Eight Days on Planet Earth

by Cat Jordan

  I glance back at my friend who has his feet up on the back of his sister’s seat, tapping the headrest with his toes, just to annoy the crap out of her.

  This is Brian when he’s stone-cold sober.

  This is me with my heart crushed.

  “Em, turn around, wouldja?” I tap the dashboard with the heel of my hand, startling Emily.

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  I have to go back. I’m not ready to leave her. “Bring me back to the hospital. Please?”

  “But—”

  “Please?”

  She doesn’t even look as she swings the Jeep around and does a U-turn, earning more than a few honks from other drivers. Ten long minutes later, we’re back at the hospital.

  “Don’t wait for me. Just go home.”

  “What?” She pulls the Jeep over and idles at the curb. “How will you get back?”

  “I’ll figure it out.” I hop out and bob my head at Brian. “Shotgun’s all yours, dude.” I cross in front of the car and stop at the driver’s side. “Thanks, Em. You’re an amazing friend.”

  She’s stoic, as usual, because that’s just who she is, but she reaches out for me and grabs me in a hug. “You’re a good guy, Matty.”

  I take the hug. She waits until I head back toward the hospital before she drives off.

  I didn’t think I could do anything for Priya, but maybe I can.

  She got me.

  And I got her.

  5:14 P.M.

  The earlier part of the afternoon was such a whirlwind, my visit with Priya so brief, that I barely remember what happened.

  Her face, so drawn and thin, that’s what I remember, until her smile burst open wide and lit up the room. Her wispy black hair, not her platinum wig, I remember that, too.

  But most of all I remember what wasn’t there, what Emily didn’t notice.

  No life-saving machines. You don’t have to be the son of a nurse to know what they look like, but if you’ve visited enough times, you kind of get to know the background hum. And when it’s not there, you notice. It wasn’t a luxuriously appointed hospital room because it wasn’t really a hospital room.

  Priya is in hospice. She isn’t at the hospital to get better.

  This is the end for her.

  Or the beginning, depending on how you look at it. The field—my magic field—was Priya’s beginning, her new adventure. And her parents took it away from her. But maybe I can give it back.

  My father meets me at the hospital cafeteria about twenty minutes after I call him.

  He spots me at once and his face splits into a happy grin. He practically runs to my table, shouting at me.

  “Matty, you don’t know how happy I was when you called,” he says. “Gosh, I thought it was a dream or something.”

  I keep my distance, even as he throws his arms around my shoulders and hugs me. I haven’t seen him in days, but it feels like a year. He’s wearing a pair of khaki pants and a light blue collared shirt, and his normally unruly hair is plastered back into a helmet shape. He’s got a backpack slung over one shoulder like he just stepped off a college campus. In other words, he looks very un-DJ-like. Must be Carol’s influence.

  “Look, this girl is . . .” How do I put this without betraying Priya? I don’t want to tell my dad she thinks she’s an alien. I don’t want him to treat her like a lunatic, like I did. “She’s a big fan of the field.”

  “A new follower? I wonder if I know her. I just updated my blog after I moved here.” He sounds eager and peppy, like he’s bubbling over with optimism now that he’s not living with me and Mom.

  I try to cool his jets. “I just want you to talk to her, okay? Just tell her about the field or something. Nothing weird. No conspiracies or anything stupid.”

  “Sure, sure, I can do that,” my dad says. He gestures toward the coffee bar at the front of the cafeteria. “How about I get us some coffees first, huh?”

  “Uh, yeah, okay. Black, please.”

  “And two sugars, I know.” He grins at me and hops up, adjusting his backpack as he goes. I feel like I’m being wooed on a first date by someone who really wants me to like him.

  When he returns, he starts his spiel over again. I can feel it, like it’s something he prepared on the drive over. “I’m glad you called me today, Junior.”

  Without looking at him, I say, “Could you call me Matty? Thanks.”

  “I know it might have been strange that I left in a hurry . . .”

  I shrug and stare down into my coffee.

  “I’d been thinking about it for a long time. It was never the right time.”

