Encounters
FOR A MOMENT ALL THEY DID WAS STARE AT HIM AS IF HE'D LOST HIS MIND. Then he gave a sort of smile and shrugged.
"That's all," he said. "I just had a weird dream about owls flying around. Big barn owls. That's it. Now are you satisfied?" And he looked accusingly at Puck.
Puck stared back; Anders knew he'd caught him off-guard. "I thought--" he began, then faltered; "I thought you dreamt of something else."
"No," Anders replied, "just owls."
"But you said you had the same dream as me--"
"Well then, think about it. Maybe you dreamed of owls too. Maybe you mixed it up with something else?" he added, hinting.
Puck looked to be at a loss for words, as if he'd just been betrayed by his best friend. Al only gave Anders a queer stare.
"And what did the owls do?" he asked suddenly, as if truly interested.
This time it was Anders who was at a loss for an answer. Finally he said, "They just--flew around my head or something. Like owls do. You know."
"I don't know. Do owls fly around your head?"
Anders frowned at Al; it seemed he was probing, as if he didn't believe him. "I don't know for sure," he admitted angrily, "but they did in my dream."
"Maybe that was it," Puck said, to his surprise. "A barn owl outside the window. Looking in. Yeah, I think that's it." He gave Anders a withering look. "I guess that's it. I'm letting my imagination run away with me. Thanks anyway, Al. I hope to see you again sometime."
"Don't worry. I'm coming to the Jamboree," Al replied. "I wouldn't miss Little Nevada for the world. It's pretty authentic. Well, see you tomorrow."
Anders and Puck left the house, Al seeing them out and closing the door behind them. As soon as they got in Anders's car, he reached out to put the key in the ignition when Puck stopped him, grabbing him by the wrist.
"Hey," Anders said.
"What was that all about?" Puck demanded. "Owls? Have you lost your mind?"
"No, I haven't. I'm starting to think maybe it was owls. You just got me all stirred up with all those stupid stories about aliens kidnapping people."
"They weren't owls, and you know it," Puck shot back. "Owls aren't four feet tall. They don't have arms and legs. [Note--well, legs, but not arms...] And they don't talk to you telepathically while inserting probes in your brain."
"Are you so sure?" Anders said, "Because that sounds more plausible than what you're suggesting."
Puck only glared at him a minute or two, then buckled up and flopped back in his seat while Anders did the same and pulled out of the driveway. They spoke no more all the way back to Charlevoix.
Later on in the day both of them showed up at the Summer Jamboree; not together, of course, but they did show up. Anders just sat at the picnic tables set up under tents, so he would be out of the sun, and drank cold drinks; he didn't exactly feel like going on any rides, so instead would watch the parade of life go by.
Puck was more active; he volunteered for the dunking booth and got to sit on the platform and insult people while they tried to sink him with a baseball. He got wet only a couple times, and that didn't bother him, as it was boiling outside. [Note--yes--it should be, "only a couple of times."] After a while some other enterprising students opted to try, and he quit the booth, looking around for other things to do. He made his way to the Gravitron, where several people were leaning on the bars surrounding the ride, watching it spin. Among them was Gavin, the new student. Puck hadn't met him before, so went up to look at him. He leaned on the railing himself and stared at Gavin until Gavin "looked" back.
"Hi," Puck said, as if his being blind were the most normal thing in the world.
"Hi," Gavin said, sticking out his hand about a foot to Puck's left. "Gavin MacLeod."
"Matthew Benteen."
"Oh, so you're the computer genius, aren't you?"
Puck smiled. "My reputation precedes me. But it's hacker, not genius."
Gavin smiled as well. "I'd think the two were the same."
"Not at all." He looked as Gavin held out his cane to point in the general direction of the Gravitron, and waved it around.
"I've been hearing bad news about that thing," he announced, waving. "What's it look like?"
"It's like a big--" he nearly cut himself off, then went on "--flying saucer."
Another smile, very faint. "Flying saucer?"
"Yeah. Big, silver, with red and blue lights on it. Like a disk. It spins." He made a whirring noise to indicate the motion. "What are the bad things you've heard about it?"
"Like, people turning upside-down. And if you throw up, your puke comes back and hits you in the face."
Puck laughed. "Centrifugal force?" he mused.
"Maybe."
