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I've walked that road, I've felt that shame, no place is home, but times they are changing…
2007
Michael lays in the bed of his truck, his sleeping bag cocooned around him, staring up at the night sky. It’s freezing, but he’s distracting himself by counting the stars. Each one represents hope. Thousands of possibilities. Something he can’t find on this planet. Somewhere out there are his people. Somewhere, there is a place where he belongs. A home.
He just wishes he knew where that was.
Max and Isobel don’t care to talk about it. Sure, they want to know where they came from and why they were abandoned in the old turquoise mines. But their desire to find their home is a passing curiosity. This world works for them. They fit in here. They hear. They communicate with others. They have parents that love them. They belong.
Michael has a truck, a job at the junkyard, and that’s about it. There are a total of three people on this entire stupid planet that he can communicate with freely: his two siblings, with which he shares a psychic bond, and his special ed teacher who’s fluent in sign language.
So yeah, he dreams about life up in the stars, a thousand miles away. While Max works at disappearing into words and fantasies, he works at disappearing. While Isobel dreams of white picket fences she thinks will bring her security, he dreams of a real home.
****
1997
He doesn’t know where he is or even who he is. Nothing looks familiar and everything about this strange place feels… wrong. But the girl beside him and the boy pushing out of the pod feel like home, and that’s enough to calm the swell of panic.
The girl’s eyes dart around and she’s shaking. She’s afraid, he realizes. He reaches out to grab her hand and instantly, he feels a connection open to her. He can feel her inside of him, her fear, her confusion, but overwhelmingly, a trust. And it would be strange, except he trusts her, too. He doesn’t remember this girl but somehow, he knows her.
Where are we? she asks him as they watch the other boy finish climbing out of the pod and instantly shy away from them.
I don’t know, he responds. Together they take tentative steps towards the boy. He keeps shaking his head and maybe they shouldn’t push him, but he just knows, he knows that this boy is a part of them. He belongs. And he needs them.
He reaches out his hand and the moment his hand falls onto the boy’s shoulder, the connection is open and it’s overpowering. The boy is all flashes of pain, sorrow, and darkness. Though he huddles before them unbound, in his head, he’s locked in chains and screaming. So much screaming.
The girl drops to her knees, covering her ears, and cries.
Leave me alone! the boy yells at them.
He looks around for help, but they are alone in this strange place. The three of them. And no matter how dark and scary this boy’s head is, he knows that he is one of them and therefore, they can’t leave him.
He sinks to his knees until he’s face to face with the boy, who is now curled up in a ball, looking much smaller than either he or the girl. He reaches out and places his hands on either side of the boy’s face to get him to look at him. Once he does, he’s careful to push forward feelings of calm, quiet, and family.
We stick together. The three of us. You have nothing to fear, he tells the boy.
The boy doesn’t stop screaming, nor does the darkness dissipate, but the quick flashes between fear and loathing begin to slow. The girl sits down next to the boy and takes his hand, pushing forward her own feelings of love and eventually the darkness dims and the screaming stops.
We’re alone, the boy says. He sounds so broken.
He shakes his head and reaches out to grasp the boy’s hand first, then the girl’s, forming a circle.
We have each other.
****
2007
Michael sits in his resource room with his special ed teacher. They are the only two people in the class and it’s been like this ever since Michael transferred to Roswell. They are reviewing ADA laws and his rights, because his teacher feels like he needs to understand how things are going to change for him once he graduates this spring and no longer has the legal protection of IDEA and an IEP. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that not much is going to change for him after graduation. Things suck for him now and they’ll continue to suck for him in the future. This world isn’t made for him.
HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO DO AFTER GRADUATION? she asks.
He shrugs. He doesn’t say that he’s already applied to UNM. Max helped him fill out the paperwork last week. He doesn’t think he’ll get in and he’d rather not have to share the embarrassment of rejection with any more people than he has to.
YOU CAN APPLY FOR GALLAUDET, she tells him for the millionth time. When he doesn’t react, she continues. NTID HAS AN ENGINEERING PROGRAM THAT I THINK YOU’D LOVE.
He shakes his head. It’s not that he doesn’t understand where she’s coming from. His math scores are high enough that he’d be accepted in a heartbeat despite his reading problems. Attending a college for the Deaf bypasses many of the challenges that getting into and attending a hearing university presents. But he’s not going to find the answers he’s looking for on the other side of the country.
His family crashed in New Mexico sixty years ago and if he’s going to find a way back home, it’s going to be here. Attending UNM three hours away is as far as he’s willing to go.
YOU CAN STAY, she signs. IDEA GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO STAY IN SCHOOL UNTIL THE AGE OF 22. YOU DON’T HAVE TO GRADUATE IF YOU AREN’T READY YET.
Michael looks around the closet they call a classroom before glaring at his teacher. YEAH, I’M NOT STAYING HERE.
She gives him a sad, knowing smile.
THERE IS MORE OUT THERE FOR YOU THAN THIS, she signs, pointing around the room.
And she’s right. There is. It’s just that he’s going to have to leave the solar system to find it.
***
1997
The home they are brought to is weird. Several days of living here hasn’t changed his mind on that fact. The people here make them wear itchy, restricting cloth. They eat at specific times of the day rather than when their bodies tell them they require sustenance. They make his sister sleep separately from them at night, even though they make it obvious that it makes them all uncomfortable to be separated. And there are all these other rules that he doesn’t understand and thus, is always getting in trouble for not following.
Still, it’s shelter from the elements. There’s food and water on a decent schedule, which, considering how dead the land outside appears, is something to be treasured. He can’t promise his siblings the same access to nourishment on their own out there even if he wants to run. And that’s why he stays. Because he has a duty to his family to make sure they have what they need to survive.
This odd home will do for now, while they wait for their parents to find them. Because, despite the skepticism he receives from his sister and brother he believes that their parents will come looking for them. It’s just a matter of time.
What is a cult? his sister asks, coming into the shared space where the adults keep all of the toys.
He has already been up and ready for over an hour. He’d woken up early when his brother had another fit that required he crawl into bed with him and calm him down. Another reason why his sister should be able to sleep with them. She would be able to do her dream trick on their brother to help him rest. But no. She has to sleep in her own room with the other females of this species. He doesn’t care for it.
A cult? he asks, giving her a strange look.
It’s not a word he’s familiar with. Then again, many of the words they use in this place are new to him. He’s only learning through his sister. The people here move their mouths to communicate in a way that doesn’t make sense to him, but she seems to be learning how to decipher their weird lip language. She’s been using that knowledge to teach him and in return, they both work together to figure out their next move.
The adults were communicating about us again, she explains, looking to where their brother is curled up into his side. He’s content for now looking at a book, but he tries not to stray too far away from him because there’s never any telling when he’s going to go to that dark place.
Did you sleep at all? she asks him privately, muting the connection to their brother but keeping her eyes on him all the same.
Some , he says, because it’s the truth and that’s at least an improvement from the first two nights when their brother had screamed the entire night long. What did they say about a cult?
That’s where they think we came from, she explains, her eyes drifting away from their brother and back to him.
That’s weird, if it was their home, wouldn’t the name be familiar to them?
Maybe they don’t have the word for our home in their language, she says, answering the question he didn’t ask her.
If that’s true, that means they found our family, he says with a smile.
Their brother closes his book, he can only tell by the small puff of air it causes. He looks down at their brother who glares at him.
No family. Only three.
