I was mad at the world. It seemed like a fair exchange right then. When we arrived at Nate’s stop, Joey intercepted him without words. I sat by myself stewing in a bubbling cauldron of anger seasoned with doubt and fear. I no longer understood my own life or what had happened to it. I thought back to a night some four weeks earlier when I had stupidly crawled out into the swamp. I had no idea what sort of bog or quagmire I was stepping into at the time. Some things, I decided, were best left undiscovered.

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