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What The Hell People

by Kaleigh Way

This was written in response to one of Melanie E.'s challenges.
 

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"Reason and logic seem strangely inadequate for this situation." — John Fuller, Incident At Exeter

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You sit in a different way when you're exhausted. Normally, your body, your arms, your legs sit lightly on a chair. Your muscles, your energy still hold you up. You lift your arms to gesture, you cross your legs, you tilt your head, you talk. It's no big deal.

When you're exhausted, you hang on the chair, the way a wet shirt hangs on a coat hanger. You don't move at all. Your arms, your legs, your back are held up by nothing but the chair. Your muscles have given up. The only force you feel is gravity, and the only thing between you and the ground is the chair.

That was me today. I didn't realize how tired I was until Aggie set a lawn chair in the shade near her orange grove and told me to sit. Then she placed a basket of fresh-picked oranges on a little table to my left. "I know how much you love them," she said, as she took my hand and nestled an orange into my palm.

"Thanks."

"The drive down really wore you out," she observed.

"It did," I agreed. "I know four hours is nothing by California standards, but..."

"Crazy, huh?" Aggie said with a sympathetic smile. "Well, you just take it easy here. If you want to lie down inside, you know where the couch is. And if you want to stay the night, I have plenty of room."

Kristy Anne gave me a look that said It's probably a good idea, but you're the one driving...

"Thanks, but no," I told Aggie. "We've got to get moving in a couple of hours."

"Okay, Freddy Boy. If you change your mind..." Then she and Kristy Anne turned and walked a few yards off, to where the girls were playing with Aggie's golden retriever.

I held the orange for a while, feeling the weight of it in my hand, before I slowly sank my nails into the skin. After ripping the peel off in a single piece, I tossed it on the ground to my right. There's nothing like oranges, fresh from the tree. Supposedly, Exeter has the best navel oranges on earth. At the moment, I believed it. This one, for example, had a perfect balance between tart and sweet. It was juicy, but not messy.

I must have made some appreciative noise, because Aggie suddenly turned to give me an inquiring look. I shook my head to signal that it was nothing. She smiled and turned away.

Nice lady, that Aggie. For a woman in her fifties, she has quite a fine behind. Too bad she's my wife's best friend, I thought. Not that I would ever cheat on Kristy Anne! But if Kristy Anne died before me... Aggie would be first on my list.

No, it would be better to put her second on my list. Whoever came first would be a sort of rebound relationship, if that's the right word. It wouldn't work out. If I wanted a real chance with Aggie, I'd have to put her *second* on the list.

Soon I was lost in daydreams, imagining Aggie naked. Safely behind my sunglasses, I tried to subtract her clothes and get an accurate a picture of what lay beneath. I pictured me and Aggie naked, waking up in a white bed on a sun-filled morning — and what the hell, I might as well imagine myself 30 years younger. At the same time, my mind was running through the catalog of Kristy Anne's other friends, and other women I knew. I had to settle the question of who should be number one, the rebound relationship... someone with dark hair, for sure. Long, dark hair.

But then, the thought came, How would Kristy Anne die? and then How on earth could I ever wish that she would die? It stopped me cold. The daydreams folded up and disappeared, leaving me back in the orange grove with half an orange in my hand. In any case, it could never happen, any of it: the first choice, the second choice, me and Aggie... none of it. Kristy Anne wouldn't die first, and I wouldn't need to be consoled.

I popped two more sections of the orange into my mouth, and looked at the women. Why were they standing in the sun, on a blazing hot day like today? It was just after noon; the sun couldn't be any higher or hotter. The temperature was well over a hundred degrees. How could they stand it? Mad dogs and California women, I told myself, and the craziest of all had to be Dexie, my daughter's best friend.

