Chapter 5
Heath caught up to her, singing a song. Paul McCartney, ‘just another day.’
“Why are you singing that?” Casey asked.
Heath shrugged. He came about her, as if singing to and about her, avoiding the other students. Her eyes narrowed. She almost thought the other students were singing along when he sang, and then she remembered that scene with Denzel Washington and the people singing “time is on my side.’ “So sad, so sad, sometimes she feels so sad…” She stopped in the middle of the hallway. She was really sure everyone was singing.
“I am not sad,” Casey said.
“I didn’t say you were,” Heath said. “Alone in her apartment she dwells…” “I don’t live in an apartment, and I don’t live alone,” Casey said.
“It’s not about you! I am just singing a song,” heath said.
“Well, stop it,” Casey said.
“But I like singing,” Heath said. “Maybe an apartment is a metaphor for your head… Till the man of her dreams comes to break the spell… Oh! I am the man of your dreams.”
“No, you’re not!” Casey said. “And the only thing you’ve broken is my concentration… Where is my lunch?”
“You left it in the car,” Heath said.
“No I didn’t,” Casey said.
“I can still see it clear as day in the middle of the back seat,” Heath said.
Irritated, and hungry, hungry for comfort food, she entered the cafeteria. She hadn’t gone five steps before she realized something was wrong… The world was silent. It was if the soundtrack to her life had been cut out. People were moving and eating and talking and doing everything they normally do, only in absolute silence.
Heath arrived. Sound returned to her world, but with a tangible feel as if she had just emerged from deep in after diving into a pool. She gasped. The occupancy of the cafeteria doubled. Original Oompa Loompas danced their awkward midget dance. There was a squirrel eating a nut next to Brenda. Casey had to duck as a one eyed parrot dived past her and landed on the shoulders of one of the Tongan linebackers. The nerds at the ‘D and D table’ had elves and dwarfs and unspeakable things standing behind their wards taunting and laughing and telling jokes. Jesus and black Jesus were arm wrestling. Twilight, Pokémon, Star Wars, anime, and video game characters were going about as if this were just another day at a Fury Cosplay convention. The beauty and the beast danced by. Casey was pretty sure it was Emma! Heath muttered how he would have loved costarring with her. Harry Potter magically blocked an arrow from Katniss.
“Wow!” Heath said. “Your cafeteria has nothing on the Star Wars cantina scene.”
Spiderman swung across the way. Paddington bear went by carrying a tray with a variety of honey jars, each a different shade of gold, illuminated from within. A female droid hostess carrying a tray of mints and condiments walked the tables wanting to serve. There were free floating hearts, like heart shaped balloons floating about. There were zombies. A gargoyle perched on the wall watching over the children. A sea lion perched on the end of a table clapped and begged for fish. Dolphins swam in the air going around the perimeter of the cafeteria. A creeper bumped into the wall as if it couldn’t see it; it looked around, puzzled, lost, looking for something. Ghost swords raced around the room, with no apparent wielder, like Top-gun jets in formation. Some of the hilts were more prominent than others. The swords flocked together like starlings and then broke formation, and if they collided with a heart there was a huge bell that chimed and the heart shattered into a million tiny hearts, and some of the smaller swords went for the lesser hearts. Heart and glitter rained down over some of the girls. Todd was brilliantly lit by a star above his head. Irene’s bear was huge, sitting on its haunches, jaw resting on her shoulders watching her eat. Sitting next to her, on the end, was am overweight girl. Her name was Lorene. Behind Lorene was a skinny kid, wearing cement blocks for shoes, and chains encircling her body. People were throwing food at her from all directions. No one in the cafeteria was throwing food at her, but food was being thrown and it arrived in time to be seen before hitting its target. This thin girl was crying and food and slime and pudding ran down her face and body.
“Casey?” Heath asked.
Her eyes were huge. She remembered to breathe, again, as if she had just spent a great deal of time underwater and had just emerged. She gasped and fled the cafeteria. She paused in the smoking area, reaching for her vape but stopped as she saw death putting down his sickle to hand a student another cigarette. The teen pulled out a pack, shook one out, and lit it.