He sighs. Okay, yes, but we have a family out there. And they are going to be looking for us, he argues. The connection between himself and his brother opens wider and a rush of negative emotions hits hard.
His sister reaches out a hand to warn him and places her other hand on their brother’s shoulder, pushing calming emotions out to both of them.
No family, their brother says, still irritated, but thankfully the connection grows more muted and he’s no longer in danger of throwing another fit.
You know how he gets, why do you have to push at him like you do? she asks him.
He shrugs and lets his eyes wander to stare out the window. These two may be his family, but it’s not enough. He knows that there is somebody out there looking for him. He can feel it… someone is calling to him. He doesn’t understand why his siblings don’t feel the pull.
****
2007
Michael feels a gust of cool air enter the locker room, signaling the opening of the door. He quickly grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste and shoves it into his jeans. He doesn’t need anyone getting proof that he lives in his truck these days. He’s not 18 for another nine months and the last thing he wants is to be dragged back to the group home he ran away from last month. Or worse, be placed somewhere new. It had taken him four years to get back to Roswell and he can’t chance being taken away from his siblings again.
A group of boys in letterman jackets enter and he tenses, but they take one look at him and leave him alone. He rolls his eyes. These assholes will push around every other kid at school, but they suddenly have morals when it comes to the special ed kid. They don’t fool him. Humans suck. Every last one of them.
He walks out of the locker room and feels a confusion that isn’t his own and instantly winces. He schools his face and turns around to see Isobel standing there, questioning. He closes off his mind until only a small window remains open to her. Enough to communicate through, but nothing else. He doesn’t want her getting curious and snooping around for information he’s not ready to give.
Why are you here so early? she asks.
Shower is busted at the home, he lies.
It’s not effortless, but he’s learned enough tricks over the years on how to manipulate their connection so that his siblings don’t get access to all of his truth. He may have forgiven them for abandoning him all those years ago, but that doesn’t mean he trusts them with his abuse. There’s a cruelty to this world that they don’t understand, nor does he want them to. He’s glad that Isobel and Max are as sheltered as they are. Relieved.
You could have used ours, she says. He just shrugs. He doesn’t bother telling her that Anne Evans always looks at him with skepticism or that Dave Evans always watches the valuables extra close whenever Michael’s around.
What are you doing here so early? he asks, changing the subject before she can ask too many questions.
She holds up a stack of flyers to the fall festival she’s been planning and smiles at him in the way she always does when she wants a favor.
He shakes his head no, even as Isobel hands him a roll of tape and half of the flyers.
You’re the best, she says, kissing his cheek and walking off before he can protest.
He rolls his eyes and sighs. At least putting up the flyers will give him an excuse for being at school so early. Not that any teachers will ask. None of them know how to communicate with him nor do they even try.
He’s putting a flyer up on the wall outside of the music room when he feels the subtle vibrations and it sends a calm through him that’s new. It’s not like the connection he has with his siblings where they can push their emotions into him and help drown out his own. This is different. It doesn’t drown, it silences.
He drops the tape and flyers to the ground and places both of his hands flat against the wall and closes his eyes. It’s quiet, but it’s not empty. It’s steady and it’s safe and it’s… it’s an entirely different pull than he’s used to. He drops his hands from the wall and opens his eyes, intent on opening the door and figuring out the source of this relief, when a hand on his shoulder shocks him. Instantly, the peace evaporates and the chaos is back.
ARE YOU OKAY? his teacher asks.
He looks back at the closed door of the music room before turning back. It was probably stupid anyways. He’s never found comfort on this planet before, what makes him think he’ll suddenly find the answers to the universe in an underfunded music room anyways?
SINCE YOU’RE HERE EARLY, WHY DON’T WE WORK ON THAT ENGLISH PAPER THAT’S OVERDUE? she says it like he has a choice in the matter. When he doesn’t answer, she adds, I BROUGHT BAGELS.
He relents. Bagels sound so much better than the stale cereal they’re going to pass out in the cafeteria to all the free and reduced kids.
****
1997
He sits at the chair by the window staring out into the yard. They’ve been at this home for so many sleeps that he doesn’t know how to mark the time passing anymore, he ran out of fingers to count. There’s a paper on the wall that the adults put an X over at each sunrise, which he supposes is how they determine time in this place. There have been a lot of Xs. More than three pages have been filled. And yet, nobody has come to get them. The one woman with the red and blue lights stops by often. His sister says the woman is trying to find their parents, but she’s had no luck.
He wonders if something bad happened to them. The love he feels in his bones doesn’t equate to being abandoned in a cave on a dead world. He tries not to worry too hard about that though, because if he does, he starts to feel alone and his emotions make him useless. He needs to be alert enough to take care of his siblings. They need him to stay strong. Besides, his brother projects enough negative emotions into the world without him piling even more onto their load.
He’s having a rough day , his sister says, coming to sit beside him. She takes his hand and instantly the connection between them intensifies and he feels a rush of calm that he’d desperately needed after last night. He sends her a grateful smile.
He was up all night, he tells her, looking back to check on his brother. He’s exactly where he left him. On the floor with the blank paper and red crayon one of the adults has given him. His sister says that they think their brother just needs to find an outlet. That’s the word they used. Outlet. They have no idea what it means.
I don’t know how to help him when he’s like this, he says, growing frustrated. They both look to him for the answers and he has none.
You help him more than you think , she says, pushing forward feelings of love and adoration. He doesn’t tell her that it just makes him feel more guilty, but he doesn’t have to. She can feel everything he feels. You are helping him. He’s getting better. Today’s just a bad day.
He looks back behind him to make sure that their brother isn’t paying them any mind and taps on their connection to make sure it’s still muted. He’s getting better at shutting his siblings out when he wants space. He scares me. The things in his head…
He doesn’t say what he’s been thinking — that there’s something different about their brother — but he doesn’t have to. His sister always knows.
He’s ours, she says firmly, giving him a look that he’s learned means she won’t be argued with.
Of course he’s ours, he says. And he means it. He feels a pull to his brother just as he does to his sister. It just scares me. He’s always dreaming about those chains.
His sister glances around the room before scooting closer to him and pulling his hand into her lap. I think they hurt him. Where we’re from? I don’t think that place was kind to him.
He stiffens at that and gets an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach at her words. She keeps pushing though. I know neither of us remember where we are from, but you can remember the feelings, right?
He nods. He can’t picture their home, but when he thinks of it, there’s warmth and light and love. So much love. His sister feels that, too.
When I pull on his memory of home, all I see is darkness and fear , she says.
He looks back over his shoulder at his brother. He hasn’t moved. He’s actually started drawing on the paper, which is new. He usually just stares at the blank page for hours until one of the adults finally gives him a book to get lost into.
I don’t know how to help him when I can’t understand him , he says, eyes trained on his brother, looking for any indication of what’s wrong. Despite going into his brother’s dreamscape with his sister numerous times, they’ve yet to find any real answers.
He turns back to meet his sister’s eyes. He’s just so different from us, he finishes.
And it’s true. His brother isn’t the same as them. With his sister, there’s an equality. When they share their connection or when his sister brings him into her dreamscape, there’s a similarity. With his brother… it’s different. He knows that his brother belongs to him, but he’s not convinced that he’s entirely one of them.
A wave of anger passes over them and he turns around to see his brother glaring at him. He realizes that his brother had opened up their connection without him realizing it. Which means his thoughts hadn’t been as private as he thought.