Puck turned to look off to the other side, where several more people were, staring up at the ride. He recognized one of them--it was the kid who'd taken his horse. "Excuse me," he said to Gavin, who merely waved his hand a little and continued listening to the ride. Puck picked his way through the milling people until he'd made it to the other side; when the kid saw him, Puck noticed he paled a little but stood his ground. That was good; at least he wouldn't have to jump him again, like he had the other day.
"So you're the wanted man," he said conversationally, coming up beside him and again leaning on the railing. He was pleased to see the kid was looking scared but still didn't run away.
"Listen," he said, faltering, "I--I'm sorry I stole your horse. I just got scared. Those guys were after me."
"Guys? You mean the military? And what exactly is it that G. I. Joe wants with you?"
The kid looked at him a moment, then turned slightly away.
"Come on," Puck prodded. "You'll never meet anybody who hates authority more than I do. Tell me what those guys wanted from you."
"I know something," the kid said, and left it at that.
Good enough, Puck thought, and turned his attention back to the Gravitron, which was slowing. [Note--well...even with as self-centered as he is, I rather think Puck would've asked for a LITTLE more than that...] The kid shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. Puck finally turned back to him and held out his hand.
"Matthew Benteen."
The kid seemed to relax a little, and took it. "Jacob Sanders."
As Jacob took his hand, Puck's mind jolted.
owls from the sky
He found himself reliving Anders's own image of barn owls flapping their wide white wings overhead.
do owls fly around your head?
It was as if Jacob knew somehow what he was thinking as well.
owls owls owls white barn owls with big black eyes
It was Jacob who pulled his hand away, forcing a smile, leaving Puck just standing there, agape.
"Is something wrong?" Jacob asked, suddenly concerned by the look on Puck's face.
A moment or two passed before Puck could find his voice. "No..." Jacob made as if to turn away. "Jacob...do you know anything about owls?"
Jacob turned back, a puzzled look on his face. Puck had seen that look before, somewhere else. "Owls?"
"Yeah--you know, barn owls."
"No." Jacob now looked more confused than ever. Puck decided to drop it and shrugged it off.
"Never mind," he said. "Nice to meet you, Jacob."
"You, too," Jacob said, and he stared after Puck until he was out of sight, lost in the crowd.
Later on, when Puck was typing at his computer, it was Anders who wandered in without being invited; Puck only cast a brief look at him over his shoulder and continued typing. Anders sat down on a bunch of crates lined up along the wall, covered with several blankets, and started playing with the string to the lightbulb. Puck quit typing and started printing out something; as he did so, the screensaver kicked in and stars started flying around his screen.
"SPACE," Puck boomed in an authoritative voice, "THE FINAL FRONTIER."
Anders smiled and Puck could just barely hear him laugh. "Earl Grey, hot, Captain Picard?" he offered.
"So you've seen that show, too. [Note--neither of these guys strikes me as being a Star Trek fan. Based on some old diary entries I found from high school, I used to watch The Next Generation for like two or three hours a day. Yeegh.] How true to life do you think it is?"
Anders was put off. "True to life--? How would I know?"
"I don't know. Experience, maybe?"
"Oh, come off it. You mean to tell me you really do believe all that stuff?"
"Come on, Anders. It's not like everybody dreams about owls all the time."
"Well, it's not exactly like everybody dreams about aliens, either."
"Yeah. But really tell me this, Anders, and be truthful--haven't you ever once seen a flying saucer?"
For a very long time Anders was quiet; Puck thought maybe he hadn't heard. Then he finally replied.
"Yes," he said, and, at the look on Puck's face, held up a hand. "A UFO. Not necessarily a flying saucer. But I saw something."
"There you go."
"It could've been a balloon."
"Did it look like a balloon?"
"No. Not really. But maybe it was a plane. Some kind of new plane. The Soviets were always testing weird things over Europe."
"And this was just once."
"Well...no. A couple times. But like I said, it was probably a balloon. Or a plane."
"Have you ever gone someplace and not remembered where you went?"
"Huh?"
"Have you ever lost a couple hours...you know, out of the day."
"What do you mean, 'lost a couple hours'?"
"Like you left home at four and came back at seven, and you were only gone an hour."
"That's not possible."
"But did it ever happen to you?"
"That's not physically possible!"
"But did it ever happen to you?"