She was dressed completely in black — in black, on a hot mid-summer day! — black sneakers, black jeans, and a black t-shirt that read

WHAT THE
HELL
PEOPLE

I stared at it and wondered whether it counted as passive-aggressive. I knew that all of Dexie's clothes were hand-me-downs from one of her two older sisters, and I couldn't imagine either of them ever having such a shirt... which meant that Dexie must have bought it for herself. As far as I knew, she never bought clothes for herself, so I guess this amounted to a big statement for her.

But who was it directed to? Me? I didn't think so. Could be, though. I'd like to think it's directed at Fate, or God, or Life, or whatever it was that stuck her with that fucked-up family of hers. I had to watch myself... if I thought about it too much, soon I'd be shaking with rage. How on earth could people bring a child into the world and not care for her? I wondered: if Dexie didn't have an older sister to give her hand-me-downs, would her parents bother to buy her clothes at all?

Dexie has two older sisters and two younger brothers. She's smack dab in the middle, and for some idiotic reason, her parents don't care about her. At all.

She's at our house a lot, which is fine. The first two times she slept over, Kristy Anne called her parents to make sure it was okay. The third time, she asked me, "Will you call this time?"

"You know what?" her mother told me. "Don't call again. I told your wife. I'm sure Dexie's fine. We trust you."

That's what she said, but what I heard was Why are you bothering me? I could not care less.

I opened my mouth to say, But, if I don't call you, you don't know where she is! What if she wasn't with us?

She hung up before I could even start.

Kristy Anne told me, "That's why I didn't want to call her. The father is just as bad." She shook her head, which (for Kristy Anne) was as good as saying They're assholes. "Dexie always told me not to call, but I didn't believe her."

"Then why did you ask me to call?"

"I wanted to see if you got the same response."

I went into the basement, put on my gloves and pounded on the heavy bag until my arms were tired and I was dripping in sweat. It didn't take long. Then I sat in the shower wondering. Was there anything I could do?

"Do you think they abuse her?" I asked Kristy Anne later.

"No," she replied. "Yes. No and yes. As far as I can tell, they don't hit her. They don't verbally abuse her. They don't touch her, or talk to her , or interact with her at all. They just ignore her. She has to get her own food and wash her own clothes. She's like a stranger in her own home."

"Do they feed the other kids? and wash their clothes?"

Kristy Anne nodded her head. "They treat the other kids the way that children are supposed to be treated. But Dexie... well, they don't throw her out. That's the extent of their affection."

"That is so messed up! How they be like that?"

Kristy Anne shrugged. "I wonder sometimes... if it's the father..."

"What?" I asked impatiently. "What about the father?"

"Have you ever seen that family? The mother and the other kids have this flat, black hair. The father has dark brown hair—"

The hair? "Oh!" I said, getting it. "And Dexie's got those frizzy, reddish-blonde curls! You don't think—"

Kristy Anne nodded. "I'm guessing the father had an affair..."

"So, where's the mother?"

Kristy Anne shrugged.

"Could we call child services?" I proposed.

"And tell them what? I don't think they'd do anything. I don't think they can. She's fed, she's clean, she goes to school..."
 

I wish I could say that Dexie was a sweet, lovable child, but I can't. It's not that there's anything wrong with Dexie; she's not a bad kid. She's like an empty cardboard box. It's not even that she's closed-off emotionally; there's just nothing there. The kids at school, even Carla — her best friend — call her The Strange Girl, and oddly enough Dexie seems to like the name.

Dexie was twelve when we first met her. Over the next six years she became our unofficial part-time child. She started showing up at the dinner table, spending the weekend, and soon she was sleeping at our house at least four nights a week. It made me pretty uncomfortable, but I would have felt worse if we didn't let her stay.

Honestly, I don't know why she ever bothered going home.

Since her birthday was so close to Carla's, and since her family did absolutely nothing on that day, Carla's birthday parties was also Dexie's. Carla liked it that way: there were two cakes and more presents, and even if it wasn't all for her, it made it more of a party in Carla's eyes.

Dexie always wore her own clothes, but Kristy Anne bought her toiletries: toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo, feminine hygiene products... It just floored me that her family couldn't even do that much.