His brother looks betrayed and his heart sinks. A wave of worry hits him from his sister as they both stand up and walk over to him.
Three! his brother stands up, crumpling the paper and throwing it to the side. His fists are white with rage and he’s surprised that the crayon still in his grasp hasn’t broken yet. His brother opens his mouth wide and his sister instantly covers her ears and shrinks into the soft blue bench.
Three. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three.
He stands there unsure of what to do. Normally, when his brother is upset, it’s something that one of the adults have done. He can step in, grab his hand, and force soothing emotions through their connection until he stops. But this is something that he’s caused. The thing that his brother is mad at is him.
His brother turns, mouth still open, and begins to draw on the wall.
He throws his head back to look at the ceiling as he lets out a long sigh. The adults aren’t going to like this.
His brother draws the symbol on the wall. The one they all know but can’t read. The one that feels like home, but they can’t remember. He draws it and draws it and draws it and keeps drawing it as he continues to scream out, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three, three!
It goes on for what feels like forever, when his sister finally reaches out and touches him, getting his attention.
You have to help him , she pleads.
He nods, knowing that he’s responsible for this mess so he needs to be the one to fix it. He reaches out and grabs the crayon out of his brother’s hands.
Three! he says loudly to be heard over the storm of his brother’s mind, yanking the crayon out of his hand.
It works to a degree. He’s shocked enough to close his mouth. The moment he does, his sister reaches out and pulls on his arm until he sits down next to her, wrapping his arm around her. She closes her eyes and he knows that she’s flooding his senses with calming thoughts.
Three, Okay? I hear you, he assures him as he stares at the mess of the wall, trying to figure out how to keep the adults from getting mad about the mess. It’s the three of us. Together. Always.
Always, his sister says, opening her eyes to smile at him fondly before she focuses her attention back on their brother.
Together, their brother says, quiet but firm.
He doesn’t notice anything at first except for the fact that his connection to his brother is severed instantly and he feels his sister grow nervous. He turns around to see that one of their adults enters the room with two new adults. The new ones eye him with a look that he doesn’t have the word for but it has him blushing and ducking his head in shame. It’s when he looks down that he sees the crayon still in his hand and he quickly shoves it in the pocket of his pants.
She says that these people want to talk to us about home, his sister tells him and instantly his eyes dart up and his heart swells with hope.
They know where our home is? he asks, looking at them carefully, trying to see if there is anything familiar about them. There isn't. They don’t seem to be their people. But maybe they know where to find their parents.
The adult guides his siblings to stand up and the new adults each take one of their hands. He moves to go with his siblings, but he’s held back. He looks up at the woman who has been feeding and clothing them all of these sunrises and she’s shaking her head at him.
He doesn’t understand.
What’s happening? he asks.
I don’t know, his sister says, sounding frantic as the door closes and his siblings are beyond his sight.
Where are they taking you? he asks, moving to go after them, but he’s held back by a pair of arms that are much stronger than he anticipated.
Where are they taking you? He calls out again, louder.
He doesn’t get a response and so he closes his eyes and focuses on the connection. The one between him and his brother is closed shut. He can’t access it at all. So he pushes on the one with his sister. It’s still open and he can feel her fear and panic, but her thoughts are moving too quickly to get her to respond to him.
He tries to push past the woman. He pulls at her arms, trying to pry them off of him, but they don’t move. He picks up one of the toys within reach and tries to hit her with it as he struggles to get free. He has to go after his siblings. If they are going home, why aren’t they taking him? It doesn’t make sense.
He flings his body around, throwing his head back into the woman’s chest as he cries out for his siblings. He kicks and he pulls and he hits and he bites. Eventually, the woman lets go of him and he runs for the door, but before he can reach it himself, the door opens and one of the men from the home comes in. He reaches out to hit him and his arms are grabbed. He’s turned around and his arms are crossed in front of his chest and he’s held so tightly that he can’t move his body. He throws his head back against the man’s chest again and again, but he doesn't budge.
Let me go! he yells, knowing that it’s hopeless. This species doesn’t respond to him when he talks. He’s not sure they even hear him when he communicates.
We’ll find you, his sister says, sounding broken. So broken.
Don’t leave me here , he cries out.
We’ll come back, she says and he can barely feel her, the connection is growing distant.
No. NO! he screams, pulling so hard at the arms around him that he feels something in his shoulder pop.
I’ll look after him, she promises. Stay strong.
And then he feels the connection between them die completely and it’s as if somebody reached into his chest and ripped his heart out. It’s suddenly hard to breathe. He’s alone. For the first time, he’s completely alone in this world and he understands why his brother had all of that darkness inside of him.
It was supposed to be the three of them.
****
2007
Michael sits on the tailgate of his truck with Max as they pass a bottle of acetone back and forth. They’re parked far enough away from the lighting ceremony that nobody will bother them, but close enough that they can still see the crowd and the lights. It’s a compromise. Max is a sucker for Christmas lights but Michael hates crowds.
I can’t wait to leave this place, Max says, taking another swig from the bottle.
His energy is more muted today but Michael catches feelings of bitterness and isolation. His connection to Max has always been more difficult to navigate than the one he shares with Isobel. Michael loves him deeply, but he doesn’t understand him. He’s a walking contradiction.
Max is the loneliest kid in school. And yet, he has two loving parents who treat him like a gift. He has a bond in his siblings to carry his emotional burdens for him. He can speak and hear and has a way with written words that Michael envies, so he’s not isolated due to an inability to communicate. He eats regular meals and has a comfortable place to sleep at night and still…
Michael pities Max. He’s protective over him. He puts a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder and accepts the bottle handed to him.
Don’t you ever grow tired of this town? Max asks him, his eyes on the window of the Crashdown Cafe, where Liz Ortecho is inside, dancing and laughing with Kyle Valenti. Even through the muted connection, he can feel the pull Max has towards Liz. It’s the same pull Michael feels towards home.
He looks up at the night sky. It’s not nearly as bright from the city center. Especially this time of year with all of the Christmas lights out. He prefers the view from Foster Ranch.
All the time, he says, taking a long swig from the bottle before handing it back.
Max turns it down, eyes never leaving the window. Michael doesn’t know when Kyle and Liz became a thing. He’s very much distanced from the high school gossip due to his self-contained placement. But it explains why his connection to Max has been dulled recently.
He reaches out with his foot and lightly kicks Max to get his attention.
Did you apply to any colleges yet? he asks, hoping the question will pull his brother out of the funk he’s found himself in.
Max shakes his head.
I want to travel the world. There’s a momentary feeling of hope that comes with the words.
Michael wants to tell him that he won’t find answers backpacking through Europe, but he doesn’t. He’s always more careful with Max. More cautious. His memories of when they were young have grown foggy with time, but he still remembers how Max had clung to him, depended on him.
People that look at the three of them together, always peg Max for the leader. And Michael lets him assume that role because it makes him feel like he has a purpose. But Michael feels a responsibility for Max’s happiness and wellbeing and would do anything to protect him. Has done everything to protect him.
What are you going to do? he asks, pushing down the feeling of guilt he still has for burying that drifter. Max doesn’t need to feel that.
Max shrugs. Write. Discover. Find myself?
Michael lays back in the truck and stares at the sky. That’s all he wants too. To find himself. To belong.
