Through Different Eyes

Part IV: Departures

I lost myself. I lost the way I thought I found. I lost the favor of my parents. I lost the kinship with my friends. I had even gone so far as to lose the closest being to me. Chelpa Feff-Nur was as good as gone. I neither heard nor felt anything from him. Joey and Nate steered clear of me. I had been acting oddly before, and this new behavior must have seemed downright bizarre to them. My parents were angry because I snapped at my mother without any apparent cause. They were doing their duty by me, yet I resented it. One night my life had changed because I suddenly became host to another living entity. What seemed only a short while later, one night changed my life because I was a host to a living entity. I had no one to whom I could turn to help me make sense of anything. I felt what I thought blind people must feel when dropped into a foreign environment: terrified to move for fear of unseen, unknowable dangers. Moreover, it seemed I had spent a week lying to Joey and Nate. Chelpa was right: reality was not shaped by what I thought. I was shaped by reality regardless of how it cared to mold me. My world, both internally and externally, was crumbling around me.

I was a fourteen-year-old nobody. I had a body, but the occupant was questionable. I learned to fear silence. No one was speaking to me. My mother and father were disgusted with my outburst and held me to my punishment. Todd and Marla thought I had finally gone completely around the bend. They avoided me assiduously. Joey and Nate were confused, and the distance between us was growing into a chasm. Chelpa Feff-Nur said nothing. I walked the halls of my school as if none were around me. The voices I heard were meaningless to me. The quiet of my home produced a stress inside of my chest that constricted my breathing. I was left to my own devices in the confines of my bedroom. I tried to study, and yet I had lost all interest. The computer was forbidden to me. My parents did not have to worry about visitors since the only two who would willingly drop in were disinclined to do so. I was angry with all of them. They had no concept as to what I was going through. The one person who had brought it on had disappeared into the backwaters of my mind. I was left alone with the knowledge I was not who I had believed. My punishment lasted beyond the initial two days, and not because my parents added to it.

Monday afternoon I sat and stared uselessly at my homework. My brain was otherwise occupied with finding a means to refute Chelpa’s findings. It was looking for contradicting evidence.

On Tuesday afternoon I implemented an idea. The homework went untouched as I sat and stared out my window, submerged deeply as I was in my thinking. The notion had come to me when I awoke that morning. I could not try it out during the school hours because teachers and the other students easily distracted me. Hence, I had to wait until I arrived home. I did, however, review the concept many times during the day. While I was not certain what it would yield, it was better than no plan as far as I was concerned. I was growing tired of being trapped by my fear with no plausible avenue of escape. If I had learned anything from Chelpa Feff-Nur, then it was the fact that action was better than non-action. However, I was nervous when the school day ended, and I rode in my lonely isolation. Joey and Nate were not even on the bus, so I was denied their questioning glances. I was going to find and confront the data Chelpa had supposedly unearthed in my brain. The details of how I would accomplish it were, admittedly, a little sketchy.

“Why me?” I said quietly while I sat on my bed staring out at the swamp. “Why didn’t I figure it out before?”

That was my starting position. I steeled my nerves and began. I had never engaged in such an intense exploration of my own psyche. I felt a little foolish because, after all, I should know my thoughts. Apparently, that was not the case if I were to believe Chelpa Feff-Nur. My young mind also failed to notice one important caveat in the second question I asked myself: I was already assuming it was true, but I did not quite understand that fine distinction. My initial launching point also needed context or a frame of reference. Assuming it was true was not enough: I needed to determine how true it was, as if truth was a sliding scale.

“Do guys really turn me on?” I asked without making a sound.

I began a habit that night which I have never been able to break. I started backtracking through my life. This time I had a specific reference point. My nerves were jumping. I had to think objectively even though it was purely a subjective reaction I was trying to discern. I was surprised to discover, at least at first, I was a neutral sexual creature. I would join in the lewd discussions about the parts of the female anatomy that spurred the greatest interest, yet noticed I never once had a sexual reaction to the conversations. Joey and Nate did, I remembered almost enviously. During our adolescent banter, they would cross their legs, lean their arms against their knees, or curl up into a ball. They were hiding their reactions. I never had to do that. I simply did not respond in the same fashion, and it never once struck me as strange. In the midst of my thinking, I looked down. My hands were trembling.

“Valor stems from the character of the person,” Chelpa’s words drifted through my mind.

I did not feel brave or courageous. I was scared. I thought about the night I found the spaceship and the occupant. I was currently more frightened than by that experience. One third of the ultimate question was answered, and it was terrifying me. Females did not arouse me sexually from what I could divine from past experience. I became frustrated with the age I was living in. Myths had been dispelled and turned into comedic fodder. Sexuality, it was now understood, was not a phase a person passed through. It was what it was, and it manifested itself according to the genetic design of the person. Humans might try to deny what Chelpa Feff-Nur called our biological imperative, but that was an altogether different form of self-deception. It never dawned on me that my week spent arguing with Joey and Nate about controlling our destinies would work against me at that particular moment. I had entreated them to face what we were and learn to appreciate it if not enjoy it entirely. My body quaked as I remembered those talks. They were still fresh in my mind. I had so convinced myself of the truth in my words I was now faced with challenging my deeply held conceits. Either I had been lying or I had not: I had to make a decision.

“Gay people are treated like crap,” I whispered.

It was a nasty blow to my already weakened mental condition. I squirmed and wanted to howl. It was as if someone had snuck up behind me and drawn a white-hot knife down the center of my spine. Not only were my nerves raw, I had consciously and painfully jabbed one. I knew all about social castigation. I was overly familiar with being looked down upon for straying outside the status quo. I was already living it, and for no real reason I could discern. Being homosexual, on the other hand, was viewed as a stigma of monumental proportions. My breath caught in my throat. People did not like me because of who I was despite the fact I did not always have control over it. I squeezed my eyes shut. I had made fun of gay kids because it gave me a false sense of elevation in my perceived social status. It was only then I realized it was false. I had degraded and demeaned others for reasons so far out of their control it was mind-boggling. I could change my manner of behavior. I could adopt a new persona that downplayed my geekiness. I could mold myself into an image of complete mediocrity. I became angry again as I thought about the alternatives. I could do all those, even if it meant betraying myself, and learn to adjust. A gay person, I finally understood, could do none of that. They could no more make themselves un-gay than Chelpa Feff-Nur could be made human. I would have better luck trying to make Chelpa appear human. I was now angry and terrified, and it was not a good combination.

“Why does anybody have to be anything?” I asked in suppressed rage.

We are what we are.

I was so engrossed in my roiling emotions and thoughts I did not recognize the source of the statement. The words chased the other notions around and around in my head. I opened my eyes and looked out on the gray late afternoon that was settling over the scenery. Winter was not quite done with my part of the world, and it was vainly trying to retain a foothold. Spring would come soon. I was not certain why the weather distracted me. I stared out into the darkening bog filled with dead stands of cattails and trees. It appeared so lifeless, so unpromising of what was to come. When spring did arrive, the swamp would burst into life before any other region. I had always thought of it as a place of death and decay. Yet suddenly I found I was more accepting and tolerant of the dank patch of land. Birds and other wildlife found refuge in the swamp. The myriad of insects, as much as I detested them at times, depended on it for their lives as well. Five weeks earlier, it had provided a softer landing for a disabled craft and its dying passenger. Life could and did spring from the swamp. I was unaware of how badly I needed the distraction. It held the sweeping tide of panic at bay, and gave me the opportunity to refocus my thinking. I returned to the core issue.

“Am I gay?”

It is difficult for people to understand how one aspect of life can overshadow all others. My life as a nerd held enormous sway, regardless of whether it was conferred or self-appointed. It had effectively blocked out other personal considerations. I had stupidly assumed I did not have a girlfriend because I had not felt worthy. I was beginning to see that I had never even actively pursued girls at all. It was a non-issue for me, and it was a curiosity in and of itself. Joey and Nate complained constantly at not having a girlfriend. My complaints rang empty in my ears while my memory coughed up those instances when I espoused the same sentiment. I had not cared. I had tricked myself into believing a relationship was not worth the aggravation. There were, however, moments when an altogether different feeling assailed me that allowed me to fully participate with Joey and Nate. When the question of loneliness arose, I felt it keenly. We were all lonely. We blamed it on our social status. Not one of us had the fortitude to try and find romance on our own. We were afraid. I was starting to see just how afraid I was and how it had paralyzed a part of me. The deliberations in my head, unfortunately, did not answer the most pressing question.