Dexie spent her holidays with us. She even went on vacations with us! Kristy Anne and I seriously talked about adopting the girl, but neither of us could work up the courage to ask her parents. We were afraid they'd be offended or angry, and cut us off from Dexie.

We gave up the idea while we were driving to Yosemite. Carla, who had no idea of our intentions, asked Dexie out of the blue whether she'd like to be adopted.

"No," Dexie replied. "I can't give up my family."

Kristy Anne and I locked eyes, and an anguished Why? hung in the air between us.
 

---

 

Now that Dexie had finally turned eighteen, she was at long last going to meet her mother, who lived in Spokane. In fact, she was going to live with her, at least for a while. I don't know why the mother waited for Dexie's majority before she called; maybe it was just a coincidence. In any case, Dexie was very excited. It was the first time in her life that I'd seen her display any emotion at all. She went from expressionless to beaming in a single day.

At the same time, her hair somehow changed from frizzy to shiny. "It's just conditioner, Fred," Kristy Anne explained, but to me it seemed to reflect a huge psychological shift inside the girl.

Both Kristy Anne and I were dying to see this woman, to meet her. By this time, we almost felt as though Dexie was one of our own — I mean, she was practically our daughter, even if *she* didn't feel that way.

And so, we extended my trip to Seattle with an eight-hour (round trip) detour west to Spokane.

And while we were at it, Kristy Anne stuck another eight-hour detour south to Exeter, to visit her old friend Aggie.

It didn't make any sense, but hey! I'm retired. I took the changes with what I like to think is a certain fatalistic aplomb. Anyway, I don't mind driving, and since it was likely to be my last long drive, it might as well be memorable.

I finished the orange and wiped my fingers on a napkin. As I did, a sudden erratic movement caught my attention — something in the corner of my eye. Down on the ground, something was moving. It was a dot (maybe a big fly?): stark black against the white inside of my discarded orange peel. But it didn't move like a fly. It zigzagged like... like the red dot from a laser pointer. Except that this dot was black. Deep black. It was like someone was aiming a black-hole pointer and shaking it. I couldn't imagine what in the world I was seeing.

As I watched and wondered, the dot grew bigger. It was fascinating... downright amazing, in fact. Then, with an abrupt jerk, the dot suddenly rushed directly toward me, growing larger and larger. At the same time, I had the feeling of being wrapped and covered by a wave of thick black cotton. The black dot filled my entire field of vision, blocking out the light...
 

The next thing I knew I was waking up. "Uh," was all I could manage to say, and gradually the world came back into focus. I felt grass under my fingers: I was lying on the ground. Kristy Anne was on her knees next to me, and Aggie was standing near my feet, looking down at me. Carla had the fingers of her right hand in her mouth, and she looked frightened.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You fainted," Aggie told me.

"No, no," I protested.

"You did, honey," Kristy Anne assured me.

"That's not it," I insisted, in a sleepy, slurred voice. "When we speak of this, can we *please* say that I passed out? Fainting is for girls."

Kristy Anne scoffed in disgust and turned away. I tried to turn my eyes up, to look above my head, because someone was resting her palms on my temples. It felt pretty nice. "Who's up there?" I asked.

"It's me." Dexie replied, and her upside-down face appeared in the air above me. I realized that she was kneeling, and my head was resting on her lap. I blinked at her a few times. It was so unusual to see her smile, I was pleased and confused at the same moment.
 

When I felt well enough to stand, Carla and Dexie disappeared with Aggie's dog into the orange grove. Aggie, Kristy Anne, and I made our way into Aggie's kitchen, where I sipped a big glass of tonic water, and felt immensely better.

"Do you want to see a doctor?" Aggie asked.

"I've already seen one," I replied.

"When?" Kristy Anne asked.

"Monday," I replied. "Three days ago."

"And what did he say?"

"He wants to do some tests next Tuesday."

"What kind of tests?"

