Seaview Drone
At the purpling before dusk, the drone was heard before it was spotted, emitting a noise that reminded me of an eleven year old trying to mimic the sound of a motorcycle engine revving. The flying machine sounded like the flapping wings of an enormous moth stuck between two sheets of wrapping paper. The yellow light--did that mean it was recording? A few inches above the power lines, it was floating steadily along the horizon.
“Well that’s right out of a futuristic dystopian novel,” I noted.
“More like a post apocalyptic b-movie,” Jason said.
“A low budget one, for sure,” I agreed.
We raised our beers in a toast as it disappeared behind the banyan tree. On its second pass, I noticed something strange (as if a drone wasn’t strange enough). There seemed to be a distortion in the air behind it.
What’s that?” I pointed.
“Chemtrails,” Jason mused.
“Seriously. That things battery operated, so it’s not supposed to be spewing out any fumes. It shouldn’t be. Did you see a canister on it? Maybe it was chemtrails.”“No, that was a camera. Dude, it’s just the sky. It’s sunset, and the clouds are changing colors. It’s beautiful.”
“But you saw that cloud thing behind the drone, yeah?”
“I don’t know what I saw,” Jason sipped his beer. “We’re so lucky to live here.”
“Totally,” I agreed, accepting the change of topic. “That’s why I don’t see why you keep talking about moving. Don’t be a sell out. Keep your lot.”
“Maybe the grass isn’t greener, but I’m betting on it. Opihikao is where my heart's at,” Jason said.
“I thought you said the lava. Weren’t you going get a lot out in Kaimu?”
“Yeah, but that’s only an investment. I’m gonna flip the lava lot. I’m installing a septic tank and then boom. Flip it like a pancake.” Jason finished his beer and reached for another. They were all empty.
“Let’s do a store run,” he said. He swirled the butt end of a joint around in the shwill of a bottle before dumping it off the deck.
“I’m pau,” I said. “Three beers--I’m good.”
“You tired?” Jason asked, incredulous. He clinked the bottles into the recycling tote.
“No, but haven’t you noticed that the only thing a beer leads to is another beer?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Jason said, as if I were being redundant. “Let’s go to Kaimu.”
“Can’t go,” I said, “Pressure sore.” Jason knew this. His friend had died from a pressure sore.
“Come on, Jasper. Going to the store won’t kill you.”
“Not worth the risk. You know that. I’m not gonna argue. But if you’re going, I got five bucks on two Sierra Nevada’s.”
“Cans?”
What’s that?” I pointed.
“Chemtrails,” Jason mused.
“Seriously. That things battery operated, so it’s not supposed to be spewing out any fumes. It shouldn’t be. Did you see a canister on it? Maybe it was chemtrails.”“No, that was a camera. Dude, it’s just the sky. It’s sunset, and the clouds are changing colors. It’s beautiful.”
“But you saw that cloud thing behind the drone, yeah?”
“I don’t know what I saw,” Jason sipped his beer. “We’re so lucky to live here.”
“Totally,” I agreed, accepting the change of topic. “That’s why I don’t see why you keep talking about moving. Don’t be a sell out. Keep your lot.”
“Maybe the grass isn’t greener, but I’m betting on it. Opihikao is where my heart's at,” Jason said.
“I thought you said the lava. Weren’t you going get a lot out in Kaimu?”
“Yeah, but that’s only an investment. I’m gonna flip the lava lot. I’m installing a septic tank and then boom. Flip it like a pancake.” Jason finished his beer and reached for another. They were all empty.
“Let’s do a store run,” he said. He swirled the butt end of a joint around in the shwill of a bottle before dumping it off the deck.
“I’m pau,” I said. “Three beers--I’m good.”
“You tired?” Jason asked, incredulous. He clinked the bottles into the recycling tote.
“No, but haven’t you noticed that the only thing a beer leads to is another beer?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Jason said, as if I were being redundant. “Let’s go to Kaimu.”
“Can’t go,” I said, “Pressure sore.” Jason knew this. His friend had died from a pressure sore.
“Come on, Jasper. Going to the store won’t kill you.”
