Russ Franklin - Cosmic Hotel

“I know,” I said. “I don’t understand it all either. Charles will know. He’ll tell us when he gets here.”

“What does he have to do with this?” she said. “We don’t know for sure he’s coming.”

I watched my phone finally come alive. “Can you play now?” I said to Elizabeth. “Please.” She looked to see if I were serious and turned to her room. There, I heard the latches on the case open.

My screen turned a light gray, and the home screen came up. I scrolled to my text conversations and found nothing there from Randolph. It was as if it had never happened. I had no proof that he existed other than that the violin was in our possession. Then a text dinged in:

Hello Sandeep. Welcome back.

Elizabeth began Sarasate again just as she’d played the night I’d gotten sick, the night she first got the violin back. I texted:

Was that you in the MRI?

:)

Did you do all this to me?

Please don’t be one of those people who blame me for everything. The universe is chaotic.

Are we ready for Raye?

Will I have to go through this all my life?

If we realize the future, we will only jump to that point. It’s better not to skip the journey.

But I didn’t skip it. I have all the memories.

But doesn’t it feel like I just gave you the answer?

Don’t do that again.

Do you want me to believe you’re God?

LOL!

Elizabeth was at the point that the bow was drawn slowly. I knew if I went to show her this conversation, it would disappear.

Why can’t I show this conversation to anyone?

We must handle this in a delicate way.

Do you want me to believe you’re an alien?

:)

Are you?

:)

Why can’t you find him yourself?

It is best that you introduce me to him

He has called your mother. If he calls again tell him it is important that he look after the dog

Dog again? What dog?

You think you’re God?

;}

You are not God

I am not God.

When Elizabeth’s music changed to the next movement — sad and slow — I typed and sent:

You are God

The answer came quickly:

I am God

You did this to me

I did not do this to you

Can you stop it from happening again?

No.

I thought of ways to trick him, try to run to Elizabeth and show her the text, try to copy the text.

I used my cane to go to the bathroom and I ran water in the glass, drank it, refilled, indulged myself by spitting it in the basin and drinking more and more, no longer thirsty now that I could drink all the water I wanted. I splashed it on my face. There was me in the mirror, wearing a tracksuit a size too big for my body, my hair over my ears. I got the old tinfoil sheet of pills out of my shaving kit and punched out two of Dr. Ahuja’s antidepressants and looked at the medicine’s box where a dancing figure spun as if in a fit of euphoria, and I thought about Elvis movies, musicals, and happiness. I was ready for the musical based on my life to begin.

In the middle of the night, Van Raye and Ruth left Palo Alto. He felt good behind the wheel of his old Jaguar, headed out on the nearly deserted causeway to the interstate.

“He smells awful,” Ruth said.

Van Raye glanced at the light crossing over her closed eyes. The dog was in the backseat making snotty noseprints on the window, the smears twinkling brighter.

On the dashboard, the alien statue stared back at him. “Do we really need this?” he said.

“Yes,” Ruth said. She’d drug it out of his suitcase the other day. “Because,” she said, “I can tell you hate it. Whoever gave you this, you fucked her.” He saw her rubbing her own belly. “Let’s call it therapy,” she said.

Forty-five minutes into the trip, she asked, “When are we going to stop?”

She wore her standard green unflattering flight suit. When she’d thrown her one duffle into the trunk on top of Van Raye’s three garbage bags of stuff, he’d noticed the bulge of her belly in the jumpsuit.

Now there was starlight overhead and dark forests on both sides of the road, woods thick enough to do what was best, and he had a pregnant ex-wife in the car, a whole country to drive across, had another ex-wife to find, and he told himself that he had to start organizing his writing so he could perfectly tell the story of his discovery and how he sent his own message to the planet before anyone else did.

Van Raye found the right spot to pull off the road. Ruth pretended to stay asleep against the passenger door when he shut the engine off. They’d discussed this, agreed it was best, but he stepped out alone, scared by the silence of the woods. Lightning bugs tricked his eyes. The concrete of the highway sparkled moonlight, and the heat of the Jaguar’s engine smelled good as it ticked and cooled. Van Raye opened the back door. “Come on,” he said to the dog.

Ruth was a dark, unmoving, silent mound in the passenger seat. The dog hopped out and never lost momentum, zigzagging back and forth, nose going over the ground.

Ruth’s door creaked open. She shoved it wider and grabbed the doorframe. “What a son of a bitch you are,” she said calmly. She hauled herself out.

“Don’t. . ” he said.

How , he thought, did I end up with a pregnant ex-wife who was hearing music in her belly, a hundred miles from nowhere, letting a dog go in the woods?

Her flip-flops scraped the pavement as she went to the driver’s side, slid behind the wheel, and started the car.

The dog stopped, turned and looked at them, tongue out. Van Raye got in the passenger side and pulled his silver pipe out as she got the car going. I will sleep it off , he told himself.

It was Ruth who said, “You let him go rather easily.”

“What dog wouldn’t want to be free in the woods?” he said.

Ruth ran the car up to ninety, the hand on the bottom of the wheel, the car swaying, and put another cigarette in her mouth.

“Be careful,” he said.

“What does it matter?” she said. “This is dark. Dark, dark.” She pushed the lighter in. “I’m going to remind you in the daylight what you are capable of, what we are all capable of, and see how you feel then. This isn’t a ‘never talk about it’ moment.”

“You don’t believe in those, do you?” he said.

“I don’t think we can just forget letting a dog go.”

The lighter popped out.

“Don’t mention it if we’re in Texas, please,” he said. “Texas is depressing enough. Wait till we’re through Texas, if you must. Maybe we shouldn’t go into Texas.”

“I’ll save it for Texas. Let’s heap the shit on and see what happens.” One hand on the wheel, the other with the cigarette rubbed her belly in the jumpsuit, and he knew she was hearing the music.

“Who was the father?” he said.

“A cosmonaut,” she said.

“What happened to you up there?” he said. “I’m not talking about that .”

She didn’t answer at first but then said, “I got a glimpse of the big thing that scares everyone.”

“What ‘big thing’?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Like nothing ‘never mind,’ or like nothing nothing ?”

“Capital-N Nothing,” she said. “I saw Nothing. I saw it when I was up there. Nothing is horrifyingly bright. That was the scary part — it was bright and nothing.”

“Quit talking like that. I’m not in the mood,” he said.

She made a defeated sigh.

He said, “You need some professional help. You’ve been through a major trauma.”

“I am professional help,” she said.

“Doctor, heal thyself?” he muttered.

In a few minutes, after staring at the road, watching the trees go by, she said, “What does this Elizabeth look like?”