The house doesn’t face the road or the backyard. It looks out on a cornfield. If you drive up Mallory Lane on a moonless night, it's quite possible to run into it. It looks like a sliver, and it blends in with the landscape as if it, too, is a stalk of corn. It’s not a small homestead. It’s two stories on the west end and three on the east. Each room has a giant window, even the four bathrooms. When my great-grandmother had it built, she wanted corn to be visible from every corner of the house. The gravel driveway wraps around it like a coiled-up snake. Along every curve are sycamore and poplar trees. They make the nicest sounds when the breeze whispers through them. On an evening of a full moon, the house takes on a yellow glimmer that makes it appear to be floating. It is not an optical illusion; it actually does rise above the bending corn stalks once a month.
The Holloways have lived on this land since the founding of Spaulding. At first they had a log cabin. It burnt down in 1860. Great Grandma Spaulding appreciated exactitude. The entire space of the new home was built according to her particular size and proportions. My great-grandfather had to hunch over in ninety percent of the house. He was 6’2”. She was 5’4”. When she passed away giving birth to my grandmother, my great-grandfather ripped off the roof and added a story.
The house now allows for my 6’6” uncles to stand up straight inside of it. They are both widowers. Their wives were twins who were born and died on the very same day, five minutes apart. That day just happens to be my birthday. For some reason, November 10th is a popular day in Spaulding to have babies. I was not born in a hospital. I came into this world in the cornfield while my mother was shucking some corn into a basket. One minute she was stripping off a dry, leafy husk; the next she was wrapping me in a blanket.
This farm has always been my favorite place. The purple skies of Kasegia never made me feel a part of something bigger. The vast open fields of Nebraska have sharpened my identity as a Midwesterner and an American. Everything on Kasegia is sterile and mass-produced. There is something about watching things grow that appeals to me. I know I have to leave Earth soon; I just hope my letters have convinced my mother to let me finish college first.
I stand on the east curve of the driveway and watch the sunset. The heavy stalks bend stiffly from side to side. The brown tips whip in the evening breeze. Late autumn brings with it the dusty, sweet scent of earth and grain. I always walk out into the cornfield on this day at this exact minute. The sun slips beneath the horizon. A hollow rattling is replaced by a raspy hiss as the wind rises and falls with the gusts. The friction and static merge into a deep murmur. The corn vibrates and opens its husks. The kernels loosen themselves from the cob. The scarecrow's arms spin as the streetlights turn on.
The kernels rattle, then release and fly through the air like dandelion seeds. They each make a pop and split open into perfect puffs. They stay afloat on the current, rise higher, then align into perfect rows. I hold up my buckets and let some popcorn fall inside. It is 6:30 p.m. on my 21st birthday. Tater and Tonic bark and run through the piles, howling. They lick up mouthfuls between barks. I feel the warmth of the air as it tightens around me. I hear the isolated taps, the ping…ping of the tiny explosions. One pop. Two pops. The isolated beats become rhythmic and chaotic.
I use my tongue to raise some pieces to my mouth. The corn creaks as it stretches back to its full height. I walk back to the house, dropping puffs as I go. Tonic barks as I step out from between two stalks. Tater follows behind me. The two jump and tussle in the driveway for a few minutes before they come inside. The house suddenly looks smaller. Now that I have to leave, it feels more ordinary. The wood creaks as I climb the stairs. I hear my uncles opening cans of beer, and I smell the yeast and hops.
My uncles, Ernest and Rodney, are watching television in the living room. Each of them holds a large bowl in their lap. Ernest compresses a stick of butter between his palms, and it melts into liquid gold before he thrusts his hands toward my bucket; he transfers a mountain of popcorn from my bucket to his metal basin. The kernels clank quietly as they land in a mound. He licks his gleaming fingers after tossing a handful into his mouth.
Rodney flicks his wrist, and a warm cascade of caramel streams into his vessel. It coats the sides. Kernels leave my bucket and twirl in the air briefly before filling his bowl to the brim. He shakes it until the caramelized sugar coats every piece. “Ooh, I got a prize.” He pulls a small envelope from his jacket pocket. It floats over to me. “I figured you could use some spending money.”
The bills are various shades of purple. I slip the envelope into my pocket. “Thanks, Rodney.”
Ernest pops another handful in his mouth. “I have something for you too.” A large leather-bound book lifts off the sofa. I set my bucket of plain kernels down and open the cover as it lands in my arms. It smells musty and ancient. Each page has a moving drawing snaking around the edges: ivy, streams of water, particles carried by the wind. I run my finger over page six. The smell of cherry blossoms rises as the petals swirl off the page. I let the floral notes fill my nostrils for a moment, then I close the book.