“Not worth the risk. You know that. I’m not gonna argue. But if you’re going, I got five bucks on two Sierra Nevada’s.”
“Cans?”
“Yeah, the sixteen ounce Pale Ales. Two.”
“I thought you said you were done,” Jason said.
“Well, if you’re already going. Besides, it might be one of our last beers, if you’re really going to bounce out.”
“Well, if you’re already going. Besides, it might be one of our last beers, if you’re really going to bounce out.”
“Bounce out? To the store? I don’t get it.”
“No, bounce out of Seaview,” I said. I sighed, and indicated the first planets with a sweep of my hand. They had winked on in the tropical sky. The sound of the ocean grumbled contentedly against the black cliffs a half mile below. “This is the most perfect place on the planet. I can’t believe you want to sell your lot. You’re right against the reserve.”
Jason shook his head. “For you, Seaview might be cool, but me and my girl need some space. You need pavement. We need space. The way the lots have been going, we’re gonna be out of elbow room. As you know, me and Cynthia do a lot of fighting and fucking and we don’t want to hear about neighbors who are bitching about our business. We’re sick of it. Everyone has screen walls, and we're gonna be packed in like sardines in another couple of years. But on Opihikao, Cynthia can scream without me having to shove a pillow over her face, worried about what people will post on the Kalapana Seaview page. 'Did anyone hear Jason and Cynthia banging each other?' I'm sick of it."
“I thought you liked that--the pillow thing,” I said.
“I do, but I don’t want to have to stifle my girlfriend. I feel like I’m obligated here.”
“No one's posting shit about you two. It's just passion. Don’t stifle her. Let her do her thing.”
“And let all the creepers gather around and whack off in the bushes? Fuck that. She’s my woman. Opihikao is what we need. Three acres. No one will call the cops or come around lurking in the bushes, and if they do, I’ll set booby traps.”
“Damn Jason, are you really scared of people spying in the bushes? That’s tweaker talk.”
“I don’t know man. We have tweakers moving in.”
Jason shook his head. “For you, Seaview might be cool, but me and my girl need some space. You need pavement. We need space. The way the lots have been going, we’re gonna be out of elbow room. As you know, me and Cynthia do a lot of fighting and fucking and we don’t want to hear about neighbors who are bitching about our business. We’re sick of it. Everyone has screen walls, and we're gonna be packed in like sardines in another couple of years. But on Opihikao, Cynthia can scream without me having to shove a pillow over her face, worried about what people will post on the Kalapana Seaview page. 'Did anyone hear Jason and Cynthia banging each other?' I'm sick of it."
“I thought you liked that--the pillow thing,” I said.
“I do, but I don’t want to have to stifle my girlfriend. I feel like I’m obligated here.”
“No one's posting shit about you two. It's just passion. Don’t stifle her. Let her do her thing.”
“And let all the creepers gather around and whack off in the bushes? Fuck that. She’s my woman. Opihikao is what we need. Three acres. No one will call the cops or come around lurking in the bushes, and if they do, I’ll set booby traps.”
“Damn Jason, are you really scared of people spying in the bushes? That’s tweaker talk.”
“I don’t know man. We have tweakers moving in.”
“No we don’t. Everyone's out of the castle now.”
“The castle? You talking about John? Ten years in San Quintin, holy fuck."
"I know, right. Seems excessive."
"That's what I'm talking about, though," Jason said. "Everyone knows everything about everyone here. It's like the Game of fucking Thrones--all these empires jockeying for position. People smiling those plastic grins and then whispering behind your back."
“To your knowledge, has anyone made a complaint about you and Cynthia?” I asked.
No, and they don’t need to. It’s the way they look at us. Auntie Corella--you know the chick from Portugal--the older one with with blind poodle?”
“Oh yeah. The fire ants got into her dog’s food.”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Doesn’t she look at everyone funny?” I asked.
“Well, all’s I know is that she got real twitchy after my lady and I made love a couple nights back. We were both drunk and Cynthia got real loud, and I was like, ‘fuck it’. I let her scream. I just let her holler and was like 'fuck it' you know? I love my woman, but I swear, everyone within a mile must have heard her.”
“No pillow?”
