The Bodyguard: an alien romance

by Tina Proffitt

  Only in this version, there are no people.

  Where are all the people?

  Van drives us through the front gates of Hawthorne Academy.

  It's an old place with stone buildings, that according to the pictures hanging in the student hall, hasn't changed in almost two hundred years.

  The first thing I notice is that Mr. Cunningham is sitting on his stool in the gatehouse to wave us in the way he always does.

  It reminds me of the gatehouse in front of my mother and stepfather's neighborhood. Their guard doesn't know my name like Mr. Cunningham does because he so rarely sees me. And I've likely changed so much between the times when I come home that he couldn't possibly recognize me.

  Then I see Michelle Lai from my math class. She's walking into the library.

  The campus looks exactly the same as when we left it. Winter break kids are scattered here and there, not the large crowds of a regular term, but enough to let me know that everything is status quo.

  I take a deep breath and relax.

  Whatever's going on in Berryville hasn't reached us here—not yet, that is.

  George gobbles his food like he's never eaten before.

  I sit on the floor of my dorm room with my back against my bed and stroke his head while he eats. “How was he surviving before I found him?” I say more to myself.

  “His mother.” Van says this as nonchalantly as though he's not speaking of a living being.

  I look up at Van, who's standing over us. “You saw her?”

  “She had to be there. He is alive. That is proof.”

  “I didn't think about his mother. She must be frantic searching for him. I should take him back.”

  “If you had not taken him with you, he would have eventually starved or become food for something bigger.”

  “How can you say that in front of him? He can hear you.”

  “He does not speak the same language, does he?”

  “Still. He understands our tone.”

  Van shrugs. “His mother would not take care of him any longer.”

  “How can that be? She's his mother.”

  “He has become too big for her to feed. He needs more food than she can provide.”

  Van seems very aloof about it all. How can he look at such a helpless little creature and be so cold?

  “That doesn't seem to bother you,” I say.

  “It is the way of life.”

  There's something about the way Van says that that depresses me, as if life is meant only to be about survival, not love. Even though I’ll probably end up alone when I’m old, I still think most people want love. “She should still want to be near her son, even if she can't provide all of his needs.”

  Van crosses his long legs as he takes a seat on the floor next to me, bringing with him his uniquely masculine scent. “May I ask you a question?”

  Classic. Changing the subject is something I employ all the time when I don't want to talk about something that's bothering me. And since I'm the last person on Earth to force someone to talk about their feelings, I say, “Shoot.”

  His dark brows draw together in a quizzical expression.

  “It means ask away.”

  I figure he's going to ask me why it should matter to me so much what happens to kittens in the wild, a question I'm not prepared to answer because I don't know the answer to it myself.

  But he surprises me by asking, “Do I smell like swiss cheese?”

  His question takes me so off-guard, I laugh without meaning to. Then I realize he wasn't there when Anna and I were talking, and I get suspicious. “How do you know I said that?”

  One dark brow quirks up, but he doesn't answer.

  “Did you bug our room? You did, didn't you? You put a listening device in our room when we were out. That's how you knew we were going for a hike and going out the back way.”

  He shakes his head calmly. “I do not have to do that.”

  “Then I must be bugged.” I start to pat my jean pockets, but he doesn't react. “It's in my shoes, isn't it?”

  “I do not need your technology to hear you.”

  What the heck does he mean by that?

  “Our technology? Where are you from?”

  “I have excellent hearing. All of my people do.”

  “In this country, we refer to our people as family.”

  “That is what I meant.”

  He's lying. I know it. No one's got hearing so good that he can hear through stone walls. This guy is hiding something about himself that's big. He could be a Russian spy. Or a part of Al-Qaeda.

  “Why do you not call your father?” he says. “He could tell you who I am.”

  “You have been listening to us.”

  He doesn't seemed embarrassed or even flustered that I've caught him doing something so unethical. Indignantly, one hand goes to my hip, and the other I use to poke his chest. “There's something you should know about living in America, mister. When people are indoors, especially in private buildings, they have a right to assume their conversations aren't being recorded.”

  “For the last time, I do not need artificial means to hear you.”

  “Oh.” I drop my hands into my lap. I don't know why, but suddenly I believe him. But I just know there's more to it than he's saying.

  “Tell me. Why do you not call him?” he asks again.

  I sigh and let my hands fall to my sides. “I don’t call the major general unless it’s a real emergency.”

  “And thinking that you are being stalked does not constitute a real emergency?”

  I shake my head, enough that my hair falls around my shoulders.

  “What would be?”

  “Armageddon. Judgment Day.” I shrug. “An apocalypse.”

  “Apocalypse?”

  “You don't know what that is either?”

  His blue eyes show bewilderment, so I guess he doesn't.

  “How can you live in this country and not have heard of an apocalypse? Don't you play video games? Watch movies?”

