And God Belched

by Rob Rosen

  “Ergo?”

  “Hence. Thus. It’s a word, Randy,” he said.

  “The eyes were blue.”

  He blinked. “Yours are brown.”

  “Ergo, the eyes weren’t a reflection.” I closed the gap between us and sat on the bed next to him. “It’s the earthquakes.”

  “What’s the earthquakes?”

  “It’s tied to the earthquakes,” I replied. “The eyes.” There was silence in the room as he seemed to take this in. “Sounds crazy, huh?” I finally said when I could no longer take the deafening hush.

  “Yep.” He pushed himself up even further, his back again at the vertical. “Why do you think that your sudden hallucinations are tied to the earthquakes?”

  “I wasn’t hallucinating.” Was I? “And as to the earthquakes, I…I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have. It’s like, it’s like they’re tied to me, to the eyes.” I balled my hand into a fist and placed said fist against my chest. “I feel it, Craig. In here.”

  He touched his index finger to my temple. “It’s more up here I’m worried about.”

  “I’m not crazy.” Was I?

  “Oversexed, then.”

  I nodded. Yes, there was that. There was always that. Seriously, always. “Think that’s it? Hormones, like Mom is always saying?”

  “It’s just an educated guess,” he said. “Maybe you’ve reached some sort of threshold. Maybe this is simply a side effect. Maybe leave your willy alone for a while, then the eyes might go away.”

  I would’ve agreed, but my willy had a mind of its own, and the little head seemed to rule the big one these days. Not that the little head was all that little, mind you, but still. “I’ll try.”

  He grinned. “I suspect a resounding failure in that regard.”

  My grin matched his. My brother and I were polar opposites. We didn’t think alike or look alike or act alike, but our smiles were strangely identical. “Yeah, probably.” I stood. “Don’t tell Mom and Dad, okay?”

  “About which thing?” He pointed to me, then to the hamper, and, lastly, to the mirror.

  “Any of it.”

  He shrugged and also rose. “Trust me, it’s not a conversation I want to have. For a second time. Heck, I could’ve lived without the first one.”

  He turned to leave. “Wait,” I said. “What did you want when you came in here without knocking first?”

  He scratched his head and squinted my way before replying. “Oh, yeah. Almost forgot.” His grin amped up a notch. “Mom said to wash up for dinner.” His finger rose and again aimed for the hamper. “Pizza. And I’m so not touching the slices next to yours.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t blame you, little bro,” I said. “I don’t blame you one bit.”

  He turned to leave, while I, in turn, turned to the mirror. “Please,” I said in a hushed whisper. “Please don’t fuck with me anymore.”

  And, as if in reply, the ground once again began to shake.

  I ducked beneath the doorframe, old habits seemingly returning. Thankfully, the eyes didn’t do the same. Return, I mean.

  At least not that time.

  Chapter 2

  Days went by. I left my dick alone.

  Okay, let me rephrase that: I left my dick alone when I was anywhere near a mirror. Because, like I said, little head, big head, not so little, yada, yada, yada. And those old habits I mentioned did indeed die hard. Emphasis on the hard. Plus, my dick was a rather social creature. In other words, it didn’t like to be left alone. To add a plus to that plus, I also figured that I’d need my dick somewhere down the line, somewhere not so sadly solo, and so I thought it best not piss my dick off. Let’s call it hedging one’s horny bets.

  Still, curiosity had a stranglehold on my cat. That is to say, the earthquakes had me wondering. What were they? Why were they so frequent these days? And what was my connection to them? Mostly that last thing.

  I knocked on Craig’s door. I heard him unlock it before said door opened. “Randy,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Locking the door?”

  He smiled. “I always learn from your mistakes.”

  “Not your own?”

  He shrugged. “If I had any, I’m sure I’d learn from them. As it is, you have enough for the both of us. Maybe that’s why Mom had me: to even things out.”

  I stood there, arms akimbo. “Are you done insulting me now?”

  He seemed to think about it, then replied, “For the time being.” The door opened wider. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  I walked inside. I closed the door behind me. “The earthquakes.”