“Nope, and the next morning, I waved to Corella, and she about jumped a foot in the air.”
“She's always jumpy."
“No, dude. She was looking at me like I was the biggest pervert in the whole--oh, look there it goes again!” Jason pointed beyond the telephone poles to the floating yellow light. “Fucking sounds like a swarm of bees!”
“Okay, see?" I said, pointing up. "See the fumes? What is that?” There was definitely some colored gas-like substance in the wake of the drone--gray, like smoke, but not. Nor was it like any exhaust I’d seen. It looked like a thin scarf or gray veil.
“I don’t know, dude,” Jason admitted. “Should I moon it?” Jason stood up and was about to slip down his boardshorts.
“No, don’t draw any heat. But speaking of, what is that stuff? That’s some weird shit, isn’t it? Looks almost like some sort of smog, but more like digital particles. Is it projecting something?"
“Maybe a bunch of mosquitoes are following it. Imagine that? A bunch of mosquitoes drawn to a drone like it’s their mother. You could lead them off a cliff like lemmings.”
“Mosquitoes can fly, so if they were led off a cliff, then--”
“You know what I mean,” Jason scoffed, and elbowed my arm. “If it comes back, I’m going to moon it.”
“Please don’t.”.
“Why dude? We’re like a mile from a nude beach, and this is your property.”
“What if the drone belongs to a neighbor and they post the video on Facebook?”
“So?”
“Alright, not the best example of a detractor. You know what, Jason? Moon it. Don’t let me stop you.”
“I wasn’t gonna let you stop me. Where’s your pellet gun?”
“No, dude. Mooning it is one thing, but don’t shoot at it. Besides, you know I don’t have a pellet gun. You keep calling it that, but it’s a twenty dollar piece of shit Daisy from Walmart.”
“We could still shoot it, if it comes back. Target practice.”
“No,” I argued. “The BB gun might look like a real gun, and then on video, they could say--”
“What are you talking about?” Jason interjected. “It’s videoing you, on your fucking land!”
“We don’t know that it’s videoing.”
"Dude,” Jason said, and raised an eyebrow.
“Alright, it’s probably videoing us,” I admitted, “But it’s doing it from above a public street.”
“Seriously?" Jason laughed, and said, "That’s your stance? It’s “okay” because it’s using a public space to invade your privacy?”
It’s not okay, but what if it’s Green Harvest? You know, the DEA looking for pot plants.”
“What are you worried about? You don’t have pot plants. Besides, Green Harvest uses helicopters, not cheap drones from RadioShack.”
"RadioShack went out of business," I said.
"All's I'm saying is that the Green Harvest uses helicopters. If they started using drones, you'd be seeing posts about it all over Facebook."
“Well, now that Trump is in office, Green Harvest probably got its funding cut, so--”
“Hey, bro!" Jason cut in. "I thought you said no Trump talk when we're drinking,” Jason said.
“My bad,” I conceded.
“Where’s your BB gun?”
“I’m not telling.”
“Come on, Jasper. Grow a pair, Jesus Christ.” I watched him walk into my house and retrieve the gun from behind the front door.
“Not cool,” I said, but I didn’t really care. “Just moon it.” But then I thought that at least I wouldn't be the one on film with the BB gun. "Isn't there some state that made it legal to shoot down drones?"
"I think Oklahoma is trying to get that law past," Jason said.
"You're not really going to shoot at it, are you? Just moon it."
“Do you see it?” Jason asked, and walked down my ramp.
No but--” and suddenly, there it was. The drone seemed even brighter, the color of a harvest moon. I looked for the trail of vapor. The sky was much darker now, but I thought I could make out wavers, like comic book stink lines behind the floating eye. The trail extended a full body length, tapering off like a comet’s tail after a couple yards.
I heard a punchy click as Jason fired a BB.
“Fuck you, Amazon!” Jason cried. “We didn’t order anything Prime. This is a no-drone-delivery-zone.” He’d missed the shot.
"I know, right. Seems excessive."
"That's what I'm talking about, though," Jason said. "Everyone knows everything about everyone here. It's like the Game of fucking Thrones--all these empires jockeying for position. People smiling those plastic grins and then whispering behind your back."
