Evan woke him when they reached their destination. The effects of the pills still wore heavily on his sense of perception, but it seemed to John that they were in the middle of nowhere. Flat, white land with only the occasional patch of thick grass stretched out as far into the darkness as he could see.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Not far from Joshua Tree."
"So now we're going to look at the stars?"
"Yeah, and wait."
"For what?"
Evan shook his head. "I don't know, but it'll happen here."
While Evan retrieved the box from the trunk and attempted to set up the telescope, John tried desperately to shake himself from his haze, but there was no escape. He felt trapped, as if the feeling would never go away. He tried to focus, staring first at his good hand as he opened and closed it. He'd surrendered control again, and he aimed to get it back.
Before an awkward attempt at meditation could be made, a pair of lights appeared on the horizon. They drew nearer and nearer, until John realized they were headlights.
"Evan!" he yelled, pointing.
Evan stared at the moving lights and then went back to work, setting up the telescope. A stuck tripod leg seemed to garner more attention than a guest.
"It's just the others. There'll be more."
"More what?"
"People."
"What're they doing here?"
"The same thing we are, I'd imagine. It's all right, John. I don't think there's anything to worry about."
It was no use. The boy couldn't help but worry.
Moments later, an old blue pickup truck with a camper on the back pulled up next to their Caprice. A thin man with gray hair and a thick mustache stepped out and approached.
"Evening," he said. "What are you folks here for?"
Evan looked from the man to John and back. "To see the stars."
The old man laughed and adjusted his jeans. "Same here, I guess," he replied. "Here come the rest." He pointed into the distance, where a particularly low field of stars were all coming closer. They were all headlights.
"What's your name?" John asked.
"Sam."
"Sam, I'm John. This is Evan."
"Nice to meet you."
"What do you do, Sam?" Evan asked.
"I'm an artist--a painter, that is."
Evan nodded. "I'm a sculptor. He's a writer."
"Is this some sort of art convention?" John asked.
"I don't know. Maybe. We'll find out soon enough."
In a matter of minutes, a number of different vehicles pulled up beside the Caprice and the old truck with the camper, and people started climbing out and congregating there in the secluded desert, in a place that had been nearly lifeless for years. There were men, women, families of four, people from all walks of life converging in one place for reasons they couldn't completely explain. It was a compulsion, a feeling each and every one of them carried deep within that drew them together. Here they all were, in the middle of the desert with a wide night sky above. The stars were all shining.
Many of the others started unpacking tents and telescopes of their own. Evan wandered through the growing crowd as everyone began to mingle, mixing together, rotating like a thousand tiny cogs in one enormous machine. They greeted each other like old friends, though they'd never met. They helped one another with heavy gear and those other situations where an extra set of hands can make all the difference. He could hear fragments of conversations, key words sticking out as if surrounded by neon lights--writer, artist, poet, philosopher, craftsman, sculptor. John had been right--they were all artists, in one form or another.
The air was crisp, clean. The wind picked up, rushing against a thousand faces, preparing them, baptizing them. Something was going to happen. There was a sudden calm that descended from the sky, and every man, woman, and child went quiet, returned to their separate camps, and looked up. They stared through mirrors and lenses, all of them lost in a field of constellations and irregular patterns of light, like scattered crumbs on a black, marble table.
Evan ran back to the Caprice, where John still sat in the passenger seat, staring straight up. His eyes were half closed, but he could see just as well--maybe even better. His state of mind, addled by pills, left him detached, exposed, open to accept the things that flashed before his eyes. He'd been a fusion of bare flesh and metal soul, two opposing spheres forced together in a single entity, but now freed. One half soared high above the other, reaching up toward the stars, ever grasping. But which half?
"You okay?"
John smiled. "Yeah, I am."
"Come on, let's check out the telescope," said Evan, attempting to rouse the boy from his languished state.
John swung the car door open and pulled himself to his feet. He trudged over to the telescope, hunched, and peered through the eyepiece. He saw a blue disc, crackling subtly with flame and spiraling electricity. He let go, backing up against the side of the Caprice and staring up with only his naked eyes.
"I don't think I need it," said the boy. He could see the exact same thing, even without the aid of the telescope. It began somewhere on Orion's Belt, an image that grew and filled the sky, swallowing all the other stars one by one. He closed his eyes, and still he could see it.
Evan took his turn with the telescope, gazing up at the gathering light.
"John, my God, do you see this?"
"Yeah," said the boy. "I see it."
There was a sudden flash, and the sky lit up. Everything went white. The core, the source of the light, whatever it was, descended. John opened his eyes and stared into the heart. It was as if a tiny star had landed in the desert, and a crowd of spectators greeted it with silence.
