Emit Page 3

  I’m about to pull away when a soft whistling penetrates the calm. It’s followed by a flash of light a color I’ve never seen before. How can I describe it? Like cool lava and warm raisin sour cream pie all at once. When the light fades, I can’t believe my eyes. There’s a door. And it is hanging wide open.

  I hoist myself up onto the doorsill, thanking my lucky stars I’ve been eating my Cheerioats every morning. Then I peer inside.

  “Tifff!” I gasp. This place is better than getting a seat on Howdy Doody! It’s as big as a baseball field and filled with toys! German P-38 Pistols, American cap guns and Italian bayonets line the walls. There are dozens of toy airplanes, submarines and helicopters bearing remarkable resemblances to the real things. So do the countless toy soldiers standing in neat little lines.

  I’m so mesmerized with all the play things I don’t notice the door disappearing behind me.

  I pick up one of the little army men and laugh. He’s got a face like that Fancy Pants with his brand-new Buick!

  Then something extraordinary happens. The walls around me slide away. I hardly believe my eyes as the room glides off and a new one slithers into its place. Suddenly, I’m in a chamber with all these compartments filled with countless colorfully blinking buttons. The walls are covered in knobs and wheels that seem to move around all on their own.

  I drop the plastic doll and plop into the closest chair. It has a tall, v-shaped back and thick, cushioned armrests labeled with strange drawings. I quickly hop up, resolving not to touch anything that might fling this thing back where it came from!

  Once on my feet, the walls come back to life, slinging in and out, up and down. It isn’t long before I’ve lost all sense of direction.

  Through the chaos, a new room catches my eye. It’s separated by a transparent frame that rises into the air to let me through. It’s the kitchen! You wouldn’t believe it, but they’ve got one of those newfangled cold boxes like Willy’s family’s got, only ten times bigger. When the door swishes open, I pinch myself. There’s ice cream and pie in every variety you could imagine. “Ouch!” I’m not dreaming. This is all real.

  I crack open a bottle of pop and chug it straight down before grabbing some pie and heading to the next room. As I stroll in, the beds sneak into the walls and tables take their place.

  I think it’s fair to admit I’ve completely forgotten about Dad by this point. But who wouldn’t have? It’s only when a soft creaking draws my attention over into the adjoining room that I remember where I am.

  “Dad? Is that you?” I whisper, tiptoeing into the kitchen. Crinkle, crinkle. The rustling is coming from behind the ice box. Reaching into the opening between the box and the wall, the space expands, as if making room for my hand. Which gives me an idea. I tilt my head toward the slit and watch the space grow. Heart racing, I step closer until the opening is big enough to squeeze my whole body through.

  Once inside, I scratch my head. It’s empty. What was making the noise, I wonder, leaning on one of the bare white walls. But the wall doesn’t stop me. I tumble into a cold little room that smells like that time Willy’s dad took me to the shooting range.

  “Ouch!” I cry, picking myself up from the other side of the wall and rubbing my behind.

  Something rustles right next to me.

  I jump so hard, my head rams into the low ceiling.

  “Double ouch!”

  The room fills with laughter.

  “Hey! Stop! It’s not funny!”

  “Sorry,” a little girl says, stepping into the light. She’s about my age and height, but as pale as a ghost. Her hair is almost white, just like her skin and the floaty dress hanging around her ankles. In fact, the only thing that isn’t white is a pair of black sunglasses sitting on her tiny, upturned nose.

  “Oh!” I step back. I thought it was my dad. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Extending my hand, I add, “I’m Robbie. What’s your name?”

  She holds out her hand without touching mine. “My name is Siri.”

  Awkwardly, I let my arm fall to my side. “Do you live around here?”

  Mirroring me, she drops her arm. “Do you live around here?”

  “Yeah, I live in Corona with my dad. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

  She frowns.

  “He’s real tall and strong and he has black hair. I know he’s around here somewhere because I saw his car parked outside.”