  The crease between his beautiful eyes grows deeper, and I'm afraid I've said too much and embarrassed him. But he surprises me by saying, “Tell me what Apocalypse is.”

  “It's like when the power is out, but to the whole world. People have to fend for themselves, the survivors, that is, for food and shelter.”

  He's quiet for a few seconds, then he straightens his broad shoulders with dignity. “I read a book once about a family living in the dust bowl.”

  “You mean out west, Texas and Oklahoma.”

  “They had no power, no food, no shelter.”

  “That's sort of what I'm talking about. But it's more than just sand storms that cause this. It happens all at once. It's like if a meteor that was as big as Alabama hit the Earth, it would wipe most of us out.”

  “Things like this are spoken of in your Bible. The flood for example.”

  “See, now, why do you call it your Bible? If you're not into religion or history, why not call it the Bible? You make it sound like you're not from around here.”

  “If I am not,” he hesitates, “does it make a difference to you?”

  “Of course not. Porter's family is originally from Germany. Anna's mom moved here from France when she was a little girl. But what do you care what I think?”

  A flicker of apprehension crosses his face. “What if it was further away than those places?”

  “Like Asia?”

  His clear blue eyes cloud, and he looks away from me.

  I can tell this is a sensitive subject for him. I've said too much. I can be too abrasive sometimes. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's your business, not mine.”

  “But I want you to know.”

  Van slides closer to me, one arm goes behind my back which rests against the bed. The warmth from his thigh pressing against mine starts my pulse pounding. He raises his free hand above my eyes, like he's shielding me from the light. He touches me and keeps his hand that way for several seconds.
I start to get antsy. I don't know why he's doing this. All I can feel is his hand on my forehead. I start to shift, but he stops me with his other hand on my shoulder. “For this to work, you have to keep still.”

  “For what to work?” I say. My voice sounds panicky, but I can't help it.

  “I am communicating with your mind.”

  “You can do that without touching me.”

  “Mind to mind. And it only works if I touch you. Now, stay quiet.”

  I feel a tingling sensation spread out from my head to the rest of my body. I don't know if it's his warm hand against my face, or the way he said, it only works if I touch you, but it starts to feels good. I can see numbers and Greek letters swirling through my mind. They make no sense to me. All I know is that I feel weirdly calm now, and it's because of him.

  “There.” He removes his hand from my forehead and places it on my shoulder in a possessive gesture.

  I’m completed wrapped in the cocoon of his arms, and I feel safe. My eyes close of their own volition, but only for a moment. I feel slightly drowsy, but when the scent of him returns to me, my eyes pop open. He seems very pleased with himself.

  “There, what? What happened? What did you do?”

  “Our minds connected.”

  “And what does that mean exactly?”

  “I cannot explain it to you in your language.”

  “I hate to bring this up again, but I have to know. Van, what language do you speak?”

  “If I spoke to you using my language, it would make no sense to you.”

  “Try me.”

  When he hesitates again, I feel bad for forcing the issue. “You're from a galaxy far, far away, is that it?” I laugh. I do that sometimes when it's completely inappropriate. I straighten. “Sorry, this is serious.” At least, that's what I'm afraid of—that this situation is a lot more serious than I want it to be. All of a sudden, I don't want to know.

  He still won't answer, and that's fine with me. But I still find it odd. My smile disappears. I lift his hand from my shoulder and scoot away. “Nothing personal, Van, but let's just keep this relationship on a need to know basis from now on, okay? I won't ask you anymore personal questions, and you won't ask me any—not that you have.”

  I can see that he's hurt or confused or maybe he's angry. I’m not good with feelings. But he nods anyway.

  “Okay,” I say. “Are you hungry?”

  It's cold in here. It's always cold in the classrooms here. I think they keep them that way on purpose so we won't fall asleep during lectures.

  The teacher is just passing out the test papers.

  Dinner last night with Van was... surprising. We went to The Brick Oven on campus for pizza. He's funny in his own way. Spending time with him is like having a boyfriend, but not. There's no lovey-dovey stuff. He listens to me, he holds doors open for me, he even paid for our pizza, but he didn't try to kiss me or touch me at all when we said goodnight.

  What a relief! I think.

  And I was in bed at a respectable hour.

  With Anna gone for good, well at least for the next two weeks, I thought I'd have trouble falling asleep. But just before I got into bed, I looked out the window. Van was down there in his car. He wasn't sleeping, he was just watching like he always does. And somehow, just knowing he was out there, and would be all night, was comforting, almost like a familiar stuffed animal, the kind I left behind at home six years ago when I had to grow up faster than I wanted to.

  I slept so well last night, that I actually woke up before my alarm. I ate a decent breakfast, as my grandmother would say, a four minute egg and a slice of whole wheat toast, and still made it to class early.

  I must have caught Van by surprise because he was not in his car as I passed. That was a first, but I guess even bodyguards have to take bathroom breaks.