"No! Because it's not possible!" Anders snorted. "You can't just 'lose' a couple hours. You're always somewhere."
"True. But where?"
"Oh, Lord. Here, of course. You are always here where you are. Are we going to get into a big philosophical speech about this?"
"Not unless you want to. I downloaded an essay about the life and times of Plato once."
"No thank you. I'd prefer the tree to fall without me nearby to hear it." Anders got up and started pacing around the small, cluttered room. "What do you do down here all day?"
"Hack. That's what hackers do, isn't it? Hack, hack, hack." He pretended to be coughing up a hairball.
"They've got something for that," Anders said, a little snidely. "It's called REALITY."
"Oh, really? Good. You could use a dose too."
Anders threw down the magazine he'd picked up and stormed out of the room suddenly, slamming the door. The resulting jolt knocked a picture to the floor, where the glass in its frame broke. Puck looked down at it a moment, then shrugged to himself and went back to his hacking. [Note--I rather think they dwell too much on the fact that Puck CAN hack. Despite this fact, he does do other things. I rather like to hope that he's actually spending most of his computer time writing code or something, rather than hacking. This is all my convoluted way of saying...I have NO CLUE what hackers do in their spare time. Sorry.]
Anders stalked into the Gen-X, sitting down heavily on one of the bar stools next to Gavin. Gavin and Sid both looked at him.
"God, how I hate him!" Anders fumed.
"Puck?" both of them said in unison.
"Why's he such a jerk? Believe me, I could think of better names for him, but I won't bring myself down to his level." He accepted the tea Sid put before him, drinking it down almost immediately. "For starters, there's the Name Game. 'PUCK. Puck, Puck, bo Buck, banana fana fo--"
"Maybe he's just tired," Sid suggested quickly, before her counter could turn into a cuss-fest. "I mean, he does stay up really late and--uh--"
"Hack?" Gavin put in.
"Yeah, that's it. Thanks, Gavin. Hack. [Note--OKAY ALREADY. HE HACKS. MOVE ON.] And did you notice how he always wakes up a little while after he goes to bed? He gets up and walks around campus and then goes back to bed again. Right in the middle of the night. It's really weird."
This bit of information intrigued Anders. "You mean he sleepwalks?"
"No, he's awake. But it's like he has this alarm clock in his head. You could time your watch by it. Somewhere around a quarter to three. I'll have to check it out sometime." She swiped a cloth across the counter; Gavin instinctively moved his arms when she came his way. "Kinda like he's programmed to wake up at quarter to three, you know? He does it all the time." She moved on down the counter, an indication that the conversation had ended. Anders sat there for a little while, thinking over what Sid had just said. He got up, pushing the tea bottle away from him slightly so he wouldn't knock it over. [Note--um...does he have a tab...?]
"Leaving so soon?" asked Gavin politely.
"Sorry," Anders said. "I have a 'friend' to talk to."
That "friend" turned out to be a lot nearer than he'd thought. Instead of having to drive all the way back to Cheboygan, he searched the fairgrounds and found Al Goodwin at the Little Nevada station, working the slot machines. As soon as Al noticed him he waved as if he remembered nothing of their earlier confrontation; Anders entered the tent and joined him.
"Here," Al said, handing him a small bucket of quarters, at which Anders looked with surprise. "Try it out for yourself." He pulled the lever and watched the little signs line up; a lemon, a cherry, a dollar sign.
"What do I do?" Anders asked, feeling stupid. He'd never gambled before.
"Just put the quarter in the slot and pull the lever, and watch the little signs. If they all match you hold the bucket under the mouth of the machine. Try it."
Anders did so; immediately there was a ringing and a flashing of lights and he hurried to place the bucket under the machine's mouth before the spray of quarters could scatter all over the floor. He let out a weird strangled sound, sort of a cross between a laugh and a cry.
Al smiled down at him. "So you've never gambled before."
"No. We didn't have anything like this around where I lived." He bent over, picking up some errant quarters.
"You're from Sweden, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"You barely have any accent. I'd say you were British."
"I learned English from British teachers. Then I came here as part of the exchange student program. Tell me, how did you learn to use these things so well?"
"Oh, I lived in Nevada for a while. They've got lots of these over there."
"I know. Las Vegas. Where are you originally from?"
