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The Boy From Earth
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The Boy From Earth

Chapter 1 - Dream Landing

It’s midnight, and I’m at a pay phone at a highway rest stop, with a greasy receiver in my ear, smelling detergent from the bathrooms next door and hot fat from the burger place down the hall, and waiting for my mom to stop dumping on me.

Have I done anything wrong? No. I’m bug-bit, dirty, and exhausted, but innocent. The camping trip was Mom’s idea. The guy who left Victor and me on our own in the middle of the woods was her boyfriend. Ex boyfriend, I should say. That’s one good thing that happened. She dumped him like so much trash.

And now it's my turn. “Oh, Alan, Alan,” she says. “Why didn’t you phone earlier? Where are you? Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

My mom doesn’t have to raise her voice to yell. I can always tell when she’s upset. Some of her best yells come in a near whisper.

“Sorry,” I say. In fact I am sorry – not for anything I’ve done, but because Mom is unhappy. “We’re stopping for gas. Mrs Grunewald says we should be back soon.”

Mrs Grunewald is Victor’s mom. She’s driving us home. She’s the one who told me to call – even gave me a quarter for the pay phone.

I yawn. I hear a lone toilet flush in the bathroom next door. I hear the steady whine of the highway outside. I hear my mom sigh.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

She sounds sincere, but this is a trick question. If I say yes, then she’ll be upset that I’m not eating properly, and if I say no, then she’ll be upset that I’ve lost my appetite, and don’t want her to feed me.

“Ahh-mmm,” I say. I’ve used that answer before. Means nothing.

“It’s all a nightmare!” She’s back to being upset. “My life is a nightmare. You get back in the car, Alan Dingwall, and hurry home. I haven't finished with you!"

This is so unfair. Her life is a nightmare, so she’s yelling at me. She used to yell at Dad when things were going wrong and she felt bad. Then he’d yell back. I’d hear them in my room, trying to sleep. Now Dad’s gone, and she needs someone to yell at.

I don’t know what I can do except apologize again. But I don’t get a chance.

-- Haven’t you said enough, lady?

Oh dear. That’s Norbert’s high squeaky voice. Usually I can feel a tingle in my nose before he speaks, but not this time. I guess my nose was too busy with the smells from the bathroom and burger place to notice.

“Shut up, Norbert!” I whisper, putting my hand over the telephone mouthpiece.

But of course he doesn’t shut up. Norbert never does what I say.

-- You go on and on and on. So many words. Did you eat a lot of alphabet soup when you were a kid? So your life is a nightmare, is it? Well, here’s a news flash. Talking to you is not a walk through the Paradise gardens. Know what I’m saying?

I wince, listening to him. This is my mom he’s talking to. And when you’re thirteen and a half you do not talk to your mom like this.

“Alan? Alan? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I say. Then I get an idea. Norbert has a high squeaky voice, so maybe she won’t think it’s me talking. “There’s some homeless guy here at the rest stop. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“A man? A homeless man?”

“Oh, he’s a long way from home, all right,” I say.

-- You’re making his life hard, Mrs Dingwall. He’s the one living a nightmare, Mrs Dingwall!

“He’s using my name,” says Mom in my ear. “He’s talking to me. How is that possible?”

I cast about for another idea. I don’t get one. “Coincidence,” I say.

“What?”

“Got to go, Mom.”

“I’m not finished with you, yet!” She’s actually yelling now.

-- But I’m finished with you. Good-bye!

Oh, boy. Boy, oh boy. Silence. Then Norbert whispers,

-- Hang up, Dingwall. You’ve made your point.

“Mom?” I ask.

She hangs up. I don’t have another quarter.

I wander out into the food court area. Through the big window I can see Mrs Grunewald and Victor, standing by the minivan, waving at me to come on. I nod. On the way outside I speak firmly to Norbert. I can’t get rid of him, because he’s inside me, but I can tell him how I feel. “Don’t do that again,” I say. “It makes me mad!”

-- I don’t blame you! he says. – I’m mad too. Mad at her! Talking to you like that. Doesn’t she know how important you are?

