Any Other Day
[From the talk.bizarre archive]
********************************************************
It was a day like any other day.
I leaned with my bare arms against the split-rail fence, which was oddly
smooth to the touch. The sun beat down hot on my head. On any other
day I'd have worn a hat, but today it didn't seem to matter. It was
a day when nothing mattered.
"Gonna be a scorcher," said Jemmy, one rail down. His boots, awfully
shiny and new for a farm kid, were hooked in the lowest rail. We looked
out over the pastures and chewed on straws.
"Yep," I replied.
The sky was dotted with clouds. They were all perfectly round. I
pointed up at them. "What's with the clouds, Jemmy?"
My favorite cousin Jemmy squinted up at them. "Dunno, Nat. What's
wrong with 'em?"
"They're round," I said, but not disagreeably. The round clouds didn't
bother me. Much.
Jemmy turned to me. "Nat, tell me about New York City. I ain't never
been."
"You lie like a dog, Jemmy Golden. You were there with the mumps when
you were two." Jemmy flushed red.
"Wull, that don't count. I don't remember nothing from when I was two.
What's in New York City?"
I shrugged. New York City was awfully far away. "It's full of people
and cars and stuff. Nothing real interesting." I didn't care much.
There was something bothering me, but I didn't know what it was.
Jemmy was persistent. "Wull, are there lots of soldiers and stuff?"
With a start I realized what was wrong. We were looking out over a
large, green, empty pasture. I stood up and gaped with amazement.
"Jemmy, where the hell are all the cows?"
****************************************************************************
It was a day like any other day.
I leaned with my bare arms against the split-rail fence. Little splinters
pressed up off the wood and jabbed into my skin, but I didn't seem to
care very much. The sun beat down hot on my head; I canted my hat to
keep the sun out of my eyes. It was a day where nothing seemed to matter.
"Gonna be a scorcher," said Jemmy, one rail down. His boots, scuffed and
cracked from years of hard work in the hot sun, were hooked in the lowest
rail. We looked out over the pastures, watching the cows graze contentedly
[little clay men]
on the tall grass, and we chewed straws. The lowing of the cows sounded
oddly thin and distorted.
"Yep," I replied.
The sky was dotted with clouds. They raced quickly over the Texas countryside
[too quickly. little clay men!]
bearing little or no rain. It was summer, but the grass was green. Strange.
Jemmy turned to me. "Nat, tell me about New York City. I ain't been but
once, and I was only two."
"I know that, dummy. You almost died of the mumps."
"Yeah, wull, I don't remember nothin'. Are there soldier men in New York
City?"
I shrugged. New York City was awfully
[little clay men with needles!]
far away, and why was Jemmy asking this stupid stuff anyhow? "I guess so.
I mean, they got a spaceport and stuff." It was a lazy summer day, and
I felt very calm.
A little line creased Jemmy's forehead. "Wull, how big a spaceport? Can
you land cruisers there? The big ones?"
A thought snapped into my head and the world turned very grey. I looked
at Jemmy out of the corners of my eyes.
"Jemmy, you used to be a girl."
[needles! new needles!]
*****************************************************************************
It was a day like any other day (?)
I leaned my arms against the split-rail fence, being careful to keep my
sleeves down so the splinters wouldn't prick my skin. I never used to
give a good goddamn about the splinters, but for some reason I did today.
Like any other day. Day. Clay. Day. The sun beat down hot on my head
[where the wires entered my skull]
; I canted my hat to keep the sun out of my [pack of l] eyes. It was a
day where nothing seemed to matter, even the stuff that was just WRONG.
"Gonna be a scorcher," said Jemmy, one rail down. She was one of the
WRONG things. She looked right, but there was nothing behind my cousin's
eyes. Nothing at all.
"It's too hot," I said,
[clay men like it hot!]
"and too humid,"
[clay men like it wet!]
"and this isn't our farm, Jemmy." The cattle never blinked, and the
everpresent crickets were entirely silent. Jemmy looked over at me.
She didn't blink either.
"Nat, you gotta tell me about the Spaceport in New York City." The
grass was blackened, as if from a fire. The fence was made from
cherry wood, which doesn't grow in Texas. Jemmy's smell was faintly
acidic.