"New Mexico," Al replied. "A little town called Corona." [Note--this little bit holds a great deal of significance, but I won't give it away, unless you ask me personally.]
Anders had never heard of Corona, and barely anything about New Mexico, so he asked no further questions, and instead finished collecting his coins. He smiled at Al, flustered, and handed the bucket back.
"No, you keep that," Al said.
"I can't," Anders said. "You take it. It was fun enough trying the thing out. And winning on the first try! How probable is that?"
"Not very. The only reason I'm good at it is because I've been at it for so long. You're sure you don't want these quarters? There's lots of other games to play."
"No, thanks," Anders said. "You can keep them. I'd like to leave while my luck's still with me." He smiled again, only this time Al could see the forced strings behind it. "I believe I'll be needing it as of late."
"All right," Al said, also smiling. Anders felt a little relieved for some reason. "But remember, it'll still be here if you need it."
Anders wasn't sure if he meant the quarters or the luck. He hoped it was the latter. In any case, he smiled once more and left the tent.
After leaving he realized he'd never achieved his goal--apologizing to Al, in part. But he had the feeling it wasn't needed, as if Al had easily understood what he'd wanted to do.
Puck heard, above the tumult of the crowd, a little knock on the plexiglass [sic] surrounding him. He peered over his shoulder to see Damon standing below, and waved at him to move back so as not to get hit by any stray baseballs being tossed at him. Damon shook his head, and indicated he come down to talk. Puck pointed to the people tossing balls at him, but sighed with exasperation and leaned over the edge of the dunking booth.
"Yeah?" he said.
"I have to talk to you," Damon said.
"Right now?"
"Yes."
"Hey!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Get back in there! I wanna dunk ya!"
Puck turned to him. "Up yours!" he shouted, making a rude gesture. Then he turned back to Damon.
"Can't it wait? I'm working the booth."
"No, it can't wait. It's important. I have to get it off my chest."
"Oh, all right." Puck hoisted himself over the rim and jumped to the ground. The same person yelled at him again, and Puck responded by picking up one of the errant baseballs and pitching it at him, nearly breaking his nose. [Note--now THAT'S the Puck I know!] Damon could see a lawsuit in the future but wisely said nothing of it. He and Puck walked back behind the booth, where no one else was allowed.
"What is it that's so important that I must leave my dunking sanctuary?" Puck asked.
Damon cleared his throat. "It's Jacob Sanders."
Puck's mind was blank for a moment as he struggled to place the name to a face. "The guy who took your horse, remember?" Damon prompted.
Puck nodded. "What about him?"
"There's something strange about him."
"Yeah? And?"
"'And'? What do you mean, 'and'?"
"Well, of course he's strange. He took my horse."
"But that's not it. I mean, the other day, when you were chasing him; Al came along and broke it up--"
"I know that, Damon. I was there, you know."
"I know. But--I don't know, it was like he and Al knew each other. But they didn't say anything like that. They talked like they just met. But they didn't act like it."
"So?"
"And that Jacob kid--when they introduced themselves Al said 'Alexander Goodwin,' and later Jacob called him Al."
"So?"
"Well, don't you think that's kind of strange? How did Jacob know his nickname was Al?"
"That's common knowledge, Damon. Everybody shortens names like that."
"Yeah! But if somebody were named Alexander, wouldn't you shorten their name to Alex? Al is usually for Alfred or Albert or something. Not Alexander."
Puck sighed and nearly threw up his arms. "What are you trying to tell me here, Damon? That this Jacob kid is telepathic or something, to know Alexander's nickname is Al? Doesn't that strike you as kind of farfetched?"
His own ideas rocketed around in his head as he said those words he hated so much, but he remained silent on that matter.
Damon was sheepish for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so," he admitted. "If you really shorten his name you'd come up with Al. But still..."
"Keep that thought in mind. I have to go back to my booth." Puck started to turn, then placed his hand on Damon's shoulder. "And chill out," he said, before taking it away and heading back for his booth.
Damon watched after him until he disappeared behind the colored plexiglass [sic]. The thunking of baseballs started again, and then a splash, and he turned away himself and left.
Anders felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Puck. He started looking around to find the dunking booth.
"Don't worry," Puck said. "It's being tended. I was thinking of going on some rides for once. Wanna join me?"
"Rides such as?"
