by Zara Zenia
As the night settles around the building, I can’t stay inside much longer. I am so desperately lonely, and I have never slept alone in my entire life. Walking outside, I feel the slightly chilled air around me and feel a little calmer.
Walking to the mall, I find the shuttle and ensure it is still cloaked. I hope that Voland was mistaken with the shuttles. It is possible that he never saw them at all and spied something else instead. Or maybe the shuttles moved on to somewhere else and will never land on Earth. There is only one way to find out.
Climbing inside the ship, I find my way to the telescope. Voland, with all his hard work, had spruced up the interior of the shuttle, and the telescope has been repaired so it looks like new. I place the eyepiece into my right socket and look up to the skies. I hope that all I will see at most is one of those creatures that Allison says is a bird. But what I see is so much bigger.
There’s a shuttle. It’s just like ours, except it’s bigger which can only mean one thing: there are dozens of people aboard. Scanning the skies, I soon see there are others, and they are traveling fast. There is no hope that they are leaving soon. They are getting closer and closer the more I watch.
It’s only a matter of time before they arrive.
Chapter 8
Allison
Another day, another crippling sense of boredom as I begin work. I’ve only been sitting at the checkout a couple hours, but already, my backside is numb and my feet are uncomfortable as they’re stuffed beneath the counter. I wish I could do something more glamorous that meant I could travel and work or actually doing anything except scanning groceries all day long!
Still, though, my parents are happy I’m self-sufficient and hard working. That stuff means a lot to them, and they couldn’t handle the idea of me being free and happy.
Adults. I roll my eyes at the thought of them. Even though I know I’m adult myself, I still feel as though I’m a rebellious teenager trying to fight the man. It’s the weekend, and the store is growing busy already. A line is starting to form at my checkout, and I’m not looking forward to serving hundreds of customers today. Sometimes, I just want to be alone. I daydream of the days off I have when I can lock myself away at home with nothing but solitude, silence, and a good book.
At least my new buddy, Benzen, cheers me up. I haven’t seen his friends in a while, but he’s always coming in to say hello to me. He’s real sweet and makes a huge effort to fit in with the locals and learn all there is to know about our way of life. I really feel for him, too. Looks like he’s really down on his luck. I just wish there was a way I could help him out some more. He’s one of the rare ones. He’s one of the good guys.
As the day moves on slowly, I can’t stop my eyes from glancing back to the clock on my till. I’ve got four hours to go, but my eyes feel heavy already, and I’m starving, my stomach making sporadic growling noises. For a little while, there’s a quiet lull, and for the first time all day, my conveyor belt is empty. I sit back and appreciate the few moments to myself. I look up to the ceiling and close my eyes, watching the light permeate my eyelids and make dancing, white shapes inside my eyes.
“Hi!”
I open my eyes and see Benzen in front of me.
“I’m happy to see you again,” he announces with a smile.
“Hey, pal! It’s great to see you too.”
“You are busy now?” His eyes are shining like always.
“No… Well I mean, I’m supposed to be, but…”
“I have a few questions to ask you.”
“Sure.” I get ready for some more of his bizarre inquiries. “Fire away. “
“So…” he seems unsure how to begin. “The white bowl thing in the back room…”
“The bathroom?”
“Yeah, I think it’s the bathroom,” he nods his head seriously. “The white bowl thing. I have learned it is called a toilet.”
“That’s right.”
I’m waiting for him to follow up his random statement with a question or a further comment, but there’s nothing. He just looks at me before continuing.
“Yes. Toilet.”
And he stares off into the distance as though he’s proud of himself. This isn’t the first time I’m bewildered by him, and as usual, I take what he says with a pinch of salt and humor him.
“So. You know what a toilet is now.”
“Yes. Back home, we don’t have these things. Our ancestors did, but they were eventually deemed unhygienic.”
He’s still staring down the aisles, watching all the people go about their day. There’s a peculiar look in his eye, as though he’s eyeing them intently, learning everything about the way they move and speak. I watch him for a little while, both amused and fascinated by the expression on his face.
Customers begin to come once again, and I serve them as Benzen stands beside my till. He looks as everybody passes through, paying close attention to everything they buy. Occasionally, he’ll point at one of their items and ask about it. After explaining it to him, he’ll merely point to something else and I’ll tell him all about that, too.
I’m more than happy about his being by my side. I like his company, and he makes the day more interesting with his quirkiness. But I’m pretty sure the customers don’t feel that way. They look at him suspiciously as they notice his disheveled clothes and different appearance. They’re not the only ones to think him odd.
I see the manager stride out from the back and approach, his patent loafers squeaking on the linoleum floor.
“Allison,” he says firmly, “after your next customer, close the till. I need a word with you.”
This can’t be good. He only talks to people like that when they’re in trouble, but as far as I know, I’ve not done anything wrong. For a second, I ponder the idea of getting a promotion, but dismiss the thought quickly. He wouldn’t look so angry if I were doing well.