"Stress test, tilting table, EKG, ultrasound."

"Ultrasound? Of what?"

"Of my heart," I replied, feeling a like a heel as I said it, and glad Aggie was there to prevent Kristy Anne from going into meltdown.

"Of your heart?" Kristy Anne cried. "And when were you going to tell me?"

"Wednesday," I replied truthfully. "I didn't want to worry you over nothing."

"Over nothing?" she echoed. "I'm your wife: I'm *supposed* to worry over nothing!"

"Don't get all bent out of shape," I said.

"Did you go to the doctor because you were passing out?"

"Yes."

"How many times has it happened?"

"Three," I said.

"Counting today?"

"No."

Kristy Anne put her hand over her mouth, thinking. "You're not driving home," she told me.

"Then who's going to drive?" I asked. "You?"

"No," she said. "Dexie can drive."

"Like hell she will!" I replied.
 

---

 

Despite Aggie's repeated offer to let us stay the night, I insisted on pushing off at five o'clock, as we'd originally planned. We'd have about four hours of daylight; we could even sleep at home before starting off in the morning. I'd never seen Dexie drive, so I wanted to sit up front, next to her, but Carla wanted the honors.

"Besides," Kristy Anne pointed out, "if you fai— pass out again, it could scare the life out of her. If you're in the back, with me, she might not even notice that it's happened."

I almost wished out loud that Kristy Anne or even Carla could drive, but that would only open old wounds. Kristy Anne's legally blind; Carla's an epileptic, but she could drive. Her seizures were always mild, and are under control. We've been appealing the denial, but in the meantime, I'm the only driver in the family.

Now, my unpredictable fainting spells have taken me from behind the wheel.

Whoa! A thought suddenly struck me: How would we get home from Spokane? Dexie could drive us up there, but once there, who would drive us home?

Aw, hell. I decided to cross that bridge when we came to it. Maybe I should just sign the car over to Dexie. The three of us invalids could fly back home.
 

---

 

Of course, we didn't leave Aggie's house at five. We didn't leave until nine, when it was already dark.

Dexie didn't mind driving at night. It turned out that Dexie was, in fact, not a bad driver. A little cautious, maybe, but cautious is good.

And what happened on the trip was in no way her fault. I think she did as well as she could. I don't think I could have done any better if I'd been behind the wheel. If it was anyone's fault — which it wasn't — it was mine.

We were still inside Exeter city limits when we first saw the lights.

"Is that some kind of truck?" Dexie asked. "The lights are blinding me! I'm going to pull over and let him pass."

"Good idea," I said, turning my head to see. The lights were so bright, I had to close my eyes. Kristy Anne's face — and pretty much everything else in the car — looked intensely red. "How can headlights that bright even be legal?" I wondered aloud, and silently I thought Red? Red headlights?

Dexie pulled onto the shoulder, and so did whoever was following us. They sat there, bathing us in the intense, megawatt glow. The lights were as intense as those huge things they use to light sports events. It was way too much!

"They're not pulling around me," Dexie said, frightened.

"Assholes," Carla growled. She rolled down her window and waved the driver around, but the driver didn't move.

"You know what, Dexie?" I said, in as calm and soothing a voice as I could manage, "Do a U-turn here, and head back to Aggie's house. Okay? Everything's going to be fine."

"All right," she agreed, and slowly and carefully took the turn. I wanted to tell her to hurry, since we were on a two-lane highway, but I was afraid to upset her further. In any case, there was no other traffic. As she turned, we got out of the path of those stark, red highbeams, and the darkness was a relief.

I turned to look at the truck, but there was nothing to see. "What the—" I began.

"Who was it?" Carla asked. "I don't see anything!"

"Neither do I," Kristy Anne agreed. "That was weird!"

Dexie kept her eyes on the road, her shoulders hunched, a firm grip on the wheel.

"You okay, Dexie?" I asked.

"Yeah," she replied tersely.