None of that mattered: I felt a wave of laziness
[needles!]
wash over me, and I didn't care anymore. Hot summer days; same as any
other day; just lazing with Jemmy
[on an operating table]
on a hot summer day on the farm. And talking about New York City.
"The.....spaceport is pretty big and important, I guess." Lazy. Didn't
matter. Any other day. "Maybe twenty thousand marines there. I don't
know for sure." My head felt like a big, lazy balloon.
"Can you land a cruiser there, Nat? How about a big cruiser?" That
wasn't Jemmy. It didn't matter, but it wasn't Jemmy. It didn't matter....
It did matter.
I stared into the coldness of Jemmy's eyes. "You ran under a combine
when I was twelve." As I recall, Jemmy used to blink. "You're dead."
Jemmy frowned.
**************************************************************************
It was a DAY LIKE ANY OTHER DAY!
My arms, heavy like two logs, rested on a wrong fence in a wrong pasture
on a wrong day on a wrong planet with my wrong cousin sitting next to
me. It was a day when nothing seemed to matter. Like hell.
"Gonna be a scorcher," said Jemmy, one rail over. I grinned at her around
my straw.
"Ain't it?" I said. She grinned back uncertainly.
"Tell me about New York City, Nat?"
I stared at the cows. Their tails were forked. I got down from the fence.
"No way," I said, and snapped Jemmy's neck
and
******************************************************************************
and the room was a deep and pulsing green. The bed was really just a long
table, and the wires coiled into delicate and terrible machines. Gravity
was light, and I bounced up off the table with ease.
They were, in fact, clay.
And just as fragile.
******************************************************************************
I never did figure out their ship's controls. I spent my last days in some kind of
observatory with a big bubble looking forwards. Most of the time, Jemmy
kept me company. The stars were cows, and we watched them companionably
in silence. Some days, though, the holes in my head hurt too bad, and
Jemmy left me alone those times.
I apologized to her for breaking her neck. She didn't seem to mind much.
She always was my favorite cousin, years ago when she was a little girl
and I was a long ways from even considering being a spacer pilot.
And in the last days, when the star became a disk became a sun became an
inferno and eclipsed my bubble, Jemmy stayed by my side and held my hand.
"Gonna be a scorcher," Jemmy said, one rail over.
It sure was.
********************************************************
It was a day like any other day.
I leaned with my bare arms against the split-rail fence, which was oddly
smooth to the touch. The sun beat down hot on my head. On any other
day I'd have worn a hat, but today it didn't seem to matter. It was
a day when nothing mattered.
"Gonna be a scorcher," said Jemmy, one rail down. His boots, awfully
shiny and new for a farm kid, were hooked in the lowest rail. We looked
out over the pastures and chewed on straws.
"Yep," I replied.
The sky was dotted with clouds. They were all perfectly round. I
pointed up at them. "What's with the clouds, Jemmy?"
My favorite cousin Jemmy squinted up at them. "Dunno, Nat. What's
wrong with 'em?"
"They're round," I said, but not disagreeably. The round clouds didn't
bother me. Much.
Jemmy turned to me. "Nat, tell me about New York City. I ain't never
been."
"You lie like a dog, Jemmy Golden. You were there with the mumps when
you were two." Jemmy flushed red.
"Wull, that don't count. I don't remember nothing from when I was two.
What's in New York City?"
I shrugged. New York City was awfully far away. "It's full of people
and cars and stuff. Nothing real interesting." I didn't care much.
There was something bothering me, but I didn't know what it was.
Jemmy was persistent. "Wull, are there lots of soldiers and stuff?"
With a start I realized what was wrong. We were looking out over a
large, green, empty pasture. I stood up and gaped with amazement.
"Jemmy, where the hell are all the cows?"
****************************************************************************
It was a day like any other day.
I leaned with my bare arms against the split-rail fence. Little splinters
pressed up off the wood and jabbed into my skin, but I didn't seem to
care very much. The sun beat down hot on my head; I canted my hat to
keep the sun out of my eyes. It was a day where nothing seemed to matter.
"Gonna be a scorcher," said Jemmy, one rail down. His boots, scuffed and
cracked from years of hard work in the hot sun, were hooked in the lowest
rail. We looked out over the pastures, watching the cows graze contentedly
[little clay men]
on the tall grass, and we chewed straws. The lowing of the cows sounded
oddly thin and distorted.
"Yep," I replied.
