Failing Upward Ch. 14

"If you're not Wes, you give an excellent impersonation of him."

"Shit. I didn't say I wasn't like him-- I said I wasn't him. I knew where you kept your glasses. Did Wes know that? And did he know you stash porn magazines in a cardboard box at the bottom of your linen cabinet? I know, and I know because I lived here in another time."

Sid fidgeted in his seat, "Now you're scaring me."

Good, he was starting to take me seriously.

"I don't care if I'm scaring you as long as you believe me. I am an alien. I can move things with my mind... I'm serious," I coughed. "Tell me what you want me to move, and I'll do it..."

Despite gagging on the shot like an ass, I did feel braver. Even if it was a false sense, at least I'd psychologically trussed myself up-- so to speak...

"Ok, if you won't choose what to move, I will. Set down your glass."

He shook his head. "This is stupid--"

"Go on, set it down," I coaxed. Sid frowned and gave me a doubtful shrug as he smacked the shot glass face down on the coffee table.

I was amazed how easy it was. I made the glass fall over. I kinda felt high. Wow. What a rush.

Sid eyed me doubtfully, "How'd you do that?"

"I told you-- I am an alien. I have acute mental powers, along with other abilities."

"Yeah, right," he said, raising his right eyebrow. "How'd you really do it?"

"I told you."

"Ok you wise ass. Then let's test those 'acute mental powers'-- move something really big-- like the entertainment center."

"I don't know--" I frowned. "I've never moved anything that big before-- at least not successfully."

"What difference does the size make? Size shouldn't matter!"

"Size doesn't matter?! In whose universe?!" I said. God, he was cute, blushing like that. I smiled at him. Ok, maybe I could move the entertainment center. Just for Sid. Hey, I wasn't Luke Skywalker, but I'd give it a try.

I thought he was going to shit himself when the whole thing tipped.

CDs clattered to the floor. His Italian glass paperweight collection rolled like so many colorful marbles off the shelves, banging to the floor like bowling balls. The DVD player slid out, hanging by wires. I jumped up, catching the TV just before it hit the floor.

"I didn't think it'd work," I said.

I pushed the TV back and turned around. Sid hadn't moved. He was staring past me, mouth open, at the DVD player. I shoved it back in quick.

"Sorry..."

As I turned around and stepped toward Sid, I realized my jeans were half down. Shit, I still hadn't fastened them. Wishful thinking maybe... As I yanked them up and tugged on my zipper, I felt the ball of my left foot slip on one of the glass paperweights. For the second time that night, I fell head first into a coffee table, thinking 'some superhuman alien I am-- can't even traverse a room.'

I laid still for a moment, too embarrassed to show my face. Sid rolled me over. As he wiped the blood off my forehead with the corner of his shirt, he revealed a cleanly healed wound.

"Just who are you, exactly?" he asked.

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I told him everything. I told him who and what I was-- where I came from. I told him about Shackleton, about my Sid. About being buried alive. I also told him that even if he looked, smelled and tasted like my Sid, I still couldn't sleep with him.

He believed me. He believed all of it. And as we got into his car to take me home he asked me if I was sure that I didn't want to stay. I guess he believed everything except that I didn't want him. I told him, no I wasn't sure, but he should take me home anyway.

The last thing he asked me as I got out the door was what I going to do. I told him I didn't know.

I walked in the door and looked at the old Grandfather clock-- it was past four in the morning. Part of me wanted to sit at the old Grande piano and play. Just lose myself for awhile in melody, but instead I went up the stairs in a haze to my room. I stripped and sprawled out on the bed. I was too mentally waxed to even try to beat off properly-- so I decided to sleep it off with a hard on.

The last time I looked at the clock it was 4:57.

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The next morning I wasn't awake and up long before Sid called. He wondered if I needed to come over and talk some more. It wasn't some pick up; it was genuine concern on his part. Sid meant well, but I couldn't go. As much as I wanted and needed someone to talk to, I knew what would end up happening if I was alone with him for too long.

I knew I had to get back to my Sid, and I was willing to bet that the other Wes looking for a way back to his Sid, too. Trouble was, how?

Later in the afternoon, he called again. This time from his cell. Said he wasn't taking no for an answer. He was on his way. We'd go somewhere public to talk, but he had to talk to me. I told him I'd borrow my brother's car and meet him somewhere. No sense having Glenda all suspicious about Sid.

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We met at Denny's on Michigan Avenue. The place was shiny and silver with too much flashing neon and glittering red vinyl-- one big nostalgic faux 1950s Drive In. An old Sinclair gas station sign on the front wall greeted me along with the rather oily waitress in an black skirt, flats and a stained white blouse. I nodded for her to take me over to where Sid was seated. I could see him over the counter, reading the menu in the back corner booth. Bill Haley and the Comets was screwed to the wall behind Sid's head. As I got closer, I was surprised to see it was a genuine autographed photograph. There didn't seem to be any real non-smoking section. The whole place smelled of grease and cigarettes. I picked up my menu and poked my head over the top, watching Sid as he nervously sat rubbing his thumb on the handle of a white coffee mug.

"I couldn't sleep last night, thinking about all you said," he began, turning my cup over for the waitress to fill.