  When is the right time to leave your family? I wonder. “So . . . Carol was the right time, huh?”

  My dad’s eyebrows knit in confusion. Did he not expect I would ask? “It was never about Carol. We were just friends. She wasn’t happy and I wasn’t happy. We left together but we’re not together. Not like that.”

  “She’s not at your new place?”

  He scowls. “I don’t know where she is.” He slurps at his coffee and makes a face. “Not enough sugar.”

  “Always ask for two,” I say like a wiseass.

  He nods as if I’m brilliant or something, and we’re silent for a moment.

  “Your mom is amazing—”

  “Don’t say anything about Mom,” I warn him.

  “She did everything. Paid every bill. Made every decision. A long time ago she decided I was useless. She even tried to get me a job with my own brother.”

  I remember.

  “But I wanted something else.” He shakes his head. “Matty . . . I’m sorry.”

  I feel my pulse quicken. An apology. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? I search his face for deception, for insincerity, but see none. Instead I just see . . . a man.

  Ordinary. Human.

  He hesitates a moment and then, in a rush, says, “I understand if you hate me. I get it, I do. I’d probably hate me too.”

  I don’t want to think about hating him, about forgiving him—or not. I didn’t ask him here for this.

  “Dad? This is not the time.”

  I slurp my coffee, too much too soon, and scald the roof of my mouth. Whatever. I feel very whatever at this moment. I clear my throat dramatically, and in my head I hear the voice-over guy from Real-Life Mystery.

  “Her name is Priya,” I say. “And she believes she’s an alien. . . .”

  6:02 P.M.

  When Dr. Shah opens the door to Priya’s room, she frowns but then notices my dad and a peculiar look crosses her face.

  My dad shoves his hand at her and turns on the charm. “Hello, I’m DJ Jones, Matthew’s dad. I own the farm where your daughter was living for a few days.”

  She takes his hand slowly, a cool nonsmile on her face as she studies him. “Thank you for allowing our daughter to stay with you.” She frowns until she finds the words that come next. “Our daughter. She . . . she followed you. Online?”

  My father beams. His face is like a full moon.

  “Dr. Shah, do you mind if we see Priya for a few minutes?” I ask. “My father has some information that might make Priya feel better. You know, calmer. I think we could be . . . helpful.”

  I hear a strangled sound come from the room, a muttered something and then shhh.

  Dr. Shah glances behind her and nods and swings the door wide open. If I wasn’t certain before, I definitely know now: the soft pink glow of light from the lamp, the subtle print on the cream-colored wallpaper, the cushioned recliners. Hospice.

  Priya’s in bed, arms stiff by her sides, eyes gazing up at the ceiling, just like she used to back at the field. Two white earbuds trail out of her ears and I wonder what she’s listening to. It’s so odd to see her with technology. She never had a phone or an iPod or a tablet in the time I knew her.

  As I approach her, I notice something else: She looks . . . thinner.

  Scary skinny.

  Sick.

  She’s still beautifu
l. I remember her in the field, in my arms, against my body, in my bed. I remember her laughing at the kids at the lake, delighting in the soft fur of my dog, listening to the music of the trees.

  Yes, she’s still beautiful. She’s not from another world, but she is special.

  I tap her on the shoulder to get her attention. When she takes out her earbuds, I can hear her music, something light, a girl’s high-pitched voice.

  She sees me and grins happily. It’s as if her earlier agitation never happened. She’s the normal Priya.

  “Matthew!” She pushes herself up to sitting and reaches a hand for me. I take a seat on her bed and kiss her cheek. Her parents probably won’t like seeing that, but whatever.

  “Priya, I want you to meet my dad, David Jones,” I say as my dad comes forward.

  “You can call me DJ.”

  Priya’s hand, the one I’m not holding, covers her mouth as she giggles. “It’s you! You were born the night the ship landed. I saw you online and on the tape Matthew showed me.”

  He nods, clearly thrilled she knows who he is. “I hear you came for a visit while I wasn’t there.”

