BABE’S BLOG

My parents pick up on my quietness the night I come home after another unpleasant encounter with an extra-special VIP at the club. Even though I try to force myself to talk about my day and act cheerful, I get tired of pretending so after dinner I tell them I’m tired. I explain it was a long day and I’d hit with a few people in the afternoon when it was really hot. They’re excited for me, knowing how much I want to play, but it’s a lie. I haven’t hit with anyone since arriving at Crystal Point.

All I want to do is go to sleep and find Zat. I need someone who understands what I’m going through, but he’s still missing, having disappeared from my dreams since I told him about the headaches. I know he’s there—I can feel his presence—but he’s deliberately hiding himself from me. It’s reassuring to know that he hasn’t left completely, but I miss him desperately.

I close the door to my bedroom and crank up the old clunker of an air conditioner, and then get out my blog journal to take some notes. After about thirty minutes all I’ve written is “I hate Mr. Buell,” over and over again. I go on Crystal Point’s website and sign in under Dad’s name and click on “Member Information.” Mr. and Mrs. Buell turn out to be Clyde and Grace. I go back to my journal and write “I hate Clyde” about a hundred times.

I grab a book I’ve been reading and flip my pillow to the foot of the bed so I’m facing the picture on my wall—the photo of a café on the beach which first led me to Zat. It brings me peace—the place that never changes. If I part my lips just a bit I can taste the salt in the air. The sea is emerald green near the shore where white-peaked breakers collapse onto the snow white sand. Further out it’s such a deep blue that even the bright cloudless sky isn’t a match for its azure allure. Zat’s out there somewhere. I just have to look harder . . . if I can only fall asleep.

As it turns out, I don’t have to look at all.

__________

I take a seat at one of the small tables at the beachside café. Zat sits down beside me. He seems as happy to see me as I am to see him. It’s my first time there with him, my first time there at all. Before, I’d seen it only from the beach below.

“Where were you?” I ask. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve been right here . . . thinking about you. Watching you. Wanting to speak, but afraid to.”

“You should’ve said something. It’s been hard without you. I needed someone to talk to.”

He looks down at his hands, collecting his thoughts for what he’s about to say next.

“I can’t keep hurting you, Babe. The headaches are my fault. There are things you don’t know about me—things I should have told you by now.”

“Is that why you came back?” The food that’s appeared on the plate in front of me seems so unappetizing.

“I came back because I sensed you needed me. It wasn’t an easy decision.”

“Please don’t ever disappear like that again. I can deal with the headaches.”

I look down at the table and the food’s now gone, although no waiter had been there.

“Babe, I should have told you this a long time ago . . . the day we met.”

I feel a distance between us which translates to actual physical distance—the small table, no longer small. We lean forward to hear and be heard.

“Tell me what?” A cold fear grows inside me. What he’s going to say has the potential to break my heart, I know that. Only his silence guarantees my happiness. “I don’t need to know anything other than I want to be with you. I choose to be with you. And I know you want to be with me too. You said once you understood what it was like for Perry to love me.”

“You don’t choose to be with me, Babe.”

“What do you mean? Of course I do.”

“I chose you but you didn’t choose me. When you know me, really know me, then you can say you chose me. But you don’t know anything about me. You don’t know where I’m from. You don’t know about my life. You don’t even know who I am.”

My heart pounds. The fear squirms like a creature struggling to escape.

“Then tell me where you’re from.” It’s the least scary of the questions and a way for me to prove I want to know him better. In reality, all I want to do is turn us away from the dark turn we’re about to take.

“I’m from Earth, just like you.”

I think this is strange. I don’t tell people I’m from Earth. Maybe California. Or maybe Sugar Dunes now. But I let it pass because I’m afraid to go deeper.

“Do you want to know what they call me?” he asks.

“I know your name is Zat.”

“I’m called Pioneer 675875826453829. My family, my friends, call me Zat. It means love.”