Tonic and Tater start to bark from the kitchen. As I walk in, they are catching pieces of kibble as they rise from their metal bowls. The pellets jerk sideways, then dart upward in small handfuls. Some nuggets hover just above their reach, then all of them come back together into a serving size and land in the dish. They gobble the rest down quickly, then run around the table, knocking over a chair. The thud releases several darts from the board. They skitter across the floor and land at my feet. I pick them up and toss a few at the board. Two are bull's-eyes, and the other hits the rim and falls to the floor. I open a can of beer and take a few sips. Rodney yells “Youngblood” from the living room. My blood is neither young nor recently acclimated to human spirits. It is heavy with familial responsibility and ancestral consequences. Both of which I fear will alter my life tonight.
My Uncle Ernest enters and levitates a dart. It flies into the doubles area. “How did I miss that?” Uncle Rodney raises two darts into the air, and they spin in place for a second before they land on the bull's-eye. “Kernelfest gets better every year.” Ernest scoffs. “Show off.”
A hot fudge sundae appears. As I take the bowl, a candle lights up. I close my eyes and blow it out. The cherry slides off the whipped cream. I pick it up and bite the cherry off its stem. I loathe cake, and every year my uncles conjure different desserts for my birthday. Last year a giant cloud of cotton candy appeared in my hand. The year before, a piece of baklava. I never know what will appear, but I always eat it.
Static crackles through the metal grill on the wall. Susan and Demitri’s voices cut through.
“We missed it. I’m so sorry.”
“Our car ran out of gas, and it started raining, and we had to walk in the rain to a nearby castle.”
Demitri chimes in. I can hear the frustration through the speaker. “And a strange man opened the door, and they were having a party.”
Susan is speaking louder now. “He looked oddly like Riff Raff.” I nibble on my caramel corn. They continue their story until they are singing “The Time Warp.” I join in, and my uncles start dancing. I buzz them in.
Minutes later I see headlights approaching. The tires make a low-frequency hum that switches from a smooth rolling sound to a crunching pattern. When they pull up beside the house, I run outside. Susan is wearing a bright red sequin dress. It shimmers under the porch lights. She kicks off her shoes. They land in the middle of the driveway. She fights with a giant bunch of balloons.
Demitri walks toward me, struggling to carry a giant bear. Its head flops side to side as he pushes its bulk forward with his feet. A bottle of vodka presses against its stomach as he hugs it tightly. As he walks through the living room, he sets the bear in the La-Z-Boy. Then he continues into the kitchen and slides the bottle into the freezer.
“Happy Birthday, Veronica.”
I open the box. Inside is a silver necklace that says VERONICA. I smile. “Thank you, Demitri. I love it.” I lift my long red hair, and he clasps it.
Demitri sits down at the kitchen table and pulls out a bundle of yarn and some knitting needles. He adds another row of green to his striped blanket.
Susan attempts to secure the balloons to the back of a chair. The ribbon unwinds, and several balloons escape. They rise to the ceiling and tap against it as they spread out.
“Balloons are evil. This particular cluster nearly killed us while we drove over here.”
I take a dart off the board and throw it upward. It pops a red balloon, which releases a rapid bang. Susan grabs several darts and tosses them, popping a yellow and blue one. One dart falls back toward us. We step out of its path.
Demitri pops six. Ernest misses his, but miraculously it bursts anyway. Rodney stands in the doorway plugging his ears.
“I hope you are almost done. The dogs are going crazy.”
Tonic and Tater are asleep under the table. Susan bends over and scratches each of them behind the ear. “Remind me why we don’t have cake?”
I tell her the story of my second birthday; I ate an entire sheet cake. I vomited all night. My mother told me it was because my GI tract was sensitive. I didn’t know what a GI tract was. But I remember the pain and the stomach acid that stung for hours after. I prefer pie anyway. At least it has fruit in it.
Susan opens the freezer and grabs a bag of chicken wings. She pours them on a cookie sheet and slides them into the oven. Demitri slices some cheese and meats for the charcuterie board. Ernest sets up Monopoly. “I’m the shoe.”
Rodney sits on the sofa and watches Saturday Night Live. John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd are dancing around as the Blues Brothers. Susan cleans up the piles of latex. Demitri sets the tray of food next to the gameboard. Rodney puts the Community Chest and Chance cards in their spaces on the board.
The corn rustles in the breeze. A gust swings the door open. The screen rattles softly. A soft drizzle suddenly changes into a torrential downpour. I walk over to the doorway as they segue to a commercial. I stand on the porch and watch as pieces of popcorn flow through the stalks and onto the pavement.
Rodney points outside. “And… right on time. Here is your mother.”
“I thought we’d have time to play Monopoly.”
“We will play after you depart. Your friends will need a reset before they leave.”
“I don’t wanna go.”