Casey fled this area, too, but not before throwing her vape in the trash. She ran. Heath tried to catch up to her but she was off campus and half way across the street before he arrived in the street. He bounced forwards, just avoiding a car, and arrived in the convenient store parking lot where Casey had used an app to solicit a ride.
“Slow down, Casey. Let’s talk,” Heath said.
“No,” Casey said.
“That was overwhelming,” Heath said.
“You think?!” Casey snapped. A car pulled up.
“This is dangerous,” Heath said.
Casey climbed in the back, informing the driver of the address even as she was pulling the door shut. He was Indian. The driver put the address into his phone, spelling it out loud.
Heath arrived in the back seat, falling forward and hitting the seat.
“What?! Why is this so hard?” Heath asked. He orientated on Casey. “You, back to school.”
“You’re not my father,” Casey said.
“What?” the driver asked.
“I am speaking to someone on the phone,” Casey said.
“Is this cash or credit?” the driver asked.
“I have both. Which do you prefer?” Casey asked.
“Why are you yelling at me?” the driver asked. “Because, we’re still here. Drive,” Casey said. “Please.” “How old are you?” the driver asked.
“There is an age limit to Lyft?” Casey asked. “Drive. Please. If you must know, I am meeting my mother for lunch.”
“Oh?! The Pizza Palace,” the driver said, leaving the convenient store’s lot for the road. “They have very good pizza. Right next to the Cannabis shop. When Arizona passes the recreational use act, that pizza place is very well situated to make a lot of money. I wish I had opened it…”
“I really don’t want to talk right now,” Casey said.
“That’s too bad. I am like the Doctor Phil of taxis. I am really easy to speak with and people feel better after unloading their problems in my cab,” he said. “You could say whatever you like and it would be lost forever in this car. That’s the plus of speaking with a stranger.”
“Really. I am hallucinating Heath Ledger. Would you like to talk about that?” Casey asked.
The driver seemed concerned, his eyes a little wider in the mirror. He pulled over.
“You are creeping me out. Please exit the car,” the driver said.
“What happened to you being the Doctor Phil of taxis?!” Casey said.
“I was being facetious,” the driver said.
“Do you even know what that means?!” Casey asked.
“No,” the driver said. “Is it a bad word?”
“You accepted me as a client and are ethically obligated to deliver me to my destination.
Letting me out here could result in a crime or injury to my person,” Casey said. “Seriously?
You’re going to put a young girl out in this area? Further, it’s against the law to discriminate against people with mental health problems. I could sue you for your car and your house. Don’t make me call the police.”
The driver frowned, put the car back into drive, and continued to the route. “Come to
America my brother says,” the driver lamented. “You can drive your own car and be your own boss my brother says. Americans are crazy! He did not tell me about that.”
Heath tried to smile. “Probably shouldn’t tell people about me.”
“I was testing the waters,” Casey said.
“Why me?” Heath asked. He seemed to be echoing the sentiment of the driver, who was going on about trying to be nice and just have a quiet conversation to fill the emptiness between points on a map.
Casey didn’t respond as she thought Heath was being rhetorical.
“Casey, why me?” Heath asked again.
“I don’t know,” Casey said. “I probably should have gone with Jim Carrey” “Oh, because he’s not crazy,” Heath said.
“No talking to ghosts in my car,” the driver said. “I am highly superstitious and seriously disturbed by you doing that.”
“What would you have me do? Ignore his questions?” Casey asked.
“Yes,” the driver said. “If you answer a ghost’s question, there will only be more questions.”
“That makes sense,” Casey said.
“I am a very smart man,” the driver said. “In India, I was a physicist.”
“Really?” Casey said. “Why are you driving a car?” “In India, physicist are a dime a dozen,” the driver said.
“So, you’re a really bad physicist,” Casey said.
“I am not Good Will Hunting. Have you tried praying to Ganesh,” the driver said, making mudra of the elephant god.
“Both hands on the wheel!” Casey snapped.