“To your knowledge, has anyone made a complaint about you and Cynthia?” I asked.
No, and they don’t need to. It’s the way they look at us. Auntie Corella--you know the chick from Portugal--the older one with with blind poodle?”
“Oh yeah. The fire ants got into her dog’s food.”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Doesn’t she look at everyone funny?” I asked.
“Well, all’s I know is that she got real twitchy after my lady and I made love a couple nights back. We were both drunk and Cynthia got real loud, and I was like, ‘fuck it’. I let her scream. I just let her holler and was like 'fuck it' you know? I love my woman, but I swear, everyone within a mile must have heard her.”
“No pillow?”
“Nope, and the next morning, I waved to Corella, and she about jumped a foot in the air.”
“She's always jumpy."
“No, dude. She was looking at me like I was the biggest pervert in the whole--oh, look there it goes again!” Jason pointed beyond the telephone poles to the floating yellow light. “Fucking sounds like a swarm of bees!”
“Okay, see?" I said, pointing up. "See the fumes? What is that?” There was definitely some colored gas-like substance in the wake of the drone--gray, like smoke, but not. Nor was it like any exhaust I’d seen. It looked like a thin scarf or gray veil.
“I don’t know, dude,” Jason admitted. “Should I moon it?” Jason stood up and was about to slip down his boardshorts.
“No, don’t draw any heat. But speaking of, what is that stuff? That’s some weird shit, isn’t it? Looks almost like some sort of smog, but more like digital particles. Is it projecting something?"
“Maybe a bunch of mosquitoes are following it. Imagine that? A bunch of mosquitoes drawn to a drone like it’s their mother. You could lead them off a cliff like lemmings.”
“Mosquitoes can fly, so if they were led off a cliff, then--”
“You know what I mean,” Jason scoffed, and elbowed my arm. “If it comes back, I’m going to moon it.”
“Please don’t.”.
“Why dude? We’re like a mile from a nude beach, and this is your property.”
“What if the drone belongs to a neighbor and they post the video on Facebook?”
“So?”
“Alright, not the best example of a detractor. You know what, Jason? Moon it. Don’t let me stop you.”
“I wasn’t gonna let you stop me. Where’s your pellet gun?”
“No, dude. Mooning it is one thing, but don’t shoot at it. Besides, you know I don’t have a pellet gun. You keep calling it that, but it’s a twenty dollar piece of shit Daisy from Walmart.”
“We could still shoot it, if it comes back. Target practice.”
“No,” I argued. “The BB gun might look like a real gun, and then on video, they could say--”
“What are you talking about?” Jason interjected. “It’s videoing you, on your fucking land!”
“We don’t know that it’s videoing.”
"Dude,” Jason said, and raised an eyebrow.
“Alright, it’s probably videoing us,” I admitted, “But it’s doing it from above a public street.”
“Seriously?" Jason laughed, and said, "That’s your stance? It’s “okay” because it’s using a public space to invade your privacy?”
It’s not okay, but what if it’s Green Harvest? You know, the DEA looking for pot plants.”
“What are you worried about? You don’t have pot plants. Besides, Green Harvest uses helicopters, not cheap drones from RadioShack.”
"RadioShack went out of business," I said.
"All's I'm saying is that the Green Harvest uses helicopters. If they started using drones, you'd be seeing posts about it all over Facebook."
“Well, now that Trump is in office, Green Harvest probably got its funding cut, so--”
“Hey, bro!" Jason cut in. "I thought you said no Trump talk when we're drinking,” Jason said.
“My bad,” I conceded.
“Where’s your BB gun?”
“I’m not telling.”
“Come on, Jasper. Grow a pair, Jesus Christ.” I watched him walk into my house and retrieve the gun from behind the front door.
“Not cool,” I said, but I didn’t really care. “Just moon it.” But then I thought that at least I wouldn't be the one on film with the BB gun. "Isn't there some state that made it legal to shoot down drones?"
"I think Oklahoma is trying to get that law past," Jason said.
"You're not really going to shoot at it, are you? Just moon it."
“Do you see it?” Jason asked, and walked down my ramp.