“Well?” I inquired of no one.

I needed proof, except I was terrified to find it. At the same time, I was uneasy with not knowing. Unbeknownst to me, Chelpa Feff-Nur had done a fine job of switching on the scientific part of my mind. Theories were useful, but they begged supporting evidence. I was irrationally compelled to find the evidence despite the wild fear surging through my body. I could not see I had come to loathe stupidity. Ignorance was forgivable: stupidity was a sin. It was also a curse, and my former rationalizations for withholding from self-enlightenment were withering on the vine as surely as though a new winter was arriving. Doubts assailed me from all sides. I doubted if I really wanted to know, but the idea annoyed me and added to my ire. The struggle in my mind was becoming more defined with each passing second. However, I still needed proof. I needed one piece of evidence that would sort out the entire puzzle. I squared my shoulders, cast a fierce gaze out the window, and gave it one more try.

“Okay. Who, then?”

The question was devastating because an answer popped into my head as if Chelpa Feff-Nur had charged forward and planted it. I knew he had not. The ease with which the answer came bore none of the hallmarks of Chelpa’s tinkering. Besides, he had never truly forced a thought on me before unless he was seeking clarification on a point or correcting misinformation. The answer came first— and I was stunned — in the form of Joey’s voice. It was a name, but it also conjured up an image. My stomach twisted into a knot. It was a fearful-giddy-traumatizing-wonderful feeling. A vision of Scott Palmer floated through my mind. Without warning, it blurred into obscurity. I was jolted by the transformation of the image. It did not make sense to me, yet it seemed a completely natural progression. I was confused. One moment I felt euphoria, next I felt dread, and then confusion as everything blended together. I was so bewildered I blinked at the encroaching night. My eyes had dried out a small amount. I snatched off my glasses so I could rub the itching orbs, and the world disappeared into a blur of black, gray and purple. I froze. Ice water trickled through my veins. Winter had descended. Chelpa Feff-Nur told me numerous times there were thoughts resting below my conscious awareness. What he failed to state was that there were routine habits that should have been grouped in the same category.

I thought them unrelated.

“Unrelated, my ass!” I growled.

I was so overwhelmed by the revelation I failed to take the verbal exchange into account. Nature had conspired against me, and I railed against it. I had been kept ignorant through the shortcomings of my eyesight. Example after example flooded through my brain and drowned out any other notion. I was like an automaton. The moment I would see someone, a male, who might spark my interest, I would take off my glasses and make the temptation disappear into a pastiche of fuzzy color. It was a subconscious defensive mechanism, and I had no idea I had developed it. I was ignorant of my own desires, needs, and wants because I systematically obliterated one of the most important cues: visualization. Being gay suddenly seemed secondary compared to what I was doing to myself. I was my own worst enemy. It was a stupefying discovery.

All evidence pointed to the fact I hated myself more than I ever realized. I went numb. I stared into the undefined blackness as all thoughts leeched from my head. My body, the vessel encapsulating my entity, had worked against me. It had never done me much of a favor in the past, but to realize it was using itself as a device for complete obfuscation was unbearable. I could not get my mental arms around the concept. It was too titanic. Before I slipped into unconsciousness that night and darkness carried me away, I was left with a single question.

“What have I done?”

There is a truism in scientific inquiry that bears repeating on a regular basis: the search for answers uncovers more perplexing questions.

Wednesday morning was no better than Tuesday evening. Even the sun did not have the power to burst through the cloud cover. The day was dreary from the start. At breakfast that morning, my mood was as cold and soggy as the cereal I was attempting to force down my throat. My parents informed me that my punishment was officially over when I returned home from school, and I unenthusiastically replied I understood. Todd and Marla had given up trying to goad me and cause me further trouble. They had, for the most part, given up talking to me entirely. When they did, they were most often met with single-word answers lacking any emotion. I was a lost cause to them, and I was not entirely certain I disagreed. The ride to school was as stultifying as ever. Joey and Nate were still avoiding me. I could feel them watching me, but they made no direct contact. I was an alien in their eyes. I was more alien then they realized. Throughout the day, I kept close tabs on my actions. It was easy since I was so consumed in my private concerns. I noted the regularity with which I would remove my glasses. I started keeping a scorecard. I gave up on it after I crossed the fiftieth instance before lunch even arrived. I made a mental note of how often the act immediately followed my glancing at a person, another male to be specific. There was an eighty percent positive correlation. I was disgusted with myself yet again. I wandered through my day attempting to cite all those occasions when I acted against my biologically engineered instincts. It occurred with a staggering frequency. When gym arrived, I was too mentally diminished to care much about what happened. I was sick of being my own test subject. The results had confirmed Chelpa Feff-Nur’s conclusion: I was attracted to the male of my species.

“Are you just going to mope around the house?” My mother inquired caustically later that day.

I shrugged without turning around to face her. I was staring out the window again. The act had begun to annoy her deeply. I could not think of anything better to do.

“Louis! I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but this has got to stop. You were grounded, not executed,” she snapped at me.

“I know,” I replied flatly.

“Then snap out it or I’ll give you a reason to be depressed!”

I finally turned to face her. She studied me intensely for a moment. I had no idea what she was thinking, so I decided to inform her of my thoughts.

“It wouldn’t make any difference. Ground me. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”

I never found out exactly how my statements impacted her. I only have the memory of her face. It searched frantically for an appropriate expression, but it could not seem to decide which was right. I did see a certain amount of either care or worry. My mother was forced to resort to one of her motherly stand-by positions.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” She asked quietly.

“No,” I answered in a dull voice.

“Louis?”

“I’m not in any trouble, mom,” I repeated in the same fashion.

“Then what is it?” She pressed further.

I narrowed my eyes. I debated over what I should say. There was an array of truths I could reveal, each as unpalatable as the other. I chose, instead, a blanket statement.

“I… I don’t like myself very much. No one does.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” My mother told me. There was a hint of hysterics in her tone.

“Todd doesn’t. Marla doesn’t. Joey and Nate aren’t too thrilled with me. You and dad… I don’t know what you think of me, but it doesn’t seem too nice. I can’t help being what I am… and no one seems to like it,” I told her softly.

“Louis, we love you…”

“But it doesn’t mean you like me,” I retorted and interrupted her standard reply. “Didn’t you wonder why I don’t have any friends ’cept Joey and Nate? I can’t figure it out, mom. I’ve been trying… and trying, but I can’t seem to get it right. I don’t know what to do.”

I was on the verge of tears. The horrible truths of my life were ganging up on me and winning. My mother walked into the room and sat down on the bed across from me. There was a look in her eye that I took for pity. I did not want to be pitied: it would only confirm what I was thinking.

“Louis,” she said my name slowly, “you aren’t like any one else in the family. You never were. You’ve been your own person since you were a baby. Sometimes… sometimes I honestly didn’t know what to think of you, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

I opened my mouth.

“No, listen to me for a minute,” she said and took her turn at cutting me off. “Love and like are not the same thing, and you’re right about that, but that’s not what I think is bothering you.”

“What is it, then?” I queried darkly.

“I think it’s a question of respect.”

It was a novel thought for me.

“You’re different, Louis,” she stated again.

I looked away from her. I already knew that, and it was not helping my current frame of mind.

“I think you forget most of the greatest people who ever lived were different,” she continued quietly. “They were misunderstood. No one could figure out what they were up to, and yet these are the people history remembers. Ford, Edison, Gandhi, Dr. King… they stood apart from the crowd and followed their own thinking. Being different doesn’t mean you’re a bad person… you might get into a little trouble every once in while, but I know you’re not a bad person.”

“But… but when does… being different turn into something bad? It’s not like I’ve done anything to anyone, and I still get treated like dirt,” I rejoined tremulously.

“Louis, maybe you’re just a little sensitive now, but you’re not that odd.”

“Mom… what if I’m more different than even you know about?”

“Louis, are you in trouble?” She asked again. It was her way of making conversation when direct answers were not forthcoming.