Puck turned and pointed. Anders followed his arm to see a ride he'd never really paid much attention to before, the Hi-Roller; it was near the Little Nevada station, appropriately. It looked like an oval track on its side with a small line of attached carts. [Note--a real fair ride. I think it's supposed to simulate a roulette wheel or something, but my memory is very fuzzy. All I recall is that it has a gambling theme, obviously. I may have misspelled the name.] It didn't look too scary.
"What's it do?" he asked.
"Tosses you around, basically. Want to try it, or are you chicken?"
"I'm not chicken. I just don't like too much motion."
"Come on. Try it out."
Anders got up and followed Puck to the ride; they got in one of the carts and the hatch was slammed on them, squeezing them in with a large padded bar. Anders looked around the tiny compartment and saw there was padding all over.
"Hey," he said, suddenly growing alarmed, "why all the padding if we're just going around and around?"
As if to answer, the machine started to move. Not just the carts on the track; the whole track began moving, turning slowly onto its side, gradually gaining momentum.
"You never warned me about this!" Anders cried, wrapping his arms around the bar.
"What?" Puck yelled, over the blare of music from the outside speakers. "Don't you like a little excitement in your day?"
Anders began to reply but was choked off when they were turned upside-down. [Note--hm. I thought the Hi-Roller was a ride I had in fact been on, with how much description I offer of it--but if it in fact turns you upside-down, then there's no way I went on it! So either this is not a ride I'm writing about from personal experience, or I'm lying/exaggerating here. Or perhaps I confused two different rides. Hm.] He slammed into the side of the compartment and shut his eyes, his teeth gritted to the point of grinding. Puck merely laughed and let out a whoop; Anders was so scared he couldn't even pry either his mouth or his eyes open.
Several minutes into the ride, Puck looked at Anders; he was still frozen stiff, eyes closed, mouth open in a grimace. "You okay?" he shouted.
"Don't talk to me!" Anders hissed through his teeth.
Puck smiled and shrugged, as much as the room would allow; he let go of the padded bar and enjoyed the rest of the ride.
By the time it ended and they got out, Anders's legs had turned to rubber. He got out and stood on the metal planking unsteadily, holding onto the bars. Puck stepped out behind him, giving him an odd look but saying nothing. Anders went down the steps and sat on the ground, waiting for his head to stop spinning.
Puck came up behind him again. "Hey, you okay?" A pause as Anders shook his head. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't know you wouldn't like it. Maybe you should go sit in the shade for a while. I'll get you a--" His words died in his throat as Anders looked up, and he bit his lip to avoid gasping.
Anders's face had gone completely white; dark rings surrounded his eyes, rings that had probably been there before but which he hadn't noticed. His eyes looked ready to roll back into his head. It was as if he'd turned into a ghoul.
"God, Anders! Why didn't you tell me you'd get sick?" he exclaimed, helping Anders to his feet and leading him to the Little Nevada station, where several people looked up at them as they passed to sit down on a bench. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah," Anders replied in a very faint, weak voice, lying back on the bench and staring at the redness of the tent top. He squeezed his eyes shut again; the world was spinning around him. He felt as if he should fall off at any minute. "Just...motion sickness..."
"You should've told me," Puck said again, getting up to get some water. The nearest concession stand was a short walk away; by the time he came back a small group had gathered around Anders and he had to push his way through. Now, no amount of biting his lip could stop the gasp that escaped his throat. It was as if another change had overtaken Anders; now he was turning his head from side to side and shaking. Puck knelt down and put a hand on his forehead, drawing it back with a hiss.
Anders was burning up!
He quickly wet his hands and splashed some water on Anders's face. Someone in the concerned throng passed along a towel, which he accepted gratefully and poured some more water on, placing it on Anders's head. He tilted it up and tried to force the rest into Anders's mouth to get him to drink it. [Note--I meant, "He tilted Anders's head up and tried to force the rest of the water into Anders's mouth..."] At first Anders did, but then he spat the rest out and started whispering. Puck leaned closer, trying to make out what he was saying.
"What, Anders? What are you saying?" he asked softly.
Anders's voice was very faint, very small in the hushed crowd. "Gravitron," he managed to whisper. "...Owls."
No one in the group understood what that could mean. No one except Puck, who felt that Anders was finally getting his comeuppance.
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