If only I could grab myself and hold the wounds together. The wolves watch with piercing eyes. I smell blood and pine trees. Crimson stains the snow. Where am I? What am I doing here? Cold coffee in my cup. I build a shelter and make fire. The computer keyboard keys click and tick. The smell of wood smoke surrounds me. The internet is fast in this place. It’s going to be a long, cold night. I wonder if I’ll sleep. There is silence save for the crackling of campfire wood. The city and the people are beyond that mountain. My cell phone has no service here. But what if Bigfoot comes out of the trees? I wonder if he would rip my head off or sit down by my fire and talk. I’d ask him what planet he was from. The light is fading quickly. I look up at the night sky. I pull out my digital telescope and study the splatter of space. How can I be lonely in a universe of trillions and trillions? How can I be on the planet of hell? I long for a starship and safe passage to another system. One without hate and greed and war and all the hurt humans suffer. Humans hurting other humans. How can you take pride in that? The government is attacking the weakest and most vulnerable. That’s great! I shake my head and chew on twine. Endor calls for a refreshing bath.
Then appears in low dramatic light: A TV screen of liquid green. The sprawling appendages of a tree in a heavy pot. A couch. A coffee table. A chair. An end table with a stack of books and a lamp spewing soft, minty light. Windows with white curtains. And in this room there the white door appears once more.
“We’re in a box,” Andella says.
“A diorama,” Billy Hays adds.
“What do we do?”
“Sit on the couch and make out.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
Then there comes a small knock at the white door as if from a small hand.
Billy goes toward the door and pulls it open. There is nothing but a long hallway illuminated by the same minty green light as in the box.
Billy slowly closes the door.
“What is it?” Andella asks.
“A hallway that seemingly never ends,” he answers.
Then there comes a small knock upon the glass of one of the windows right where the curtains are parted.
Andella and Billy see a small figure with a white face and large eyes and strange clothes standing there and peering in.
“What is that?” Andella wants to know.
“Part of whatever is having us chase our tails through time and space,” Billy says.
And then, like the popping of a balloon, the small figure vanishes from the window and appears sitting on the couch. There’s a strange hum in the room and the feel of electricity in the air. The figure tilts its head as it studies the two humans standing before it.
“Are we in love?” Andella asks the figure. She turns to Billy and whispers, “It’s talking inside my head.”
“Yes, we are,” Billy tells the figure. “Who are you and where are we?”
“You’re asking the wrong questions,” the figure says to them inside their minds.
Andella turns to Billy. “We are?”
“Love is the only thing that matters,” the being says, this time aloud and in a strange voice. “Your world is failing. It’s falling apart because everyone is full of disdain and hate… This distaste of others because of the color of their skin, or who they love, or what language they speak, or what country they come from, or what political view they assume, or what religion they practice, or this or that and it goes on and on… Stupid. Your world is choked with stupidity, and war, and violence, and so many poor choices and so many priorities askew… You’re all destined to die in a crippled world…”
Billy takes Andella into his arms, and he looks into her eyes and says, “I love you.” He kisses her.
She doesn’t know what to do. Her lips move but no words come out.
Billy repeats, “I love you.”
“How?” she finally manages to softly say.
They walk side-by-side down the seemingly endless hallway beyond the white door. The minty green light guides their way. The walls are glossy black. Billy Halls tries to take her hand, but she yanks it away like a phonograph needle.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“This whole love thing you keep professing,” Andella says. “I don’t understand. We barely know each other.”
“We know each other enough. It’s not like we’re strangers to each other. I know you better than billions of people.”
Andella tries to change the subject. “Will this hallway ever end?”
“Everything ends,” Billy says with a hint of sadness. “Except God. He never ends. Did you know God told me, to live a life of luxury.”
“Then why aren’t you? You live in a circus tent caravan.”
“I don’t… I mean, I struggle just like everyone.”
“Then why doesn’t God help you?”
“I thought you were a believer,” Billy says to her.
“I tried to be, but it never works. Nothing happens. Nothing changes,” Andella says. “I might as well pray to a brick wall.”
“I sense your faith is slipping.”
“Faith in what? A white bearded hot air balloon floating around in the clouds with a basket full of unfulfilled wishes?”