  “Oh,” the little girl pauses, biting her lip. “No. I don’t think I’ve seen the person you’re looking for here.”

  “Oh, okay.” I shrug. “Would you mind helping me look for him?”

  “Ok.” As Siri walks to the wall, a staircase materializes out of thin air.

  “Wow! How’d you know to do that?”

  “I don’t know. How did you know you could continue through the wall?”

  I hunch my shoulders. She’s got a point. I decide to try another question. “Have you been here a while now? Like, long enough to see it all?”

  A blank look sweeps over her face. “I don’t understand your question, Robbie.”

  “How long have you been in here?” I try again.

  “I’m not sure.” She twitches nervously before bolting up the stairs. “I don’t know how to tell time.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assure, scuttling behind. “I used to have trouble reading a clock, too.”

  I follow Siri into a giant warehouse stuffed with boxes.

  “What is this place?”

  Without answering, she weaves through the maze of shelves. When she stops, she tugs down a crate of boxes, pulls one out and tears off the lid. After ruffling around for a long moment, she lets out a satisfied sigh. “Here,” she says, plucking an object from the box and handing it to me.

  At first, the dark framed square makes me think of the slates we use to trace our letters at school. Only, instead of being hard and chalky, this slate is smooth and shiny. As I hold it, its dark surface lightens, leaving it silver and glowing. “What in the name…”

  “You’ll have to read the message,” Siri interrupts.

  The silvery slate is striped with lines and spattered with swirls. I try making sense of them, but it’s of no use. “I can’t read this!”

  “Try looking harder.”

  And I do. I stare so hard that my eyes go crossed. The etchings go with them, scurrying across the slate. I clench my eyes tightly, before looking again. But when I do, my mouth just hangs open. The pictures are still snaking haphazardly across the silver surface. “Gee wilikers!” I scream, dropping the slate. But instead of crashing to the floor, it hovers, descending as slow as a feather.

  Siri reaches out and catches it before it hits the ground. “You don’t have to be scared. It’s just a memory tablet with a message for you. Were you able to get it?”

  I shake my head.

  “If looking harder didn’t work, why not try looking softer?”

  I let out a ripple of laughter, but Siri remains straight-faced. Clearing my throat, I turn slowly back to the tablet, which has grown soft and pliable, not unlike that strange skin-like material I discovered outside. Eyes wide, I bend the tablet. When I let go, it bounces back into place. Only this time, three distinct pictures have replaced the stripes and swirls. I wait for the pictures to scuttle across it, but they just sit there, unmoving.

  “The message!” Siri exclaims.

  I look down at the row of images. The first one is a boy. I draw in a sharp breath. A boy with a shovel. “It’s me?”

  As the little girl claps excitedly, the tablet reflects in her oversized glasses.

  Peeping at th
e second picture, my throat blocks. It’s a shiny cake dish with a big silver marble stuck in the center. Only, it’s not a cake dish, at all. As the word flying saucer floats up into my mind, a path of goose pimples pricks down my tailbone.

  “And then?” Siri asks with a toothy grin.

  The final picture shows a little girl with a pair of big black glasses. And she’s holding out the memory tablet. “But how?”

  “Providence. It’s been preordained, Robbie.” As she speaks, the tablet begins glowing. “You have been chosen.” With a soft buzz, the lamps in the room dim. It’s like the metallic slate is stealing everything else’s light.

  “Chosen for what?” I tremble.

  “For the mission, of course! All you must do is accept and follow it wherever it might take you. It knows the way.”

  I don’t know why I’m sweating. The room’s so cold that the tiny round windows lining the ceiling are all iced up. “What kind of mission?”

  “A gallant one! It’s been designed for you alone!”

  I bite my lip until the imprint of my two front teeth are etched in.

  “Don’t you want to be a hero?”

  Excitement gushes through my veins. I nod courageously.