“No, I told you that!” I replied moodily.

“As long as you really aren’t hurting anyone or wreaking God-knows-what sort of havoc on the computer that will foul things up for everyone, there’s not a lot besides you becoming a mass murderer that’s going to make me doubt you as a person.”

I wanted to believe her, but I was afraid. I was afraid to admit what I was gradually starting to accept. She had no notion I was gay. How could she? I had only recently discovered it for myself.

“Louis,” she said my name patiently. “As long as you don’t go on a killing spree, you’ll figure it out. I was young, too, and I know you can’t hear what I’m saying right now, but I do understand something of what you’re going through. You’re trying to find your place. Someday you’re going to look back on this, and maybe it will be a defining moment for you. Who knows? We can’t predict the future.”

I glanced up at her. I wondered why adults had a preoccupation with trying to divine the future. It seemed a topic they were most interested in when speaking to children. Later I would come to the determination that my parents were looking at the future through their children. They could see things we could not. It did not mean they saw everything. I knew my mother was trying her best to lend me comfort and guidance, but I felt as though she failed. It was a nice enough moment between us, but it did not lend me any clarity or sense of direction.

“You’re going to be okay, Louis,” she said and patted my shoulder. “Just do me a favor, would you?”

“What’s that?” I queried quietly.

“Don’t forget there’s a world out there that you can be part of if you want. I’ve heard what you’ve said to Joe and Nate, and I don’t think you’re wrong. You three need each other. You’re the only ones who actually understand one another most of the time!”

She smiled while she finished. I flashed her a quick, sardonic grin. Fortunately, she misinterpreted what it meant. My mother gently stroked my arm before she stood up. The unsettled look was still in her eyes, and this time I did not take it as pity. She was trying to understand me. She smiled once more, turned and then left my room. Chelpa Feff-Nur, in attempting to explain how his vehicle operated, once told me about gravity. He seemed to be in awe of it. Gravity is, as he told it, one of the weakest forces on the atomic level, yet it exerted the greatest influence over time. Because of that, it was actually the most powerful of the forces. After my mother departed, I returned to gazing out the window. My mother had, in her own way, exposed me to her gravity. The effect was small at first, but it began to build. She went one step further, I believe, because neither my father, Todd nor Marla intruded upon me the entire night despite the fact my bedroom door was open. For the first time in several weeks, it was not an uneasy quiet of anxious waiting. I think my mother spread the word I was trying to sort out my life. If she did, it was the most accurate assessment she ever made.

I had slipped into emotional and mental neutral by Thursday morning. I had somehow reached the conclusion I was powerless to change certain aspects of my life. I had achieved a tenuous truce with myself. Neutrality is an interesting state of consciousness. I was a dispassionate observer throughout the day. I watched others interact with mild curiosity. One thought that kept darting around my mind was whether these people who purported to be friends truly knew about one another. I could hear and see the methods they employed to dissect each other. It dawned on me that real trust was a rare commodity. It was attained in incremental stages. I also discovered that truth was in short supply. The lies my classmates told one another were amazing. Some were simple. Some were complex. Some lies had actually become their own form of truth. People could be honest with each other when nothing was at stake. I had never seen this guarded nature of our species before, and I found it slightly troubling. Everyone wanted someone else to take the first chance. They would watch it like hawks. If a person succeeded, then the method would be rapidly emulated. If a person failed, then he or she would suffer serious consequences to varying degrees. I felt less bad about myself when I found we were all cowards most of the time. We were too interested in self-preservation to realize what we were missing out on in our lives. That thought stayed with me as I boarded the bus to go home. Joey and Nate sat two seats behind me. I was a coward. They were cowards. It was, strangely enough, all right by me since we were cowards together. It made us equal. I pondered the nature of cowardice as the bus left the school grounds.

I knew one person who was not a coward. I knew one person who had been so utterly honest with me that it defied belief. I knew one person whom I trusted as I had never trusted anyone. I knew one person who openly dissected me, and shared the findings with me. I knew one person whom I had grievously wronged.

“Chelpa?’

I did not receive a response. I knew I could not care about that. I had a task to perform if I was going to show any form of real character.

“Chelpa Feff-Nur, I’m sorry. I apologize for what I said to you and how I treated you. It was wrong of me. I know you meant me no harm. You were trying to help me. I’m sorry.’

You have no need to apologize, Louis Albert Moran.

“Yeah, I do. I didn’t treat you with the same respect you’ve always shown me.’

You are young. You are learning. You are evolving, Louis.

“It doesn’t mean I had to act like I did toward you, and… Chelpa Feff-Nur, I am so sorry.’

I accept your apology, and please accept mine.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I muttered aloud.

I interfered directly with your development, and it is an act that cannot be easily forgiven.

“God, you’re forgiven, Chelpa! Who knows how long I would’ve gone without figuring out what I was doing to myself? I couldn’t have done it you hadn’t said something. You didn’t interfere with my development, Chlepa Feff-Nur: you helped me!’

It is very gracious and kind of you to say that, Louis Albert Moran.

“Bullshit! It’s the truth! Jeeze, Chelpa, don’t you see what you did for me?’

I caused you considerable anguish. No entity should ever inflict that upon another.

Chelpa Feff-Nur had a soul. It was as real as mine, and greater by any measure. I had treated him horrendously, and still he was willing to step forward and take responsibility for the incident. He was braver and more courageous than I could ever imagine for myself. It was tearing me apart that he could not accept my apology without assuming the guilt for himself. I did not want the incident to be skewed in that fashion. Chelpa, I now understood, was only guilty of doing his job and doing it well.

Guilt is meted out by the degree of one’s actions and intentions. While my intention was not to cause you harm, my actions did lead to it. I knew of your hesitancy to broach the subject of your sexuality, and yet I ventured forth thinking I could control the situation as it transpired. This is my guilt, Louis. It stands as fact contrary to your abundantly forgiving nature. There are no amends or apologies I can make that will excuse my actions. I am deeply honored by the sincere extension you proffer, but it cannot remove the grievous nature of my error.

“Then learn from it, damn you! Evolve, Chelpa Feff-Nur. You haven’t reached the end of the line, yet. Who can say this isn’t part of your evolution?’

There was an oddly thick silence in my brain. The bus jostled along, stopping when it needed to disgorge children, and then began anew its ambling journey. I scarcely noticed it.

That is a compelling argument, Louis Albert Moran.

“It’s the only logical conclusion I can make.’

I will have to consider this supposition carefully.

“You’re gonna see I’m right.’

You may very well be correct. It is an astute theory.

We were both thinking, and I could feel it. It felt wonderful to sense his mind in operation again. One part of my world had been reborn. Springtime was returning. It was slow, but I could feel the warmth. I berated myself for having so easily dismissed him from what I was enduring. I could not begin to comprehend what he suffered as a result of my stormy moods.

I was in no danger, Louis. You had need of greater resources, and I entered into a period of stasis.

“English, please,” I whispered. I was so happy to be able to say that I thought I was going to burst.

I… slept.

“Did you dream?’

I asked the question as I began to stand. My stop was approaching, and other kids were already beginning to clog the aisle. The bus rolled to a jolting halt.

It is a distinct possibility.

Chelpa Feff-Nur sounded uncertain. It did not carry a dire sense, but it was unusual for him to convey that sentiment in words. He normally stated when he did not know one way or the other.

Do you remember your dreams?

“Sometimes, not often, but sometimes.’

I had stepped off the bus and was wandering toward my house. I knew without a doubt Chelpa had forgiven me when we became embroiled in a debate over the nature of dreams. It was like a song in my head. I was feeling markedly better without even realizing it. The sky was overcast, but I saw the light around me. I saw my world. I saw it for two consciousnesses. Todd was getting a ride home from a friend, Marla was not due to arrive home for another hour, and my parents were both working. I had the house to myself. There was one single and very important difference: I was not alone. Chelpa Feff-Nur and I happily batted around our various theories regarding dreams. As we spoke, a question slowly crept through my part of the mind.

“Chelpa Feff-Nur,” I said in my natural voice since no one else was around to hear me, “did you ever see any of my dreams?”

There is an interesting facet to your dream state.

“And that is?” I asked when he paused.

The images are never in focus.

