Lower CoSMOS-Ronnie’s Goodbye

Dear Diary,

            I am not one for expletives. One for reflection, yes. But those words bring me down. Fine for some, and I may not believe in an afterlife or God or anything metaphysical excluding the smallest of atoms and molecules. But…and, Mother I am sorry for this, f–k this place.

            Ronnie stopped his writing and held his notebook open. He turned his head and peered around his room. Posters of movies, video games, and music bands from generations past lined the walls. He was seventeen at the time.

            “Is that it?” said Ronnie, and continued writing in dissatisfaction:

            Yes. This place. The whole earth. See, the time we are in Mom, is one where all people will eventually turn on each other if you don’t agree with them. I can’t do that. I could never do that because they have never agreed with me and then when I agree with them, the next day they would have me as their punching bag. No more! If you add in all the times someone used the N-word on me or called me black Poindexter, of the double N-word, well, it gives me the drive and impetus to leave this worthless yet beautiful world to itself. Will I miss you? Yes! When you consistently battered me from behind the back of the head for not listening or doing something you didn’t like, thankfully not inflicting permanent brain damage, I still loved you. I can’t do this earth thing anymore.

            He then signed it and stood up from his desk. Near the front of his room were red taped arrows, pointing to the center of an empty area of the carpet. With the notebook in hand, Ronnie walked over but his Mother swung the door open. After a good look around, she stared at the floor.

            “Is that devil sh-t?” she said.

            “No, mom. People are Satan. We’ve discussed this in relation to…”

            “…Well, pull it up when you’re done praying to him,” she said.

            “I am not…”

            “Imma head out of here and want the toilet done,” she said.

            “Got it,” Ronnie said and started his way back to his desk.

            “Come on now,” Ronnie’s mother put her face out and pointed at her cheek. He turned to her as she held herself out for him to kiss. He began to sob.

            She opened her eyes.

            “What happened, baby? School?”

            “Always,” said Ronnie, “But no, not this time.”

            “We can talk about this later, baby. Don’t forget the toilet. Uncle Willie is coming tonight for dinner,” she said and exited the room.

            “Damn it,” Ronnie said and walked back to his notebook, opened it up and wrote:

            P.S. I meant to kiss you when you left, but I thought about missing you.

            He closed the book again and placed it in the middle of the arrows on the carpet.

            His clean backyard lost some of its space to Ronnie’s spacecraft; an experiment he needed approval for from the city but allowed because of the young man’s notoriety as a genius albeit with some prejudice. The round craft held one passenger but took up half the yard. Already a shoo-in to win the grand prize at this year’s senior science fair, Ronnie could not care less about the accolade or his paid scholarship to MIT. He stood next to the craft with painted black streaks around the front of it as if a pair of eyes stared at you from the front, and the name ‘Siouxsie’ written on the side.

            “Here’s to our freedom, ice queen,” he said.

            Entering the ship stuffed with supplies, it almost did not have room for Ronnie to sit. As he rummaged through everything, accounted for, and tagged; he found his chair covered up with a zoo blanket with the shiny smooth orange trim coming off. It began unthreading in parts. He sat down and stared inside the cockpit of the craft. Though the cockpit was at the center, it remained the main controls situated around the chair. He flipped a switch powering up the inside of the ship, lights blinking and adhering to the sequence of operations as it came to life. Various sounds and gears started and the door entering sealed itself from the outside.

            Grabbing his treasured ‘Brown Hornet’ backpack, he pushed it close to his chest and whimpered until it became a steady sob and then outright uncontrolled wailing. It took him five to ten minutes of release to quell the constant tears, and nothing was available for him to wipe his nose.

            “Oh. We. Can go. We can go, my ice queen,” said Ronnie, “Here we go!”