****
1999
He’s awoken from his sleep when the house shakes and it takes him only a second to realize that the red and blue painting his walls is from flashing lights outside. The men in uniform are here. He’s had enough encounters with those lights that he knows to hide almost instantly. He stands up and moves over to the closet, stepping inside and ducking behind several pairs of pants. Men in uniform mean trouble, and trouble means getting hit, and getting hit means his skin will be black and blue and ache whenever he moves.
He crouches there for a long while, long enough for his thighs to get sore, but he doesn’t dare move. The walls keep shaking and the floor keeps moving, but nobody comes into his space. Perhaps the lights aren’t for him, this time. Perhaps they’re here to take his fake parents away. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Michael’s been sleeping here for 14 pages worth of Xs and he’s come to realize that this world he finds himself living in is cruel and relentless. It’s filled with the most awful of people who enjoy his pain. It’s filled with indifferent people without any compassion. And worst of all, are the helpers. The ones who look at him with kindness but make decisions about his life without a care for his own desires. It had been the helpers who drove him away from the last place he ever saw his siblings. It had been helpers who sat him next to a boy on his first day of school who ended up eating all of his food and pushing him to the ground.
The men in uniform who belong to the flashing lights? They are helpers. They are the ones who pick him up every time he tries to run back to the cave where his pod is. They don’t get mad when he kicks and hits. They give him water and plenty of food to eat and touch his shoulder with affection. And yet, they always drive him back to this miserable home. They drink from bottles with his fake father at the fire outside and wave their hands at his fake mother when they pass by on the street.
No. Michael prefers it when his enemies don’t pretend to be on his side.
He closes his eyes tight, searching for any connection, but like every time he’s tried before, there’s nothing.
Where are you? he asks the ether, praying somebody hears him. His mom. His dad. His sister or brother. I need you.
When he continues to feel nothing but his own emotions, he pulls his knees to his chest and hugs them tight and tries to remember what his sister’s arms had felt like. How it felt to have a connection to constant love and affection. What it was like not to be alone. He tries to remember the way his brother would hold his hand tight and look at him with such trust, like he had all of the answers. He tries to remember a life where he belonged. Where he had a family to love him.
It feels like another lifetime and sometimes he wonders if he made the entire thing up. If he even has siblings out there. Sometimes it’s easier to believe it’s all a lie than to face the fact that the only family he’s ever known had been taken away from him. His sister had promised him they’d be back. He watched sunrise after sunrise, waiting. He watched the adults mark X after X after X for pages. And nothing. Nobody came for him. Nobody wants him.
He’s never found out what happened to them. He’s tried to ask, but he’s yet to find a child or adult who can understand him. His sister made it seem so easy. After only a few sleeps on this world, she’d started to understand the language of this species. He’s never been able to. He watches them move their lips and yet, nothing. None of it makes any sense to him. No matter how hard he concentrates.
What he does understand is body language. The tightening of his fake father’s fists… The flare of his fake mother’s nostrils… The widening of his teacher’s eyes… The shaking of his classmates' shoulders… This species communicates so much with their bodies alone, and it’s that language that he’s learned to imitate.
He's successful enough. He’s learned when he sits up tall in his chair, the teacher will expect him to participate, but when he slinks into his chair, she’ll leave him alone. He’s learned if he shows his teeth to a kid at school, they’ll look down their nose at him and huddle up next to another classmate, moving their lips close to that classmate’s ear. He’s learned if he lets his eyes water, the older ladies in the lunchroom will give him extra food, but if he takes the package of gold crackers from his teacher’s desk, he’s going to be sent to the special room. He knows not to step into the living room when the crystals and needles are out, but if he does so when the buckets, bottles, and tubes are out, his fake mom will let him help and then give him extra sweets.
A flood of white light seeps through the cracks in the closet, signaling that the door to the room is open. He sucks in a big breath and holds it, as his body shakes, terrified of being caught.
Please, please, please, help me. I’m scared, he says, pushing his fear out into the universe despite not having a connection to send it to. He has to believe that if it’s at all possible, his siblings will hear him and come find him. That they wouldn’t have left him here all alone in this awful place. I don’t want to be alone.
There’s a momentary pull at his heart, but it’s not his sister or his brother, this he knows for sure, and he doesn’t have the time to dwell on what it is he feels. He closes his eyes so that he can focus his attention on the subtle vibrations of footsteps on the floorboards. Whoever it is, they are wearing heavy shoes, so he knows it has to be a uniform. The footsteps move to the bed and pause. Then they move towards the closet. His hand curls into fists, ready to fight as the door to the closet swings open.
Instantly, Michael lashes out, taking the uniform by surprise. It’s the advantage he needs as he slips past the uniform and runs out of the room. There are two uniforms holding his fake father down while a third uniform places metal cuffs around his fake mother. There are two other uniforms in the kitchen looking at the tubes and bottles. He runs out of the house before they can notice that he’s bolting and grab him.
Michael runs past more uniforms talking by their cars, though these guys are quick enough to immediately perk up and start chasing him. They are bigger and faster, but Michael is small and he knows all of the shortcuts in the area. Michael runs towards the home with the small hole in the fence and dives through it. He rushes back to his feet and keeps running. He can feel the men still chasing after him, but as he darts through gaps in fences and runs through barns, he can feel his lead gaining.
He doesn’t know where to go, but he doesn’t want to stay here. There’s an invisible string though acting as a compass. He allows it to lead him as he runs. Trusting that there is something better out there for him than this broken, dying place.
****
2008
It’s a bad day. Of course, it’s not like there are really any good ones. But this one specifically is worse than most. He’d been at the gas station this morning, picking up a new thing of deodorant and body wash when he’d run into him. Carl. The fucking religous douchebag who runs the group home that he hasn’t slept at in months. Michael pulls down his sleeves, nervous that his wrist is starting to bruise and people will see. Michael isn’t great at lipreading, but he’d caught his caseworker’s name on Carl’s lips.
His mind has been complete chaos ever since.
Isobel and Max try their best. When he enters the cafeteria, it doesn’t take more than a second for Isobel to stand up, walk over, and take his hand, flooding their connection with love. She walks him over to their table in the back corner and sits him down between herself and Max. Max grabs onto his other hand under the table. Their connection is always stronger with physical touch.
What happened? Max asks, his worry loud and too much.
Michael shakes his head and tries to assure them it’s nothing, but they don’t buy it. They spend the entire period sending him soothing thoughts and trying to drown out his fear and shame with trust, care, and support. All it does is create more disorder.
When the period is over, Michael actually has to pry Isobel off of him and beg Max to make her go to history. He appreciates their concern, he does, but it’s not helping him. And he can’t manage their emotions right now while his own are a complete mess.
Michael tries to smile at them as Isobel continues to stare at him and Max pulls her towards class. He turns and walks towards his own classroom, tucked far away from everyone else, between two storage closets. Usually he hates how isolated it is. Today it’s welcome.
He’s surprised when he sees a boy step out of his room and it stops him in his tracks. The boy is dressed in all black and as he walks closer to Michael, he notices the eyeliner and septum piercing. He’s familiar enough, but Michael doesn’t know his name. He’s just seen him around town hanging out with Liz Ortecho. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing coming out of his classroom, it’s not like the boy is Deaf too.
The boy smiles at him as he walks past and Michael gives a tight smile back. It’s not until the boy disappears down the hall that Michael realizes the tension in his body is gone. The chaos is dulled. He can breathe.