“You know why now, don’t you?’

If your assessment concerning your subconscious method of operation is correct, then it stands to reason your dreams are viewed through your flawed eyesight.

“More than you know,” I mumbled.

I must inform you, Louis Albert Moran, that I have reviewed the process you utilized in your internal investigation over the course of the last four rotational cycles, and I must state I am impressed with your methodology.

“Thanks!”

To this day, I believe that was the highest compliment any person, or entity, ever gave me. I was glowing inside. I could not express how much his statement meant to me.

I am not being effusive in my praise, Louis. Your process of deduction in evaluating such a convoluted area was exemplary, especially given the sensitive nature of the issue.

“English, please.’

One moment.

I waited.

You did real good untying a tricky knot.

I burst out laughing. I could hear myself in his tone. It was the most tortured sentence Chelpa Feff-Nur ever uttered. I prayed that I had not contaminated his exceptional use of the English language.

You have not, Louis Albert Moran. I thought it would convey the meaning in a manner that you could appreciate more readily.

“You did real good, Chelpa Feff-Nur!”

I was smiling.

I am pleased you are happy.

“I better get it now while I can. I think the road’s gonna get pretty rough up ahead.’

You will not be without travails, yet I am predisposed to believe you are better suited to deal with issues as they arise.

“Yeah… and thanks. I owe you one.’

I did you no favors, Louis Albert Moran.

“Let me be the judge of that. Okay?’

Very well. I shall leave that in your oddly arranged appendages. It puzzles me as to how your species can operate complex machinery with only five digits. My people have found that six is a base requirement.

“Base requirement?’

I have extruded as many as ten digits on a single appendage, depending entirely upon the task. My vocation does not require a fine degree of physical manipulation of objects.

“Ten! You mean you can grow as many fingers as you need?” I blurted.

That is correct. Length, width and multiplicity of joints are determined by the task. There are some methods of employment that dictate a need for as many as forty digits. On those occasions, the digits rarely exceed more than four molecules in thickness.

I spent the rest of my alone time at home learning exactly how advanced his species was along the evolutionary path. Chelpa’s species was old when compared to ours, but he assured me it was not as aged as some. He informed me that his race had achieved their current mutable physical characteristics over a course of time that was equivalent to one million earth years. I had strolled to my room while listening, and failed to notice when Marla arrived home. Chelpa Feff-Nur and I were still speaking about his species when my mother appeared in my doorway. I stared at her blankly while forming an image in my head of Chelpa’s race.

“Louis,” she said softly. “You have guests.”

“Guests?” I replied stupidly.

Unannounced visitors who are customarily welcome in the domicile.

“I know that!’

Chelpa sounded strangely smug. I think he was having a joke with me. At least I think he was. Regardless, I still thought it funny.

My mother had nodded once, and then disappeared. She was quickly replaced by the figures of Joey and Nate. They stood staring at me. I sat lounging on my bed staring at them. The silence was awkward.

“Hi, guys,” I said casually.

“Hey,” Nate mumbled.

Joey simply raised his hand.

“Dude, we, um… we’ve sort of been talking ’bout it and… like, we’re kind of wondering…”

Nate was stammering. He always did when he was nervous about what he was going to say.

“Damn, Nate, just spit it out!” Joey grumbled tersely.

“See, it’s like this. I mean, Joey told me… you know, when you got mad at him on Monday, and like… what I mean…”

“Jesus, Nate!” Joey interceded again. “Louis, it’s like this: do you hate us or something?”

“What he said,” Nate quickly added.

“No, I don’t hate you,” I replied and sat up. “I was, ah, sort of hating myself there for a while.”

Joey and Nate looked at each other, and then back at me.

“Didn’t look that way to us,” Joey mumbled.

“I think I was hating everything. It was nothing personal ’bout you guys,” I muttered and stared at the comforter on my bed.

“Yeah, right!”

I glanced up at Joey. Nate continued to stare at me with unblinking eyes. He was sweating a little, and it was a further indication about how tense he was at the moment.

Louis?

“Yeah?’

If I may, I am going to withdraw for a short while. I wish to contemplate the question of the continuing evolution of my species in reference to your statements on the transport from school.

“Yeah, sure.’

Chelpa Feff-Nur could mull over about ten thousand things at the same time. I knew he was hedging about the real reason why he was stepping back. Chelpa was giving me room to speak with Joey and Nate. I hoped he would keep at least one ear, if he had one, cocked and pointed in our direction.

“No, you’ve got it wrong, Joey,” I said slowly. “I was trying to take you guys some place you didn’t want to go. I think it was a place I needed to go, but not you guys.”

“I don’t know about that,” Nate whispered.

“All right, what place were you heading to that you wanted us to come along?” Joey asked me with a touch of sarcasm. It was his style, and I did not take offense.

I looked at him for a second. I suddenly understood why Chelpa Feff-Nur had backed away. This was something I had to do on my own, and he did not want to interfere with my continuing development. I could not imagine how much willpower it took him to make that decision. It was beyond my abilities.

“I’m tired of hating myself, Joey, and I had to figure out why I was doing it.”

Before either Joey or Nate could speak, I saw my father walk past. I jumped up from my bed and squeezed between my two friends, who were looking a bit astonished.

“Dad?” I said loudly.

My father spun around and looked at me with the same expression my friends were displaying.

“Louis?” He replied as if not believing I was speaking to him.

“Dad, I was wondering if I could talk to Joey and Nate privately… in my room with the door closed?”

“You want to talk?” He inquired with greater disbelief.

“’Bout time I did, don’t you think?”

My father nodded his head. Chuck the Enforcer rapidly emerged. He scanned my face for a moment.

“You don’t have any computers in there? Do you, Louis?”

“No,” I replied with a chuckle. “It’s a technology-free zone… if you don’t count the telephone or the television.”

“Well, all right. Dinner is in about an hour. Think you might like to join us tonight?”

It was Chuck the Enforcer speaking. I smiled and nodded my head. It was rare that my father appeared as confused as he did at the moment. The capricious nature of teenagers was a bit of mystery to him. He nodded in return, and then continued on his journey down the stairs. I returned to my friends.

“Grab a seat,” I offered.

Joey and Nate strolled into my room, and closed the door behind them. Joey leaned against my small desk that was piled high with clutter. Nate took his usual perch on the pneumatic chair, which hissed a little when he sat down. I dropped onto my bed. We stared at one another for a moment. I was aware that I had initiated this level of conversation, and thus I would have to begin.

“You guys are my friends, but I’ve gotta know how much I can trust you,” I said in a serious voice.

“’Bout what?” Joey asked suspiciously.

Nate listened and watched in silence.

“Something really personal. Something so personal you could really wreck my life with it.”

“Oh,” Nate intoned.

“Jesus, Louis, it’s like you’re gonna tell us you’re gay or something,” Joey barked rudely.

My mouth literally flopped open. I could not help it. Although I was unaware when I first began, I realized he was absolutely correct: I was going to tell them. I was not certain why, but I sensed it was the direction in which I was headed. Both Joey and Nate waited. After a few seconds, Joey’s eyes grew wide.

“No way!” He whispered.

I stared at him.

“I don’t fucking believe this!”

“Believe what?” Nate inquired in confusion.

“Jesus, Nate, weren’t you listening?” Joey growled at him.

“He didn’t say anything!” Nate fired back.

“That’s just it,” Joey grunted. “He didn’t tell me I was wrong!”

I swallowed against the sense of panic building in my stomach. This was not turning out how I had subconsciously imagined. I thought I would have the opportunity to lay some groundwork before making any sort of admission. I had failed to take into account Joey’s bright and suspicious mind, and how his cynicism shaped his natural thinking patterns. He had, I assumed, jumped to the worst example he could think of at the moment.

“You mean…. Is Louis saying what you said?” Nate queried. He was bewildered. He did not think like Joey. He preferred, instead, to let a person explain first before reaching a conclusion.

“Duh!” Joey intoned dryly.

“I’m not stupid,” Nate muttered darkly.

“No, you’re not, Nate,” I said and rose to his defense, “and thanks for not getting wound up like Joey.”

“How the hell did you think I was going to react?” Joey challenged.

“Like the smartest person I know. Not like one of those people back at school!”