“Then why did you come to the revival?”
“Truth is…” Andella stops walking and turns to look at him. “I was going to assassinate you.”
They sit atop a high and grassy hill of polished green that looks down upon a simple valley with a few scattered buildings and a small river running through. A blade of sunlight reflects against the water and engulfs everything in a sparkling veil.
Billy Halls passes her the joint they are smoking. She takes a hit and then giggles.
“You look like the guitarist from the band Rush,” Andella says.
“Alex Lifeson?”
“Yes.”
“Wait. You like Rush, too?” Billy asks.
“Rush kicks ass!” Andella exclaims.
“Sweet! They’re my favorite band.”
“Did you feel alienated as a teen?” Andella asks with a serious tone as she looks into his eyes of Ireland green.
“Damn. I sure did, but Rush helped me get through all those rough times. I used to come home from school; smoke weed and lay out on my bed and listen to Rush with headphones on. It was an amazing escape from the horrors of reality. I was really into A Farewell to Kings back then. I remember the birds chirping and being really high.”
I was picked on in high school because I was heavy and awkward,” Andella says. “Listening to Rush was a perfect escape for me, too. The music really spoke to me. Subdivisions is one of my favorite songs. I mean, man, it’s so right on.”
“Yeah, man. Subdivisionsis cool… Be cool or be cast out… I was a cast-out because I was meek and small and everyone else was large and loud. I never fit in. I could never speak up. I had but one so-called friend and he was sort of a cast-out too but not as much. His name was Kraig with a K. I’d often hang out at his house after school and in the summer, and we’d play video games or get high and walk around in the woods. I drank my first beer with him at 15. His mom looked like a fish and just sat around and watched television. She liked tuna fish sandwiches and one day she made some for us and there was no way in hell I was going to eat a tuna fish sandwich, so I flushed it down the toilet. I mean, it was crap. So, it seemed fitting.”
“Did she have onions and celery in it?”
“O god, yes. So gross.”
“Ew. I’d rather eat tree bark,” Andella jokes.
“We seem to have a lot in common. Do you want to be my fictional story girlfriend?” Billy Halls asks.
Andella blushes and looks down at the ground. “Yes,” she shyly replies.
Billy reaches out and takes her hand. It’s warm and soft.
“Where do you think we are? Andella asks as she looks around.
“I don’t know,” Billy answers. “But there’s that white door again.”
“Do you think if we went through it, we’d go back to Texas or go somewhere completely different?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not in any hurry to find out. This place is nice. And we’ve got weed.”
“My parents used to call it devil’s lettuce,” Andella says.
Billy Halls laughs.
And as if someone flipped a switch, there suddenly came before them a great wall of fire. Like a tsunami it roars like a wave and wall and threatens to come crashing down on them.
Andella shrieks. Billy raises his arm up in defense, but he knows it would never be enough. They are about to be burned to death.
But as the flames draw near, just as quickly as they appeared, they suddenly dissipate and disappear altogether. There never was any heat or burning. They pat their bodies to make sure they were not injured. Nothing.
“What the hell was that all about?” Andella asks.
Billy Halls surveys the horizon. “It was some kind of mirage or communal hallucination. Seems someone, somewhere, has noticed us. Come here and let me hold you.”
After snuggling up to him, Andella thinks for a moment. “I’ve seen this kind of thing before,” she says.
Billy hugs her tightly and kisses the top of her head. Her hair smells good.
“You have? Where?” he asks.
“The Planet of the Apes.”
“Apes? You mean like the movie?”
“Yes.”
And it’s then that Andella points and when Billy Halls looks, he sees it. A group of apes on horseback thundering toward them.
The one that is leading them is bigger than the rest, darker in color than the rest. He bears upon his muscular body a more decorated uniform, and on his head a more ornate helmet. His bloodshot eyes are full of rage and his nostrils flare as he stampedes his troops up the hill toward Billy and Andella. Horns of war blow, spears are held in attack position.
“The door!” Billy cries out, and they run to the white door standing ornamentally near them and go through it.
“What is this place?” Andella whispers in the muted dark.