The boy looked around him, and the world itself flashed and rippled. The others around him were flickering specks of black and white--static, Signal to Noise. It suddenly made sense, and he realized that all along, he'd simply been out of tune. The signal adjusted, like a radio switching from a dead frequency, and the world around him shifted, creating a brand new reality--one that bore a modicum of reason. The static figures began to clarify, gaining a distinct shape and definition. There were thousands of them--black, wiry bodies covered in starlight. Here they all were, in one place--Conduits.
On some level, the boy understood, but not in any way that he could describe. He struggled to find the words, but there were none. There could be no composition, no expression of any sort within the light. It was all-encompassing, but not ensnaring. There were no walls, no boundaries to contain them. This was another place entirely--one that seeded imagination, but was not born of it.
The boy looked back into the star, the source, and he could hear a voice, so he thought. On closer inspection, he could see the voice, as if the wiring of his brain could not adequately play the transmission. The voice told him that there was nothing to be afraid of, that this was not an ending. With that simple message, the people in the desert were given purpose, hope. It was inspiring to each and every one of them, on a very personal level.
The boy stared, squinting, desperate to see something else, and there it was, a faint silhouette, hidden deep within the light. It swayed, oscillating very slowly, yet it was there, and he saw it. He saw something moving in the light.
Then just as quickly as it had appeared, the light lifted, retreating back into place as it broke into a million, tiny pieces. The stars returned to the sky.
The people were quiet. Those with tents disappeared inside, sheltered by solitude. Others silently packed up their telescopes and binoculars, climbed back into their cars and trucks, and drove off into the desert.
Evan picked up the 8-inch Meade refracting telescope and laid it gently in the back seat, atop John's belongings. Then he and the boy both took their seats in the front of the Caprice. The engine, along with a dozen others across the desert plain, roared to life, and they drove into the dark horizon, the rushing night air caressing their faces.
They drove back into the city, the colorful flashing lights blinding at first, but their eyes quickly adjusted back to seeing in the world they had lived in for so long. They didn't speak at all during the return trip, but only because nothing needed to be said. Evan simply stared at the road ahead, and John hovered someplace between waking and sleeping.
They reached the hotel, first passing by the looming hospital at which neither of them dared look. They shared the room. Evan offered John the bed and found himself a comfortable spot on the floor. It didn't take long for them both to fall into a heavy sleep, above any covers and still wearing their street clothes covered in the dust of a distant desert.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Not far from Joshua Tree."
"So now we're going to look at the stars?"
"Yeah, and wait."
"For what?"
Evan shook his head. "I don't know, but it'll happen here."
While Evan retrieved the box from the trunk and attempted to set up the telescope, John tried desperately to shake himself from his haze, but there was no escape. He felt trapped, as if the feeling would never go away. He tried to focus, staring first at his good hand as he opened and closed it. He'd surrendered control again, and he aimed to get it back.
Before an awkward attempt at meditation could be made, a pair of lights appeared on the horizon. They drew nearer and nearer, until John realized they were headlights.
"Evan!" he yelled, pointing.
Evan stared at the moving lights and then went back to work, setting up the telescope. A stuck tripod leg seemed to garner more attention than a guest.
"It's just the others. There'll be more."
"More what?"
"People."
"What're they doing here?"
"The same thing we are, I'd imagine. It's all right, John. I don't think there's anything to worry about."
It was no use. The boy couldn't help but worry.
Moments later, an old blue pickup truck with a camper on the back pulled up next to their Caprice. A thin man with gray hair and a thick mustache stepped out and approached.
"Evening," he said. "What are you folks here for?"
Evan looked from the man to John and back. "To see the stars."
The old man laughed and adjusted his jeans. "Same here, I guess," he replied. "Here come the rest." He pointed into the distance, where a particularly low field of stars were all coming closer. They were all headlights.
"What's your name?" John asked.
"Sam."
"Sam, I'm John. This is Evan."
"Nice to meet you."
"What do you do, Sam?" Evan asked.
"I'm an artist--a painter, that is."
Evan nodded. "I'm a sculptor. He's a writer."
"Is this some sort of art convention?" John asked.
"I don't know. Maybe. We'll find out soon enough."
In a matter of minutes, a number of different vehicles pulled up beside the Caprice and the old truck with the camper, and people started climbing out and congregating there in the secluded desert, in a place that had been nearly lifeless for years. There were men, women, families of four, people from all walks of life converging in one place for reasons they couldn't completely explain. It was a compulsion, a feeling each and every one of them carried deep within that drew them together. Here they all were, in the middle of the desert with a wide night sky above. The stars were all shining.