My point hit the mark. Joey snapped his mouth closed, but his dark eyes never left my face.

“You serious, Louis?” Nate asked me calmly. His round face was screwed up with concentration.

“Yeah,” I said in a low tone. “I’m serious.”

“Get it now?” Joey mumbled at Nate.

“Dude, just fucking back off!”

Joey was stung for a second time. Nate had bellowed in anger at him. I was a bit shocked as well, and pleased at the same time. It seemed something had changed while I was off on my mental trip. Nate glared at Joey. Joey looked away and stared at the floor. I had never really seen Joey chastened in such a fashion. My curiosity was piqued.

“Dude,” Nate spoke to me and completely differently than he had to Joey. “You’re telling us you really are a homo?”

I inhaled deeply. I now had to say it outright. Perhaps Joey had done me a favor in an odd manner.

“Yes, Nate: I’m gay,” I replied.

It was not as bad as I thought it was going to be.

“Is this why you’ve been so weird the last couple of weeks?”

“Partly.”

I could not reveal the whole truth. We had to deal with one shocking revelation at a time. I also did not believe they wanted to hear that I was hosting an alien in my brain. Joey would actively seek to have me committed to an asylum if he was not already planning it.

“So all that stuff last week? You were, what, trying to get us ready for this?” Joey asked, and he did ask. It was not polite by civilized standards, but it was a huge step for him.

“Um, not really,” I admitted. “That other stuff: I really do believe that. It’s not about me being… you know, gay, but about how people treat us in general.”

“Louis, you know some serious shit is going hit the fan when the news gets out.”

It was a statement of fact.

“That’s why I’m talking to you guys first. I figure if it’s gonna get bad, I might as well see how my friends are gonna treat me. You know, sort of get ready for it all.”

I cannot adequately describe the bizarre range of nuances in Joseph Melman. He was unpredictable for the most part, but there were a few constants. At that point, he was displaying no discernable pattern I could detect. Joey was motionless and staring at me.

“You think we’re gonna bust your balls on this and spread it around?” He inquired in a sharp voice.

“I don’t know. You tell me,” I rejoined.

“Dude, you don’t know me like you think you do,” Joey spat at me. “You think I’m gonna run the risk of pissing off FreeByte and get failed in every class ’til I’m in my thirties?”

“Shit!” Nate muttered.

Joey was back in form. It was not exactly an expression of loyalty toward me. He was protecting his interests, but there was an element that gave me hope. Joey respected my skills on the computer. He used my hacker name openly, and that was very significant.

“And you don’t know me like you think you do,” I tossed his statement at him.

“Maybe there’s some things we shouldn’t know,” he told his feet.

“Joey, I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you guys. You’re my friends. You don’t do that to friends. You know I’d go down for you!”

Joey snorted. I could tell he was trying to suppress it, but it ripped straight through his nose. His shoulders shuddered once, and he burped out another laugh. I did not see what was so funny. I was earnest in what I was stating. It did not matter how much they struck against me in the long run: I would refuse to take part in such low tactics. Joey was grunting and wheezing. His eyes were riveted on the floor.

“What?” Nate queried.

“I…” Joey tried to say through a laugh. “I… guess he would… you know? Go down for us.”

I got the joke, and rearranged the meaning in my head. Joey was being perverse for his own sense of enjoyment. The totally strange part was I did not feel he was laughing at me. Joey had simply found a way to make a vulgar pun to entertain himself. It was purely a habit when I rephrased the crass joke in my head.

Very crude!

I knew Chelpa Feff-Nur was responding to my accompanying mental groan. When Nate started to snicker, I groaned for real. I had known Joseph Melman for a long time, over half my life, but I never heard him laugh from the gut as I did on that afternoon. He was positively delighted by the lewdness of his pun. Each moment that passed with his grunting laugh echoing through the room proved I knew he was not laughing at me. Nate was a harder call to make in that regard, but it was obvious when Joey was making mean-spirited fun of someone. He was not doing it this time. I was impressed.

“Have you told Chuck yet?” He inquired through another snort.

Apparently my facial reaction spoke for me. Joey stopped laughing instantly. Nate’s chuckling was slower to die down. Joey’s simple question had knocked me off my feet and, had I been standing, I would have fallen down.

“Dude, chill,” Joey advised me. “So you didn’t. No big deal, Louis.”

“You mean we really are the first ones to know?” Nate questioned me.

I nodded my head.

“Remind me not to be here when you get around to telling your folks,” Joey murmured. “Chuck’s gonna blow out his o-ring.”

Our shared trepidation regarding my father launched the serious discussion. Joey was as crude as ever during our talk, but I never once got the impression he was making fun of me. Nate was not as talkative, but remained alert through everything that was said. When he did have something to say, Joey kept his mouth shut. They were treating this news more maturely than I expected, and it was something of a relief. We talked, and talked, and talked. We burned through an hour like it was a minute. My friends were concerned about what would happen to me when the information was leaked, and both swore they would not tell a soul. I trusted them. I had no other alternative. I had taken the risk because I wanted my friendship with them to deepen. My mother had been very astute in her observation: Joey, Nate and I did seem to possess an almost instinctual understanding of one another. When my father knocked at the door and poked his head in to warn about the approaching dinnertime, he glanced at the three of us with a suspicious eye. He had good reason, yet he seemed content that we appeared to be doing nothing more than talking. I walked to the front door with my friends, and we stood out in the cold air saying good-bye.

“Dude, it’s your hitch, and I ain’t gonna say a word,” Joey promised me again. “Don’t want to get that bad mojo thing going with FreeByte.”

“Same here,” Nate remarked. “I wouldn’t want anyone dropping the bomb for me.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

“Louis, just play it cool and it’ll work out,” Joey said, and he sounded convincing.

“It probably won’t, but…”

“Dude, remember what you said about not caring what people think?” Nate offered me a timely reminder.

“You know, I was starting to believe you there for a while,” Joey murmured. “Maybe I do. I don’t know. It’s such a messed up game most of the time.”

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed, and then added, “but I know I want you guys on my side. I trust you two more than anybody.”

“Cool,” Nate said softly.

“What he said, dude,” Joey affirmed and jerked a thumb at Nate. “We better motor before Chuck thinks we’re torching a jay out here.”

“He knows better. Todd told him.”

“You’re brother is a dick, you know that?”

I grinned. Joey did not smile, but his eyes were glittering in an evil manner. Todd and Joey had no affection for each other. If he had to choose, I believe Joey would opt to get stranded on an island with my father instead of Todd. Nate raised a hand in farewell. I watched my two friends stroll down the walkway to the street. They were an odd-looking pair: Joey in black with an old military fatigue jacket, and Nate jumbled into whatever clothes fit him at the time. My bearing seemed to complete the trio without explanation. It simply made sense.

You choose your associates wisely, Louis Albert Moran.

“I wouldn’t call it choosing, Chelpa Feff-Nur. We got lucky is all when we got stuck together.’

Chance does not take sides.

“Maybe not, but luck does.’

Thus, I walked into the house while I silently became immersed in another debate with the entity in my head.

I waited. I watched. I waited and watched for two solid weeks. Chelpa reminded me at least once a day that my trust would be rewarded with loyalty. I was not certain I believed him completely, but Joey and Nate did not let me down. I was impressed with how they managed to act as though nothing had changed, but our private talks proved otherwise. They were looking at me differently. They had many questions about how I was handling it, and I was honest with them. I was scared, but admitting it to my friends decreased the fear. They were rapidly becoming an important outlet for me. Nate seemed a bit puzzled by the entire turn of events. He did not mask it, and his questions tended to be more personal in nature. He wanted to know if I felt different than he did. Joey scoffed at the inquiries, but I would not let him pick on Nate. I answered to the best of my abilities. What they did not understand was that I had been living a different life for nearly two months. Had I been wiser at the time, I would have known living with an alien secreted in my brain trumped any issue regarding sexuality. I understand it now, and that knowledge has proven useful time and again when evaluating the direction my life takes.