He returned a hand to the wheel, emphasizing the ‘link’ with one hand. “It really helps.
Very strong mudra.”
“Do I look Indian?” Casey asked. “It won’t work for me.”
“You don’t have to be Indian. Pressure points and gestures are universals,” the driver said.
“No they’re not,” Casey said.
“Yes they are,” the driver said.
Casey gave him a thumbs up sign. “This does not mean the same thing from culture to culture. In fact, Hollywood got it wrong. In the Roman days thumbs up meant kill the gladiator, thumbs down spare him.”
“I don’t know about that, but a smile is still a smile…” the driver said.
“A smile does not always communicate happiness,” Casey said. “Lots of people smile when they’re not really happy. In Japan, a smile is more likely to be communicating confusion or concern. Look at my smile. I assure you. I am not happy today.”
“I don’t like talking to you. You’re scaring me. Maybe if you tried the mudra?” the driver asked.
Casey tried it, aiming the gesture at Heath.
“I don’t think you’re doing it right,” Heath said, reaching out to correct finger placement. Her shift in eyebrow language caused him to pull his hands back.
Casey gave him the ‘Hook em Horns’ gesture.
“That’s Texas A and M?” Heath said.
“You should not do that mudra in my car,” the driver said. “Very bad karma for this region.”
Casey did the Spock gesture.
“Oh, I love Trek,” Heath said. “I could have so pulled off Captain Kirk.” “That one is permissible,” the driver said.
“They have Star Trek in India?” Casey asked.
“Of course,” the driver said. “Star Trek is everywhere. And we are here. Get out. Your faire is on me.”
“Really?” Casey said.
“It is wrong to take money from someone who is struggling to keep it all together,” the driver said.
“Seriously. I am okay. And I want to pay. How much is it?” Casey said, showing him she had cash.
“I do not want your money,” the driver insisted. “What is wrong with you Americans?
You cannot allow me this kindness?”
Casey put the money back in her backpack. She brought her hands together into Namaste.
“Thank you,” Casey said.
Casey opened the door and began to slide out.
“Miss,” the driver said. “Is it really Heath?” he whispered this, as if afraid of offending a ghost.
“He can hear you just fine,” Casey whispered back.
“Oh,” the driver said. “So he is really Heath?”
“Of course not,” Casey said. “Out of all the people in the world, why would Heath want to spend time with me? I don’t even have a poster of him in my room.” Heath said if she got one he would sign it for her.
“Live long and prosper,” the driver said.
Casey got out. The driver had delivered her to the front of the pizza shop. Heath arrived beside her even as he was driving away. “I like him,” heath was saying as Casey walked away from him. “Great cameo option when they make us into a movie.” “They’re not making us into a movie,” Casey said.
“They could. This is really cool,” Heath said. “Your life is really cool.”
“No, it’s not,” Casey said.
“Why do you keep putting yourself down like that?” Heath said.
“How did I put myself down?” Casey asked.
“You think your life is boring. You think I wouldn’t spend time with you,” Heath said.
“You wouldn’t” Casey said.
“I am,” Heath said.
“You are. The real Heath wouldn’t,” Casey said. “That’s how I know I am not insane.”
“Believing I would want to spend time with you would mean you’re insane?” Heath asked.
“I am not your biggest fan. I liked you. Him. OMG, you are not him! But if you were, there are bigger fans. There are probably people that spend their whole days chanting rituals over candles paying homage to you. That’s not me. Even if it was me, that seriously insane, why would you want to go spend time with them? You should be visiting family or friends. I am neither of those. Which means, you’re not him. You’re something in my mind that has unlocked and I don’t know how or why, but I am channeling a shape shifter… Who are you?”
“Heath,” he said.
“Who are you for real?!” Casey demanded.
“I am Heath!” he said, for real.
“Tell me who you are, or vanish forever,” Casey demanded.
Heath scratched his face. “I am still here? Doesn’t that mean I am who I think I am?”
“No,” Casey said.