  “I knew it! All you have to do is accept the tablet.” Her pale eyebrows dip dramatically, disappearing behind the oversized lenses. “But never open it. Not unless you learn you’re the one you’ve doubted the most…”

  I’m about to say that makes no sense when a jumble of voices drifts up through the floorboards. I whip around, trying to find where it’s coming from.

  “…as goes for all of us.”

  “Dad!” I call out, racing to the top of the staircase. “I knew he was here…” But I stop mid-sentence. Siri is gone.

  My gaze flits around the stacks of cardboard boxes. It’s like she vanished into thin air. Swallowing hard, I bound down the staircase two at a time. “Dad! I’m here!”

  The walls slide and distort as I hurtle from one room to the next, each as empty as the last. I’m all alone.

  I pass through the sugar-scented kitchen with a gag. The thought of pie suddenly doesn’t sound so good. Neither does the mission or becoming a hero. I just want to leave. I want to find my dad, get the whipping of my life, and go home. Right. Now.

  But Dad’s nowhere to be found. To make matters worse, the same goes for the door out of here. All that’s here are these stupid cubbyholes with their blinking buttons, and I’m not foolish enough to lay a finger on one of those. In other words, I’m trapped! My pulse is pounding so loud I don’t hear the tablet hit the ground.

  Ripping the shovel from my back, I swing it straight into the wall. But the wall is soft and pliable and dodges my blow. I try again. This time, making contact. The wall jiggles for a few seconds before straightening out again. Absorbing the shock. I tussle against it until I fall panting to the floor. The wall peers down at me smugly, unscathed.

  There’s no way out. Eyes clenched tight, the tears stream down. What am I going to do? The more I cry, the more the room smells like rain. “What if I’m stuck in here forever?” Sniffling back my runny nose, I open my eyes.

  What? Twin streams are flowing from my eyes before joining together to make one. Stranger yet, the new stream is hovering midair. With a yelp, I pop to my feet, but I don’t stop there. The watery path sweeps me up, carrying me on its back. Like the River Styx. I clutch for my pocket. When the pennies tinkle together, I let out a sigh of relief.

  The stream leads across the control room, stopping between two red knobs jutting out from the wall.

  I raise my hand, placing it on the very spot the water runs dry. A familiar whistling sound whooshes around me, followed by a burst of light. With a crackle, the walls begin quivering violently. The ground is shaking, too. I clasp one of the red knobs and hang on for dear life. When, unexpectedly, a door appears.

  I’m free!

  Poking my head through the opening, I peer out into the endless night. “Dad? Mr. Bristol?” My cries are met with a whiff of air that smells like the shooting range. Calm down. It’s not because it smells like guns that there are guns. But all I can think of is a bunch of green men showing up to vaporize me. I’ve got to go before it’s too late!

  Throwing caution to the wind, I jump from the vessel.

  I hit the ground. Crunch! Hot pain barrels up through my ankle. I can feel the blood draining from my face as my legs crumple.

  I try to stand, but I fall. I’ll have to crawl.

  As I slither through the dirt, something slithers alongside of me. Clenching my eyes tight, my heart beats double. I can’t stop now. I’m almost at the car. But my ankle is throbbing in scarlet spikes. The mix of fear and pain leave my breathing short and shallow, but I keep pushing. Just a few more feet, I tell myself, inching through the darkness. And then I stop.

  The cars are both gone.

  Bang! Bang! Bang! As explosions erupt across the night, I bury my head in my hands.

  Then this is how it ends. The shots continue to ring out. But none of them hit me. Those little green men couldn’t shoot as bad as Willy and I do, could they? I wonder, mustering up the courage to peek through my fingers.

  And that’s when I see it: spurts of pink and blue light slicing through the darkness. I let out a deep belly laugh. It’s not gunshots. It’s fireworks!

  The same fireworks Dad promised to take me to see. Hugging my arms firmly around my chest, I peer up at the colorful starbursts. I wonder if Dad’s looking up at them and thinking of me, too.