Many of the others started unpacking tents and telescopes of their own. Evan wandered through the growing crowd as everyone began to mingle, mixing together, rotating like a thousand tiny cogs in one enormous machine. They greeted each other like old friends, though they'd never met. They helped one another with heavy gear and those other situations where an extra set of hands can make all the difference. He could hear fragments of conversations, key words sticking out as if surrounded by neon lights--writer, artist, poet, philosopher, craftsman, sculptor. John had been right--they were all artists, in one form or another.
The air was crisp, clean. The wind picked up, rushing against a thousand faces, preparing them, baptizing them. Something was going to happen. There was a sudden calm that descended from the sky, and every man, woman, and child went quiet, returned to their separate camps, and looked up. They stared through mirrors and lenses, all of them lost in a field of constellations and irregular patterns of light, like scattered crumbs on a black, marble table.
Evan ran back to the Caprice, where John still sat in the passenger seat, staring straight up. His eyes were half closed, but he could see just as well--maybe even better. His state of mind, addled by pills, left him detached, exposed, open to accept the things that flashed before his eyes. He'd been a fusion of bare flesh and metal soul, two opposing spheres forced together in a single entity, but now freed. One half soared high above the other, reaching up toward the stars, ever grasping. But which half?
"You okay?"
John smiled. "Yeah, I am."
"Come on, let's check out the telescope," said Evan, attempting to rouse the boy from his languished state.
John swung the car door open and pulled himself to his feet. He trudged over to the telescope, hunched, and peered through the eyepiece. He saw a blue disc, crackling subtly with flame and spiraling electricity. He let go, backing up against the side of the Caprice and staring up with only his naked eyes.
"I don't think I need it," said the boy. He could see the exact same thing, even without the aid of the telescope. It began somewhere on Orion's Belt, an image that grew and filled the sky, swallowing all the other stars one by one. He closed his eyes, and still he could see it.
Evan took his turn with the telescope, gazing up at the gathering light.
"John, my God, do you see this?"
"Yeah," said the boy. "I see it."
There was a sudden flash, and the sky lit up. Everything went white. The core, the source of the light, whatever it was, descended. John opened his eyes and stared into the heart. It was as if a tiny star had landed in the desert, and a crowd of spectators greeted it with silence.
The boy looked around him, and the world itself flashed and rippled. The others around him were flickering specks of black and white--static, Signal to Noise. It suddenly made sense, and he realized that all along, he'd simply been out of tune. The signal adjusted, like a radio switching from a dead frequency, and the world around him shifted, creating a brand new reality--one that bore a modicum of reason. The static figures began to clarify, gaining a distinct shape and definition. There were thousands of them--black, wiry bodies covered in starlight. Here they all were, in one place--Conduits.
On some level, the boy understood, but not in any way that he could describe. He struggled to find the words, but there were none. There could be no composition, no expression of any sort within the light. It was all-encompassing, but not ensnaring. There were no walls, no boundaries to contain them. This was another place entirely--one that seeded imagination, but was not born of it.
The boy looked back into the star, the source, and he could hear a voice, so he thought. On closer inspection, he could see the voice, as if the wiring of his brain could not adequately play the transmission. The voice told him that there was nothing to be afraid of, that this was not an ending. With that simple message, the people in the desert were given purpose, hope. It was inspiring to each and every one of them, on a very personal level.
The boy stared, squinting, desperate to see something else, and there it was, a faint silhouette, hidden deep within the light. It swayed, oscillating very slowly, yet it was there, and he saw it. He saw something moving in the light.
Then just as quickly as it had appeared, the light lifted, retreating back into place as it broke into a million, tiny pieces. The stars returned to the sky.
The people were quiet. Those with tents disappeared inside, sheltered by solitude. Others silently packed up their telescopes and binoculars, climbed back into their cars and trucks, and drove off into the desert.
Evan picked up the 8-inch Meade refracting telescope and laid it gently in the back seat, atop John's belongings. Then he and the boy both took their seats in the front of the Caprice. The engine, along with a dozen others across the desert plain, roared to life, and they drove into the dark horizon, the rushing night air caressing their faces.
***
They drove back into the city, the colorful flashing lights blinding at first, but their eyes quickly adjusted back to seeing in the world they had lived in for so long. They didn't speak at all during the return trip, but only because nothing needed to be said. Evan simply stared at the road ahead, and John hovered someplace between waking and sleeping.
They reached the hotel, first passing by the looming hospital at which neither of them dared look. They shared the room. Evan offered John the bed and found himself a comfortable spot on the floor. It didn't take long for them both to fall into a heavy sleep, above any covers and still wearing their street clothes covered in the dust of a distant desert.
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