Chapter 13
I woke alone in the large bed and stretched luxuriously and was happily hungry. I pulled on the body suit (which I was adoring), and hoped the kitchen would be a direct line of sight. It was.
And there was Jane.
She was sitting on the floor, crying. I approached in an almost philosophic way, nothing the bulbous tears, (which resembled gelatin), rolling down her face.
"What is it?" I ask, squatting beside her. She was speaking her language, soft clicks, hums and breathy whistles, then, clearly; "I'm sorry," "What did you do?" I ask, ready to hear her say she'd murdered the female I'd been with, set the house to blow up, put poison in the tea. "I'm sorry Simon, I'm sorry," she repeated.
She was apologising for having abducted me.
Apologising for having me undergo the ordeal. A smile ran around my mouth, I knew if I let it win, I would lose whatever upperhand I had, so lowered my head, made a nod, moved to sit on the floor beside her. I wanted to look at the wall, but there was no solidness, it was all glass.
Looking out into the arctic waste...trying to figure out where we went from here.
I had chaffed at my solitude. Oddly, I wished to return to the first hours when she spent her time with me instead of hiding in her tank. Yet, I couldn't release the amorphous anger and confusion I felt.
She had abducted me, she was the architect.
Yet...
An alien comes to America, asks; "What do men want?" the answer, "One hundred virgins," is more than possible. I know straights, (who think I'm straight) who rave about vacations in particular places where they could have sex with females for a "meal deal".
That Jane wouldn't know what "gay" is, well, I'm sure she cruised yuppie bars, watched sappy romances, and because men who look like me are the romantic lead, or the virile Miko type, why shouldn't she have thought I would find the possibility of one hundred virgins a treasure?
Further, she was a flake.
Jane hadn't been doing her job. She was splashing in the sea with dolphins. All she knew about human men was the thin layer of propaganda; "one hundred virgins".
But still, I had been abducted, not lured. So I could be angry at her. But it was senseless to be alone in this alien environment with no one at all to talk to. I wanted to talk to her; I needed to talk, to explain... I had never had anyone I could explain to...
My family, on Earth, was a busy one. My parents worked, my sister had gangs of friends and activities, we didn't even eat together, most days, for my parents often were gone before I woke up, home when it was nearly bed time. I wasn't close to my father, although he tried to worm into my life. He knew nothing about me. My mother drifted in and out, she had an important job. Was usually away.
Family wasn't important...
I reflect on this...
Jane was the first person I saw when I woke, all day, and when I went to bed. Outside of my dog, Barker, she was the only constant.
Then, she withdrew.
If I hadn't allowed her to bathe me, she'd of run to her tank and I'd not be able to find her. "Jane, stop crying, it is alright," I tell her, my back against the counter, two feet to her right. "How can it be, "alright?"" she asks.
I had gone through so much internal reassessment, she a stranger to my shift. I was a stranger to this new construct of self.
"Jane, can we talk?" I ask, meeting her tearful eyes.
"Oh yes Simon, I want to talk to you," she looked at me as the women had, as if I were wonderful. It had disoriented me for though I thought highly of myself, I didn't think I was divine.
I thought of getting up, going to the chairs, but they were ten feet apart, and I wanted to be near her when I spoke, I wanted to whisper, feel her touch or touch her. When one is always the biggest guy in the room, a head permanently bowed to speak to others, it made me feel small to be beside someone who was the same size. Someone whose shoulder met my shoulder, whose eyes were level with mine. Someone who was not "me" but other.
"Jane, things have....altered." I say.