  He frowned as his eyes, as usual, rolled in and out like the ocean at high tide. “Oh God, not that again.”

  I jumped on his bed. His blanket had the Periodic Table of the Elements splashed across it. His desk lamp was fashioned from a large beaker. Einstein stared down at us from above the bed, his tongue forever sticking out. Yes, my brother was a nerd to the pth degree, surpassing nth by two steps. If he ever landed a girlfriend, he was sure to be the most pussy-whipped man on the planet. Still, at eighteen and about to start college, he was the smartest person I knew, which was possibly sad and most definitely true.

  “What do you know about the quakes, little bro?”

  He sat down in front of his computer and swiveled his chair my way. “Do you want the official word or the chatroom one?”

  “There a difference?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Night and day, dude. Night and day.”

  “Dude?” I grinned his way.

  “I’m trying it on,” he said. “How’s it fit?”

  “Like ten pounds of potatoes in a five-pound sack.”

  “That bad?”

  I shrugged. “It’ll grow on me,” I replied. “Now, back to the quakes.”

  His nod returned in full force. “I’ve been researching it after…well, after the other night, when you were—”

  “Never mind that,” I interrupted him with. “What did you find?”

  He smiled. He clearly loved having this over on me. Brains always trump brawn at the end of the day. I bet that Einstein poster of his outsold Michael Jordan’s ten to one. In any case, he leaned back in his chair. He looked like a scrawny Justin Bieber—or maybe make that scrawnier. “The news says that there’s no real cause for all this. At least most of the time. It’s like the earth is shifting, even when the faults aren’t.” His smile widened. He could’ve given the Cheshire Cat a run for its money. “An anomaly, they say. Must be a reason, but one that science hasn’t come up with yet. Like maybe an Earth’s core issue. Maybe a gravitational one. The sun, the moon, something yanking on us.”

  I leaned in, my heart pounding, mouth suddenly Saharan. “But?”

  “But,” he echoed, “only in San Francisco? How can that be? A problem with the earth’s core, or with the sun, the moon, that would affect the entire planet, or at least a greater swathe of it.”

  My stomach tightened up into so many knots that it would take a team of Boy Scouts to untie it. “I’m…I’m in San Francisco.”

  He laughed. “It’s not always about you, dude.” He winced. “I’m not sure I like it. Sounds forced.”

  “How about fella, guy, man?”

  His wince winced even wincier. “I’m already nerdy enough without calling you fella.” His mouth shrugged. “Dude. For now, we’ll go with that. Lesser of all evils.”

  I blinked. I’d temporarily forgotten why I was there. Walking into Craig’s room was like walking into Tangentland. I shook my head. I remembered. “The chat rooms. What do they say about the earthquakes?”

  “Two camps,” he replied. “The first ones are the bible-thumpers. This is San Francisco, after all. Your people abound here. God’s wrath, they say.”

  Yes, Craig knew I was gay. Yes, everyone knew I was gay. Mainly because I told them all that I was gay when I was seven. Or at least inferred it.

  We were watching a rerun of Will and Grace at the time. I pointed
at Jack on the screen. “I can relate,” I said. Mom and Dad nodded knowingly. The matter was closed. No drama, for which I’d eventually become famous for. No tears, for which Mom was already famous for. No lectures—yeah, see Dad. Craig looked up at me from the floor. “Told you so,” he said to my parents. So yes, it seemed I was the last to know. Even a five-year-old had come to the conclusion before I had. Then again, even at five, Craig was extraordinary.

  “And the other camp?” I asked, pretty sure it wasn’t God being pissed off at us. I mean, why would he put the gays in the most beautiful city in America if he didn’t love us so much? Why not put us in, say, Des Moines? And trust me, no one is leaving their heart in Des Moines. No one is wearing flowers in their hair in Des Moines.

  “Aliens,” he replied.

  “Illegal aliens? Like from Mexico?”

  He pointed up. “Aliens. From up north. Not from down south.”

  “Canada?” I was confused. Par for the course.

  He sighed, eyes arollin’. “From space, fella.” He stared off into the distance, a frown quickly appearing. “No, definitely not fella.” He turned to me again. “From space, dude.” He sighed. “It’ll have to do.”

