《Castles of Memories》


 Chapter 1

    Get the thoughts out, she said. Put them down on paper, she said. Let somebody else hear you for a change, she said. Well fuck it. I¡¯ll finally take your advice.


    Thank you for picking this up.


    No, that¡¯s stupid.


    Welcome.


    No, no, no.


    I suppose I should try again.


    I am a prophet.


    Sorry, I didn¡¯t want to bury the lede. I know how conceited, or presumptive, or problematic that probably sounds, but it has to be up front. I have to be clear about what this is. This is a document of truth¡ªmy account of humanity¡¯s real story, a story no one¡¯s heard before. I have seen our species¡¯ farthest reaches, learned the true depth of our history, immersed myself in our most exotic cultures, and appreciated our most spectacular monuments. None of this happened on Earth.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    My psychiatrist told me to write it all down. Get it out of your system, she said. Oh Dr. Scottie. Like I want it out of my system. I don¡¯t think people will be able to handle it once it¡¯s out of my system. Not that they¡¯ll believe me anyway. For as long as I can remember, ¡®my system¡¯ has been strung across two worlds, pulled this way and that by people who refuse to understand the profundity of my experience on either side.


    I¡¯ve always lived this way. Now I¡¯m just telling people.


    But Dr. Scottie¡¯s right. I hate to admit it. But even though she treats me like a child when I explain it to her, I think she¡¯s starting to believe me. Not that she¡¯d ever admit it. Still, when I peek through the frosted glass door at her office every week, I see her at her desk, slate gray, hunched over the maps I make. Reading my journals. Analyzing my sketches. I bet she thinks she¡¯s ¡®studying¡¯ me. Doing her clinical due diligence as she gathers material for her own memoir. But there¡¯s this thing about the truth. It¡¯s elemental. It pulls you in no matter how much you try to resist it.


    She suggested I start from the beginning. How Freudian. But I suppose it¡¯s as good a place as any. When this document inevitably resurfaces centuries in the future, scientists will probably want to know the story of the only man who saw all of humanity.


    So I¡¯ll start with my earliest memory.

 Chapter 2

    I was crying. I don¡¯t remember why. I was only six, maybe seven, but the moment is burned into me. My dad took me camping around Sonoma, maybe an hour from our home in Flagstaff. He liked to hike and smoke cigars by a campfire¡ªtwo things an underweight, unathletic child like me was horribly unequipped to enjoy. He would take me on these death marches in 95-degree afternoon heat, parading me past pink rocks as he ran through his National Geographic-level understanding of ¡®geological deep time¡¯ and ¡®seismic shifts.¡¯ He always had this fanboy love of hard science.


    I spent those days sweating and whining and napping.


    From that night, I remember the dark and the cold. Deserts get very cold very quickly, so my teeth chattered away as soon as we got into our sleeping bags. It must¡¯ve kept my dad awake. After I heard him rustle, I let out this little cry, like a kitten caught in mousetrap. He ignored it. The longer he did, the louder my cry got until tears streamed down my cheeks and I reached out to him. He gave me attention and held me. It¡¯s actually the only time I can remember how he felt. He was strong. I could feel his muscles through the slick insulation of the sleeping bag. And he was so warm.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go look at the stars,¡± he said.


    He bundled me up in some jackets and blankets and carried me out of our tent. A sliver of smoke still streamed out of our fire¡¯s embers, probably from the cigar stub my dad flung in right before bed. I looked at it for a long time, the red flecks prickling the gray-blue all around us. I almost fell asleep there, staring at it in my dad¡¯s arms before he shook me back to reality.


    ¡°Hey, boy,¡± he said. ¡°Look up.¡±


    It was the most beautiful thing I¡¯ve ever seen.


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    There were more stars than I thought the sky could ever hold. Thousands of them. Millions of them. There was so much light. So much that you couldn¡¯t make out any constellations. They were all jumbled. Or I guess you could find about a hundred Big Dippers bleeding right into a legion of Orions. And the Milky Way. The Milky Way! It shaded the sky with this orange haze. Softened it. It laced all those stars together into a cosmic Persian rug. It turned the night into something so perfect it looked fake.


    It sucked me in. I could¡¯ve stared at it for hours. I asked my dad if we could sleep outside. He smiled¡ªa real, sweet smile¡ªand went back to the tent. My dad and I never understood each other much, but in that moment, he must¡¯ve been the only other person who saw outside our tiny pinprick of the universe. He came back with our pillows and sleeping bags and smoothed them out on a patch of dirt.


