The Pulse between Dimensions and the Desert Page 5

  Mom calls and tells you Great Grandma has passed. She was surrounded by her Chihuahuas. They barked and howled as her breathing slowed. The three of them jumped off of the bed and woke your Tía. Tía ran to your bisabuela’s room and the Matriarch of the family was gone. Her name was Martha Velo. She represented the stubborn and resilient lineage you belong to. You ask Mom if she’s okay. She says yes, but she wishes she hugged her grandma harder the last time she saw her. She tells you to take care of your plants. You hang up and make sure your plants are still living.

  The earth doesn’t stop, but your apartment stops shaking. An apocalypse means wearing a quality pair of combat boots, underwear, pants, plus, a reliable sense of direction, hydration and packing vitamin-filled foods. You step outside. The air smells like skunk. The clouds expand into wisps in the yellow sky. The upstairs neighbors are sucking madly on their cigarettes. The brunette looks down at you and sends you an eyebrow. If this were the end of the planet, you’d kill them. There’s no way they wouldn’t kill you and Spatula and then eat her. You look at the sky and whisper to Great Grandma that you are just kidding.

  Spatula is on her hind legs, watching you and wishing she could use her mouth to say thank you for making the shaking room stop. Spatula thinks about her squirrel toy, sniffs it out and shakes the squirrel by the neck. Spatula’s a good girl. Her tail wags when those words pop into her head. She gallops into the room and finds a spot on the bed. Stuffing as confetti settles into the carpet. Spatula huffs. The ground vibrates for five, four, three, two, one. You run inside and inspect the apartment. The living room and kitchen look okay. You look into your room and grab your chest. Red splotches start forming on your neck. There’s a napping astronaut beside Spatula. Or maybe the astronaut is dead? You’re not sure. Spatula doesn’t seem to mind. Her head is nuzzled on the astronaut’s thigh. You knock on the helmet and clear your throat.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me, astronaut person… hopefully a person… you’re in my apartment and I would appreciate it if you left…please?”

  You shake their shoulder and tap on the helmet once again. The astronaut springs up and turns toward you. A green button on the neck of the suit opens the helmet and it’s your own face looking at you. You jump back.

  “Hello, Esmai. I know this is fucked up.”

  Spatula’s tail thumps against the bed and she goes over to lick the astronaut’s face.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Who’s a good girl? You are such a pretty puppy!”

  The astronaut is captivated by Spatula. She grabs Spatula’s ears and makes them dance. She kisses Spatula on the head. This makes the situation more palatable, but your gut still feels uneasy. She turns to you.

  “Hello, I’m Maribel. I’m a time travel agent from portal Q2786 and I am here as a fugitive of sorts.”

  You rub your forehead. Purple and gold spots begin to form in your line of vision. Sitting is your best option and it’s a relief on your back.

  “Explain.”

  “Of course. You are the first version of myself that I have found, by the way. This is really neat.”

  She presses a blue button on the wrist of the suit and it starts disappearing from her body. A tiny cube forms and she places it into a case attached to a silver belt around her waist.

  “As a travel agent, I was part of an agency that searched for lost kids from other portals and dimensions that started on this version of earth. Kids go missing everyday right? Well, my department investigated disappearances that were never solved. Most times, the kids were deceased, but sometimes we found lost kids stuck in between time portals. If we got there in a reasonable amount of time, we could rehabilitate the child and send them to a foster family in a different version from their earth of origin. People can’t survive long in between time portals so, if we were too late, they’d be deceased.”

  Maribel’s hair is silver. You notice that even the hair on her arm is silver. Her speech patterns are similar to your own. Are you really in your own room? Are you locked up somewhere with this dream sequence looping through you?

  “So, how does that make you a fugitive? What’s the point of finding me…you?”