  Mr. Massey slides the test paper in front of me, and I take a deep breath.

  I'm not sure how much time passed while I took my test, but when my head pops up, everyone else is still hunched over their papers.

  Mr. Massey gives me a warning look from above the rim of his reading glasses.

  I'm not cheating. I'm finished. I set my pencil on top of my test and slide it to the corner of my desk to show him I am.

  He holds out his hand.

  I get up and take my test to him at his desk.

  As he looks it over, one eyebrow quirks up, but he says nothing and nods.

  I take that to mean I can leave.

  Before I turn to go, he's already taking out his red pen to grade it.

  The clock says only eleven minutes have passed since class started.

  How can that be?

  Before my hand closes over the doorknob, Mr. Massey stops me and hands me my test.

  I don't have a chance to look at my test because when I step into the hallway, Van is waiting for me there.

  He's sitting on a chair outside of Mr. Massey's office, looking like my guardian angel. His head pops up when he sees me.

  I’m caught by the sight of him. He doesn't look like anybody I know—almost perfect. He's dressed in all black today, accentuating his height. His eyes catch mine, and I feel as though I'm being pulled towards him in a tractor beam. Fortunately, the rest of the hallway is empty, so there's no one around to see me making a fool of myself over an older guy and one who's been hired by my father to babysit me.

  “How was your test?” The warmth of his smile echoes in his voice.

  As he comes to stand next to me, his long legs stretching to their full height, his masculine scent stokes a fire in me. Anna was right. He does smell like men's soap. That must have been what he was doing this morning when I passed his empty car. I shiver. Just the thought of him in the shower is enough to make me catch my breath. I want to stand here and breathe him in, but I resist the urge. “How did you know I had a test today?”

  He doesn't answer.

  “It went fine, I guess.”

  “Just fine?”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Did the math seem less complicated than usual?”

  “I finished early, if that's what you mean. I guess this is an easy section.”

  “Even for the rest of your classmates?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Remember yesterday when I touched your forehead?”

  “What about it?”

  “I was imparting everything I know about the way the universe works in a mathematical sense. Your brain absorbed it, and that is why you found your test to be easy, as you say.”

  “I don't understand. You did what?”

  “I imparted—”

  “I heard that,” I say too loudly, then lower my voice to a whisper so that no one in the classrooms can hear me. “What I want to know is how.”

  Van takes me by my arm and leads me to the door at the end of the hallway. “You would call it telepathy. It is mind to mind communication, nothing more. I was taught to do it as a child. It is the way we impart knowledge to all children where I come from.”

  “You mean you put hands on a child's forehead and that's how they learn?”

  He nods towards the open door for me to go out ahead of him. As soon as I step out, I notice dark clouds hovering on the horizon.

  “Everything? Everything there is to know? Math? Science? Language? History? They learn that way?”

  He nods again.

  “Must save a lot of time not having to go to school for so many years.”

  “We do not need schools. Transferring knowledge this way makes room for application of knowledge.”

  “No schools? No grades then?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know if you've learned everything there is to learn?”

  “We have paths that can be chosen, paths that lead to your chosen work.”

  “Did you get to choose your path?”

  “I did.”

  “So, let me get this straight. Say I wanted to be a concert pianist, you could t
ouch my forehead and teach me how. Then all I have to do is sit down at a piano and play?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you appreciate talent if you haven't had to work for it?”

  “Application of knowledge is still necessary. But it is not about the self. It is about all life.”

  “I can't believe it.”

  “It is true. Although, it does not work on everyone. Some people, to use your example, are not meant to play musical instruments.”

  “But how can you know what a person is meant to do?”

  “The child's natural curiosity is observed, then the path is chosen.”

  “That's how you chose to become a bodyguard?”

  “I chose to become a soldier, to use your people's word.”

  “I'm amazed. Did you learn to speak English the same way?”

  “That is how I acquired knowledge of your language.”

  “Well, here we still have school and grades, and Mister Massey thinks I cheated.” I look down at my paper.

  A muscle flicked angrily in his jaw. “One should never call another person's integrity into question.”

  “I know that. You know that. But it's part of a teacher's code, I think. Well, he didn't come right out and accuse me. He just gave me a suspicious look when he handed me my paper back.” I hold out my paper for Van to see. “I guess I can see how he might think I did. There isn't a red mark on it. I didn't miss a single problem.”

  “See?”

  I stare at Van. If mind to mind communication is possible for learning, that could change my entire life. I wouldn't have to stay here at school. I could get on with my life, or as Van says, practice.

  I round the corner of the building and a blast of cold wind hits my face. Somehow things don't seem quite as rosy as they should.

  I couldn't sleep last night thinking about Berryville, the way it had been a ghost town. So I got out of bed early this morning, took a shower, ate breakfast, and it's still early. There's very little to do here when I don't have class.