****
1999
Michael sits in a weird booth wearing headphones. His teacher and some other lady who works at the school sit on the other side of a glass window smiling at him encouragingly. He’s supposed to be raising his hand when something happens, but he doesn’t really know what that something is. There’s nobody in the booth with him. No screens to watch. No pictures to look at. It’s just him and the soft walls. He sits there for a while, doing nothing, before he feels a vibration move through him and raises his hand, assuming that has been the something they wanted him to wait for.
He sits there for several long minutes, feeling the occasional vibration and raising his hand each time. He sits there long enough that he starts to feel the walls moving in on him and his heart rate quickens as he imagines being trapped in here forever. The longer they stare at him through the window, the more he realizes this has been a mistake. He’s always avoided letting anyone study him, for fear they would find out that he’s not from this world. The few times he’s moved something with his mind, the reaction from this species has been significant enough to scare him away from ever publicly using his powers.
What if they are discovering what he is? He shouldn’t have gone along with this plan. He’d allowed these women to walk him into this booth voluntarily. But he’s seen The X-Files, he knows that this species will cut him open if they learn where he’s from. Maybe he’s just as stupid as everyone says he is.
He’s building himself up to a proper panic when the door to the booth opens and he is able to run out of it. His teacher stands in the way of the exit and she’s wearing that gentle smile of hers. He debates if she’s one of those people who will smile to his face and stab him in the back. He turns to look at the other woman and she’s got a look of grave concern on her face, which doesn’t make him feel any less like the alien that he is.
She moves her lips, looking at him carefully. Then she points to her ears and shakes her head.
He reaches for his own ears, wondering if they’ve somehow turned green and pointy in the last few minutes, but they feel normal to him.
She points to her ears again and shakes her head.
He doesn’t understand.
What he does understand is that three days later, they try to bring him to a doctor. Michael throws a fit when they pull up to the hospital and he tries to run.
Help! he screams out as his new mom grabs him around the waist and tries to drag him into the building.
Help me! he cries as he pushes his new mom and bites his case manager. He makes it across the parking lot, the invisible string pulling on him again for the first time in a long time and he’s relieved until two nurses catch up to him.
Why aren’t you listening?! he yells, pushing all of his fear out, needing somebody to take it from him. But the string doesn’t do anything but light a path to freedom that he doesn’t have the power to access and his connection to his siblings continues to be nonexistent.
He’s dragged into the hospital as he kicks nurses and makes several chairs fly around the room with his brain.
Fine! he hits one of the doctors in the face. I don’t need you!
He’s held to the ground as he sends a burst of power out. I don’t need anybody!
****
2008
Michael stands in front of their old pods, holding the tiny piece of spaceship. He’d found it at Foster Ranch last week. It’s no bigger than a quarter, but the way it shimmers and shines with a faintly pink glow that feels familiar in the same way the pods do, he knows it’s not of this Earth. He hasn’t told Max or Isobel and he’s not entirely sure why. They are his family. This is their history he’s holding in his hand as much as it’s his own. Still, he’s not ready to share.
He’s spent every day this week at the library reading every science book he can get his hands on so he can figure out what it is he’s got. If he can figure out some answers, maybe he’ll be able to use it to help him find home. Maybe he’ll finally find a place he belongs.
He reaches his hand out and places it against the pod. He’s not sure what he expects. Some flash of memory. A connection to open. He doesn’t get either. He doesn’t even feel the tugging of his heart towards home that is permanently a part of him. His internal compass, his invisible string… It had been so strong when he’d lived in Santa Fe, but it hasn’t been pulling at him as hard since he returned to Roswell.
He’d tried explaining it to Isobel once, and she’d simply told him that it meant Roswell was his home and he should learn to be happy with the life he has. When he’d rejected that and gone to Max, Max had gotten a sad look on his face and told him he understood, but he’d never elaborated any further than that. Michael hadn’t pushed it because he still believes the void in his heart can be filled by the stars. That his answers lie beyond this world and Max has never wanted to talk about where they come from.
He sits down in front of the pod that used to be his own, and stares at the piece of spaceship, wondering. Dreaming of a better life.
This little piece of his people is the purpose he’s been looking for all of his life. It has to be. And if he could just figure out all the answers to the thousands of questions racing through his mind, maybe he could finally breathe.
He is going to learn everything there is to know and then he’s going to rebuild his spaceship if it’s the last thing he does.
****
2000
They’ve been bussing Michael to the school across town for the last three weeks. Weeks. That’s what this species calls the passing of 7 sunrises. And when they hit 4 weeks and the page on the wall is filled with Xs, they go on to a new month. Month.
It’s kind of brilliant. They’ve been bussing him across town to a new classroom where everybody uses their body to communicate. And it’s so much easier to learn this language that operates by pairing hand shapes with facial cues than that weird lip language ever was. His classmates still look down their nose at him and the school still has stupid rules he has to follow that make no sense, but his teacher is kind and smart and he’s learning so much about this world now that he can understand.
Last week, his teacher taught them about the weather. They were shown pictures from all around this world and it’s the first time he realized that this entire land isn’t brown and lifeless. He’d been in awe as she flashed through mountains of white and talked about crystals falling from the sky. He’d been shocked to see the lifeless sand he hates paired with endless water. But most of all, he’d fallen in love with all of the green. So much greenery which spoke of a life that is so desperately lacking in this place. It was the first time that he understood why his family might have come to this land. And he wondered if that is the kind of place he’ll find his parents... If that’s where they sent his siblings... Somewhere that things are meant to grow and thrive.
And then his excitement had crashed as he remembered that his siblings hadn’t come back for him. His parents left him. And he’d wondered, not for the first time, why he’d been left here in the place where things go to die.
He looks out the window of the bus as it moves through the town and further out towards the trailers where they have him living. His home is deceptive smiles that always end with him crying and in pain. His new parents had been nice enough when they’d attended the meeting at school where everyone realized Michael couldn’t understand their language. They’d been kind and concerned and signed the papers that allowed him to go to a new school. But at home, it’s not kind. There isn’t love or even compassion. The longer he lives in this home, the more cruel they become.
The bus jolts to a stop and when he looks up, he realizes it’s his stop. He stands up and walks to the front of the bus.
BYE, the driver signs with his hands.
BYE, he signs the way his teacher showed him, then steps off the bus. His new dad’s truck isn’t outside, and he lets out a breath of relief. If his dad is still at work, he only has to worry about his mom. It’s always easier fending off an attack when it’s only coming from one side. He squares his shoulders, preparing for battle. Then he walks up to the door, pulls the key out from under the mat, and lets himself into the house.
When he steps into the home, he crinkles his nose at the smell of old bottles and stale air. He never gets used to it. The fabric on the windows is drawn and the lights are off, so the only thing lighting up the room is the television screen. His new mom is sleeping on the couch, surrounded by several empty bottles and old food containers.
He watches her closely as the door swings shut behind him, but she doesn’t wake. The tension leaves his body as he realizes that she’s going to be like this for hours. He smiles to himself and walks over to the kitchen. He pulls a chair over to the counter so he can reach the cabinet where they hide the food. He uses his mind on the lock meant to keep him out, and pulls down a bag of chips, three slim jims, and four cereal bars. He’s careful to reset the lock this time — a lesson he only had to learn once. He then walks back into his room, locks the door behind him, and uses his mind to move the heavy dresser in front of the door.
If he’s lucky, nobody will break the door down tonight and he won’t have to leave this room until it’s time for school tomorrow.