“Kasegia is a wonderful planet.”
Susan and Demitri are glued to SNL. They don’t seem to hear our conversation.
“If Kasegia is so groovy and rad, why don’t you live there?”
“Don’t be snippy, young lady. You know why.”
I know why the Holloway family has always chosen Spaulding. Wide open spaces feel safe. The crops conceal while they also nurture. Earth is home to a large population of Kasegians. Humans and Kasegians are similar in so many ways. Biologically, we have the same needs. We tell similar stories of love, power, and greed. The Holloways are royalty, and our duty precedes all other facets of life. I am not ready to leave, but I know I have no choice.
A bright light zigzags above the cornfield. The electricity flickers. I smell the EMF. My hair frizzes and rises. My heart rate increases. I sit cross-legged at the top of the steps. The storm passes. The stars brighten. My mother turns slightly to squeeze between two wet corn stalks.
“The weather on this planet is so unpredictable. I just bought this dress, and it's already dirty.”
I stand up and run over and wrap my arms around her waist. She stumbles slightly. “Hello, Veronica.” She pulls me back and spins me around. “I love the outfit. But your hair is a mess.” She flicks her wrist, and my hair untangles and ties itself in a ponytail.
“Thanks. What's with the EMF?”
“Extra layer of protection. It messes with the radar.”
Ernest and Rodney meet us at the top of the steps. The three siblings bump elbows, forming a tight circle.
“You better have brought me some Riguth.”
“You know I did. It’s already in the fridge.”
Susan and Demitri stand when we walk into the room. “Hello, Mrs. H.” Demitri hugs her. Susan hugs her tighter. “It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Holloway.”
“How many times do I need to tell you to call me Victoria?”
They smile. My mother is the eldest daughter, direct heir to the throne. I do not want to be queen. I want to be human. I do not want to travel the galaxy and be an ambassador. I want to graduate from university and be a writer. My mother is staring at me when I come back to reality. She straightens her dress and sits down on the loveseat.
Tater and Tonic run over to her. They put their paws on the sofa and lean in and lick her on the face. They give her a happy whine as she pats them on the head. “I know you don’t want to leave Earth.”
Susan and Demitri go back to watching late-night television while my mother starts packing my clothes into the family travelling trunks. The white is for clothes. The yellow for shoes and the dark blue is for incidentals. Kasegians prefer their belongings to be sorted in particular ways. She is still petting Tonic and Tater.
The floor rumbles as several travel trunks come to rest on the wooden floor. Each trunk creaks open, and items fold and stack into their correct places.
My clothes no longer fit into the white trunk. My shopping spree at J.L. Brandeis & Sons and Thomas Kilpatrick Co. requires half the yellow one as well. I bought clothes thinking it would help me fit in at NYU. Now they will help me stand out on Kasegia. I can hear the metal pressing on the hinges as the two trunks try to close.
My bedding makes its way into the oversized blue container, along with my Snoopy, Kermit, and Monchhichi Monkey. The giant bear floats upstairs and gets placed on top; then the blue trunk latches itself shut. My human life is now confined to the trunks. They float downstairs.
Susan and Demitri are locked into the show. They can’t take their eyes off of the skit—Jane Curtin is talking to her Conehead family.
“How long are you going to daze them?”
“Long enough for you to come to terms with what is happening.”
“Can I come back?”
“It might be a while. But eventually for visits, yes.”
Susan and Demitri aren’t blinking. Their eyes are now watering. "Plop, plop, fizz, fizz, oh, what a relief it is!" They stare at the bubbles. The screen goes black for a moment, then another commercial starts. "Flick your Bic." Their eyes glow briefly as the lighter ignites.
My mother watches me as my mind accepts the terms. I nod. The golden arches come into view as a family drives into the parking lot. A giant Grimace statue greets them at the door. "You deserve a break today." I nod again. “Fine. Let them go.”
Demitri blinks first, then starts singing the Alka-Seltzer jingle. Susan hums the McDonald's theme. They look at one another and shout, “Is it live, or is it Memorex?”
The white trunk floats out the front door and bumps into some stalks before it rises higher and moves slowly over the corn.
Rodney and Ernest dodge the yellow trunk as it clears the bottom step.
“Watch it, Victoria.”
“You knew it was coming. Stay away from the stairs.”
The blue trunk smacks into the wall several times. It won’t fit through the doorframe. It appears outside in the driveway. I’m not sure how it got there. It makes several skid marks on the pavement before it lifts above the stalks and vanishes.
Just as she ends her sentence, several large crates of books make their way down the stairs. My mother sighs and stands up. “I suppose we will need to pack some dog supplies.” I hear metal bowls and bags of kibble start moving around the kitchen.