    I don¡¯t remember how long I stayed awake, but the stars seeped into my dreams. I got closer to them. They lifted me up, sucking me past the rushing wind, the chilling sky, and even the unfeeling nothingness as I reached them.


    I didn¡¯t know it then, but that night was my welcome into the rest of civilization.


    After flying past the stars, I passed what seemed like the Milky Way, or some kind of shroud of dust and rocks. I kept going, accelerating but motionless, until everything around me was pitch black. Then I heard footsteps. Three people came into view in the distance, giving dimensions to a huge, dark room. I couldn¡¯t really tell where they were coming from with their steps echoing all around me. But then it was like I blinked, and they were right there in front of me. They looked like nothing or no one I¡¯d ever seen before. They had hollow faces and lanky bodies with firm, brown skin. They stood well over six feet with wingspans just as long. They wore elaborate gold robes with blue geometric patterns running along the trimming. Each of them radiated a pale halo.


    I thought they were angels.


    The one in the center could tell I was freaked out. It bent down to my height. A smile came across its face¡ªthe same soft smile my dad gave me earlier.


    ¡°You¡¯re alright,¡± it said.


    ¡°What are you?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m a human, just like you. Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll be seeing a lot more of each other in due time. But for now, get some sleep.¡±


    Then it kissed my forehead and I fell back into the stars.

 Chapter 3

    I know what you¡¯re thinking. Everyone has weird dreams when they¡¯re a kid.


    You¡¯d be right.


    And I remember some of my other weird childhood dreams¡ªDr. Seuss forests, Olympic tennis matches, hitchhiking with George Bush. That¡¯s why I know this one was different. There wasn¡¯t that grogginess draped over everything. I was there. It was the start of something.


    Granted, I didn¡¯t understand it at the time. It wasn¡¯t even scary enough to tell my dad about the next morning. But those three faces stuck with me.


    Their big pupils and their brown eyes.


    Their tight-lipped mouths and their sharp jawlines.


    They haunted me in the literal sense, showing up in people I saw at school, on TV, when I went out with my mother. I told her about it a few days after it happened. Well, less told her about it than I asked her if people could look like that. Or, well, less asked her about it than I tried drawing the face of the one who kissed me and then I showed her the picture. She didn¡¯t understand. She just smiled and said what a great thing it is to draw.


    ¡°People come in all shapes and sizes,¡± she said. ¡°They can look like anything!¡±


    She was always so sweet to me. Her kindness was comforting enough to make me not worry about it much, but I couldn¡¯t shake the image of them.


    Their high cheekbones and their smooth heads.


    Their long faces and their longer bodies.


    So I took the drawing to school. I had the same art teacher all of elementary school, Mrs. Miles. She told us to bring things to class that we¡¯d drawn at home. I naively thought this would be my chance to confirm what I¡¯d seen.


    Needless to say, colored pencils didn¡¯t do my vision justice. Mrs. Miles made a condescending show of applauding my ¡®active imagination¡¯ while some of my classmates twisted their faces and pulled back their eyelids to imitate my creature. I saw the other government kids giggling while I was in front of the class.


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    I probably would¡¯ve dropped it there if Jackie didn¡¯t come up to me afterwards. Jackie was a Hopi girl, one of the many Native Americans in my elementary. I think her mom worked with my dad, but I was too young to understand much of that.


    She tugged on the tangled keychains dangling from my monogrammed backpack. When I whirled around, I expected the sneering giggles of another government kid¡ªone of the sons or daughters of the white diplomats sent to Flagstaff to ¡®liaison¡¯ with the ¡®indigenous populations,¡¯ mostly Navajo and Hopi. These kids seemed to overcompensate for living with Native Americans and Mexicans by double dipping in Americana. They wore their baseball caps, Superman shirts, and neon Nikes like talismans to ward away the evil spirits of culture. It was a bit ridiculous in the most excessively strip-malled, suburbed, franchised town in America.


    So seeing Jackie¡¯s sweet, round face, I was surprised.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen people like that,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve seen them in my dreams, in the stars.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where I saw them too,¡± I said.


    ¡°Did one of them kiss you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    I was happier than I can ever remember.