Michael drops his food on the bed, followed by his backpack. He then kicks his shoes off and crawls into the bed. Once he’s comfortable, he unwraps a cereal bar and shoves it in his mouth as he unzips his backpack, pulling out the book his teacher had graciously let him take home.
See, something else he’s been learning apart from how to use his hands to request the things he wants, is that he really, really loves science class. It’s not just that they get to look at pretty pictures of living things. It’s that they get to learn how things work. They get to study systems and witness cycles and on the best days, they are allowed to build. Michael loves to create solutions to problems. He likes working with his hands. He loves everything about the class.
When his teacher had read them the book about something called organisms today, he’d been fascinated. It turns out, this world has so much more life in varied forms than he ever imagined. And so when the book was over and it was time to head outside for gym, he’d stayed behind to look through the bin of science books, desperate to learn more. He hadn’t wanted to go to class, not until his teacher handed him a book and told him he could take it home.
He opens the first page and smiles at all of the different life forms that exist, eyeing each one carefully and wondering. See, today they’d been making observations and figuring out how some life forms were the same and different, and it got him thinking. He’s similar enough to this species of people. So similar that they assume he’s one of them. And yet, none of this species can move things with their mind. They can’t understand him when he communicates using only his brain. They don’t have connections that he can pull on in order to share feelings and comfort.
It has him wondering if there are other organisms on this planet that share similarities to him. He gets lost in the book, looking at all of the pictures and trying to make sense of the arrangement of letters into words. It frustrates him, because he wants to understand what the book is saying, so he can learn more. Still, he studies the pictures and makes mental notes of things he wants to show his teacher so she can help him make sense of this world.
A stream of white lights up the room through the window and he knows that his new father is home from work. He sinks further into his bed with his book and a slim jim and prays for a peaceful night where he’s left alone.
****
2008
Michael sits in the hallway outside of the science lab during his free period. He has his knees up and a notebook resting against them, so nobody walking past can see what he’s writing. He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with using his free period to try and learn as much chemistry as he can glean from notes on a blackboard… but he’s pissed off humans for stupider shit and it’s not worth the risk. Any referral to the office puts him at risk of his caseworker getting called. There’s only so many times he’ll be allowed to run away before they place him in a different foster situation.
So he tries to be as subtle as possible as he writes down words like redox reaction and draws the accompanying diagram. Michael has a science class of his own, but his teacher is worthless when it comes to the specifics of electrochemistry. The downfalls of having only one teacher fluent in sign language in the whole district is that she knows enough to get him through graduation, but she’s truly a master of none.
The teacher steps away from the board and Michael closes his eyes and taps on his connection to Max.
What’s he saying? Michael asks.
He doesn't have to see Max roll his eyes or snort to feel the amusement through their bond.
You could ask to be transferred to our class and then you’d know yourself, he says.
Yeah, tried that freshman year, remember? They couldn’t accommodate me and the F that asshole gave me is still on my transcript, Michael grumbles.
Yeah, well I’m going to get an F if you don’t let me focus, Max says. I’ll share my notes later.
Whatever.
He closes his notebook and sets it to the side, content with the knowledge that Max really will share his notes later. And since Liz Ortecho is his lab partner, his notes will actually make sense. He’s been interested in learning more about chemistry after realizing that the ship piece doesn’t match the properties of any known element. He’s hoping that learning more about atoms and compounds will give him answers.
Michael leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. If he’s not getting anything more out of this chemistry class from his limited position in the hall, he could use a nap. All this research has been keeping him up at night. Not to mention the fact that his brain has been loud and unrelenting, an endless round of questions and desperate hope.
He opens his eyes in confusion when he feels a familiar vibration and turns to look at the wall behind him. There’s a biology lab on the other side. Except, nobody’s supposed to be in the bio lab. It’s only offered 1st, 3rd, and 8th period. Michael stands up, curious, and peeks through the small window in the door.
A boy is inside, his back to Michael, and he’s holding a guitar.
Michael reaches out to put his palms against the door, feeling the vibrations again. It’s a steady hum that moves through his whole body. He’s felt this before. This past fall outside of the music room. He’d sought the feeling out again but hadn’t been able to find it. But as the quiet, safe buzz fills his heart, he knows this is the feeling he’s been chasing after. This is his answer, not the piece of spaceship in his pocket.
Michael has never bothered with music. Being Deaf, he never much saw the point. But as the constant busyness in his mind slows to a crawl, he realizes he’s been missing out. He takes a deep breath in and relaxes completely. He feels warm and the world feels right. Whole.
The boy stops playing the guitar, setting it down and Michael drops his hands and moves away from the door so he won’t be caught staring like a creeper if he turns around. And it’s a good thing too, because a moment later, chaos erupts as students start filing out of their classrooms. Seventh period is over.
Max steps out of his class, waving at Liz before he walks over to Michael giving him a strange look.
What? Michael asks, shifting his feet at the weird way Max is staring at him.
What happened to you just now? he asks.
What do you mean? Michael reaches down to grab his notebook from the floor and avoids Max’s gaze. Not that it helps. When you share a psychic bond with your siblings, they don’t need to see your face in order to know what you’re feeling.
Your whole entropy just changed, Max says and there’s a sense of wonder coming off of him.
Michael snorts. Max always uses the most pompous words to describe things.
It’s nothing, he says with a blush. I’ve gotta get to class.
****
2000
Michael walks the edge of the property at Foster Ranch, following the path set forth by the old wooden fence. He pushes his energy out into the universe, seeking that familiar pull that has led him here. He’d felt it on the entire drive into town, but it had faded away once he reached city limits. So he walked out to Foster Ranch, figuring that this was the last place his parents had been, if the rumors about the crash were to be believed. Whatever’s calling to him, it makes sense that it would be here, right?
Two nights ago, Michael ran away from home. He’d gotten into a particularly nasty fight with his foster dad that left him with a black eye and a bruised side that makes it difficult to breathe in too deep. He’d been angry and scared and he’d just ran. He hadn’t had a direction at the time except for away. Any direction would be safe. And that’s when he’d felt the pull.
An old trucker who smelled like pork rinds and coffee had stopped him and through the use of a notepad, Michael had convinced him that he’d been kidnapped and he was just trying to make it back to his parents in Roswell. It’s not a lie, so he doesn’t feel guilty. He’d just been relieved that the trucker had believed him and decided to give him a ride instead of calling the cops.
He walks for hours, watching the sky grow darker with time. He pushes his energy out again and again, but nothing comes back. The only emotions he feels are his own. He’s alone.
What else is new.
Michael eventually grows tired enough and his legs ache from walking for such a long time. He throws his backpack down against the fence and sinks to the ground. He curls up into a ball to keep warm and uses his bag as a pillow.
Staring up at the sky above, he wishes for somebody to come and take him away. That’s how he falls asleep. And that’s how the police find him the next morning. They drag him into their car kicking and screaming out to be let go, but as always, nobody understands him. Nor do they care.
They drive him back to Santa Fe where his case manager takes one look at him, sighs deeply, and the most he can read on her lips is some complaint about paperwork. The thing Michael has never understood: If he’s such a burden to everyone… If he’s so unwanted… why won’t they just leave him alone? Why do they insist on bringing him back time and time again?
****
2008
Michael sits in the back of the public library, far away from any prying eyes. Not that there’s many people in the library on a sunny Saturday anyways, but he hides in the back to be safe. Amongst a collection of latin language books that nobody is ever going to read, Michael feels comfortable enough. A book about guitars is in his lap. He has his hands up, trying to mimic the correct hand placement for the chords, even though he has no guitar to practice on.