As I enter the office, I take a seat and feel as my palms begin to sweat. I rub them down the front of my uniform and hope this is over with quickly. He’s looking down at his phone, probably still texting one of his online lovers. Eventually, he slides it inside a drawer and looks to me, crossing one leg over the other to create a barrier between us.
“You do well here, Allison.”
“Thanks, Mr. Samson.”
“Please, call me David. We’ve known each other a while now, haven’t we?”
“I suppose so,” I shrug.
“Well then, I just wanted to talk to you about the little matter of this guy.”
He points to the live-streaming CCTV footage of the shop floor. Benzen is still lingering beside my checkout, even though I’m not sitting there anymore.
“Is this guy your boyfriend?”
“Nope,” I shake my head.
“A family member?”
“No. Just a friend.”
“Just a friend who hangs around every day creeping out the customers?”
“He doesn’t creep them out,” I say hopefully. “Look. He’s a guy I know who’s not having the best time right now, and I’m pretty much the only person he knows in this town.”
“Well, I’m really sorry to hear that.” David uncrosses his legs, then crosses them back over the other way. “But I really don’t care. It’s none of my business, and it’s not the responsibility of the store to give him a place to hang out and a shoulder to cry on.”
I don’t know what to say and just stare down at my shoes.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask him to leave, or otherwise, you’ll have to.”
“What? No!”
I feel conflicted. I need my job, but I also don’t want Benzen to feel as though he’s being chastised. I’m trying to figure out what to say when David stands up and gestures for me to leave his office.
“Come on. We’re both going to talk to him,” he says.
As we both get closer to Benzen, I can see his eyes beginning to twinkle as he sees me approach.
“Hi Allison!” he waves. �
��I wondered when you would be back.”
“That’s the thing,” David cuts in as he stands between us. “I’m afraid you can’t hang around here anymore.”
“Oh,” Benzen’s face drops.
“I mean, it’s cool that you have a good friend like Allison,” David continues, “but people have started to wonder what you’re doing and why you won’t leave. If you like it here so much, then you can always get a job at the store!” David bursts out laughing, thrilled at his own joke.
There’s an awkward silence hanging in the air, punctuated by the nearby beeping at the checkouts. Then something flashes in my mind.
“That’s it!”
David turns to me with a frown.
“What?”
“He can work here! What do you say, Benzen?”
His signature smile comes back to him, and he looks elated.
“Yes! I’d like that.”
Chapter 9
Benzen
“See, you price the cans like this.” Fellow shift worker Colleen is training me.
I take the price gun from her and watch as a sticker comes out the end. I attach it to the can of beans in my hand.
“There, you’re doing great,” Colleen smiles. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to get on with it.”
And she disappears into the stock room to complete her own tasks.
“Psst…” I hear a noise from around the corner and Allison’s head pops round.
“Hey!” I’m always so pleased to see her, and getting to spend every day with her is such a joy.
“Are you nearly finished?”
“Almost. I have to price these,” I explain, pointing to the pile of goods in front of me.
“Screw that. You can do that later. Why don’t you come join me on my break?”
“Ok!” I leave the pricing gun on the floor and join her outside.
Once again she has bought me the delicious treat sushi, and I devour it.
“You know,” I begin to speak with a mouth full of food, “I will be able to buy my own food soon, once I get paid.”
“Yeah, that’s true. I don’t mind, though.”
“But I have been here nearly four weeks now, so payday isn’t too long away.”
“That's true,” she agrees, smiling and looking up to the sky.
It’s a beautiful warm day and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. I gaze over towards the parking lot, and it seems like so long ago that we crashed there. Looking further past the trees, I see the shuttles are still not in sight. After the initial sighting, they seemed to disappear from view, dipping down over the horizon somewhere. With all that's been happening in the last few weeks, I’ve almost forgotten them. Almost.
“You look lost in thought,” Allison says as she squirts little drops of soy sauce onto her salmon.
“Yes.” I nod. “It has been a tumultuous time recently.”
“'Tumultuous.' I haven’t heard that word in a while,” she muses out loud.
We sit in silence for a moment with only the sound of us chewing our food between us. Near our bench, young families and teenagers walk past, excited at spending a day at the mall. Behind us, a security guard watches them all as they enter.
“Him,” I point over. “I don’t like him.”
“What? Paddy?”
“His name is Paddy? The mall policeman?”
“That’s right. Although he’s not quite a cop,” she laughs. “But why don’t you like him?”
“He was rude to me once. On my first night in Virginia.”
“Was he now?” She doesn’t seem surprised by this. “If it’s any consolation, he’s rude to everyone.”
“But why?”
“Because all these frustrated security types in uniform are rejects from either the army or the police force, and they’re all old and bitter and mostly fat.”
