Part 1
The 2030'-style van facilitates a bumpy enough ride to tickle my nostalgia bone. I watch the trail of dust curve in the road behind us like a cloudy wall, lit up now and then with flashes of bright color from the wireworks that splatter against the sky.
Alistair makes a sharp turn, sending the van careening around a saguaro cactus right when an especially luminous explosion tints its thorns a bright magenta.
“Jeez, keep your head inside!” he yells to the back of the van, “for fuck’s sake, Eliot!”
Eliot had been up to no good while I was distracted, sticking his head out the window for a better view. He slides his body back inside and practically lunges at his boyfriend, shoving his face into Alistair’s neck and kissing him with a fiery passion that puts a flutter in my belly.
“Sorry, baby,” I hear him mumble through the smooching.
Alistair takes firm hold of the steering wheel and runs his right hand through Elliot’s brown curls in a show of forgiveness.
Al and El, I’ve dubbed them in my head.
El giggles as he returns to his seat across from me, and I answer it with another girlish chuckle. He has a brand of charisma that inspires unrestrained giddiness in me. Tonight, I’m stupid.
“He gets so mad at me when I’m tipsy!”
“Yeah, cause you’re a fool!” Al shouts back.
“Aw!” I say to El, who has pushed out his bottom lip in mock sadness, ” Poor Eliot!”
“Well,” he says, ducking forward suddenly, “at least Camille still loves me!”
He rests his head in my lap and turns his face toward me.
“Of course I do, cutie!” I say, delighted at his affection.
I lean in to deliver small pecks all over his face and look up to see Al adjusting the rearview mirror to spy on us. His dark eyes are steely and unreadable. El pulls me back down and touches the tip of his tongue to my lips. I open my mouth, and we share a slow, sensual kiss.
El’s hand is firm on the back of my head, holding me in place for when he lifts his chin to gaze back at Al. I can tell by how the corners of his mouth curl up that he’s smiling.
I bite his lip. He winces aloud, but his voice gets trapped in my mouth as I double down on the kiss. He returns the enthusiasm, moaning and gripping my hair as our kiss deepens.
“We’re here, kiddos!”
“Wooh!” El pops up like a daisy and looks through the windshield.
The terrain beneath us has changed; it is bumpier now and demands more sudden turns and jerks. I follow his gaze to find an imposing image caught in the glare of our headlights: a spiral formation of perfectly round grass patches leading inward to the largest patch at the center of the bizarre shape.
“Marsland! Marsland! Marsland!”
He truly is a drunk fool - lucky for him that he’s so darn cute! The van stops, and I get to my feet, trying to keep my balance while El hops up and down like an elated child.
Al slides the door open and holds his hand out to me. When I take it, I can’t help but notice how small my hand looks in his. His expression remains deadpan and mysterious.
“Thanks,” I say as I’m freed from the quaking vehicle.
“You good?” His hand finds the nape of my neck and stays there until I answer.
My “yeah” comes out breathier than intended. I’ve forgotten how tall he is.
El, wasting no time, whips out his pop-phone and starts a live on Bites.
“Yooooo! We’re here at Marsland!” he exclaims to the camera, skipping ahead to get Al and me in the live, “We ’bout to get harvested real good!”
“Hey, babe,” Al interrupts, “why don’t we get to the center first, and then we start with the lives? How’s that sound?”
It’s as plain as day that the wind has been taken out of El’s sails, and I can’t help but feel sorry for him as he signs off, slightly disheartened. In one move, Al drapes his arm over my shoulders and reaches for El’s shoulder with the same hand.
He pulls him in until the two of them sandwich me tightly. He rests his hand on El’s neck and gingerly strokes the edge of his jaw with his thumb.
El ignores the gesture and wraps his arm around my waist, kissing me on the cheek. It’s clear that he’s doing this to spite his grinch of a boyfriend, but Al doesn’t seem phased by it. We walk like this all the way to the center.
“Are you nervous?” Al whispers to me.
“Kinda, I guess.”