  The pinwheels paint the sky into artificial day. When they subside, the world is dark and smoky. And I feel lonelier than before.

  A chill sneaks over me. I’m not sure how, with my ankle pulsing like a bag of lit coals. I’ll never make it back home on this ankle. And I can’t stay out here in the cold. While the idea sends my teeth chattering louder than before, I know I don’t have a choice.

  My eyes wander back to the metallic disc whose door is still hanging open. Despite my better judgment, I retrace my steps, stopping beneath the opening.

  Drawing in a shallow breath, I prop myself up on the shovel, like a crutch. In a leap of faith, I push off the ground as hard as I can and let go.

  I can’t believe it! As the shovel hits the ground, my palms collide with the door, just as planned. I usually can’t do a single pull-up, but somehow, here I am, hoisting myself up through the door. Before I know it, I’m back inside of the flying saucer.

  “One can only be the hero of another once

  he’s learned to be the hero of himself.”

  ~Jack Beal

  THREE

  ONE SMALL STEP FOR A BOY

  I wake up with a start. The bed I’m tucked into isn’t my own. It’s bigger and longer and it’s got these stiff, metallic sheets that hover oddly over my body.

  When I remember where I am, I jump so violently that my eyeballs nearly shoot into my forehead. My mouth drops open as the overly starched sheets fold up neatly on their own.

  All at once, the memories come rushing back: the flying saucer, the pale little girl with her riddles, and the curious tablet with its mysterious hieroglyphics. I rub my peepers hoping that when I open them again, I’ll find myself in more familiar surroundings. But when I finally peek between my fingers, nothing has changed. Well, except the beds which have slid into the walls and left the space for chairs and tables. Either way, I’m still inside of the spaceship. And I want out. Now.

  Or, then again, maybe in just a minute. My cheeks flush as I realize I’m standing here in nothing but my unmentionables. The most alarming part about it is I’m not the one that took my clothe
s off. I’m not sure about you, but stripping down to my Jockey shorts is about the last thing I’d want to do while spending the night on a UFO.

  As I set out to find my things, I have to admit I’m at a major disadvantage. For all I know, the halls and walls could be gliding in and out to conceal my stuff. I peer into every doorway, empty every drawer, and upturn every box I pass, but my clothes are nowhere to be found. When I start to feel I’m being given the runaround, I make a decision. Outfit or no outfit, I’m leaving.

  As I dart past the walls that skid out in front of me, a million questions run through my mind. How is it I woke up in a bed I never remember getting into? Who took off my clothes? Was it Siri? And if so, why?

  When I return to the place where the door used to stand between the twin knobs, I let out a sharp gasp. My things are pasted on the wall. Like, glued up there. Shirt at the top, pants below, socks under them. It looks like a full-out silhouette. Only, it’s missing the body.

  Ripping my garments down one by one, I plop onto the metallic floor, which bounces back up to meet me halfway. I’m pulling on my knee highs when my jaw suddenly goes all jiggly.

  It’s unbelievable! My ankle’s all healed up! Last night, I could hardly put my weight on it and this morning, I’m joltin’ through the place like a real Joe DiMaggio.

  I don’t know how it’s possible! Then again, do I care? The stronger my ankle is, the faster I’ll be able to run. And the faster I can run, the sooner I can get home. That’s the only thing I care about right now. I dress as quickly as I can. I’m in such a hurry I don’t bother tying my laces. Instead, I pull them taut and tuck the excess into my shoes.

  When I’m ready to get up, the floor moves again, as if to help me to my feet before descending back down flat. But it doesn’t stop there. I watch wild-eyed as the malleable surface transforms again, this time taking the form of tiny waves drifting lethargically toward me. Upon their backs, something shines. A supple metallic slate.

  Siri’s words echo all around like distant lyrics emitting from the vessel’s very core. All you must do is accept it and let it guide you.