I spent a good deal of time during those two weeks attempting to get Chelpa to give me advice on how best to tell my parents. Chelpa Feff-Nur had no compunction in stating that the issue outstripped his knowledge of humans. I first thought he was trying to dodge making any definitive comments, but his inquiries proved nearly as naïve as Nate’s. Chelpa honestly could not fathom why my parents would have difficulty understanding my sexuality. It was then that I realized how complex the topic was overall. It involved everything from interpersonal relationships to societal expectations. Chelpa Feff-Nur could not advise me because he simply did not know. He had finally found the limit of his extensive knowledge about humans. We were, as he put it, quite different from his species. When I was feeling churlish about the subject, I would sometimes remind him that his people had a couple of hundred thousand years start on mine when it came to civilized development. Chelpa did not argue the point.

Spring decided to make an assault on winter. The weather warmed during the two weeks after my disclosure to Joey and Nate. Spring heralded its arrival with wave after wave of thunderstorms. It was too early in the season, I thought, for such mighty storms. When my friends were not visiting with me or I with them, Chelpa Feff-Nur and I would sit and watch the storms. The lightning and thunder held a special fascination for him. He tried to explain how the weather systems worked on his planet, but it was too complex and foreign for me to visualize or understand. I knew he was enthralled by the storms when he asked if we could watch them instead of doing homework. Sometimes we ventured out onto the porch so he could really see the Earth climate in action. Chelpa was in his element, but he did try to limit the amount of time he capitalized. He was not entirely successful.

May I request a favor?

The request was made while sitting on my bed watching a twilight lightning storm take shape outside. There were bright flashes in the sky and the distant roll of thunder.

“What’s the favor?’

I would like to witness this display from a better vantage point.

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous to go outside?’

It would not. The discharges are traveling horizontally through the sky. They are not making contact with the ground. These electrical charges are very mild compared to what we witnessed three days ago.

I had my doubts, but I did not think Chelpa Feff-Nur would lead me into danger. I silently agreed, stood up and retrieved my jacket. As I headed down the stairs and out the door, I informed my mother I was going out for a walk. She warned me to come home before it started raining. When I stepped outside, I saw what she feared. Even in the dying light of day, the sky still appeared suffused with threat. The alien in my head did not seem to mind it one bit. It struck me that he would not have to endure a head cold as I would should I contract one.

The illness you are referencing is not caused by atmospheric conditions. It is viral, and I have not detected a recent outbreak in your school. I highly doubt you are in any danger of contracting the illness.

“Maybe,” I said out loud as I walked to the end of the driveway, “but you’re not the one who’s gonna get soaked if it starts to rain.”

Chelpa Feff-Nur did not appear to pay attention to my complaint, and had me halt at the end of the driveway so we could scan the horizon. Another flash got his attention, and he asked me to head down the street. We lived on a road that ended in a cul-de-sac. Our side of the neighborhood was bordered by the swamp and a fairly large undeveloped expanse of land. As I wandered along, I noted the direction of travel. We aimed for the end of the road. When we reached it, I stopped.

The observational quality of this locale is poor. If my knowledge of the topography serves me correctly, the land formation should start to rise some distance into the wooded area. Would it be permissible for us to venture further?

“Sure,” I agreed in my normal voice, and I looked up to see if rain was imminent.

I cut between two houses and reached the edge of the woods. I walked. Chelpa navigated. I memorized where we were going. There were trails we could follow that had been made by cyclists, hikers and joggers. They were thin paths and tended to meander. Chelpa Feff-Nur was absolutely fascinated by the lightning that lit our way. The thunder seemed exceptionally thrilling to him since I could feel it in my body. I had to admit it had an eerie beauty and sensation. We plunged deeper and deeper into the woods. It was not long before the land did, indeed, begin to slope upward. I had to exert more energy and was growing rather warm from the effort. The entity in my brain seemed oblivious to how far we had traveled. We crested a hill that was rather barren for the most part. Below us was a basin that was populated with scrub brush.

Yes, I believe this is the location.

Chelpa Feff-Nur sounded pleased. Moreover, he seemed excited. It was infectious. I spun in a slow circle, scanning the sky as I did so.

You are fortunate to have such a view of the sky. Although I am enjoying this climate, it would be pleasant to see the stars again from the surface of the planet.

“You’ve actually been out there, and that’s gotta be better than what we can see from here.’

It is different when standing on a planet. One is given a perspective from which to observe. Space is very empty, Louis Albert Moran.

There was another flash of light in the sky. It was bluish and tinged with rosy accents. Several seconds later, a throaty peal of thunder rolled over us. After-images were burned into my eyes. I rubbed my knuckles underneath my glasses to remove the dancing dots.

I need you to look down into the depression below.

I blinked my eyes, adjusted my glasses, and did as I was asked. It took me a few seconds to realize something was not right. My eyes were the same, but the view had changed. It was as if a large shadow had suddenly filled the small valley. I became slightly nervous.

There is nothing to fear, Louis. Please, you must walk down.

“You sure about this, Chelpa?” I questioned tentatively.

Please.

He did not sound nervous. I trusted his judgment. I began the walk. The closer we got to the bottom, the more it seemed like a gray smoke was filling the air. There was no fire that I could see, and I could smell nothing except nature beckoning springtime to arrive with more force. While I could still hear thunder from time to time, the lightning was diminished nearly to nothing in the weird haze. I was considering halting and retreating to survey the scene. I had nearly made up my mind when the smoke seemed to vanish. A gentle blue glow surrounded me. It was dazzling without being painful. I could not fathom how such light could go unnoticed, especially by me since I had been right on top of it for the most part. After a few seconds, I was able to discern a flattened blueberry-shaped thing nestled within the surrounding vegetation. It was the source of the light.

“Chelpa!” I said in surprise.

Do not be alarmed, Louis Albert Moran. You have nothing to fear. You will not be harmed.

“W-what is it?”

That is the craft that will return me to my planet.

My mind went blank.

It is time for me to depart, Louis. They have come to take me home.

“No,” I whispered.

I must.

I could not accept what he was telling me. I could not state the time or place when I first conceived of the notion, but I had come to believe Chelpa would be with me forever. Not only was I accustomed to the arrangement, but I also wanted it to continue. I tried to refute the concept of his departure.

There is no other alternative. I have stated several times that my people would come for me. This is how it must be, Louis.

“I… Chelpa… I…. Please, don’t leave me,” I begged.

If I am not extracted from your mind, Louis Albert Moran, our condition will decay. There is a highly probable risk your life will be terminated when I expire.

It was a sobering thought. Yet I could not conceive of any manner that I could hurt him. Chelpa seemed indestructible to me. There was strength in his thoughts and the very style of his thinking that gave him the sheen of invincibility. He had, after all, survived nearly two months with me.

I do not lie to you. You brain cannot permanently house my consciousness. The engrams will deteriorate in time. I will die. The inevitable could be delayed for a short while if we integrated fully…

“I’ll do it!”

Of that I have no doubt, Louis, but it would lead to your destruction. Our choices are very limited: either I am to be extracted from your mind or quite likely both of us will perish. I have pledged I would bring you no harm, and thus I will refuse to integrate with you.

“Chelpa…’

I mumbled incoherently in my mind. I could not tolerate the idea he was going away. We had only just met, and there was so much more to discover. I had been a fool the first time I saw him. My fear that day was distasteful. Even though I had not fully deciphered why I was able to overcome it, I realized it was one of the most important things I had ever done.

You once displayed unparalleled courage in saving my life, Louis Albert Moran. I owe my very existence to you. Now, I would ask you show the same courage, and save my life once more. More importantly, save your life as you save mine.

I could not do it. I could not let him go. I needed him. I could not begin to think of what kind of life I would have without him.

There is nothing I possess that is not already yours. While you have assumed I am a teacher for you, it is the opposite that is true. What I have learned will take many lifetimes of my kind to understand. Yet this is not what I am seeking to protect. I know this is painful for you. Your species is peculiar in the bonds you are willing to form, and they can result in anguish unmatched by any physical calamity. Louis Albert Moran, I would spare you a greater pain by taking my leave.

How could any pain I would feel later compete against what I was presently feeling? I would rather someone tore my limbs off. That I could bear. I did not want him to leave. I would protect him. I would keep Chelpa Feff-Nur alive even if did cost me my life. He could have my body.

Louis, please, I cannot remain knowing I am placing you in peril. Please, if you will not spare your own, then save my life again!