  “There’s a political campaign against multi-dimensional travel. They are marketing through xenophobia, claiming the kids my department has rescued should be left for dead. They claim the kids should not be allowed on an earth from which they were not born. The government is killing agents from my department off in secret, one by one. I’m not the only agent in trouble. There are others looking for multidimensional versions of themselves, too. I don’t know how many of us are left, but I know they killed one of us off. They got to her before I could.”

  Your palms are soaking and the pain in your back is reaching up toward your shoulders. Is this the apocalypse you dreamed about? You dreamed of zombies and a bright emerald gun as your weapon of choice. You dreamed of sinkholes swallowing earthlings’ whole. The only way to fight back was to build a net connected to the sky. A little moleskine with the list of apocalyptic dreams is sitting on the lavender dresser next to your bed.

  “Okay, are you here to take me with you? Can I have a cool shrinking cube thing?”

  “I have extra suits, yes. I brought enough for six others. I figured I would give my spiel and see where we go from there.”

  Overwhelming pain is settling in your head. Would you be able to leave your mom alone? She just lost Great Grandma.

  “Maribel, I need to take a bath first.”

  The water stings against your skin. Tired bones against the yellow tub. With your head back, your hair spreads out and the earth is mute. You are considering traveling with yourself into other dimensions to find more versions of yourself so you can all hang out and survive together. You have scraps of paper hanging in front of the toilet in case you are taking a shit when the apocalypse comes. Push it out. Pull up your pants. Possibly use the shit as a weapon or a distraction.

  Maribel might read your other apocalypse tips as she paces in your apartment. This brings you comfort and it makes you cringe at the same time. When you step out of the tub you look above you. There are red X’s that you drew for every apocalyptic dream you were a part of. There are over one hundred markings.

  “Maribel? I want to know more. I am someone with two jobs, a dog and a pile of debt. That’s about all I have and I’m not sure I could make your trip easier. I am in a strange place.”

  Maribel digs through a rectangular navy bag, which jingles and dings as she shuffles through it. A quaint sky blue lizard crawls up Maribel’s arm and leaps into her silver curls.

  “That’s Nebula. I received her as a gift for entering puberty. She’s a feisty lizard queen. I think she’s seven years old at this point.”

  “Is she your Spatula?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Wait, so you got gifts for starting your period? I just got a box of giant pads and my mom warning me that tampons would take my virginity.”

  Maribel laughs and brings her hand out in a fist.

  “I want to show you how we can survive.”

  She places a cube in your hand. This one is much smaller than the suit cube. A light emerges from its center.

  “What’s your favorite piece of art?”

  “Right now, it’s the Space Empress comics. I just finished reading Interstellar Romance and I haven’t cried like that in a long time.”

  “Bring me the comic.”

  You shuffle through the piles of single issues on your floor and find it. She places the cube in your hand. You find the last page of Interstellar Romance and stare down at it.

  “Hold my hand. Look at the pages and then look into the light.”