  “No, no, not a visit. My ship is coming for me.” She starts to tremble, her voice anxious. “But I’m not there! How will I get home?”

  I hold my breath as I watch the inner workings of my dad’s mind play out on his face. What will he tell her? The truth? Whose truth—his or the rest of the world’s?

  “I think you might have miscalculated the landing area,” my dad says finally.

  Priya’s eyebrows knit. “No, that’s the field. I know it is.”

  “You are traveling by wormhole, yes?”

  “Yes, but this wormhole is stable. It’s one of only a hundred and fifteen that we know of that are stable at both ends.”

  If this throws my father off, he doesn’t show it. He holds up a finger. “Very true, but did you consider the Earth’s position in space will be different from where it was over fifty years ago? The wormhole may have a stable exit point, but where will the Earth be in relation to it?”

  He sounds so confident that I wonder if it’s real science or science fiction. I glance at the Shahs, who are not disagreeing, although at this point, I think they would let anyone talk to their daughter if it meant keeping her happy.

  Damn if my dad doesn’t sound like he knows his shit.

  I wait to see if Priya buys it.

  Slowly, very slowly, it sinks in and she smiles. “You’re right! I didn’t figure that into my calculations.”

  My father looks visibly relieved. “Well, let’s take a look at your calculations, then.”

  Priya responds with renewed enthusiasm and more happy energy than I’ve seen since she was at the field. “My notebook is in my bag.” She looks around the room, but I spot it first and retrieve it.

  My father slings his backpack off his shoulder and shows her that he too has a black bag. Don’t all great space travelers? “I carry a notebook too, but it’s electronic.”

  I expect her to hold fast to the notebook in her hand, but she gladly shows my father her precious.

  As he carefully—reverently—turns the pages, I catch more of the scribbles she made during her visit. Her handwriting in the final pages is sloppy and inconsistent and I can barely make out many words, but I do see . . .

  Matthew.

  Ginger.

  Love.

  I feel my cheeks grow warm and I wonder if my dad sees those words too. If he does, he says nothing. “Okay, here we go. Look at this formula you have,” he says, pointing to a series of equations. “Explain this one to me.”

  While Priya eagerly reasons out her calculations, I glance back at the Shahs, who are obviously enthralled by the effect my dad is having on their daughter.

  Both my dad and Priya are exactly who they want to be, right in this moment. And they are blissful.

  “Tell me more about the field, DJ,” I hear Priya say. “What was it like to live so close to it for all your life?”

  My father looks over at me, includes me with his smile. “Why don’t I let Matty tell you?”

  “Huh, me? But I—”

  “Remember how we used to set up our telescopes side by side out in the field?” he asks me. “We’d bring out sandwiches and cans of soda, which your mother hated, said you’d rot your teeth.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right.” I do remember that. “Mom would tell me to drink more milk instead. She can be such a nurse sometimes.”

  Priya grins and settles into her pillows like a kid being told a bedtime story. “Please tell me more.”

  “You want to tell her why the field was the perfect place for stargazing?” my dad prompts.

  “Because there are no obstructions. No trees, no power lines, no tall buildings . . . not even any streetlamps,” I say automatically as I put myself back in the field next to my dad.

  “It’s the ideal place to search the sky.”

  A flash of a computer screen, my dad’s ugly website, pops into my mind. Images of the two of us at our telescopes, photos I remember my mom taking back when it was all-science-all-the-time for DJ and Junior. And under each photo my dad posted was a comment:

  I’m so proud of Matthew learning how to find Orion on his own.

  Matthew is going to be a great astronomer someday!

  Matthew and I are going to sleep in the field tonight so we can watch for the comet.

  Posing for photos with my telescope, my finger pointed toward the night sky and my face filled with awe, I looked like Boy Astronomer.

  “The comet!” I say. “Do you remember?” It was June 2010. A new comet was headed our way. A fuzzy green ball in the sky, bigger and more clearly visible than so many that came before it.

  “Yes!” My dad bobs his head. “We set our alarm clocks so we could get up just about an hour before sunrise.”