No but--” and suddenly, there it was. The drone seemed even brighter, the color of a harvest moon. I looked for the trail of vapor. The sky was much darker now, but I thought I could make out wavers, like comic book stink lines behind the floating eye. The trail extended a full body length, tapering off like a comet’s tail after a couple yards.
I heard a punchy click as Jason fired a BB.
“Fuck you, Amazon!” Jason cried. “We didn’t order anything Prime. This is a no-drone-delivery-zone.” He’d missed the shot.
At first, there was no reaction, but then the drone slowed and hovered in place. It hadn’t been going more than a mile an hour, but watching it suspended in space like that made my heart drop to my stomach. I guessed someone with an iPad was observing us. Was it a tourist, a neighbor, or some covert branch of the government? Was it a twelve year old with a GoPro, or some guy with a satellite phone in a white paneled van--a SWAT team on the ready.
“Got you now, you fucker. That’s right, just stay still,” Jason encouraged, and cocked the air gun. He brought the small rifle to his shoulder. I knew he couldn’t make the shot. We were set back fifty feet from the road, and the BB’s arc would be impossible to gauge.
The ping, as it hit, seemed abnormally loud, and I thought the BB might have ricocheted off the drone’s propeller blades. But then there was another sound. The drone was angry, like a pit of rasping snakes or a swarm of locusts. Maybe Jason had hit a crucial component and the thing was off kilter.
“Fuck you motherfucker,” he shouted, and pumped the airgun. “Get!” He waved the drone away with an upward flick of the back of his hand, and then brought the rifle back up to take aim. Again, there was a metallic ting, but this time, the unimaginable happened. The drone broke apart. It fractured into what looked like hundreds of candle flames or fireflies--luminescent orbs that looked like eyes--predatory eyes looking down from the treeline.
“The fuck?” Jason asked, lowering the barrel back down, this time absent minded as he ratcheted another pump.
“Jason, get off the ramp,” I said. The deck wouldn't be much better. Better for what--what kind of drone was this? The lights seemed somehow focused on him. The buzzing escalated into a frightening whir. There were no propellers, only disconnected points of light. It made no sense. And then it charged--they charged. How do I put this? They attacked Jason? Buzzed at him? They shot at him like an angry legion of demonic Christmas lights? I have no words for it. Even now, a week later, I can’t describe the terror of the moment--the speed at which the lights moved through the air.
“Got you now, you fucker. That’s right, just stay still,” Jason encouraged, and cocked the air gun. He brought the small rifle to his shoulder. I knew he couldn’t make the shot. We were set back fifty feet from the road, and the BB’s arc would be impossible to gauge.
The ping, as it hit, seemed abnormally loud, and I thought the BB might have ricocheted off the drone’s propeller blades. But then there was another sound. The drone was angry, like a pit of rasping snakes or a swarm of locusts. Maybe Jason had hit a crucial component and the thing was off kilter.
“Fuck you motherfucker,” he shouted, and pumped the airgun. “Get!” He waved the drone away with an upward flick of the back of his hand, and then brought the rifle back up to take aim. Again, there was a metallic ting, but this time, the unimaginable happened. The drone broke apart. It fractured into what looked like hundreds of candle flames or fireflies--luminescent orbs that looked like eyes--predatory eyes looking down from the treeline.
“The fuck?” Jason asked, lowering the barrel back down, this time absent minded as he ratcheted another pump.
“Jason, get off the ramp,” I said. The deck wouldn't be much better. Better for what--what kind of drone was this? The lights seemed somehow focused on him. The buzzing escalated into a frightening whir. There were no propellers, only disconnected points of light. It made no sense. And then it charged--they charged. How do I put this? They attacked Jason? Buzzed at him? They shot at him like an angry legion of demonic Christmas lights? I have no words for it. Even now, a week later, I can’t describe the terror of the moment--the speed at which the lights moved through the air.
Laying prone on my couch, twenty feet from Jason when it happened, there was nothing I could do but hold my breath and try to hold absolutely still. I would have yelled--would have done something, but it was too unexpected. Too fantastical to process or react to in any meaningful way. It took less than a second for the lights to close the distance, and then they were swarming Jason. He jumped off the ramp, but they followed. They were all over him. He was scrambling, flailing his arms, running through the Lahala trees in the next lot, tripping over their extended roots, yelling.