  You do. You are light. Maribel is waves of reds and blues. You can see yourself burst into atoms. You become rainbow particles and specks before you transform back into yourself. Maribel looks like swirls of glitter particles before her body puts itself back together. You see the Space Empress (Evangeline). She has been
stuck on the planet Nexon for 10 years. Her lover (Benicio) just exploded into dust. He was a hologram, but Evangeline loved him as hard as she could. Evangeline speaks into an electronic journal. She tells the journal the date of Benicio’s passing (January 22nd, 2410). She explains the details of their relationship from beginning to end. Once she’s done recording their moments together, there are eight panels concentrating on Evangeline’s face. She looks to the dark horizon and you see the red veins crossing paths in the whites of her eyes. Her mouth is open. She does not move. 90 years pass and an unfamiliar species (Hexaborgs) find Evangeline. The Hexaborgs cannot understand Evangeline’s mother tongue. She cannot tell them about Benicio. The Hexaborgs scan Evangeline and place her in a sterile cell because her immune system is fragile. None of them seem to notice you and Maribel. You’re terrified the Hexaborgs will inspect and isolate you both if they find out you are watching them. You know how this story finishes. You want to warn Maribel. You know what happens to Evangeline. She dies alone on this spaceship. In three pages, a Hexaborg finds her curled up under her bed surrounded by potted mini cacti and succulents. She becomes space dust and her particles float out of the cracks in the spacecraft. You are getting closer and closer to that last page. Your throat is tight and your eyes rumble with stinging tears. Maribel sees your tears and wipes them with her thumb. You get to the last page and she’s right in front of you. Evangeline is thinking about her final moments with Benicio. With enthusiasm, Benicio explained some of the fruit available on his home planet. Fruits shaped like galaxy spirals that tasted so sweet, your gums ached and your belly danced. Fruits shaped like canoes with pink seeds inside that made you grow strands of pink hair on your head. Benicio’s favorite fruit was called an atomic root. It was a miniscule sphere that glowed at night. The tiny roots on the orb attached themselves to your taste buds and injected refreshing citrus flavors into them. Evangeline is sitting on Nexon with Benicio and she caresses through the hologram in front of her. Benicio kisses Evangeline and for a moment his face disappears into hers. The panel shifts back into her sterile cell. You and Maribel approach the panel and she looks up. You run toward her and hold her. You can really feel this tiny woman in your arms. She embraces you back and you bring her head toward your chest so she can hear the organs inside you vibrating and keeping you alive. You kiss her head, help her into bed and tell her “Good night, Evangeline.” You and Maribel arrange potted plants around her bed.

  You are light and Maribel is green and red waves again. You pop into your room where Spatula and Nebula are napping on the bed. They both perk up and start running around the apartment, frantic and excited.

  “That was amazing! We saw the Hexaborgs and Evangeline! Is this how you’re going to keep running from the government?”

  Maribel nods her head.

  “I helped create the devices with my team. This is another reason the government wants us found. They want restricted access placed on our invention.”

  Maribel could be a powerful ally in an apocalypse. Maybe she’s the version of you who is actually ready to endure the inevitable. She is made to survive. You leave the room to call your mom. You ask her if she’s okay and she says yes, but you know she’s lying. You get dizzy from the sadness you can hear in her voice. You tell her you love her and that you will talk to her tomorrow. You call your boss at job 1 and then job 2. You aren’t going in this weekend.

  Maribel stretches and yawns. She takes a note out of her pocket. It is one of your notes from the living room wall. She smiles as she reads the list.

  “‘In case of emergency do not call loved ones. Do not call them. DO NOT CALL THEM. Only call them if you want to say a quick goodbye and never contact them again.’ Esmai, what is this obsession with an apocalypse?”

  You blush. Your ears burn.

  “I’m not blood moon apocalypse crazy. When it comes to the end of the world, I can only trust myself. I call myself apocalypse-lite”

  Maribel laughs. You can’t because you are serious.

  “One night in October, I went to bed. I thought I was having a dream. I saw a hole in the side of my bedroom wall. I could see constellations and pulsating stars. I wanted to touch outer space. I walked through and couldn’t breathe. I stopped thinking. I stopped existing. I disappeared from my home planet. Space people found me. They were special agents. I became enamored with making that my career.”

  Maribel has Nebula in her palm. She pets the lizard. The lizard jumps up onto her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Maribel.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Maribel? What if I don’t want to go with you? What then? Why don’t we go somewhere together instead? I can take you to the desert. We can be tourists. The Grand Canyon is amazing. We can go to all the tourist traps and buy shitty food at gas stations. I’ll buy you key chains for your space bag.”

  She smiles. Runs her small hands through her silver curls.

  “Let’s go to the art museum! It’ll be my gift to you. Pick one piece and after we have travelled through it, I’ll bring you home and I will leave.”

  Something about her leaving feels heavy in your chest.