Casey strolled along the quad until she came to the Tea Cats shop. On either side of the door were large plate glass windows, and glass ledges that the cats could climb up and sleep on so outside people could see the cats. A robotic sweeper patrolled the inner floor, specialized with
‘cams’ like a Martian rover; it kept hair up and allowed for the following of cats. It looked very clean inside, which suggested they were well cared for cats. Kittens were sleeping in the corner, catching sun next to a mother cat. Patrons were inside, drinking tea and petting cats. The lap cats were serious attention hogs. Ragamuffin cats that hardly seemed real they were so laid back. If there was a heaven for cats, this was it.
The front door was an airlock. There was a hostess just inside policing the area so no cats escaped. She was dressed like a cat. More specifically, she looked like she was from the Broadway Musical Cats. She wore a tight body suit and fur along her arm and over her head. Her makeup suggested cat. She had whiskers. She had fur ears which reminded her of Josie and the Pussy Cats.
“Ahhh,” she said. “First time here?” “Jennyanydots?” Casey asked.
The hostess laughed. “Not even close.”
Heath arrived. “OMG, you are so hot.”
Casey muttered ‘stop that,’ under her breath and then turned back to the hostess.
“Bombalurina?” Casey asked.
“My name is Fersia,” Fersia said, introducing herself. “It’s safe to proceed in. Tell Alish at the bar, your drinks are on me.” “Why?” Casey asked.
“Because I like you,” Fersia said, buzzing the door open. “And a cat need no other explanation than that.”
Casey thanked her and proceeded inside. The bar on the inside was contained by a fish tank. Fish tank columns, a fish tank bar, and even a fish tank arch off the bar led to a sunken floor with this Persian carpet and people sitting on the circle, shoes off while cats played and strolled about as if they owned the place. They did. At the far side of the bar there was a spiral staircase, enclosed in a glass cylinder. A fireman’s pole ran up the center of the spiral stairs, allowing for a person to make a quick exit if they so chose. The only way to get to it was to pass the bar and come around. The bar tender stopped her. She was green.
“May I help you?” the woman asked.
“Star Trek?” Casey asked.
“Everyone always asks me that,” the woman said. “My name is Alish.” “Oh? So, you’re not Star Trek?” Casey asked.
“There are more green people in the Universe than Orion slave women,” Alish said.
“Wizard of Oz. Lost in Space. Farscape. Now, how may I help you?”
“I want to go upstairs,” Casey said.
“Why?” Alish asked.
“Umm, to look at the books in the Discovered Alcove?” Casey asked.
“How did you discover it?” Alish asked.
“Online?” Casey asked.
“Did you know it used to be the Hidden Alcove?” Alish said. “Ever since Bree Lenehan’s
book, we’ve been popular like crazy. Anyway, do you know the pass code?” “There’s a pass code?” Casey asked.
“Try open says a me,” Heath said.
“A pass code and or a book,” Alish said. “Both would raise your esteem level. The higher the esteem, the greater the access. We have very special books.”
Casey frowned and pulled a geometry book from her bag. “Does it have to be literature?”
“Oh! This is lovely,” Alish said, taking the book greedily. She started turning pages. “Oh, this theorem is contextually limited to this plane…I didn’t know they were teaching magic 101 here.”
“Excuse me?” Casey asked.
“Go on up,” Alish said. “Oh, and don’t tear any pages out of books. You’re on camera everywhere in here and there. People are watching.”
“What people?” Casey asked.
Alish put a finger to her lips, ‘Shhh,’ and then used her fingers to indicate they were being watched from all corners.
“Seriously?” Casey said.
“Live streaming revenue. Fish cam, cat cam, people reading book cam. We have a puppy cam somewhere. Live puppies all the time with impromptu jazz… Very popular.” “People would watch someone reading a book?” Casey asked.
“It’s very relaxing,” Alish said. “You’d be surprised what brings people comfort. I particularly like the rain forest cam. The other day I saw a leaf fall. It was the most saddest beautiful-est thing ever.”
“Anyway, I would never tear a page out of a book,” Casey said.
Alish buzzed her through. Casey opened the door. She hesitated.
“What is the password?” Casey asked.