“Oh. Is this the same in all malls?” I ask, intrigued about this insight into the human race.
“Pretty much.” She drops her last piece of sushi in her mouth and savors the taste.
“There are a lot of conventions here, aren’t there?” I’m still looking up to the sky.
“Conventions?”
“Yes… Like rules for all kinds of things. Even something as simple as adding a currency price to beans takes on an almost ritualistic purpose. There is the management high up in the company that dictates the price, and this has to be run through an economics and pricing department. Then there is an intricate hierarchy of a larger yet somehow different management that confirms this price, then the staff are to print out these coded labels, which have to be laser scanned, and then, finally, I am to place this label on the food. But then, the price changes anyway! Depending on what day it is, means the food can simply be voided and be “out of date,” but then, if you get to it just in time, it is worth less money. The whole concept confuses me. And all of this just for beans, tiny pieces of vegetation that grow for free.”
She looks at me for a long while, unsure of what she should say. Eventually, she picks up her empty sushi box, takes my trash, and drops it all into a nearby trash can.
“You think too much,” she tells me with a slap on the back. “Come on, we gotta get back to work.”
My new life as a checkout boy is going well, despite it being a little confusing at times. People that come into the store can be illogically grumpy and make peculiar demands, like wanting to return things simply because they’ve changed their minds. Working in this job has taught me that humans can be a fickle species. I have also learned that being a checkout boy is also low in the hierarchy of occupations. People can be most unkind and assume that, for some reason, I must be intellectually challenged just because I work this job. Allison assures me that “people are real jerks sometimes,” but this does nothing to placate how bad I feel when I have a rude customer.
Despite that, I enjoy being with Allison all day, and her checkout is right in front of mine. She frequently spins around so we can talk, and our friendship doesn’t end there. We also travel to each other’s apartments after work, and she teaches me all sorts of things about humans.
At Allison’s house, I have listened to the most serene of music and experienced the sheer terror of watching a horror movie, although I am not impressed by Hollywood’s interpretations of alien species. She had also lent me a plethora of books and magazines, and once in the solace of my own home, I read through every page, absorbing all the information I can gather.
My shift is almost over, and as I look at the clock, I see there are only minutes left. Glancing down the conveyor belt, I see I have a few more customers to serve, but as I look ahead, I see Allison closing down her till. She talks to me over her shoulder like she always does.
“Hey, you coming back to my place for dinner?”
“Yes!” I say as I scan the last of the groceries. “Are you making me spaghetti again?”
She giggles as she slides out of her chair.
“I can if you want.”
Once we’re finished for the night, we step out into the darkness and climb into her car. The moonlight looks so fresh and beautiful against her face as it illuminates her pale skin. It is times like this, when we are alone, that I want to tell her how I really feel about her. Longing to reach out and trace a finger down the side of her face, I try my best to hide how I feel. She is my only friend, and I don’t want to ruin that. Maybe, one day, she will feel the same about me.
“I have been reading about romantic relationships,” I blurt out without thinking.
She reverses out of her parking space, and her old car makes rickety noises as she pulls out onto the main road.
“Relationships? Like what?”
“Like all about how they are formed.”
“I see.”
Sometimes I feel that she has become exhausted of my constant quest to learn about humans. To her, I am just a foreigner, a person from another part of Earth who needs to be educated. If only she knew I am from so far away that I am not e
ven human at all. If she knew, would she be repulsed by me?
“So then, what about these romantic relationships?” she asks.
I can tell by the way her voice seems disinterested that she is only being polite.
“Oh, nothing.”
She gives me a sideways glance and smiles.
“You’re a real strange guy, you know that, Benzen?”
“I am sorry.” I bow my head. “I don’t mean to be strange.”
“Please don’t apologize!” She smiles to put me at ease. “I like it. You’re not like all the other guys.”
And she does something she’s never done before. As she drives along the freeway, she places a hand gently on my knee and squeezes. I can feel the intense warmth of her skin through my clothes, and I feel as though my heart is singing. Then, as quickly as she touches me, she pulls away and looks back at the road ahead.
For a few moments, I feel as though her touch is still against me, the warmth of her body fading slowly from mine.
“Have you ever had a romantic relationship?” I ask.
She seems surprised at such a question.
“I have.”
“And?” I ask.
She pulls off the freeway and makes her way into her neighborhood. We park outside her apartment, and she climbs out the car.
“And what?” she asks as we step inside the building.
“I don’t know,” I stammer. “I guess I just wanted to know what it’s like.”
“You’ve never had a girlfriend?” she asks with wide eyes as we enter the elevator.
“I have not.” I press the button for the ninth floor. “And you’ve had a boyfriend?”
“I have.”
She does not elaborate, and we walk in silence to her apartment. We speak no more about it, and she quickly changes the subject as she begins to make dinner.