I notice the woven bamboo picnic basket swinging in his right hand with the chequered blanket folded on top. El and I have both forgotten that that was part of the plan. We’re equally drunk, though I carry myself much better.
“Don’t be nervous, girl!” El interjects, “They’re so…professional. Even if you feel, like, not comfortable, they will just… take care of you, you know?”
“And the tag?” I ask.
“You won’t even feel it,” Al says, fingering the space between my shoulder blades, “Just a quick pinch right here, totally painless.”
We’ve reached the center. Al unfurls the blanket in the air and lays it on the grass, pinning it down with his knees. El and I join him, and the two of them remove their shoes and place their bare feet on the grass. El lies down on his back and looks up at the stars. His spirit seems heavy.
I slip off my beige cowboy boots and rest my soles on the soft grass, feeling the blades tickle between my toes. Al wordlessly hands each of us a bottle of root beer from the picnic basket before leaning back and propping himself on one elbow, so his face is close to El’s.
I watch them secretly through the strands of my hair. Al massages El’s earlobe between his thumb and index finger and whispers something. “OK?” is all I can make out definitively, and at one point, “You know I love you, babe.”
He abandons the earlobe massage and reaches into El’s shirt to caress his chest. They share a few short kisses, each one deeper than the last. It feels like I shouldn’t be watching.
I lay down on my back with my head close to them – close enough to hear fingertips on skin and tongues connecting. Luminous hues streak up in the distance and burst into silent sparks that trickle down onto the half-bare land as though the stars were raining down.
The palm of a big hand flattens against my cheek, and the thumb brushes over my lips. I shiver. They’re still kissing. I open my mouth to let Al’s thumb make contact with my tongue.
At this moment, a metallic grey saucer appears out of thin air and hovers above us. The blood drains from my face, and it feels like I’m on the brink of astral projection. Dread washes over me. No… ecstasy. Or both.
“Here we go-o-o!” someone says.
The hatch in the center cracks open, and I shut my eyes against the light that breaks through.
“Don’t look straight into it.”
I turn my head to the side and look down to see that I’m slowly leaving the earth. My heart is pounding; it feels like my stomach is lingering behind. Once I’m vertical, I take the chance to look around. El is doing silly tricks and flips in the air, and Al … Al has been holding my hand.
He’s smiling at El’s shenanigans. I manage a forced chuckle through the dizzying anxiety, almost as if to test my voice.
“You’re gonna puke!” I hear myself say.
“She’s right! Take it easy!” - I hear Al laugh for the first time since meeting them in the bar. It makes me feel reassured.
The craft inside is transparent. We can see stars twinkling above us, and our picnic blanket is a small square about forty feet below. Six borgs in white lab coats are lined up before us with their latex-gloved hands folded in front of them.
They’re identical, with smooth, mauve skin, hairless all over, friendly smiles, and ever-shifting features morphing between masculine, feminine, and androgynous. Behind them, a big screen with exploding wirework animations displays a message:
Happy New Year!
We thank you kindly for the gift of your energy!
They split into pairs and approach us. After a gentle squeeze, Al lets go of my hand.
“Enjoy!” he says.
He winks at me and follows his hosts, whose features have settled – one male and one female.
My hosts, one male and one androgynous, each take one of my hands and lead me to a designated spot where a silver examination chair and monitor attachment rise from the floor.
“Can I live this?”
Al and I turn around to see Eliot gesturing to his phone. One of the hosts widens his smile, politely shakes his head, ‘No,’ and holds his hand out to take it.
“Aw, man!”
Al is facepalming, and I’m shaking with laughter.
Our hosts strip us naked, fold our clothes, and neatly place them in a drawer that disappears entirely when it slides back into the translucent wall. They have us sit in the comfy chairs and secure us with metal cuffs and braces.
I watch the guys get plugged into their monitors with a thin cord that connects to the tags on their backs. There’s a cool pressure on my back. I focus on the friendly glint in Al’s dark eyes and feel a dull pinch. Then, I get hooked up as well.