Chelpa Feff-Nur sounded desperate. He sounded afraid, and I knew he was not afraid for himself. I was able to imagine he would sacrifice his life to make certain nothing happened to me. I knew he was not lying. There never was, nor do I believe there ever will be, any act I can perform that took the strength it did that day to make my feet move. I was propelled forward by an emotion I had never said aloud. I was moved by love. I loved Chelpa Feff-Nur’s life as much as I loved my own, and perhaps even more. I could not stand idly by while his means of returning to his own existence were so close at hand. The large blue craft was silent. I forced myself to walk to it. As I approached, two pinkish, bullet-shaped creatures appeared from one side of the craft. They were surrounded in the same gelatin-like substance I had seen on Chelpa Feff-Nur when I first saw him. They walked upright on three stumpy legs. They moved with a grace that belied their shape. They waited for me by the edge of the craft. I walked up to them. I was almost angered when a feeling of joy swept through me.

You must reach out with one hand, Louis. They will not take me from you. You must willingly release me, as you were to accept me. There can be no other way.

I do not know how I moved my arm. It felt dead and lifeless against my body. I raised the arm and hand that had been frozen when I tried to touch Chelpa’s vehicle. I held it out, and it shook violently. Slowly, the being closest to me exuded a limb from its body. I felt something moist and warm envelop my hand when contact was made.

Close your eyes, Louis. It is time to dream.

I did. Then, I opened them immediately. I was standing in a different position, further away from the vehicle. I was standing with a group of three creatures. The one closest to me was watching me with a single, large eye. There were three ochre-colored pools floating in a greenish substance that resembled liquid wax. Two arms were dangling on either side. The mouth opened. Strands of flesh were stretched between the opposing sides of the lipless orifice. I got the distinct impression it was smiling at me. One of the creature’s arms floated into the air. In the palm of the hand with six digits was a device that sparkled with several small lights. The creature extended it toward me. Without warning, a third arm grew out its side. It resolved into a limb and hand, and then pantomimed an action. I finally got the general idea. I took the device and pressed it to my forehead. It grew on its own, and soon I was wearing something like a metal cap.

It is good to see you for myself, Louis Albert Moran.

“Chelpa!” I said loudly.

As if it were a cue, the other two beings turned and walked back to the craft.

I live, and I will always have you to thank. This is a replicated body derived from stores of my genetic material.

They cloned you?”

That is a sufficient description.

I stood gaping at Chelpa Feff-Nur: the Chelpa Feff-Nur.

“You, ah… you look good,” I murmured while a foolish grin tripped along the edge of my mouth.

It is kind of you to say so. I find I have become rather accustomed to your manner of locomotion.

He shifted around on his three legs. Chelpa seemed slightly awkward compared to the others.

“It was your home for a while.”

Indeed, and a much cherished one.

My throat tightened up. Chelpa was not given to speaking in emotional terms.

I am sorry to inform you we have reached a moment you have dreaded for some time.

I knew what he was saying. I hated it. He was leaving. He was leaving me. Tears slid down my cheeks. I could not stop the release.

My species cannot shed water from the eye as yours does, but I do understand the sentiment.

“Do you?” I asked, my voice hoarse with teeming emotions.

I will say this. I have told you previously my native language is very different from yours. We choose our words carefully, and they convey considerable amounts of data. However, I have learned through you that some words, the ones my kind possesses, cannot describe what is to be another species in several respects. There are limitations to our knowledge.

“English, please,” I mumbled.

Yes, English will be most effective.

Chelpa Feff-Nur raised two of his three arms. The round palms with six spindly fingers hovered next to my head. Gradually, I felt the unique moist, warm sensation of his protective covering press against my temples. I let him pull me forward. There seemed to be something extremely symbolic in what he was doing. Slowly, our foreheads came into contact as much as they could. My face was bathed in warmth.

I would take me several revolutionary cycles of your planet to state in my language what only takes you moments. However, there is no dishonor in this particular method of communication at this time.

I stared through the translucent mass at his eye. I had no clue as to what he was saying. I did not know what he wanted me to understand.

Only this: love.

I blinked.

Yes, Louis Albert Moran, my species feels love, as does yours. Greater intelligence and knowledge does not remove it. It may be fair to say we are more tempered to its effects, but we feel them all the same. I, too, am feeling the pain of our separation, and it is because of love. Yes, my friend, I do, indeed, feel love for you.

I reacted in a purely human fashion. I threw my arms around the girth of his body. I hugged him as hard as I could. I was crying. I was in a terrible state. I did not want to let him go. The idea was killing me.

“Chelpa,” I sobbed.

Perhaps we will find comfort in the fact that, for as short a time as it was, we met. Two worlds came together in one mind. This is a rare privilege under any circumstance. You preserved my life, Louis, and that is something that will never be forgotten by my people or me. I am in your debt.

“Nothing,” I blubbered. “You don’t owe me anything, Chelpa Feff-Nur. I… I… I evolved… because of you. I owe you.”

Chelpa hugged me. I felt safe in the warmth of his embrace. It was as though I had come home and found a desperately needed refuge. I could have stayed there forever, protected as I was by simply having him near me.

I shall miss you, Louis Albert Moran. We will never meet again, but we will never be truly apart. Part of you will return to my world.

It was not enough. I was suddenly possessed with the notion I could go with him. I would learn to adapt.

You would die on my world as surely as I would have died on this one had you not saved me. We have no devices to preserve your form. It would be destroyed, and I will not allow that to come to pass.

I felt him release me. I knew I had to let go. I was fighting with myself. I could not imagine what the next minute would be like without him in my life… in my head. He was part of me. Chelpa forced me away from him. I am not certain, but he looked sad to me. He was feeling what I was feeling.

I shall miss you greatly, my friend. I have seen your world through your eyes, and it is a beautiful world. It is a world of promise. As long as I know you exist here, I know the promise will not be lost. That is my hope, Louis Albert Moran.

I was being eaten alive by my sadness. I could not go with him. He would not let me even if I tried. I was in a state of panic. My best friend was leaving me forever. There were a million things I wanted to tell him. My conversation with Chelpa Feff-Nur was not over. Yet, it was. It was not a conscious directive, but I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. I never thought it contained anything useful. It held my student identification card, and some odd scraps of paper with Internet addresses scribbled on them. However, there was also a small stack of photographs meant for friends I did not have. From the original dozen, ten remained. I pulled one out. It was the standard, embarrassing high school photograph. I held it up and outward.

Although yours is a face I will always know, I am honored by the gift.

Chelpa Feff-Nur began to reach up. He then paused.

If you possess sufficient quantity, may I have two?

I dug out another picture as fast as I could. He could have them all as far as I was concerned. Chelpa took the two I presented. He gazed at the photos for a moment.

One will be used in the official record of this event. The other… this is for me.

After another second, Chelpa Feff-Nur looked at me. The three irises moved in unison in the large eye. I thought it was marvelous in its own fashion. The body that once so terrified me now made complete sense. Chelpa had explained why it was shaped as it was, and I could see how the form fit the function perfectly. I thought of my own gangly form, and realized that it, too, was suited for its environment, if not entirely sufficiently.

May I have use of your left arm, Louis?

I was puzzled. I held my arm out with my wallet clutched in the hand. Chelpa had sprouted a fourth arm. He was holding a small, gray tube. One of his limbs literally snaked around my own, and held it firm. The new appendage drew close with the object. How he managed to push up the sleeve of my jacket was beyond me to explain, but he did it. Then, Chelpa Feff-Nur held the device against my arm. I felt a prickling, tingling sensation. When he removed the object several seconds later, I saw a faint, red mark. I leaned in close to look at it. It was a simple design: a single, small circle surrounding a single, small triangle. I glanced at Chelpa with questions in my eyes. He looked at me. Perhaps even into me as he had so often.

When they speak of you on my planet, this will be part of your name. You are the circle, and I am the triangle. It is the representation of the period when you encapsulated my entity. While I will be admonished for having marked you, I think my people will come to understand the true mark impressed on us cannot be seen. This small image is trivial compared to how we have changed one another.