I go upstairs to make sure my mother hasn’t forgotten to pack anything. My room is empty. Even the posters, lava lamp, and beanbag are gone. I open my closet doors; just a few empty hangers remain.
I kneel and read the many quotes and drawings I have carved into the wall. I run my fingers over them. I hold back a sob. I stand up and walk to the center of the room.
“Veronica, we need to leave.”
I feel the compression in my ears. A trickle of blood drips out of my nose. A low-frequency hum causes my ears to ring. I can feel my heartbeat. The throbbing makes my head hurt. I feel the static electricity in the breeze as it lifts the curtains on my open window. The stalks bend outward as the ship compresses the air before it lands in the clearing.
“Veronica, now please.”
I step on the loose floorboard. It pops open. I gather up my shoeboxes of photographs and tchotchkes. I take one more look around my room and close the door behind me. I carry the two keepsake boxes close to my chest as I trot down the stairs.
Susan and Demitri are talking to my mother. She is telling them about the hotels in Europe that she and I will be staying in. She describes the tea sandwiches at high tea she loves. It sounds like a wonderful trip. Too bad we will be traveling the galaxy instead.
They both look up at me as I take the last step. “Your mother tells us you are flying to London for a few months. Send us some Cadbury.” I hug them both. “You will be back, right?” I smile, then look at my mother. She nods. I hug them again, trying not to cry. “I’ll be back. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Susan straightens a few red sequins on her dress. “Well… I can’t promise any of that.” Demitri laughs. “Happy Birthday. We’ll miss you.” I run my finger over the necklace. My name feels different in cursive.
Ernest turns the knob, and the volume rises. Rodney laughs loudly at The Tonight Show. Johnny Carson is wearing a sparkly turban on his head. Susan and Demitri join them. I hear Susan snort as she laughs. Demitri comments on the crystal ball Johnny is rubbing with his hand.
My uncles wave through the window. My mother and I walk into the cornfield; I touch the stalks and try to memorize their texture and smell. As we reach the clearing, our ship becomes visible, and we step aboard. Homer and Wilma meet us at the top of the ramp. They tap elbows with my mother.
Wilma hugs me. “I’ve missed you. I am so happy you are staying this time.” I smile. “I’ve missed you too, Wilma.”
I look back at the house. It seems bigger now. I see my uncles and best friends watching TV through the window.
I take a deep breath, then look around the ship. The surfaces smell sterile, and the air has a hint of ozone. My skin temperature lowers gradually, allowing me to acclimate to the dryness. I lean against a smooth, seamless wall as the craft rises.
I look out the observation window as Mallory Lane thins into a thread below me. Nebraska shrinks into a small shape. North America hides behind a thick layer of cloud cover. I blink at the flash of light. Gravity shifts. Then we are in the vacuum of space.
“Happy Birthday.”
Wilma bumps elbows with me and then bends over to pick up a large box. “I knew you might want this.” She sets it on the table in the galley. I untie the bright pink ribbon and lift the lid. Inside are a turntable and speakers.
“Wow, thank you, Wilma. But I don’t…”
“Have any albums? Well, surprise, go check out your quarters.”
“No way, really?”
My mother nods. “I approve. Human music will help you settle in.”
“Thank you.”
“Now it's time for you to rest; we have a long journey ahead of us. And I don’t want you to get gravity sickness.” She hugs me and turns to talk to Homer.
As I walk down the narrow corridor, I stop to look back at the planet on which I was born. Earth has a definite shape. Half darkened. There are a few lights sparkling from the shadows. The illuminated half has blue seas and vibrant green flora. It’s beautiful from this distance. There are no country names or continent signs.
When I walk into my room, it is already organized, and the trunks are gone. My lava lamp is glowing purple, and Tonic and Tater are resting on the floor beside my bed. They wag their tails and rub up against my legs as I change into my pajamas.
“Dancing Queen” is spinning on the turntable. It crackles as I raise the volume. A sharp chemical wave of synthetic butter and heavy sugar wafts toward me. I slide the piece of cake into the trash can.
The necklace is cold against my skin. I pick up the giant bear. He smells like Earth. I lay him down on my bed. He hangs off the edge, so I push my twin bed up against the wall. I slip under the blankets, stretch my legs out, and lean up against him.
I stare out the window. The stars aren’t any brighter up here. They still feel billions of miles away.
My eyes flutter and close. I hum the song until I drift off to sleep. I dream of rustling corn and red sequins. I feel the breeze of Earth. I smell the flowers of Kasegia, and I think, maybe being queen won’t be so bad after all.
Melissa Chouinard-Jahant is a high school science teacher and writer living in New Mexico. Her fiction has appeared in White Rabbits Literary Magazine and iExile and is forthcoming in Remington Review. She has also contributed chapters to four collaborative books on education.