    We barely talked before then, but after that day, we were inseparable. It was like we were long-lost siblings. I couldn¡¯t believe it. That first day we spent hours talking and talking¡ªnot just about those strange people.


    ¡°My daddy always told me to trust my dreams,¡± she said. ¡°He said they¡¯re the only place you can¡¯t lie to yourself. That¡¯s how he knew he would marry my mommy and when we¡¯d all be born.¡±


    She told me about family superstitions, her fear of the dark, where she came from, how she liked to play in the dirt with her older brother. It all sounded so fascinating. She would visit relatives on the reservation almost every week. That¡¯s where she said she had the dream. It happened almost the same way as me.


    She was staying in a motel on the way back from one of the villages on the third mesa. She told me she crammed into two double beds with her parents and her brother. With the others snoring, the creaky floors, the water heaters, and the trucks blazing by in the dead of night, she was scared so bad she couldn¡¯t fall asleep. Eventually her brother Michael noticed. He was the protective type, so he told her to follow him outside. They snuck out under their parents¡¯ noses and went around behind the parking lot dumpsters to a short plateau looking across a brushy flat. That¡¯s where she saw the same perfect, blinding pattern of stars.


    I wonder if it was the same day¡ªif the star people brough both of us to them to see who would react better, like some kind of audition. Maybe they took more than just us. Maybe they took people from all over the world.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember them saying anything to me,¡± she told me. ¡°All I remember is that kiss.¡±

 Chapter 4

    Jackie emboldened me. She became my best friend as a kid¡ªprobably the best friend I ever had on Earth. We started spending every day at school together. Walking to class side-by-side. Eating our wheat bread and ham sandwiches at lunch. Playing faded board games with missing pieces during after-school care.


    Eventually we got together on weekends too. I found her home phone number in the school directory my parents buried under old copies of Popular Science in the piano bench in our living room. I wrote it down, then I asked my mom if I could use the home phone with as much politeness as a second grader could muster.


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    ¡°Okay, who are you calling?¡± she asked.


    ¡°My friend Jackie.¡± I said. ¡°I want to go to her house to play.¡±


    ¡°Oh isn¡¯t that lovely! Go right ahead. Hand the phone to me if her parents ask.¡±


    I called. Jackie answered the phone.


    ¡°Ha¡¯u, Pahona residence, Jackie speaking.¡±


    She sounded so professional. If I hadn¡¯t known her, I would¡¯ve thought the voice on the other end was at least a teenager.


    ¡°Hey Jackie! It¡¯s Andrew. Do you want to play this weekend?¡±


    ¡°Yeah! Let me ask mommy.¡±


    I heard little footsteps as she ran across a carpeted floor. Then there was a muffled conversation.


    ¡°Alright, she says you can come over Sunday aaaat¡­¡± She must¡¯ve looked off at her mom for confirmation. ¡°At two!¡±


    ¡°Okay! See you!¡±

 Chapter 5

    At Jackie¡¯s house I discovered my first love¡ªwar.


    My mom dropped me off at her place, a plain ranch-style nearby. You couldn¡¯t distinguish it from the other panel houses on the block except for a garden next to the parking pad. It was dotted with cactus and agave¡ªbold choices given Flagstaff¡¯s snowy winters¡ªand some stacked rocks painted different shades of green and blue to match the plants. When I went inside, I met her mom for all of thirty seconds. She was a stout woman, probably in her late thirties, but with graying hair and a face beyond her years. Nothing really struck me about her that day except her elaborate turquoise necklace. Later Jackie would tell me her family on the reservation made that kind of jewelry. But that didn¡¯t matter then. Almost right away, the two of us went off to Jackie¡¯s room. We talked, played, did whatever weird nonsense kids do for a while. Eventually her mom came in to check on us.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you kids go outside,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s a nice day. Jackie, you should introduce your friend to Michael.¡±


    ¡°Okay!¡±


    Jackie took my hand and led me through the open screen door to their backyard.


    Playing in the dead, matted grass was Michael¡ªtall, tough-looking, two years older, twisting Optimus Prime¡¯s head into an ant hill. Once he got it sufficiently lodged into the dirt, he ran over towards us, grabbed a kick ball, and threw it halfway across the yard. It whammed into the robot¡¯s ostriched body. Despite our hopes, it didn¡¯t fly into the air or explode into ants and plastic and dirt, but it made a pretty satisfying pop with the ball¡¯s rubber clang. Regardless, it sent Jackie and I into hysterics. After a minute, she yelled at him through tears of laughter.