I turned to give a good look at the road. It was a dark, unlit highway, but I could see well enough to tell that there was nothing on the road behind us. I've got good night vision for an old guy.

"Anybody back there?" Kristy Anne asked in a low voice.

"Nobody. Nothing."

She nodded, and I turned to face front. Almost immediately, the lights returned.

"He's back!" Dexie cried. She sped up; he stayed on our tail. She tapped her brakes; he didn't swerve or slow up. She slowed to a crawl; he matched her speed. Dexie turned the rear-view mirrors so the light didn't shine in her eyes.

"I don't know what to do, Mr. Holderlin!" she cried.

"You're doing fine," I replied. "If you want to pull over and let me drive, go ahead."

"No, I'm alright," she said. "I'm kind of afraid of stopping."

To tell the truth, so was I. As we drove on, I called 911 and reported what was happening. After putting me briefly on hold, the operator told me to continue driving and that the police would be with us shortly.

"Just concentrate on maintaining your speed," I told Dexie. "You're doing fine."

"What if he rams us?" she asked, frightened.

I didn't know what to say, except to tell her that the police would soon be there.

We continued for five more minutes, when suddenly the lights veered off to the right, into a field, and vanished. Inevitably, the trooper drove up just after the lights had vanished.

He came, shined his flashlight on all of us, and asked for Dexie's license and the car's registration. "Anyone have any alcohol or drugs of any kind today?"

"No," I said. "In any case, the problem wasn't us. It was the other driver."

"I understand,sir," he replied. "Is she your daughter?" he asked, indicating Dexie.

"No," I said. "A family friend."

"Could you get out of the car, sir?" he asked.

"Why?"

"I want to talk to you a moment."

I opened the door and stepped into the cool, dry night air. The trooper walked into the space between our car and his, and I followed.

Now I could see that we were stopped next to an orchard. "The lights went off that way, you said?" I nodded. "Can I ask why you're not driving? That little girl is scared to death."

I ran though the list of medical reasons, and he nodded. "Could you follow us back to our friend's house?" I asked. "It isn't far."

"Sorry," he said. "But I've got another call. Listen: you'll be alright. These lights don't hurt anyone. We've had a lot of calls, but all they do is follow."

"What are you talking about?" I asked with a scowl. "Are you saying you're going to let these people get away with frightening and harassing us?"

"There's not a whole lot I can do," the trooper replied in a low voice, obviously embarrassed. "Those lights aren't people. They're UFOs." He didn't spell it; he pronounced it like a word: you-foe.

"You're shitting me," I shot back.

"I kid you not," he said. "Take a look over there." He gestured at the orchard, which was a few yards away.

"What?" I asked, more than a little irritated. "What am I supposed to see?"

"The trees," he said. "There's an orchard here, pretty much as far as you can see. Now you said the lights veered off that way..." He locked eyes, watching me carefully. "Do you get what I'm aiming at, sir?"

"The trees..." I said. "No."

"Yes," he replied.

"No," I repeated. "I saw the lights. We ALL saw the lights, and they swung off THAT way!"

"Into the trees."

"Into the trees! Yes!"

"Sir," the policeman said. "I really shouldn't stay. But if you want me to do it, if you need me to do it, I will drive back with you as far as we have to go to find the point where those lights left the road." He sighed. "I can tell you right now, that we're not going to find anything. No tire marks, no trees broken.

"Mister, there is no way a truck or car or flying set of lights could zoom off the road and not hit a tree."

My shoulders slumped. I glanced back at my car and gave a quick smile to Kristy Anne, who was watching.

"These things are UFOs. Nearly every night we get these calls. I've seen them myself. If you just keep a steady pace, go in a straight line, they'll lose interest and break off. If you try to outrun them, stop and start, make wild turns, they tend to hang on longer."

"You're really not joking," I realized, looking into his face.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Holderlin," he told me, holding my gaze with his own. "There's nothing I can do, except to assure you that no one has ever been harmed by those things. No one. Just stay calm and reassure that girl." He took a breath. "If you could drive, at least back to your friend's house there, and stay the night, it would be a hell of a lot better. Those UFOs don't come during the day."