  Maribel is tapping her fingers together. You guess the taps are based on a song you will never hear. In case she does disappear for a long time, why not ask her to hang out? You can pretend to be twins. She yawns and you can’t help but think that this is still a lucid dream. The ground trembles. Is it another earthquake? Spatula panics and runs under your feet. Maribel grabs her bag and rips the poster of galaxy clusters off of your wall. She is clutching the small glowing cube. She is going to run.

  “Why don’t you just pick a comic book? How do you even know what the fuck to do, surrounded by vast space? Won’t you just die?”

  You dig through the pile of comic books with super heroes displaying their muscles and strange perfection. Detective Lupe Santiago AKA Time Fatale has been a personal favorite character. She’s unafraid and of course, she can stop time. She is acutely observant and could help Maribel figure out a solution other than running.

  “Here. Go find this woman. She might be able to help you. If not, you can just blend in as a pedestrian. What’s wrong with that?”

  There’s a loud bang on the door.

  “On the count of three, we are coming in!”

  Three large figures kick through the door and tear through the wall.

  “Maribel Esperanza Mercado: You are under arrest for trespassing into time portals without proper authorization and for participating in the programming of a time travel device for the consumption of the American public.”

  Spatula frees herself from underneath you and starts barking. One of the officers aims his weapon at her. He pushes the trigger button. You tense up and jump in front of Spatula. There is a hole going through your belly. All you can do is scream. You continue to scream in tears as you watch your blood make streams on your thighs and collect into the carpet. You keep your body in front of the dog.

  “Help her!”

  Maribel reaches for you and one of the officers grabs her by the hair.

  “Agent Mercado, please come with us. Our intent is not to hurt anyone.”

  “Help Esmai. Help her.”

  Maribel punches through the officer’s helmet and spits in his eye. She grabs a piece of helmet shard and digs it into the officer’s neck. The other two continue to watch Maribel and one of them scoffs.

  “It’s very simple. You are under arrest. Give us the device and come with us.”

  You tumble over. Your face is in the carpet. Spatula is nudging at your face. Should you whisper “I love you” to family members in hopes they will hear it as they place you underground? Can Great Grandma hear you right now? You feel guilty. Your mom will have no daughters left. Is this the pre-apocalypse on this version of earth? Has it all started with you? Maribel has handed over her bag. She’s crying. You hope she will live for centuries.

  “Esmai. I’m so sorry.”

  The officers watch
as she places your potted plants around you. The succulents from great grandma. The cactus from your sister, Lucy. Tiny reminders of the desert that kept you connected to your family. Maribel caresses your face and holds you. Lucy gave you a cactus plant before you moved out of the house. It took her three hours to pick the right one. She picked a turquoise pot and decorated the edges of the pot with stick-on earrings she bought from the Dollar Store. The next day, she was gone. She was found in the middle of the desert. Your knees fell into cement after it was “officially” announced. You held onto the cactus and spines dug into your cheek. You prayed she walked out there in her sleep and that no one harmed her. Your mom came over and helped you pick the cactus spines out. She told you about the first time she realized how small she really was. We are specks in this mess. We are so miniscule, but we express ourselves with the magnitude of an entire galaxy. Maribel kisses your cheek and you can smell the essence of time travel escaping from her pores. She shuts your eyes.

  “Go to sleep, apocalyptic friend.”

  ROSARIO

  He walks up to me and asks me where I’m from. I ask him what he means. He says, you know what I mean. I tell him I was born in Los Angeles. He stands in front of me and asks where my parents are from. I say, my mom is from Mexico and my dad is from Guatemala. He tells me he knew I was an American woman because I speak English well. I tell him Spanish was my first language.

  “You know what I mean.”

  He starts to speak to me in Spanish with a heavy gringo accent. I can smell his breath and his sweat. He’s asking me if I know how to say ‘hammer’ in Spanish. What about ‘warlock?’ How do you say ‘witch’ in español? He looks me up and down and asks me for my phone number. I tell him to fuck off. He says he’s a nice guy. He has money. He appreciates the beauty in a brown woman. I tell him to fuck off.