  “You could simply call me by my name.”

  “Dude sounds cooler. And I need all the help I can get.”

  I nodded. And then some. “Anyway, how are aliens causing earthquakes? And why? And why here?”

  He shrugged. “Chatrooms aren’t exactly known for their depth and breadth of data. Mostly, it’s screwballs and teenagers and conspiracy theorists, or a combination of all three. Aliens were suggested; aliens were latched onto. Seeing as there isn’t a scientific explanation, it’s better than nothing. Besides, an advanced race could cause such an event. Maybe they’re testing a new app. On us.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it is God. I mean, look at all that shit he pulled in the Bible. Plagues and locusts and frog-storms.”

  Suddenly, I remembered the eyes. Did God have blue eyes, like in the paintings? Was God watching me masturbate? Repeatedly. Was I God’s HBO? Or was it those aliens on the other side of my mirror?

  In any case, what Craig had said and what the reality of it all actually was were two entirely separate things—separated by a mere mirror, sure, but still.

  § § § §

  I went back to my room and grabbed a chair, which I set in front of my mirror. I inched in as close as I could get to it. “Are you there, God? It’s me, Randy.” I waited, heart pounding, but there was still no answer, no eyes of searing blue. Still, I reasoned, God had spoken through a burning bush in the middle of the desert, so why not a mirror in the hills of San Francisco? “A sign, God. Give me a sign.”

  They say that God works in mysterious ways—like a tomato being a fruit. Pretty mysterious stuff, if you ask me. But the fact that I asked for a sign and the earth immediately began to shake, well now, that surpasses the tomato thing by a mile. That’s like God slamming down an ace over your king—or, as was the case, queen.

  I clutched the chair as my teeth rattled inside my mouth. The floor beneath my feet was dancing without a single note of music. My mirror vibrated. I stared into it, into the eyes that soon appeared.

  “God?” I rasped.

  The eyes didn’t so much as blink.

  “Martian aggressor? Plutonian attacker? Um, Uranus invader?” I giggled at the double-entendre.

  FYI, yet again, my own anus had yet to be invaded. I mean, I hadn’t even kissed another guy yet. Oh sure, I lived in San Francisco, and also oh sure, I’d been out for years and years, but I was waiting for Mister Right. Something inside me told me that a special person was out there somewhere, looking for me, while I in turn was waiting for him. I knew it. I felt it. In my head. In my heart. Heck, even my dick knew it, try as it might to argue the point.

  All that is to say, I was still a virgin. And if God was about to saunter me through his pearly gates, or the aliens were about to dissect me, with or without a preferably enjoyable anal probe, I was having none of it.

  Which is why I covered the mirror with a pair of jeans. “Sorry, God, but I’m not ready for you just yet. Maybe in another eighty years, give or take.” Take being optimal.

  The earth stopped shaking. The floor settled. The mirror stood still. I, on the other hand, was still trembling. I waited for a moment. I waited some more. I counted to ten, twice. When I got to twenty, I kept going, figuring that even God got bored, aliens as well. I mean, how long can you stare at denim before you call it a day? Even Levi Strauss had a hobby, or so I’m guessing.

  In any case, hand unsteady, I eventually grabbed my jeans between thumb and forefinger. The material slipped to the carpet, which, by the way, was pink. I picked it out when I was seven. I was making a statement at the time. Too bad said statement was this: Pepto-Bismol rules!

  But back to the mirror.

  The eyes were still there, even though the earth had already quieted down. Suddenly, I knew what a moth felt like when it encountered a flame. Meaning, though terrified, I couldn’t look away, not again. And so, I stared directly into the eyes, into the sea of blue, which I felt like I was drowning in.

  “Can you see me?” I hazarded to ask, my voice sounding hoarse. “Blink once for yes, twice for no.” The eyes blinked once. “Really?” They blinked again. “Can you hear me?” They blinked twice. “Are you, you know, God?” Again, they blinked twice. Phew. Thank, you know, God.

  “Are you an alien?” The question came out in a whisper, my eyes wide as I asked it, legs madly bouncing all the while as I sat there and waited for a reply, as my mouth summarily dried up. Cotton balls, in fact, were far dewier.