We looked at each other in silence for a moment, then he asked me, "Can you tell when one of those fainting spells comes on?"
 

---

 

"Are you sure you can tell when they're coming?" Kristy Anne asked, as I headed north once more. According to the trooper, once we left Exeter, we'd be safe.

"Yeah," I replied. "I see a weird little black dot. If it comes, I'll put the car in park. You can hit the emergency flashers, okay?"

I hadn't driven more than a few minutes, when I saw the dot appear, flying around Kristy Anne's head. I stopped the car and everything went black.
 

"Just stay steady, straight, and even," I told Dexie for the umpteenth time. "You're doing fine."

"Stop telling me I'm doing fine," she told me through her teeth. "Everybody talk about something else, okay?"

"Okay, great, thanks!" Kristy Anne said. (She was talking into her cell phone.) "I really appreciate it, Aggie. Yeah, right! So at least we're not going crazy!"

"What did she say?" Carla asked.

"She's heard about them. Everybody in Exeter knows about the UFOs. And of course she said we're all more than welcome to sleep over."

"Whoo hoo!" Carla cried. "Hey, Dexie! I got dibs on the top bunk this time!"

"Whatever," Dexie replied.

"So why isn't it in the papers?" I asked. "How come it's not in the news?"

Kristy Anne shrugged. "I didn't ask her. Maybe they don't want to come off as a town full of loonies."

"Hey, Dad," Carla put in, "Maybe the aliens come for the oranges!" She laughed at her own joke.

"I'm glad somebody's happy here," I commented. But I knew why. Carla loved staying at Aggie's house. She considered Aggie her "favorite aunt" even though she was no relation at all.
 

Everything in the car was peaceful and fine and quiet for a spell, and then the lights came back. Dexie freaked out.

"No! No! NO!" she shouted.

"Just stay calm, Dexie," I said, putting my hands on her shoulders.

"I can't stay calm! Those damn lights are BACK!"

"Okay. Okay. Don't worry about being calm, then. Just drive slowly. Drive slowly in a straight line and they'll get bored. Once they get bored, they'll fly away."

I felt her take two deep breaths, and she kept a good constant speed. I was about to suggest that she set the cruise control, when something happened.

"He got closer!" Dexie shouted. "He's right on my tail!"

"Keep driving slowly," I repeated in a low, slow voice. "Just keep it even, keep it steady. We have to bore them, Dexie. We have to be slow and uninteresting."

My hands were still on her shoulders, and I kept them there. She shifted in her seat and glanced into the mirror. Under my left hand, I felt her pulse racing.

"Deep breaths, Dexie, deep breaths."

She tried to follow my suggestion, but broke off suddenly to swear and cry out in a high-pitched whine. "He's even closer, Mr. Holderlin!" she hissed. "He's on the rear wind— windshield!"

A cold chill shot through me and every hair on my body stood erect. I shot a lightning glance behind me — any more would have been blinding. Dexie was right: the lights were practically touching the rear windshield. Just another micron more and they'd be tapping on the glass. A centimeter more, and they'd be breaking through.

My heart was pounding. Kristy Anne squeezed my right upper arm in a viselike grip. It hurt, but I didn't care. At least it was something I knew for sure was real. In the front seat, Carla was praying out loud. I didn't know she prayed.

Dexie said, "I'm losing it, Mr. Holderlin! I'm losing it! I can't do this! I can't! I can't take the pressure!"

Just then, one of those damned black dots appeared. I saw it from the corner of my right eye, superimposed on the red lights behind us.

"No, no, not now!" I growled. It can't happen now! I told myself in desperation. My family needs me. Dexie needs me. I have to hang on!

"I'm sorry," Dexie whimpered, like a struck dog. It suddenly realized: she thought I was growling at her.