“Quiet,” I say. “Here’s Victor and his Mom.”

-- What am I, blind? I can see them perfectly. I must say, I like Mrs Grunewald’s baseball cap.

“Just shut up.”

Big trucks whine past us. The moonlight makes them look silver.

“Did you get through to your mother, then?” asks Mrs Grunewald, starting the engine. “She’ll be that worried, if I know her.”

I try to smile. “She’s that worried,” I say.

We drive away down the highway, passing the silver trucks. I’m worried, and angry, and tired. So tired. I lie back against the seat. I yawn wide enough to swallow a gopher. The hum of the tires on the road sounds like a song in a language I don’t know. The moon is riding high on our right side. Nearly full, it looks like a Ritz cracker with a bite taken out.

What is Mom going to do to me? I wonder. And what’ll I say back?

Mrs Grunewald turns up the air conditioning. When I feel the first blast of cool on my face, I sneeze three times in a row, so hard I have to catch my breath when I finish.

“Bless you!” calls Mrs Grunewald without turning around. “Bless you. Bless you.” She seems a long way away, and each Bless you sounds fainter than the last, the words receding from me like ripples in a pond.

-- Thanks, says Norbert. I want to tell him to be quiet, but I’m too tired.

The Ritz cracker moon is still there, in the same place on the window, but the window itself, like Mrs Grunewald, seems a long way away. I reach out, but I can’t touch it. I can’t touch the seat in front of me either. What is going on? I appear to be ... no, I am ... shrinking! I’m shrinking! A minute ago my seat belt was over my shoulder; then it was in front of my eyes; now it’s over my head. I can feel myself getting smaller and smaller. The window is farther, and farther, and farther away. I’m shrinking into blackness, and the world is moving away from me, disappearing down a long tunnel.

I’ve never felt like this before sleeping before. I fight to keep my eyes open. I hear Norbert’s voice again, but not from inside me. He seems to be sitting beside me now.

-- Hey, Dingwall! he says. Usually I can feel a tingle in my nose when he talks, but not now.

I close my eyes again, a night swimmer sinking beneath the surface of consciousness. Funny thing, though. Even with my eyes closed I can still see the moon and the night sky, a poster on the inside of my eyelids. The tire noise becomes more insistent and high-pitched: the noise of a high-powered engine. Mrs Grunewald’s voice has faded into static. The sky begins to spin slowly and change colour. It’s a very complete and detailed dream vision.

We’re going down. Our spaceship is spinning slowly, like a tired figure skater at the end of her routine. The surface of the planet below us appears for a second through the small curved window. I get a glimpse of rounded hills bumped together, with a deep valley cutting between them. Lightning crackles beneath a thick choking fog. Funnily enough, everything’s the same colour – lime jello lava, mountains of emerald, spearmint mist. It looks like this because the viewscreen of my space helmet is tinted green.

I hear Norbert’s voice.

-- Hey, Dingwall! he says again. I don’t know where his the voice is coming from. I want to tell him to shut up. I’m afraid Victor and his mom will hear him. I try to talk, but I can’t. My brain doesn’t seem to be attached to my mouth.

-- Hey Dingwall, pull the lever beside you. Come on, move!

I make a huge effort, and move my head. Now I can see where I am for the first time. And I realize that the dream is more complete, more detailed, and even weirder than I thought. I’m in a real working spaceship. There’s instruments all around – gauges and dials and flashing lights. I can see metal brackets and coils of wires and knobs and dials and a single rounded window. I’m wearing a helmet, all right, and it’s attached to a poufy suit. Like everything else, the suit looks green.

Sitting beside me, in a moulded chair like mine, in a poufy space suit and helmet like mine, is a small figure – like a little kid, maybe three or four years old. As far as I can tell by feel, my helmet doesn’t have antennae coming out of it, but his does. And his viewscreen is split down the middle, to make two individual screens. The kid is staring at a row of flashing lights.