The taste of internal bleeding is that of metal, iron precisely. He feels it running down his insides, a reminder of mere flesh and blood. A crowd is gathered outside the tent to witness a miracle. Billy Halls is going to ascend to Heaven just like Jesus Christ. He’s been depressed lately and didn’t care if he died. But then again, he doesn’t assume he has to be dead to ascend to the cloud city. His plan is to call upon the miracle makers as he stands under the sun with eyes closed and arms outstretched. His brow is dappled with a pinon-scented sweat. His straight light-colored hair of decent length is flipping in the wind. “Come to me Lord of lords!” Billy Halls cries out. “Make me to fly all the way to your kingdom!” The wind suddenly sweeps up beneath his arms and tries to lift him. He rises slightly by the way of toe tips. The gullible people watching let out a communal gasp.
“He’s really going to do it!” someone yells. But then as suddenly as it rose, the wind loses its gusto and Billy Halls’ feet flatten against the hot dirt of a Panhandle Texas summer day. The crowd sighs in disappointment and begins to walk away, grumbling discontent.
Billy Halls stammers for a moment and slowly he opens his eyes and looks upward and studies the emptiness. The sun is harsh. He spits at the ground. “Well, fuck you too, God,” Billy Halls shamefully says, but he’s angry and he means it. He turns his head downward and kicks at the dusty dirt. “Fuck you, too,” he repeats with a murmur.
And as the others wander off, there is only one woman who is locked on him, watching him. He seems to be talking to himself, turning in less than miraculous circles, hands now driven down into his pants pockets. “Hello,” she says trying to catch his attention. “I enjoyed the revival.”
Billy Halls stops and looks at her seemingly perfect face. Their eyes meet in innocent fashion, but dangling on the precipice of love. “I’m no man of God,” he says. “I can’t even muster up a miracle.”
She extends a soft hand and he takes it. “I’m Andella Morgan.”
“I’m Billy Halls,” he says quickly, embarrassed by his social awkwardness. It seems he can talk to a crowd of people with no problem, but when it’s up close and personal with just one, he just seems to fade into a sickening nervousness, a slovenly shyness. He looks her up and down. She seems to be out of place by a million miles. “Are you from another planet?” Billy asks.
She returns a puzzled gaze. “No. Certainly not. I’m from Amarillo,” and she turns and points north. “Out there.”
He follows her finger along a path of dusty, hot emptiness and finally smiles at her. “Seems like you came a long way for a nothin’ revival.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Halls. I quite enjoyed it.”
Billy Halls snickers. “What part?”
“All of it,” she smiles as she moves closer to him.
Billy hears a noise and a scuddle. His hired men are disassembling the tent and cleaning up. He looks at Andella and something stirs in his guts. “I’m planning on being outside of Amarillo tonight… near Palo Duro Canyon.”
“I love it there,” Andella says. “Such a contrast…” She holds her hands up. “To all of this.”
“Will you be coming?”
“I would love to, but I have an appointment for a tarot reading.”
“Tarot? You’re messing with the dark arts. That’s weird stuff. Be careful.”
“And you talk to an invisible man in the sky and wish for things that never come true,” Andella replies. “Maybe you should try rubbing a magic lamp.”
“Maybe you should try shutting your face.”
“Preacher! My, my. Why don’t you just pray that I’ll shut my face?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Of course not.”
Billy Halls grows more frustrated with the woman and moves closer to her. He has an urge to put his hands around her neck and squeeze, but instead he kisses her.
Andella Morgan pushes him away and wipes at her mouth. “What are you doing!?”
“I was just trying to suck the evil from your soul.”
“Bullshit! You were trying to rape me.”
“Now just calm down. I wasn’t doing that. It was just a simple kiss.”
There was suddenly an invisible noise, and a white door appears in the dusty sand.
“What?”
“What?”
The sky suddenly turns sea-green and the dark-blue mountains draw closer.
“I don’t like the looks of this,” Billy Hales says.
“It must be a tornado coming!” Andella cries out.
“The door! The door! We should go through the door!” Billy Hales shouts, and he grabs her hand and pulls her toward the door.
“No! No! That could be a portal to hell!” “Well, then you’ll fit right in,” Billy Hales says, and he pulls her hard one last time through the doorway and then everything is different once more.
CEREAL AFTER SEX 