And then he was gone. I couldn’t make him out through the foliage. I thought he made it to the road--thought he might have made it. Maybe he’d ran and hadn’t stopped. He could be running through the forest reserve to Kalani.
It was silent, and I lay--heart in my throat--a few minutes before I risked transferring from the couch onto my wheelchair. Except for the chorus of chirping coqui frogs, all was quiet. The sky was black. Jason had screamed bloody murder, but surely my neighbors had grown accustomed to his occasional unrestrained brash ways of communicating. Jason was 90% laughs. Even if the neighbors thought something might have sounded off, Jason hadn’t screamed for long.
I rolled inside my house, muttering ‘fuck’ over and over, wheeling in circles. My smartphone. I grabbed it from the pocket under the wheelchair seat, logged onto Facebook, and clicked on Cynthia’s profile. I clicked in the message box, my thumbs ready, but what could I text? Your boyfriend got attacked by a mob of nanobots? Glow in the dark bees? It would come across as drunk talk. But I saw that she was logged into Messenger, so I rang her over my WiFi.
“Hey, Jasper,” Cynthia answered, chipper. “Jason over there?”
“Cynthia, you’re not going to believe me, but you need to drive down here.”
“Why? Just tell me.”
“No, it’s Jason,” I said. “Hurry.”
“What about Jason,” she said, a hint of panic in her voice.
He’s--I don’t know, just get down here.”
Less than a minute later, I heard a truck door slam, and Cynthia came running up my ramp."
“Jasper, you’re freaking me out. Where’s Jason?”
“I don’t know,” I said, my mouth opening and closing in a wordless stammer.
“He’s not here? Do I need to call an ambulance? Did he crash? His moped is out front. What happened? Talk to me.”
I looked at her and felt a crease folding my eyebrows together.
“Jasper, answer me. Where’s Jason?” Her voice quivered on his name.
And so I told her. At first she squinted, as if she weren’t hearing me right. She could tell by my tone that I was serious, but when I got to part about the drone splitting apart, she rolled her eyes.
“Cynthia, you asked me what happened, and that’s what fucking happened.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “You got me, Jasper. I’ll give you that much. So where’s Jason?” All the alarm was out of her voice.
“Cynthia, I swear to God.”
“Jasper, someone wrote the word ‘gullible’ on your ceiling.”
I didn’t look up. “That joke is older than me,” I said. “I know we always fuck with you, but Cynthia, I’m not joking.”
“Let me get this straight. According to you, a herd of flying aliens rounded Jason up and beamed him onto their mothership? Really, Jasper?”
“No they--” and then I thought about it. Had they consumed Jason or disappeared him into a parallel universe? From his shrieks of terror, I assumed the former. Cynthia made me think of Star Trek, and then I shook my head. This was reality.
“I know it sounds crazy,” I said.
"Crazy?" Cynthia smiled, and gave me a patronizing pat on the shoulder. "Anyways, if Jason doesn’t want cold tacos, tell him to be home in a half hour.”
I was almost angry with her, but then realized I was like the boy who had cried wolf too many times. Jason and I had tried to punk Cynthia too many times. We had once faked suicide, laying on the kitchen floor, covered in ketchup mixed with coffee, razors by our sides.
“When he doesn’t come home by tomorrow, then we'll talk,” I said. What more could I say? With the ludicrous amount of psychedelics and mental illness in Puna, I knew no one would be forming a search party for an alien abductee.
“Bye, Jasper. Remember: A half hour if he doesn’t want cold tacos.” Cynthia spun around and walked back down the ramp.
The next morning, when I heard the sound of Cynthia’s truck, I wheeled outside to meet her at the end of the driveway. To my astonishment, Jason was driving.
“Did I leave my wallet in your house?” he asked.
I looked at him blankly.
“Jasper. Earth to Jasper--my wallet?”
I looked over to Cynthia who smiled at me, as if nothing were amiss.