"No, Dexie, no," I said, in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. From behind me, up my back and over my shoulders, crept the sensation of the soft black wool enfolding me, wrapping itself around me. "NO!" I shouted. I would NOT give in! I would not go under.

Unfortunately, my last shouted NO! shot through Dexie like a death knell. In a panic of disappointment, fear, and an overwhelming sense of failure, she slammed her foot down hard on the gas, and never let up. The car jumped at the sudden acceleration and flew down the road.

Like a bat out of hell, I thought. For once, the phrase seemed appropriate.

But I couldn't talk. I hadn't lost consciousness yet, but it was a battle. I gripped Dexie's backrest and squeezed with all my might. I held my breath as long as I could. I tightened every muscle in my body and clenched my teeth down hard on my tongue. Anything to stay awake, anything to stay in the moment.

At first, after Dexie's sudden acceleration, the lights stayed far behind. Then they came zooming up that long, flat road, moving at an impossible, silent, effortless speed.

Up ahead, at right angles to the highway, there was a road — it turned out to be an old packed-dirt road that cut through the fields and disappeared into a copse of trees.

"I'm taking that turn!" Dexie cried, and hit the brakes hard.

The car went into a spin, and another, and another. After the third spin, by some crazy instinct Dexie righted the wheel and we found ourselves looking straight down the dirt road.

She hit the gas again, hard.

I was still struggling to keep conscious, but I was sinking. The darkness was slow but inexorable. Tears formed in my eyes but refused to fall. I felt the car fishtailing; the road must be dusty. Dexie, a city girl, would never expect that. She fought with the wheel, thrashing it back and forth, never slowing down.

With my last moments of awareness, I watched a tree appear before us and grow and grow and grow until it was so big that... Oh! Just before the impact I suddenly recalled... I hadn't fastened my safety belt.
 

---

 

This time when I woke up, I was lying on a hospital gurney. Everything was clean and quiet, and I was surprised by the sensation that I was all in one piece and not in any pain.

"Honey, don't try to move just yet," Kristy Anne's voice said. "I need to talk to you first. No, don't get up. Just lie there and relax, okay?"

She walked into view, and she look okay. She didn't look hurt, anyway. She was walking. "Are you alright?" I asked her. "You look good. Are you okay? How are the kids?"

"Carla's good," she told me. "I'm good. We're better than good."

"And Dexie—?" my voice trailed off as a tear rolled down Kristy Anne's cheek. Her lower lip trembled.

Sobbing, she told me, "Oh, Fred! That poor little girl! She got so banged up."

"So... is she alive?"

"No," Kristy Anne replied, and gave a little sniff. She calmed herself somehow. "Well... no."

"Well... no?" I repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"

Kristy Anne let out a pent-up breath and looked at me. She smiled. "You still haven't asked how you are," she pointed out.

I scoffed. "I can tell that I'm fine... I can feel it. Where's Carla?"

"I'm out here, Dad," Carla's voice called from outside the curtain. "I'm fine. I'll be in in a minute. How are you feeling?"

"I feel good, honey," I said. "I'm sorry about Dexie."

Carla didn't reply. I looked around me, and was puzzled by what I saw.

"Kristy Anne, what hospital is this? Where are we?"

"We're on the flying saucer," she said. "The UFO. They picked us up and fixed us up."

"They did? Then why couldn't they fix Dexie up?" I demanded.

"They did what they could, but she was dead on impact, honey."

I was silent for a few moments, then Kristy Anne said, "You never notice anything, do you?" and shook her head.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Did you get a new haircut or something?" I was joking, of course. She did look different, but I couldn't put my finger on what was new.

"No," she said. "I'm not wearing my glasses."

"Oh, you're not! Did they break? Hey, baby! I've always told you, you're pretty sexy when you take those things off."

"Oh, Dad!" Carla groaned in protest from outside the curtain.

"I don't need them any more," she said. "The aliens fixed my eyes. They fixed Carla's epilepsy, too."