Chelpa Feff-Nur was being naughty and wise. He was breaking the rules and yet adhering to a completely separate one. He also sounded very pleased with himself. The large eye shifted upward. I was taller than him by at least a head. I saw his mouth stretch open, and I knew he was smiling. Had I been quicker, I would have been able to stop him, but he then removed the device from my head before I knew what he was doing.

This is not necessary any longer, Louis Albert Moran. I removed it so that I could say farewell. It is time for me to depart.

A new wave of sadness crashed over me. I was strangling me. I was certain this time it was the end. Chelpa had no reason to stay, and still I thought of thousands of excuses for him to remain. I could not bring myself to utter the traditional statement of farewell. I was trying to defy reality.

I do understand. Good-bye, Louis… my friend.

I could not speak. I raised my newly branded arm, and waved slightly. Chelpa Feff-Nur looked at me once more. He turned easily on one of his three trunk-like legs. His gait was nearly an undulation, and it carried him away from me. I felt empty. I felt like I was dying. I was losing something I could never get back. Chelpa neared the craft. A hole opened up, and he aimed for it. A piece inside of me snapped.

“CHELPA FEFF-NUR!” I yelled.

He paused, and twisted his torso in half-circle to face me.

“Chelpa… I love you,” I said more quietly, and more tears accompanied the declaration.

Of all the knowledge I hold, I shall treasure that piece above the rest. Please, Louis Albert Moran, do not forget I love you.

I would not forget. I could not. They were the last words he spoke to me. I was witness to his departure. He ascended into the opening, and it sealed behind him. The craft pulsed with light once. It made no sound. The shadow obscuring it from the rest of the world gathered around the vessel. The vehicle seemed to dissolve into the early night. I did not see how it left or where it went. It was as if it had just ceased to exist without any movement or noise. I stood in the basin staring at the empty space. Tears ran down my face. I then watched the blanketed sky for quite a while. When I found the courage to move, and it seemed like an admission that Chelpa Feff-Nur was truly gone, I slowly wended my way home. There was a dull ache in my entire body. I could feel his absence. I cannot explain what it actually felt like because there are no words to describe it. I was whole, and yet I was not. As I walked along, I acted as though I were searching for something. I was, but I knew I would not find it. I was alone when I returned home. I was more alone than I ever thought I could be.

“Good-bye,” I said before entering the house.

There is finality to death that gives one the chance to overcome the grief. The sorrow of separation I was feeling had no end. I knew Chelpa Feff-Nur was alive somewhere, with his people and probably very glad to be home, and still I ached to have him return to me. A sad, sullen and temperamental fourteen-year-old inspires a strange form of grief. My mother wanted me to be happy, and she tried to talk to me. I rebuffed all efforts. Days passed. Joey and Nate attributed my reaction to our conversations and my confessions, and Joey, much against his nature, tried to be supportive. Nate mumbled niceties to me whenever he could sneak them in. Time stretches thin in a fashion I do not think Chelpa ever understood. When I spent the weekend sitting in my room staring out the window while wrapped in my benighted thoughts, my family reached a breaking point. Chuck the Enforcer tried to bully me into feeling better during dinner, and one more piece snapped inside of me. Since I could not tell them what happened in reality, something else took its place. As had occurred with Joey and Nate, I stumbled into telling my family about my sexuality. The Moran household erupted into chaos for many, many weeks. There were some interesting aspects to the affair. My father and Marla accepted the news fairly well almost from the beginning. My mother and Todd had greater difficulty. It would take Todd two years before he reconciled the problems he was having with himself. My being gay was not the problem, and I was convinced of that. It took my father many months to talk some sense into my mother. Chuck the Enforcer took her to task in much the same fashion he did Joey or me. It was an interesting turn of events.

Todd wasted no time in letting his friends know he had a gay brother. The news traveled rapidly in school. It was not easy in the hallways, and it was made all the more difficult because I was without my mental balancing presence. I was missing Chelpa so fiercely that I reacted angrily to any negative comments lobbed at me. I got into several fights. For reasons I did not understand at the time, that raised my level of esteem with my father despite the beatings I endured. I think he was glad to see I would fight for myself. I was not alone. Joey proved to be a friend beyond measure. He was a cynic to the core, and he shrugged off everyone’s assumption that he was gay as well. Nate did not fare too well, and our friendship slowly disintegrated. By the time we were seniors, we no longer spoke or even acknowledged one another. It was one of the causal reactions. Joey stuck by me through thick and thin. I learned later he mentioned FreeByte regularly to give Nate a reason to keep his mouth shut. I had no idea Joey was so fond of me that he would threaten Nate on my behalf.

Life did resume a relatively normal course, given the circumstances. FreeByte was not dead. Neither was KillZero, as Joseph Melman was known on-line. Our hacking turned to other pursuits. I became interested in cryptography. Joey became interested in cracking. We grew up together on the Internet. During our senior year and after he turned eighteen, he became deeply immersed in the Warez movement, and made a sizeable amount of money despite the dangers and risks involved. When I morphed into FreeByte while sitting behind a computer, I became obsessed with the mathematics behind cryptography. A piece of Chelpa lived inside of me, and that was how I found part of him again. The observer and thinker from another planet thrived in my mind. My life changed in other areas as I truly began not to care what others thought. I even made some new friends at school who helped me find a new life. There was an underground gay community, and they searched me out. Joey was accepted as the token straight boy, although I do not believe many were overly fond of him. Between Joey and my friends, I survived high school. I went on to college while Joey expanded his patently illegal activities on the Internet. I found love on campus several times, and Joey found love once. It was all he needed. He got married at the age of twenty-two, and went into construction work at the behest of his wife when she discovered the real source of his income. I was his best man, and he remains my best friend. He and my father even get along now that Joey is at least acting like a responsible adult. I know better.

As for me, I now sit here writing this account instead of working on my master’s thesis in astrophysics. I study the stars. I am looking for Chelpa’s world. I will find him again someday, and this time I will thank Chelpa Feff-Nur properly. And tell him I love him without hesitation.

Only the prism of time could lend clarity to the events during the fourteenth year of my life. A boy and an alien met. An alien found refuge and survival in the mind of the boy. The boy found himself through the gentle and immense wisdom of the alien. As time alters my perceptions, I can see that Chelpa Feff-Nur had to leave. More than his survival depended on it: I would not have learned to survive on my own with him wedged in my brain. I cannot comprehend the level of knowledge he could have given me, and still I think he gave me much more than I will ever understand. My boyfriend will sometimes look at the mark on my arm. I let him craft his own rationale for it. He believes it to be a symbol of gay pride. That explanation is sufficient. Each year Joey asks me about the brand. I have never answered him. I just shrug my shoulders and preserve my secrets. The strange part is that I really want to tell Joey the truth. He accepted my being gay with more grace than Todd ever managed. I do not think he would balk too much at the story of the alien in my head.

There are moments when I wonder if two small photographs are displayed or kept hidden. I suspect the former. When I was fourteen years old, I wanted to go with Chelpa. I know now that he was correct about one important fact. I would not have survived more than ten minutes on his planet. The atmosphere would have suffocated me, and the gravity would have flattened me into a pancake. However, I am there. I am there in the memories of Chelpa Feff-Nur. I am there in the pictures I gave to him. I am there because I still love him. I am there because I know he loves me. Chelpa Feff-Nur liked to couch his emotions and sentiments in lofty language, but he was a deeply soulful creature. Moreover, I think he rather enjoyed being a fourteen-year-old human male. He got to watch evolution on a purely personal level. The explorer, that consummate observer, got to witness one of the marvels of the human species. He got to see the process first hand. I am convinced he loved every minute of it, even when I was being childish. Perhaps he enjoyed it because I was being childish.

Even the prism of time cannot reveal the future. The observer effected a change in the observed, and became affected by the act as well. In a few moments I will delete this file from my computer. At some undetermined point in the future, I will destroy the hard drive. However, I do have a plan. Some day I hope Joey and I will be sitting some place, as very old men, and stare into the night sky. We will look at the stars through different eyes. Then, I will tell him about Chelpa Feff-Nur. He will be too old to beat me up for having waited so long, so I will be relatively safe. There is one statement I will tell him, and it is perhaps the most important item I learned through Chelpa Feff-Nur. I think the symbol on my arm states it fairly well. Simply put: it does not matter what one sees on the outside, for it is what is found within that counts the most.