  Our spot in that wide-open field, far from light pollution, was almost as good as being at an observatory. We could have seen it with binoculars, but with our telescopes, we were up-close and personal with the two-tailed comet.

  Even recalling it now is thrilling. Out in the field alone, we could imagine ourselves as famous astronomers, as if we were the ones discovering it.

  I feel Priya’s hand clasp mine and I glance up; her right hand holds my dad’s. The three of us, connected.

  “I remember that comet too,” she says.

  “It disappeared after that summer,” my dad says. “Gone from our solar system.”

  “From ours, as well,” Priya says.

  Gone. Disappeared. A final flight. A last hurrah. Comet C2009/R1 spun past us in a showy dazzle of light and left us permanently.

  “Those bright green tails,” my dad says. “Remember, Junior?”

  “How could I forget? It was amazing!”

  “Better than the best episode of the original series,” Dad teases. He always did like Captain Kirk better than Picard.

  We both turn to Priya, who regards us intently. She gazes first at me and then at my dad. “Resistance is futile,” she says robotically. Just. Like. A. Borg.

  I whoop with delight. “Yes! I knew you were a Next Gen fan.” I squeeze her fingers between mine and enjoy seeing my dad wince.

  He casts an eye at the Shahs, one eyebrow raised as if to say, I can’t believe I spawned this.

  “Star Trek was part of my vast data collection,” Priya says.

  Behind us, the door opens and a nurse enters with a tray. “Did someone order pizza for dinner?” she asks with a grin.

  “Did you?” I ask Priya, and she nods.

  “I love pizza.”

  I hear I love you, but I know that’s not what she said.

  Priya’s father clears his throat. “Matthew, perhaps you’ll leave now and come back tomorrow.”

  “Visiting hours begin at ten,” the nurse adds helpfully and pointedly.

  “Oh yeah, yeah, of course,” I say, even though I’m nowhere near ready to go. I bend down to hug Priya and she k
isses me on the lips, her face melting into mine, a long, lingering kiss that feels . . . final.

  I press my fingers into her back and hold her tightly against my chest, feel her lips against my neck and her eyelashes brushing my cheek. Don’t cry, Matty, don’t you fucking cry now.

  “Everything will be okay.” I hear her voice lightly in my ear. “You must believe.”

  “I do,” I whisper. “I do believe.”

  When we part, she smiles at my dad. “Thank you, DJ. I’m so grateful you helped me with my calculations.”

  “It was my pleasure. If I don’t see you again, I wish you . . . safe travels.” My father blinks and looks away and I swear he’s swallowing hard.

  When we say good night to the Shahs, I can feel their gratitude. Even if they don’t say it out loud.

  It’s like, yeah, I can read their minds.

  Out on the street, I walk my dad to his truck and shake his hand, formally. “Thanks for coming. That really helped her,” I say.

  “Oh, um, yeah, no worries at all,” he says. “Hey, how are you getting home?”

  I hadn’t thought about that much. “The bus?”

  “A bus? Tonight?” His voice is coated in doubt.

  “Well, yeah, I guess. . . .” But it does sound silly, especially if I’m just coming back in the morning. “Maybe I’ll try to sneak a sleepover at the hospital,” I say.

  My dad doesn’t acknowledge my dumb idea but instead says, “How about a bite to eat and then you can go home?”

  Food. Now, who’s gonna turn down free food?

  “I know a good pizza joint that delivers,” Dad says. “We could watch Trek while we eat.”

  “Next Gen?” I suggest.

  But my dad is adamant. “Not in my house. It’s Kirk and Spock or nothing.”

  I don’t take too long to decide. “Yeah, okay.”

  My dad looks like he just won the lottery. Or discovered his own comet. “Hop in. You want cheese and mushrooms?”

  “And sausage and pepperoni.”

  “My kind of pie.”

  I slide into the passenger side of the truck and feel a familiarity to our positions. Me and Dad, side by side, just like being in the field. I glance up through the windshield, wave a silent good-bye to Priya in her room, eating her pizza.