The sky was dotted with clouds. They raced quickly over the Texas countryside
[too quickly. little clay men!]
bearing little or no rain. It was summer, but the grass was green. Strange.
Jemmy turned to me. "Nat, tell me about New York City. I ain't been but
once, and I was only two."
"I know that, dummy. You almost died of the mumps."
"Yeah, wull, I don't remember nothin'. Are there soldier men in New York
City?"
I shrugged. New York City was awfully
[little clay men with needles!]
far away, and why was Jemmy asking this stupid stuff anyhow? "I guess so.
I mean, they got a spaceport and stuff." It was a lazy summer day, and
I felt very calm.
A little line creased Jemmy's forehead. "Wull, how big a spaceport? Can
you land cruisers there? The big ones?"
A thought snapped into my head and the world turned very grey. I looked
at Jemmy out of the corners of my eyes.
"Jemmy, you used to be a girl."
[needles! new needles!]
*****************************************************************************
It was a day like any other day (?)
I leaned my arms against the split-rail fence, being careful to keep my
sleeves down so the splinters wouldn't prick my skin. I never used to
give a good goddamn about the splinters, but for some reason I did today.
Like any other day. Day. Clay. Day. The sun beat down hot on my head
[where the wires entered my skull]
; I canted my hat to keep the sun out of my [pack of l] eyes. It was a
day where nothing seemed to matter, even the stuff that was just WRONG.
"Gonna be a scorcher," said Jemmy, one rail down. She was one of the
WRONG things. She looked right, but there was nothing behind my cousin's
eyes. Nothing at all.
"It's too hot," I said,
[clay men like it hot!]
"and too humid,"
[clay men like it wet!]
"and this isn't our farm, Jemmy." The cattle never blinked, and the
everpresent crickets were entirely silent. Jemmy looked over at me.
She didn't blink either.
"Nat, you gotta tell me about the Spaceport in New York City." The
grass was blackened, as if from a fire. The fence was made from
cherry wood, which doesn't grow in Texas. Jemmy's smell was faintly
acidic.
None of that mattered: I felt a wave of laziness
[needles!]
wash over me, and I didn't care anymore. Hot summer days; same as any
other day; just lazing with Jemmy
[on an operating table]
on a hot summer day on the farm. And talking about New York City.
"The.....spaceport is pretty big and important, I guess." Lazy. Didn't
matter. Any other day. "Maybe twenty thousand marines there. I don't
know for sure." My head felt like a big, lazy balloon.
"Can you land a cruiser there, Nat? How about a big cruiser?" That
wasn't Jemmy. It didn't matter, but it wasn't Jemmy. It didn't matter....
It did matter.
I stared into the coldness of Jemmy's eyes. "You ran under a combine
when I was twelve." As I recall, Jemmy used to blink. "You're dead."
Jemmy frowned.
**************************************************************************
It was a DAY LIKE ANY OTHER DAY!
My arms, heavy like two logs, rested on a wrong fence in a wrong pasture
on a wrong day on a wrong planet with my wrong cousin sitting next to
me. It was a day when nothing seemed to matter. Like hell.
"Gonna be a scorcher," said Jemmy, one rail over. I grinned at her around
my straw.
"Ain't it?" I said. She grinned back uncertainly.
"Tell me about New York City, Nat?"
I stared at the cows. Their tails were forked. I got down from the fence.
"No way," I said, and snapped Jemmy's neck
and
******************************************************************************
and the room was a deep and pulsing green. The bed was really just a long
table, and the wires coiled into delicate and terrible machines. Gravity
was light, and I bounced up off the table with ease.
They were, in fact, clay.
And just as fragile.
******************************************************************************
I never did figure out their ship's controls. I spent my last days in some kind of
observatory with a big bubble looking forwards. Most of the time, Jemmy
kept me company. The stars were cows, and we watched them companionably
in silence. Some days, though, the holes in my head hurt too bad, and
Jemmy left me alone those times.
I apologized to her for breaking her neck. She didn't seem to mind much.
She always was my favorite cousin, years ago when she was a little girl
and I was a long ways from even considering being a spacer pilot.
And in the last days, when the star became a disk became a sun became an
inferno and eclipsed my bubble, Jemmy stayed by my side and held my hand.
"Gonna be a scorcher," Jemmy said, one rail over.
It sure was.