But his beautiful eyes don’t speak of love. They still observe me with a distance I can’t ignore. Our table grows even longer and we’re now about a body length apart from each other.

“Love,” I cling to that promising word. “Why all those numbers? Why Pioneer?”

“That’s my signature. The last real identity to mark my time on Earth.”

None of this makes any sense to me, and his answers to my questions are doing nothing to bridge the gap growing both literally and figuratively between us.

“Where is your family? Let me meet them.” It occurs to me only then I should have known this. Should have asked this question long ago. After all, Zat knows everyone in my family, even if they don’t realize it. They’d all been present in my dreams at one time or another.

“You can’t meet them,” he says sadly. “Not now. Not ever.”

Why can’t it just be me and Zat? Why does there have to be more than that? But now I’ve come this far, I have to keep going. I have to know everything. Will it cost me? Will I lose him? My lip trembles and I start to cry.

“Please don’t cry.” He leans across the table, which shrinks back to its original size, and takes my hands in his own.

“Your family loves you. The name they gave you means love. Why can’t I meet them? Are you afraid they won’t like me?”

“They’re gone now,” his voice catches, “and I can’t go back, not ever. My last day on Earth I was Pioneer 675875826453829. Now I just inhabit your dreams.”

Still we hold onto each other, as if by letting go we’ll spiral off into space.

“We belong to each other. With each other,” I say. “Nothing else matters.”

This is where we started, and although I know him only slightly more than when we began, it feels like we’ve narrowly avoided a disaster in our relationship. The ugly fear slithers back in its hole. My lunch reappears on its plate. A soft breeze ruffles my hair. Zat’s hands over mine feel reassuring.

But I’m wrong. It’s not over.

“And if you saw me for my true self?” he asks.

“Don’t you remember everything that’s happened between us? The day in the garden. Swimming with you in the ocean. Walking with you on the beach. Sharing you with my family, my friends. Haven’t I already seen your true self?”

He hangs his head, whether in sorrow or shame I’m not sure. My hands are warm and then hot from a surge of energy which passes from him into me. I want to see his eyes, to be reassured again, but he looks away. His hands grow thick and rough. They curl around mine like the roots of an ancient tree. His skin turns the color of amber. His nails morph into talons.

The fear so tightly coiled inside me rears up like a cobra. Using every bit of my strength, I force it back, push hard against its venom of terror and look directly into the face of my beautiful Zat.

His lidless, unblinking eyes stare back at me, their copper-colored irises revealing no emotion. Where moments before there had been a perfectly sculpted nose, now there’s only a small pad of flesh punctured by two breathing holes. Scaly, amber skin covers the place where thick, luscious waves of hair had crowned his head. I see no ears, and where I expect to see a mouth with full sensual lips there’s nothing but a small, dark slit.

“And if you saw me for my true self?” he repeats, his voice so soft and sad, a million light years away.

__________

It’s impossible for me to describe the absolute feeling of despair I have upon waking. The ache in my heart dwarfs the pain in my head. I care about Zat more than ever, but I haven’t been able to convince him of that before we’re forced apart by the cold indifference of my sleeping cycle. I close my eyes and lay still, frantically trying to get back to him but my heart pounds and sleep won’t come.

How many people can see through the superficiality of what a person chooses to present, strip away all the layers, and come face to face with that person’s most difficult truths? How many people can do this and still be able to sustain their absolute and unwavering devotion? I did this. I would declare to the world my unshakeable commitment to Zat if I could trust anyone to listen. But sadly, I can’t say it to the one person who needs to hear it most, which is Zat. He revealed himself to me and by doing so he risked rejection and loss. All he held onto was the hope that if I really knew him, I would still choose him.

I pray he’ll have faith in me until we see each other again.

Comments:

Sweetness: holy s**t !!! what is he?

RoadWarrior: Babe, are you okay?

DreamMe: His future is in your hands.