Sunday, July 22, 2012

106. Beliefs

For two days, I hadn’t been able to find C.W. anywhere. That’s not odd, for he has to make reports to his home planet periodically. And, to be honest, sometimes I find the separation refreshing. This time was different, though. We had been working on a fan letter to Stephen Hawking that had stopped at the sentence “I would trade my Capsullian Particle Disseminator for your ability to conceptualize reality.”

I think I had offended him by my editing recommendations. He went off to sulk and I hadn’t seen him since. Usually he reappears in a better humor, but not this time.

Well, one obviously cannot file a “missing alien” report with the authorities, so I waited. When he didn’t show to watch “The Big Bang Theory,” I knew something was up. I even left his favorite dish, mango and anchovy pizza, at his favorite spot overlooking the Arkansas River. Nothing. With a foreboding of sadness building inside me, I continued my morning walks alone, sometimes catching myself singing a song from the 1960s about a boy and his dragon friend.

Last night he returned.

My wife had gone to bed early and I was reading alone when I heard a thumping sound and looked up to see a middle-aged man in striped pants and a checkered shirt, the sort of attire that we used to frown upon before our great eschewing of taste in personal attire.

He was on crutches. Heavy bandages swathed his feet and he appeared to be in a great deal of pain. I didn’t say anything, just allowed him to ease into a chair and assume a comfortable position.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

“Fine,” I said. I handed him the TV remote and resumed my reading.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t have to tell you everything.”


“I’ve been to California.”

“That’s nice, how was the weather?”

He eased one of his feet into a different position and grimaced. “I got hurt,” he said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“You’ll write it up in that stupid thing you put on the Internet.”


“Can’t I have any secrets?”


He studied me for a moment. “I went to a motivational seminar.”

“Did you walk there?” I asked, looking at his feet.

“No, Big Dope, I didn’t walk to get there.” He can be mocking at times.

“Then what happened?”

“I walked on hot coals once I got there.”

“You what?”

“I went to see this guy named Tony Robbins.”


“He told me that if I truly believed, I could walk on a bed of hot coals and not be burned.”

Now. Big Dope, trust me. Just jam
your finger into that light socket.
If your belief is strong,
you have no reason to worry. - C.W.
“And you believed him?”

“When I assume the appearance of one of your species, I believe a great number of things.”

“So if I told you that you could grab a rattlesnake and kiss it without harm, you would believe it?”

“Well, maybe not that.” He paused. “Unless the snake told me it was okay.”

“So you do believe snakes can talk?”

“Can we see if there are any “Big Bang” reruns on TV? I know Penny misses me.”

No comments:

Post a Comment