“What happened to you?” I asked Jason.
“What do you mean ‘what happened?’”
“When you ran away. The attack of those lit up things--the yellow lights? I can’t believe I have to spell this out. What happened”
“The lights? Jasper, how stoned are you?” He glanced at Cynthia and chuckled. She rolled her eyes.
“Just coffee. No weed,” I said.
“What did you put in your coffee? Attacked by pretty lights, you know what that kinda reminds me of? The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. Greatest b-movie of all time. Classic. You must be stoned, my friend. Probably so stoned you forgot you hit the bong."
"Just coffee," I reiterated, flatly.
"Anyways, so you have or haven’t seen my wallet?”
“Haven’t, but feel free to look.”
With a sigh, Jason shut off the truck and began walking up my sidewalk. Cynthia was in the passenger seat plucking her eyebrows in the side mirror. I thought about asking her what time Jason had come home, but it was quite apparent that she hadn’t experienced anything extraordinary. His moped wasn't at the end of my driveway any longer. So, I wheeled around and followed Jason up my ramp.
Inside, he was looking around on surface areas: tables, the counter, a stack of magazines in the corner. “Where did I leave that thing?”
“Jason, the fuck happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I thought I left it here, but maybe it slipped behind the seat in the truck.”
“Not your wallet, your--” I stopped cold. His eyes. They flashed yellow. It was only a moment, and it was true that the sun was reflecting off the table, but I’d seen it.
“What?” he asked when he saw me frown.
Hesitant, I stared at him, looking closely for the changes. “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” I said, cautiously. “What do you think about that movie?”
“Cheesy, but I liked it. Donald Sutherland, right?"
"Yeah," I nodded, thinking I could see through a facade. It was almost Jason. Almost.
"Is there something in my teeth? You’re looking at me like I’ve got something on my teeth.” He rubbed an index finger across his front teeth.
“Who are you?” I asked.
And then he was gone. I couldn’t make him out through the foliage. I thought he made it to the road--thought he might have made it. Maybe he’d ran and hadn’t stopped. He could be running through the forest reserve to Kalani.
It was silent, and I lay--heart in my throat--a few minutes before I risked transferring from the couch onto my wheelchair. Except for the chorus of chirping coqui frogs, all was quiet. The sky was black. Jason had screamed bloody murder, but surely my neighbors had grown accustomed to his occasional unrestrained brash ways of communicating. Jason was 90% laughs. Even if the neighbors thought something might have sounded off, Jason hadn’t screamed for long.
I rolled inside my house, muttering ‘fuck’ over and over, wheeling in circles. My smartphone. I grabbed it from the pocket under the wheelchair seat, logged onto Facebook, and clicked on Cynthia’s profile. I clicked in the message box, my thumbs ready, but what could I text? Your boyfriend got attacked by a mob of nanobots? Glow in the dark bees? It would come across as drunk talk. But I saw that she was logged into Messenger, so I rang her over my WiFi.
“Hey, Jasper,” Cynthia answered, chipper. “Jason over there?”
“Cynthia, you’re not going to believe me, but you need to drive down here.”
“Why? Just tell me.”
“No, it’s Jason,” I said. “Hurry.”
“What about Jason,” she said, a hint of panic in her voice.
He’s--I don’t know, just get down here.”
Less than a minute later, I heard a truck door slam, and Cynthia came running up my ramp."
“Jasper, you’re freaking me out. Where’s Jason?”
“I don’t know,” I said, my mouth opening and closing in a wordless stammer.
“He’s not here? Do I need to call an ambulance? Did he crash? His moped is out front. What happened? Talk to me.”
I looked at her and felt a crease folding my eyebrows together.
“Jasper, answer me. Where’s Jason?” Her voice quivered on his name.
And so I told her. At first she squinted, as if she weren’t hearing me right. She could tell by my tone that I was serious, but when I got to part about the drone splitting apart, she rolled her eyes.
“Cynthia, you asked me what happened, and that’s what fucking happened.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “You got me, Jasper. I’ll give you that much. So where’s Jason?” All the alarm was out of her voice.
“Cynthia, I swear to God.”