He closes his eyes and tries to remember what the music had felt like. Tries to recall the quiet, soothing, calm. He can’t.
Michael reaches into his backpack and pulls out the portable CD player he’d very embarrassingly asked Isobel for this morning. Thankfully, she’d given it to him without a single comment about his Deafness.
He puts the headphones around his neck instead of his ears. He can feel the music better this way. Then he presses play. He leans against the bookshelf and he strums the nonexistent guitar in time the hum of each vibration. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.
****
2003
Michael runs out of the house, feeling wild and out of control and genuinely worried that he’s going to do something that he can’t take back. Terrified that he already has. He doesn’t bother looking back to see if either of his foster parents have followed him or if they are still standing in the kitchen in stunned silence. He hadn’t bothered waiting around for their reaction. It doesn’t matter. He’s never going back. He can’t.
Maybe he can just hide in the turquoise mines with the pods. Max and Isobel can bring him food. At least there, he wouldn’t be found. He can’t be found. Not this time.
Fuck.
He’s worked so hard to be good. He’s never worried about losing a placement before. In fact, he’s always worked hard to get away from whatever crap home they’ve put him in. But ever since finding Max and Isobel again, he’s been doing his best to make it work out with the group home. He’s not a fan of the fundamentalist freak show that he lives with, and he’d take an angry drunk over them any day, but he’s not stupid. Losing this placement could cost him his siblings.
They’re going to send him back to Santa Fe or Albuquerque or find some new circle of hell for him. They’ll have to. There’s no way that they aren’t going to kick him out after what he’s just done.
He runs on autopilot. He doesn’t think about where he’s going, his mind is too busy. His anxiety is through the roof and his energy is all out of whack. He tries to reel it back in before he messes up any more than he already has, but it’s taking everything in him. And he just can’t get his brain to shut up.
He’s a ticking time bomb is what he is.
He keeps running until his lungs burn, and then he runs some more. When he finally has to stop due to sheer exhaustion, he expects to find himself somewhere near Foster Ranch. It’s where he always runs when things get to be too much. So he’s surprised to find himself under a bridge and standing in front of a mural. His breath catches as he looks at the painting of a night sky.
The words are what catch his attention first, ‘We’re all broken without the pieces to get home.’
He breathes heavily, still struggling to catch his breath when his eyes fall on the broken pieces of a spaceship. He gasps, falling to his knees and reaching out.
It’s not real. This isn't his ship. It can’t be. Still, he rests his hands against the painting and takes a deep breath. Something settles in his chest that feels an awful lot like hope.
Maybe he’s not as alone in this world as he thinks.
****
2008
Michael is sitting on the tailgate of his truck, playing the guitar he’d borrowed from the music room when his teacher walks over to him, carrying a large envelope. She’s confused, but smiling.
I THOUGHT I MIGHT FIND YOU LOITERING OUT HERE, she signs. He catches her eyes wandering to the sleeping bag in his trunk. Her eyes narrow and he can tell she’s putting pieces together, so he decides to intercept before she can ask him any questions.
WHAT DO YOU HAVE? he asks.
She gives him a look that says they are most certainly going to talk about his living situation later, but holds the envelope in her hands out to him.
THIS ARRIVED IN MY MAILBOX HERE, BUT IT’S ADDRESSED TO YOU, she signs.
He can see the UNM logo where the return address goes and his stomach jumps into his throat as he reaches out for it with trembling hands.
YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THAT YOU APPLIED TO COLLEGE, she signs.
He shrugs, staring down at the envelope in his hands, immensely worried.
YOU CAN OPEN IT, she tells him, moving to sit beside him. THEY DON’T TYPICALLY SEND REJECTIONS IN BIG ENVELOPES. TOO EXPENSIVE.
Still, he doesn’t open it. He’s too nervous. He’s holding his entire future in his hands. If he wants to gain the knowledge to rebuild his ship, he needs a college education. He’s already read through practically every science book and journal that the Roswell Public Library has on file. It’s not enough. He needs to learn more.
MAYBE THEY HATED MY ESSAY ENOUGH TO SEND A VERY DETAILED REJECTION LETTER, he signs, only half joking. Good things don’t happen to him. There’s no reason to think this will be any different.
YOU WON’T KNOW UNLESS YOU OPEN IT, she says kindly, placing a comforting hand on his back.
Michael leans into the touch ever so slightly. He’ll never admit this to her, but her opinion means everything to him. She’s the closest thing he’s ever had to a real guardian. And though she is on his ass constantly and he complains about it loudly, she’s the reason he’s made it as far as he has. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to take the look on her face if he didn’t get in.
WE CAN WAIT, IF YOU’RE NOT READY, she tells him. BUT TIME WON’T CHANGE WHATEVER THAT LETTER HAS TO SAY.
He nods his head, she’s right.
He opens the envelope slowly and lets the contents fall into his lap. He tries not to get his hopes up when his eyes land on the course catalog. Instead he picks up the letter and begins to read, his teacher looking over his shoulder. He feels her tense up and her shocked laugh against his ear. She’s always read much faster than he has. It takes him longer to translate what he’s reading in order to make sense of it all. His eyes water as they land on the word ‘admission’ but he doesn’t look up until they fall on the word, ‘scholarship.’
He looks at his teacher, still confused but with a growing smile. Her tears and look of pride tell him that he hasn’t misread. He got in. He didn’t think it was possible, but he got in.
YOU GOT A FULL RIDE, she signs, her smile big and bright. MICHAEL, I’M SO PROUD OF YOU. YOU GOT A FULL RIDE! YOU’RE GOING TO COLLEGE!
He runs his hands through his hair as he tries to process the overwhelming news.
Holy fuck. He got in.
Sure, he’d been hopeful when he’d applied, but he didn’t honestly think they’d accept him. He doesn’t understand how, but he got in. They want him.
His heart is racing but not as much as his mind is. He reads the letter three more times. He looks at the envelope it came in to make sure it was indeed addressed to him. Once the news truly sinks in that he’s been accepted, he feels both incredibly relieved and incredibly sick at the same time.
College means leaving. Like actually leaving Roswell. He’s spent his entire life fighting to be here, close to his siblings and near Foster Ranch. And while he’s desperate for a home, and college will teach him the skills he needs to truly find a way back there, it’s also terrifying to think of taking that leap. Of moving away from everything he knows and stepping out into the world, truly alone.
He reaches out, unsure what he’s looking for, but he needs something to help ground him. They brush over the guitar he’d placed beside him. The strings vibrate, sending a wave through his body. The world around him quiets. He strums the strings again, and his stomach settles. He does it one more time, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
This is a good thing. This is what Michael’s been wanting. This is the answer he’s been seeking. So why does it feel so terrifying?
****
2004
Michael can barely meet Max’s eyes as he holds Isobel’s hand and does his best to push love and comfort through their connection. It’s hard though, when he’s struggling to feel anything positive about this moment. Max has just killed a man. Michael buried the body.
He’s still struggling to make sense of it all. But his needs are going to have to wait for another day. He’s still worried about Isobel. Seriously worried. She hasn’t stopped shaking since it happened. She’s hyperventilating, only taking shallow breaths. She’s not communicating either. She’s shut down their connection completely. Everything he sends her way meets a firmly closed door. She doesn’t seem to register either of their presence and he’s worried that she’s going to stay lost to them.