"Wow," I said appreciatively. "I guess they felt bad about running us off the road."

"Yes," she said. "I think they did."

"So what about me? Did they fix my fainting problem?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, they did."

"Oh, nice," I said. "Hey, you know something weird? I don't seem to be able to lift my arms or my head... isn't that weird?" Somehow, the fact didn't disturb me, and that was odd as well. "It's just... weird."

"No, it's not weird. They kind of restrained you," she explained, "and they gave you something to keep you calm."

In spite of whatever calming drug they'd given me, I froze. "Why did they do that? What did they do to me, Kristy Anne? What did they do to me?" Outside the curtain, I heard Carla weeping. Then I understood: she hadn't come in because she couldn't face it — whatever it was — whatever they'd done to me.

"Okay, let me tell you," she said. "When the car hit the tree, Dexie's air bag malfunctioned. First she hit the steering wheel, and *then* the air bag deployed. It threw her back against the seat, and broke her neck.

"You... you, mister don't-need-seat-belts-in-the-back-seat, you flew right out the window — I mean the windshield, and you ah — you ah..." She looked at me thoughtfully. "Let's just say you were not a pretty sight."

In the background, Carla continued weeping.

I swallowed. "So they had a lot of work to do on me, huh?"

"Actually, you were pretty far gone. You were in worse shape than Dexie, except for the fact that she was dead."

"That's a strange way to put it," I said.

"That's exactly how the aliens put it," she countered. "They also said that your insides were a mess. Even before the accident. There was too much to do and they were going to give up."

"They were going to give up on me?"

"Yes."

"And let me die?"

"Yes. But we talked."

It turned out that these particular aliens had never been to earth before. They'd heard about Exeter from other aliens, and decided to check it out for themselves. They didn't expect us to be as backward as we are, and were absolutely astonished that our vehicles weren't equipped with inertial dampeners and gravity-something-ons and other elementary safety features. On their world, there are no collisions because they can't collide.

So, our young aliens were ashamed and alarmed, and apparently afraid of getting in trouble back home.

After a long discussion with Kristy Anne and my tearful daughter, what they decided was this: They had one body, dead but not badly broken, and another, alive but beyond repair. They decided to take the good parts from one and put them into the other.

They repaired Dexie's broken bones, her bruises, and the damage to her soft tissue. Since my body, Fred's body, was beyond repair, they took my mind, my consciousness, my elan or spirit, and put it in her body.

"What?" I asked, and found I could raise my head. "I'm in Dexie's body?" I looked down at my chest, at that stupid black shirt, and read it out loud:

WHAT THE
HELL
PEOPLE

(I can read upside down, by the way.) "What the hell people is right!" I said. "What the hell?"

At that, Carla started laughing, and she ran into the room, smiling and weeping at the same time. She fell upon me, and I hugged her. It was as fatherly a hug as I could manage in my present form.

"Hey, Strange Girl... Dad... both of you," she said, in a tentative tone.

"I'm not both her and me, am I?" I asked.

"No," Kristy Anne replied. "You're just you, Fred Holderlin, in poor little Dexie's body."

"Gah!" I cried. "Well, thank God — at least I'm eighteen! I won't have to live with her idiot family." Then the tragedy of it struck me. "Oh, Kristy Anne, that poor girl!"

"And poor me," she replied. "I've lost my husband, and Carla's lost her father. We all lost someone today."

"We have to do something for her," I said.

"I've thought about it," Kristy Anne said. "We're going to have to have a funeral for you, for Fred. But really we'll be mourning Dexie, not you. And every year on this day, we'll remember her."

"Yeah," I breathed. "That poor kid. She never had a chance to live."

"Now you'll have to do that for her," Kristy Anne said.

"Oh, yeah," I said. "I have to go meet my mother, don't I?"
 

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This story is continued in When Your Tabula Is Not Rasa.

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© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[The title and Dexie's t-shirt come from an Achewood cartoon, complete with missing punctuation.]