            Ronnie pressed another button and began another sequence at the control consoles, the final one blasted loud music so deafening that it came close to puncturing his eardrums. Unable to find the volume, Ronnie covered his ears but not before some of the chimes of music and the lyrics left the confines of the vessel. The haunting voice sang:

            “It glittered and it gleamed for the arriving beauty queen. A ring for a car and now you’re the prettiest by far. No party she’d not attend…”

            Ronnie found the volume and lowered it.

            “Oh god,” he held his chest and caught his breath realizing the neighborhood will be aware of his venture. Raising the volume in small increments, the sound still exited the ship traveling into the atmosphere. With a pleasant tune, it survived through the skies, past the firmament, and into space where there is no sound but there is an absorption unbeknownst to man. The music became louder without the help of Ronnie. His face opened. His lips moved back toward his jaws, and he raised his hands to view them blinking in several different bright colors. Ronnie’s molecules stretched abnormally with the rhythm of the beats. The music then corresponded to the shift in hues of color, timing with the changes to Ronnie’s skin.

            “Kiss them for me, I may be delayed…” the beautiful voice sang.

            Ronnie’s face expanded. His atoms blended in with the colors as they ran into walls and walls of other colors into a kaleidoscope of music and movement, spanning far distances. His eyes creeped into his head, viewing behind him beloved Siouxsie, also blinking and flashing with the music but growing in size. He feared he faced death at the most inappropriate of times while his imagination of leaving the earth via his theory of space travel needed experimentation took over. With the glorious experience, Ronnie managed to find some delight in listening to the song and how it bounced off the walls inside something he was not sure of. And the way the colors changed with Siouxsie, brought to the fore older movies and newer dreams, better journeys and peaceful escapes. The music ended and Ronnie stood whole, inside something with a now consistent color of a light blue and pink. Siouxsie was gone.

            “Hello?” He said. Ronnie started to walk but checked the floor for what he stepped on. He pressed on to it, finding it elastic as it came back without injury with Ronnie’s foot on it.

            A bellow traveled through the structure, passing Ronnie with the word:

            “Again.”

            Ronnie’s mouth gapped open, his eyes darted back and forth through the big body. He scampered through the insides examining the area, the colors still consistent, staying the same.

            “Again,” a voice said, moaning. Ronnie stopped. His heart rose and panic blindsided him, not expecting anything but either being dead or dreaming. However, this did not have a dream state he was accustomed to or resembled. The reality of it was too unclouded to deny it as something else. He continued to run through the large structure until out of breath. Grabbing his knees he stared at the ground until he was able to have a normal breathing pattern again.

            He stood up, reaching an end, and gazed at an oval-shaped opening; large enough for a luxury liner to travel through. Space was at the other end, the stars bright and clear. Distant galaxies shined beyond, and Ronnie’s face froze in fright.

            “Again,” the voice said.

            “Again what?” Ronnie said.

            “Hear it again,” the voice said.

            Ronnie registered the words and grinned.

            “The music again. You want to hear the music again?” he said.

            “Yes. Music,” the voice said.

            “Where is my ship?”

            “Go back,” the voice said.

            He did, but for hours he walked not finding Siouxsie. He slept.

            Waking up, he sat up and cleaned off his mouth. He didn’t hope it was a dream. He wanted answers to why he was there.

            Ronnie pivoted his head and there at his right side was his small vessel, now larger. He squinted to be certain of the growth in size.

            “Suse?” he said and stood up.

            “Again,” the voice said.

            “Alright. Alright,” Ronnie gathered his demeanor knowing he could not change his circumstances for now and laughed at the situation.

            Entering the ship, he searched it, noticing the extra room and how his belongings did not take up as much space anymore.

            “What happened?” he said.

            “Again,” the voice said.

            “Patience,” Ronnie said.

            He moved to his chair again, sat down, and started the sequence of igniting the vessel into travel mode, but to him, he never did it without music and proper music from better eras; at least for his tastes.

            The same song played and Ronnie’s face contorted and flickered with the sounds anew. Colors danced in his skin, the wall going through the beats again. Realizing he searched for clarity he was allowed only one more utterance in that galaxy.

            “Wait, I…”