    ¡°Michael! Don¡¯t break your toys!¡±


    ¡°Shut up! You¡¯re not Mom!¡±


    ¡°I will be someday!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°When I¡¯m all grown up and have kids, you¡¯ll have to respect me like our mommy!¡±


    She crossed her arms with this smug look on her face. She looked like a sassy version of the history textbook mockups of gladiators in the Colosseum.


    ¡°Whatever. Who are you?¡±


    He turned to me with a look of curiosity, his brown eyes looking me up and down, probably suspicious of the unstained white stripes on my Lacoste shirt.


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    ¡°I¡¯m Andrew! Nice to meet you.¡±


    I stuck my arm out¡ªstiff elbow, stiff wrist¡ªfollowing my dad¡¯s example of civility. He shook my hand with limp confusion.


    ¡°Do you like to play war?¡± Michael said.


    ¡°War?¡±


    ¡°Oh you¡¯ll love this!¡± Jackie almost squealed. She jumped up and down screaming ¡°War! War! War!¡±


    ¡°Okay, let me show you,¡± Michael said. He got the Transformer. ¡°Take this and set it up as a target. I¡¯ll show you the rules.¡±


    He handed it to me.


    I held it with both hands. Even with the rubber marks and grass stains, the colors were unbelievable. The most electric shade of red dominated it, and to this day I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen a shade of navy that looked so bright. Earth plastics might still be the best you can find.


    My parents never let me have toys like that because they thought they promoted violence. If I ever asked for action figures, or Nerf guns, or video games, my dad usually launched into a rant about ¡®preserving the fragility of childhood psychology,¡¯ so I learned to stop mentioning toys that weren¡¯t plushy or educational.


    ¡°Okay, so what we do is we come up with a story for the toys,¡± he said. ¡°Then either we have to battle them, or they battle each other.¡±


    ¡°But they have to be real battles!¡± said Jackie. ¡°You can¡¯t make it up.¡±


    I went to set up the Transformer by a big bush. When I got back, Jackie handed me a faded wiffleball.


    ¡°You have to hit him if we¡¯re going to win,¡± Michael told me. ¡°Otherwise, the robots could take over the backyard. Then we¡¯d have to go inside to regroup. If we win, then we can go on the offensive, maybe blow up their HQ!¡± At that he pointed to the side of the house, where a couple of toys were clumped next to a garden hose.


    I nodded, then stepped back. I was never a particularly athletic kid. I didn¡¯t like sports growing up. I never really started working out until I got to Mars, when I needed the extra strength.


    But I knew I had to take the shot seriously.


    I stepped back and held the ball close to my face¡ªlike I¡¯d see the pitchers do when my dad put on Diamondbacks games. I closed one eye. I stuck the ball out in front of me to line up the shot. I was feeling good. I had my sights right on Optimus¡¯ dirt crusted head. So I wound up. And I threw it.


    Straight into the bush. Not even close.


    ¡°Retreeeeeeeat!¡± Jackie screamed and grabbed the two of us and ran inside.


    We were all laughing and yelling about ¡°The robots! The robots!¡± when Jackie¡¯s mom came into the kitchen.


    ¡°You kids and your games,¡± she mocked with a smile. ¡°You better not break all those toys we give you. I¡¯m not replacing anything you two break with all these battles.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry Mom!¡± Jackie and Michael said in unison, pulling me into the living room.


    When I went home that evening, my head was swimming with stories of robot armies and sleeper agents and double crossing. We must¡¯ve gone through more generational conflicts than this continent has ever seen in the span of one afternoon. I¡¯d never had so much fun. At first, I thought they just had better toys. But after about a week once Jackie and I started playing with Michael at recess, I realized it was having a sibling. A partner in crime. Someone to play out all your schemes whenever you wanted.


    I wasn¡¯t going to let biology stop me. I wasn¡¯t going to be some lame kid with an imaginary friend, but why couldn¡¯t I have my own wars? Turn my toys and characters into brothers and sisters. I got to work, slowly but surely building a world and, more importantly, a battlefield in my bedroom. I didn¡¯t have the action figures, but I staged some intense conflict with my stuffed animals and childproof microscopes.