“Uh? Oh, any movie password would do,” Alish said. “‘Swordfish’ is still very popular.
So is ‘Peace On Earth.’ If you come up with something randomly clever, you win a prize.” “Peace on Earth?” Heath asked.
“‘How to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb,’” Casey said. “Aka, Doctor Strangelove…” She and Heath spoke ‘Doctor Strangelove’ simultaneously.
“Hurry, before a cat decides to climb the stairs,” Alish said. “Lots of places to hide up there.”
Casey entered, pulling the door to behind her. She waited at the stairs for Heath to catch up. He arrived and they climbed the stairs together. The top of the stairs opened up into a quiet space with chairs and couches and coffee tables with books not put away, and a maze of book shelves. There was an elderly man sitting on the couch. He was wearing faded jeans, a pullover tshirt with an old, tweed, jacket with patches on the elbows. He was Asian, and in another setting might have been mistaken for a Chinese mystic. There was a cane propped up on the couch, leaning against his leg. The handle of the cane was intricately carved rabbit, its ears prominent. He was reading a book and massaging his mustache, pulling it straight and letting it curl back up and then repeating.
“I don’t like being stared at while I read,” he said.
“Sorry,” Casey said. “How did you…”
“I can feel your eyes like lasers on my head,” he said.
“Oh, sorry,” Casey said. “Do you work here?” “Do I look like I work here?” he asked.
“Not really,” Casey said. “Can you direct me to someone who does?”
“Does it look like I want to answer a bunch of nonsense questions from a teenage girl?” he asked.
“No… How did…”
He lowered the book. “How did I know you were a teenage girl?” he asked. “You’re disturbing me. Go find your own corner.”
“Sorry,” she said.
Casey wound her way through the maze of shelves. The organization defied conceptual order. It was not Dewey decimal. There were new books and old books and thick books and thin books and tall books and small books. The old books had a texture and style that new books simply lacked, with names etched into their skin to reveal gold underneath. There was the smell of books. There was an island with LPs and Laserdisks. And more books. Black books and white books and leather books and cloth books. She spied a collection of books by Carl Jung, and discovered the books were written in a variety of languages. She discovered there were books written in all sorts of languages, not just English. She identified Tagalog and French book.
She came across a shelf, recognizing a book. ‘We Forgot Brock,’ by Carter Goodrich. She instantly saw a theme of invisible friends and had to read all the titles. The Skook, by JP
Miller. Crenshaw, K A Applegate. ‘Imaginary Fred,’ Eoin Colfer, ‘Havey,’ by Mary Chase, ‘The
Adventures of Beekle: The Unimaginary Friend’ by Dan Santat, ‘Sundays at Tiffany's,’ by Cate
Tiernan and James Patterson, ‘If You Could See Me Now,’ by Cecelia Ahern, ‘Leo: A Ghost
Story,’ by Mac Barnett, ‘Pobby and Dingan’ by Ben Rice…
“Synchronicity,” Casey said, pulling ‘Nightlights,’ by Lorena Alvarez off the shelf.
“I am not an imaginary friend,” Heath said.
“And I am not the ghost whisper! I am not channeling Heath Ledger,” Casey said.
“Yes, you are!” Heath said.
“If you are not looking for something particular, may I offer you this?”
Casey turned to see a man, perhaps fifty with a well trimmed beard that reminded her of the ghost from the movie, ‘the Ghost and Mrs. Muir.’ She accepted the book, ‘Travels’ by Michael Crichton.
“It’s not fiction. It feels like fiction,” the man said.
“Um, thank you,” Casey said, timidly. “Do you work here?”
“I hardly call it work,” he said. “Jon Harister.” He said this without offering his hand.
“I am Casey,” Casey said.
“Nice to meet you,” Jon said. “You okay?”
“Yes. No. I am having a really strange day and you seem rather strange and I think maybe I should talk to you but I am here because I was hoping to find Loxy. Do you know
Loxy?” Casey said.
“Slow it down,” Heath said. “You don’t want to sound crazy.”
“I do,” Jon said. “Very well,