Michael’s not used to this. Sure, when they were kids, he’d taken charge. But the reality is that Isobel is the one that often tells them what to do these days. She’s the well adjusted one and he’s the mess.
Are you getting through? Michael asks Max, still unable to meet his eyes.
She’s shutting me out, Max says, the frustration rolls off of him in waves. But there’s something else there, something that scares Michael a little, despite the fact that he knows Max… He can feel a chaos radiating from him that reminds him too much of the distrubed boy that had first climbed out of the pod.
He can’t handle it. He can’t handle any of this.
Michael stands up and walks back towards their tent.
Where are you going? Isobel needs us, Max calls after him.
I just need a minute, he says.
The further he moves away from Max, the less chaotic energy he can feel and it helps him think a bit. He walks behind the tent to where Max can’t see him and promptly throws up. He wipes his mouth off with his sleeve and then pulls his collar up to dry the tears that have fallen from his eyes.
His eyes move to the sky, bitterly as he says, Why the hell did you leave us here alone? We’re fucking kids. And now we’re murderers.
His eyes roam over the stars, but they don’t bring him comfort like they usually do. No. He’s too pissed off at the moment to think of any kid of home nostalgically.
This is the scenario that Michael has been afraid of. He’s been terrified, ever since he’d hit puberty and his powers have gone out of whack, that he was going to do something and somebody would get seriously hurt. He’s had nightmares of getting arrested for murder and the police finding out he’s an alien when they test his DNA. He’s worried that he has no other future beyond becoming a science experiment.
When they eventually got discovered, Michael always assumed it would be his fault. His fuck up. No way did he ever think the perfect Evans twins with their white picket fence and their picture perfect parents would be their downfall. He never thought Max would be a murderer.
Max.
Fuck.
It’s going to be on him to keep it together and make this okay.
Michael peeks back around the fence to watch Max hug a still broken Isobel and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. He’s felt isolated many times in his life. Many of those times, it’s been because he’s been too far away to be able to feel any real connection to his siblings. But now… He can’t be more than 60 feet from both of them and he’s never felt more alone.
****
2008
Michael is sitting on his tailgate with the same borrowed guitar, strumming out a melody and enjoying the way the vibrations move through him, calming his nerves. It’s his new favorite activity. He parks behind the bleachers, away from the rest of the world. With Isobel being weird the last few weeks and Michael getting mentally prepared for the transition to college, he’s started taking more time alone for himself. He’s been playing music more.
He’s growing more comfortable with the various chords and switching between them with each passing day. He can’t hear to know if he’s any good, but he can feel the music in his bones. It gives him something to focus on that isn’t worrying over Isobel’s reaction when she’d found out about UNM. Or stressing about if Max will be alright on his own when he leaves to travel the world. Or obsessing about the piece of spaceship he’s still carrying around in his pocket. Or his insecurity over if he’s going to be able to handle life outside of the safe cocoon he’s built for himself in Roswell.
His mind is chaos. Never ending, relentless chaos. And he has no compass. No clear direction to tell him the decisions he’s making are the right ones. He has no answers. But when he plays music, something settles within him. He can focus on the vibrations and everything else quiets.
He’s got his eyes closed and is enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face after a freezing night spent sleeping in the desert. He’s playing the latest melody he’s learned when the guitar is ripped out of his hands. His eyes fly open and he looks up at a boy standing in front of him, looking pissed off.
Michael would worry. He would get defensive. But he doesn’t get the sense that there’s a reason to. Michael knows violent people. He’s been around them his entire life to be able to read the body language of a person who’s about to hurt him. This boy doesn’t hold himself in a way that makes Michael feel threatened. In fact, Michael trusts him. Despite not knowing him, he has the strong feeling that he should have faith in this kid.
Though they’ve never talked, Michael recognizes him. He’s Liz Ortecho’s friend. He’s seen him plenty of times in passing. He’s seen him coming out of his classroom a few times this year after lunch. His teacher hadn’t told Michael his name, but she had told him that she was helping him with a project.
YOU CAN’T JUST STEAL INSTRUMENTS OUT OF THE MUSIC ROOM. THIS IS MINE, the boy signs and Michael nearly falls out of the truck in shock.
In all of the years he’s lived in Roswell, only one person has ever signed to him. One. Even Max and Isobel have never bothered to learn sign. Said they didn’t see a point when they could all communicate just fine using their connection. Michael has just grown to accept the fact that he’s destined to be isolated from the world. He’s fine with it. He doesn’t like humans anyways. With his superior IQ and the way he’s treated like an idiot because English confuses him, he never cared much that he couldn’t talk to people.
But this boy has signed to him and there’s a warm feeling growing in his belly that confuses the hell out of him.
The boy is staring at him expectantly and that’s when Michael realizes that he expects a response. It’s weird. Michael isn’t used to being able to respond to people when they talk to him.
I WAS GONNA RETURN IT, he signs.
The boy shakes his head at him, clearly annoyed, like it’s not a good enough explanation.
IT WAS OUT OF TUNE. SO, YOU’RE WELCOME, he adds, defensively. He’s not sure why he feels the need to explain himself, but the boy is mad at him and Michael is confused by how much that bothers him.
The boy eyes him critically. YOU’RE DEAF. HOW DO YOU KNOW IT’S OUT OF TUNE?
And just like that, Michael doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care about the way an energy is moving through him and filling a void in his heart. He doesn’t care that there’s a familiar pull at his stomach, tugging him closer. He doesn’t care who this boy is or why he’s feeling all of these emotions all of a sudden. He’s just another typical hearing kid.
SORRY, SORRY, the boy signs. I JUST MEAN… YOU CAN’T TAKE INSTRUMENTS WITHOUT ASKING.
Michael rolls his eyes. What was he supposed to do? It’s not like he can afford a guitar of his own or ask the music teacher if he can borrow one.
OKAY, FINE. I’M SORRY, he signs.
The boy's eyes wander to the sleeping bag in his truck and Michael raises his eyes at him, daring him to say anything. Thankfully, he doesn’t. Instead his eyes drift to his guitar and then back up at Michael before letting out a breath.
LISTEN, IF YOU NEED A GUITAR TO PLAY, YOU CAN BORROW MINE, he signs. JUST ASK FIRST. I NEARLY HAD A PANIC ATTACK WHEN I COULDN’T FIND IT. I ASSUMED SOME ASSHOLE JOCK STOLE IT.
I DON’T NEED YOUR CHARITY, Michael signs. He hates pity and has learned never to accept favors because there’s always a price tag.
The boy shakes his head, and Michael realizes that he’s not seeing pity or guilt in the boy’s eyes. He just sees understanding. It doesn’t make sense to Michael.
The boy stares at him for another minute but when Michael doesn’t say anything more, he rolls his eyes and lets out what Michael assumes is a bitter laugh. FINE. WHATEVER, he signs and starts to walk away.
Something inside of Michael screams and panic floods his body. He reaches out and grabs the boy’s wrist. The moment skin touches skin, Michael is hit with an intense wave of energy. It wraps itself around him and heats his body. He looks down and sees that his hand is glowing gold. His eyes fly to the boy’s and he watches in wonder. He has his eyes closed and mouth slightly opened in a gasp, looking so fucking moved. Like he’s experiencing the same overwhelming feeling of love and safety and security. And when Michael finally takes a breath in, everything slots into place. His entire entropy changes.
It’s all wrapped up in this boy. His compass. His answer. His peace and serenity. His fucking home.
He can breathe.