It’s like I’m inside a Star Wars movie, only instead of Hahn Solo or Anikin Skywalker, I have --

-- Be useful, Dingwall. Pull the lever!

It’s Norbert’s voice, and it’s coming from the figure in the space suit and helmet. He must be Norbert, but he’s too big. Much much larger than the Norbert I know. I still can’t talk. But he can. He’s bigger, but he sounds the same as ever.

-- Dingwall, I know your species is pathetically unfamiliar with space travel. But can you follow simple instructions? There’s a brake lever over your head, attached to the bulkhead. The bulkhead is the wall. I can’t reach the lever without climbing over you. So could you reach up and pull? Easy peasy. Slow us down so that the tractor beam can pick us up.

I can feel my heart beating loud and fast. Everything is so strange. I’m not used to seeing Norbert. It’s a dream and I want to get up, but I can’t.

I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I let it out, and take a quick gasp. Then a deeper gasp. That’s better. I wonder what I’m breathing. It feels like air, but I don’t know where it’s coming from. Is my helmet connected to oxygen tanks? What happens when they run out?

It’s a dream, I tell myself. Don’t worry about it. You’re not really here. You’re really sleeping in a minivan. In a minute the dream will change, and you’ll be hiding from monsters or strolling downtown with no clothes on. Meanwhile, enjoy yourself. It’s a dream. You’re safe.

-- Pull the lever, fool! shouts Norbert.

I open my mouth to protest, but the ground is rushing towards us at a great rate. The rounded bumpy hills look like folds of soft spongy tissue. There’s a network of tiny dark rivers criss-crossing the folds. The lightning is continuous. I pull the lever. There’s an instantaneous bump, and the ship begins to slow. We now appear to be floating down. The lever must be attached to a parachute or some kind of brake. Norbert checks his control panel, then spins around in his chair to stare out the window. He sighs.

“That was mean,” I tell him.

-- What?

“Calling me a fool. That was mean!”

He’s not usually quite so bad tempered. Rude, yes, but not mean. Not to me, anyway.

-- Sorry, he says, without turning around.

Come to think of it, that’s unlike him too. I can’t remember him ever apologizing.

I feel something large and powerful grab the spaceship. A huge hand is what it feels like, belonging to a monster. I can’t help thinking of Star Wars again. The hand starts to spin us faster, and to pull us forward and down.

“What’s going on now?” I ask.

Norbert is sitting very calmly in his chair. His hands are folded on his chest.

-- I’ve engaged the Underground Automatic Landing System, he says. –The UALS tractor beam is guiding us down. You may feel a bit dizzy for a few minutes. The ship is rotating at a high speed to ensure an accurate entry into the landing tube.

“Oh, good,” I say faintly.

I know what he’s talking about. Rifles shoot true because the bullet spins on its way through the barrel. I try not to think too hard about this. I concentrate on taking deep breaths. I do the same thing on the Teacup rides at the amusement park – you know those little circular cars that spin around and around. Toddlers love ‘em, but I sure don’t.

Fortunately, this ride doesn’t last very long. A couple of gulps later we stop spinning. In fact, we stop moving altogether. I begin to feel better at once.

-- Here we are, says Norbert.

“Here? Where’s that?” I ask.

He sniffs. Funny looking little guy, with his arms on his chest. They’re so short they just meet in the middle. I didn’t notice before. He doesn’t seem to have any elbows, but I guess he doesn’t need them. He wouldn’t have to bend them to reach his mouth, like you and me.

-- Home, he says, with a squeaky rasp as he clears his throat.

“Home? You mean … Jupiter?” Of course that makes sense. Norbert is from Jupiter. He’s always talking about the place.

He flicks a switch, and jumps down from his seat. A song is playing quietly on the ship’s sound system. “Start living, that’s the next thing on my list,” sings a guy in a twangy baritone.

Norbert helps me out of my seatbelt.

-- Jupiter.

_________________________

Excerpted from The Boy From Earth by Richard Scrimger. Copyright © 2004 by Richard Scrimger. Excerpted by permission of Tundra Books. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

 

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