“Jasper, someone wrote the word ‘gullible’ on your ceiling.”
I didn’t look up. “That joke is older than me,” I said. “I know we always fuck with you, but Cynthia, I’m not joking.”
“Let me get this straight. According to you, a herd of flying aliens rounded Jason up and beamed him onto their mothership? Really, Jasper?”
“No they--” and then I thought about it. Had they consumed Jason or disappeared him into a parallel universe? From his shrieks of terror, I assumed the former. Cynthia made me think of Star Trek, and then I shook my head. This was reality.
“I know it sounds crazy,” I said.
"Crazy?" Cynthia smiled, and gave me a patronizing pat on the shoulder. "Anyways, if Jason doesn’t want cold tacos, tell him to be home in a half hour.”
I was almost angry with her, but then realized I was like the boy who had cried wolf too many times. Jason and I had tried to punk Cynthia too many times. We had once faked suicide, laying on the kitchen floor, covered in ketchup mixed with coffee, razors by our sides.
“When he doesn’t come home by tomorrow, then we'll talk,” I said. What more could I say? With the ludicrous amount of psychedelics and mental illness in Puna, I knew no one would be forming a search party for an alien abductee.
“Bye, Jasper. Remember: A half hour if he doesn’t want cold tacos.” Cynthia spun around and walked back down the ramp.
The next morning, when I heard the sound of Cynthia’s truck, I wheeled outside to meet her at the end of the driveway. To my astonishment, Jason was driving.
“Did I leave my wallet in your house?” he asked.
I looked at him blankly.
“Jasper. Earth to Jasper--my wallet?”
I looked over to Cynthia who smiled at me, as if nothing were amiss.
“What happened to you?” I asked Jason.
“What do you mean ‘what happened?’”
“When you ran away. The attack of those lit up things--the yellow lights? I can’t believe I have to spell this out. What happened”
“The lights? Jasper, how stoned are you?” He glanced at Cynthia and chuckled. She rolled her eyes.
“Just coffee. No weed,” I said.
“What did you put in your coffee? Attacked by pretty lights, you know what that kinda reminds me of? The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. Greatest b-movie of all time. Classic. You must be stoned, my friend. Probably so stoned you forgot you hit the bong."
"Just coffee," I reiterated, flatly.
"Anyways, so you have or haven’t seen my wallet?”
“Haven’t, but feel free to look.”
With a sigh, Jason shut off the truck and began walking up my sidewalk. Cynthia was in the passenger seat plucking her eyebrows in the side mirror. I thought about asking her what time Jason had come home, but it was quite apparent that she hadn’t experienced anything extraordinary. His moped wasn't at the end of my driveway any longer. So, I wheeled around and followed Jason up my ramp.
Inside, he was looking around on surface areas: tables, the counter, a stack of magazines in the corner. “Where did I leave that thing?”
“Jason, the fuck happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I thought I left it here, but maybe it slipped behind the seat in the truck.”
“Not your wallet, your--” I stopped cold. His eyes. They flashed yellow. It was only a moment, and it was true that the sun was reflecting off the table, but I’d seen it.
“What?” he asked when he saw me frown.
Hesitant, I stared at him, looking closely for the changes. “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” I said, cautiously. “What do you think about that movie?”
“Cheesy, but I liked it. Donald Sutherland, right?"
"Yeah," I nodded, thinking I could see through a facade. It was almost Jason. Almost.
"Is there something in my teeth? You’re looking at me like I’ve got something on my teeth.” He rubbed an index finger across his front teeth.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Anyways, dude,” Jason shrugged with a dismissive smile. “If you see my wallet, let me know. I’m on a Hilo mish. We’ll have to use Cynthia’s cash. Later, man."
I listened to his footsteps receding down the ramp. The truck’s engine roared to life, the door clunked shut, and then there was nothing but the sound of birds, wind, and the buzzing of bees about the flowers, dutifully collecting what they needed to survive.
I listened to his footsteps receding down the ramp. The truck’s engine roared to life, the door clunked shut, and then there was nothing but the sound of birds, wind, and the buzzing of bees about the flowers, dutifully collecting what they needed to survive.
Thanks for the good read :)
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