  The eyes stayed open. Had he…um, she…um, it…understood the question? “Are you from a different planet, somewhere far out in the universe?” And still the eyes stayed open. What gave? I mean, it was a simple yes or no question, wasn’t it? And then it hit me. “From a…a different universe?”

  The eyes slowly blinked once. It was as if the owner of the eyes was answering yes, but hesitantly. More like a maybe than a yes. But what did that mean? Maybe he, she, um, it, was from a different universe? What the fuck?

  Anyway, since this line of questioning wasn’t getting me anywhere, I decided to move on. “Can I see more of you, more than just your eyes?”

  The eyes blinked. The eyes blinked again. Bummer. “No?” Two more blinks. “So, no.” I sighed. “Why not?” The eyes simply stared. “Yes or no only, huh?” One blink.

  This was frustrating. I needed help. I needed…“Craig!”

  I turned to go and get him, but he was already standing in the doorway. He looked frozen, like he’d just run into Medusa and was unlucky enough to be in her line of sight.

  “I didn’t lock the door again, did I?” I asked.

  His head moved from left to right and back again.

  “Say something, little bro.”

  “Eyes,” he squeaked out.

  I hopped up. “You see them, too?!”

  He nodded, if just barely. “God.”

  “Nope,” I replied. “I asked. Not God. Alien. I think.”

  He blinked. “You think?”

  I ran to the door and dragged him in. He might’ve been stone, a la post-Medusa, but he was still small and runty. In other words, dragging him was easy enough, the stone more like a pebble. So, in he flung, the door promptly closed behind him. I placed him in front of the mirror. “Ask him or, um, her, or, uh, it, a yes or no question. Yes gets one blink; no gets two.”

  He looked at me. He looked back at the mirror. He moved his jaw around, apparently trying to break the curse of the snake-headed Gorgon. He inhaled. He coughed. He squinted at the mirror, into the pools of blue. “Are you from this universe?” There were two blinks. “A parallel universe?” There was one blink, a pause, then two blinks.

  “There!” I shouted. “I asked a similar question and got a similar answer. Like the alien is saying maybe yes, maybe no. What does that mean?”

  He strummed his ti
ny fingers on his tiny, dimpled chin. He turned to me and stared, clearly deep in thought. “The alien isn’t in a parallel universe, not overlapping ours,” he eventually replied. “That would mean, if I’m not mistaken, that his world exists, not parallel to ours, but separate, on our timeline, but not in our space.” He again turned to the mirror. “Does that about cover it?” There was one blink. Craig snapped his fingers. “See,” he said. “Easy.”

  I coughed. “Easy? Are you insane?”

  His shrug reshrugged. “I’m talking to a mirror, so yeah, maybe.”

  “But how can an alien in a different universe see us and blink at us? And how can it do it through a mirror? And why can we only see its eyes?” I pointed at said eyes. “It told me, in no uncertain words—or any words, for that matter—that all we can see are its eyes. Why is that?”

  Again, Craig strummed his chin and again stared at the mirror. “Your mirror, it’s a portal of some sort, a window, something connecting its universe to ours, its dimension to ours.”

  I hated calling the alien an it, by the way, but what did I know? Was it a he or a she? In its universe, was there even such a thing? Maybe it was both, maybe neither. Was it good or evil? Did it want to kill me, be friends with me, mate with me? And yes, even in times of potential peril, I was still randy—the adjective, not my name. Hence the whole mating thing. I mean, it was my mirror we were communicating through, was it not? Well, communicatingish, we’ll say.

  “Fine,” I said, “but why can we only see its eyes?”

  His chin strumming picked up steam. His chin strumming could’ve fueled a paddle boat, in fact. Still, eventually, he came up with, “If you stare directly into a mirror, what do you see?”

  I shrugged. “Whatever is reflecting off that mirror. So?”

  He smiled and slowly lifted his hand, his index finger pointed out, until the tip just barely grazed the mirror’s surface. “Yeah, but if you reposition the mirror,” he said, pushing his finger forward, “you see more of the reflection, or at least a different angle.”