The sparkling vinyl seat burped as I scooted around to sit closer to Sid.

"Everything Wes said to me the weeks before he disappeared-- I kept going over it. Maybe he said something important-- something I missed..." he stopped and looked up at the waitress, waiting for her to finish taking our order so he could continue. I asked her for more cream and a ham and cheese omelet. Sid went for pancakes with bacon.

I swatted the three sugar envelopes back and forth against the palm of my hand before ripping them all open with my teeth and dumping them into my coffee. I felt Sid's knee brush mine under the table.

"You wanted to talk to me. I'm listening..." I said.

"It's about the night he told me the truth-- when I got pissed and laughed in his face."

I smelled my coffee.

"You said you wanted to go back to the other time," he said, "but you weren't exactly sure how to do it. I think I might. Well, he told me that night-- something about a heightened emotional state and sand. He mentioned getting sand from the lake before. White sand. On Lake Michigan. He said he had to have it-- called it a catalyst. You said it happened to you by chance-- with him it was intentional. At least some of the time. Maybe not that last night with Shackleton."

"He said he need to be highly excited or agitated?"

"His exact words were a heightened emotional state..."

"Like sex..." I said half to myself, "or watching Shackleton buried alive."

"He said the first couple times it happened he was at the lake cottage... then he made it happen."

"He made it happen? How? I couldn't do it, and I was buried in sand."

"Probably wasn't the right chemical balance, you know, in your brain. Maybe it's endorphins."

"...or something like it. I think you might be right. Did Wes ever mention Mica? Or a rose, thorns or anything like that?"

"No, not that night," he said, swirling a fork full of pancake in syrup. "Wait. Yeah, he did... he told me once that Glenda always cut roses from their garden and brought them to the cottage."

"I think I know how he triggered it-- at least the first few times by chance."

"What's the rose have to do with it?"

"It's the catalyst. Like a drug... um, it's hard to explain," I said, feeling my cheeks burn just thinking about it.

"It happened to you by chance," he asked, "but not the same way?"

"No," I said. "It's only happened to me twice. Second time I told you about-- we were burying Shackleton then I switched. First time Sid was with me when it happened, and he came with me. At first, I thought he could do it too, or maybe it was us together but now after what you've told me, I'd think I just brought him along with me."

"So how did it happen-- you know, that first time?"

""The ultimate heightened emotional state," I laughed, "...sex on the beach."

"Gee, I guess he really did come with you," he laughed. "If you need help recreating the moment, I'll make the sacrifice."

"Well, thanks for the offer but the point is not to take you with me," I said.

"Still... what if you do this and nothing changes for me? What if my Wes never comes back? Will anyone be sitting in front of me? Even if Wes is, who will he be? Some new version who doesn't want to commit or says they're not my Wes? I'm beginning to wonder if the last Wes who was here was even my Wes..."

"Yeah, I've thought of that-- what happens to the version of me I leave behind-- do they remember the remnants of me, my past lives I've been through? I don't know. I wondered at first why I didn't remember my past this time. I think it's because we switched places. Right now he's somewhere talking to the other version of you-- the one I love. I bet he wants to get back to you."

I picked at a hangnail with my thumb, then gave up and chewed it. The gray haired woman in the booth to the right scowled at me.

"All I want is to get my old life back," I said.

Sid sat on the edge of the seat, his face down, turning his coffee mug in his hands.

I went to reach for more cream, knocking it over instead. I grabbed a handful of napkins and sopped it up. Sid took the rest out of the dispenser and helped me.

There weren't enough napkins to do a decent job. We left the soggy mountain in the middle the table, and both of us sat thinking and staring at the mound.

"But you're just like him," he said, eyes never leaving the napkins.

Our waitress hadn't noticed. I stared at the mess sat between us, not bothering to wave her over-- I rather she didn't help us. No one could.

"But I'm not him. Don't you want him back?" I looked up, studying his face.

"Of course I do."

He looked up at me. As our eyes met, a light crept into his, and I knew he wasn't completely convinced. A piece of him believed I was the Wes he loved-- crazy, confused, uncoordinated.

"I have to get back," I said. "I have to."

Sid sat back into the vinyl seat cushion, resignation washing over his face.

"All right," he nodded, although he didn't have to say it. I knew he'd already made up his mind to help me because that's the kind of person he was.

"Wes told me he could do it at will," he said. "On stage."

"But what about the sand?"

"You don't need a whole beach. Just a handful. Maybe a grain."

"But not just any sand."

"Yes."

I scratched my head. William Blake. Of course. I only needed a little. A grain. Probably still had some on my scalp. Maybe. I checked under my nails. Shit, none. The rest of the sand-- all down the drain.

"My clothes. It was in my clothes... but I threw them away. I didn't want to remember."

"Then they're still there-- unless. Ah, what day is garbage pick up?"

"I don't know. I hope they're still there. I'll go right home and dig them out."

"So, you're playing with the band Wednesday night? I guess you could try and do it then."

I sighed. I really did need to do this. I reached under the table and squeezed Sid's hand then, nodded to the waitress for the check.

"Yeah, I guess I'll try then."

TBC