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Rain drips down from the sky. It leaks. It trickles. What it does not do, and what she only wishes it would, is pour. She wanted the rain to slam down around her, encasing her body in soothing, stinging wetness. She wanted to feel it soak through her clothes until they clung to her like a second skin, wanted her hair to breathe in the moisture and plaster the blond strands to her face. She wanted to feel the rain become an extension of herself, an outward focus for her humming, throbbing, aching mind. But it doesn’t do any of that, because the rain is weak. So is she.
But that won’t happen, will it? The memories are hers to know. It is her gift. When she first came to this place, she’d clung to it like a child with a new toy, eager and boastful, knowing she held in her hands what others desired. She’d thought she could use it, that by giving it to them, sharing the gift of the past with them, they’d draw her in to their small circle of safety. It had never occurred to her that they wouldn’t want it. That they’d reject it- just as they’ve rejected her.
“Humans are weak.” That was Nasedo’s mantra over the years. He’d always add, like an afterthought, “which doesn’t bother me.” Of course it didn’t. As she got older she came to realize what he meant. Humans were weak not because they were human- she was human now, and she’d learned to be strong. No, humans were weak because they let emotion overwhelm all sense and logic, and cloud the abilities of their own minds. They were so used to blindly feeling their way through life, with only things like anger and sorrow and pain and occasional joy to guide them, that they were wholly unaware of their potential. Not that learning to not be human was easy. As a child she’d struggled. Had felt the pain of tearing and clawing her way out of the artificial womb into the cold air of a desert cave, of reaching eagerly for the hands that should have been there, waiting for her, only to grasp onto empty space. The ache of touching the other abandoned pods and realizing their former occupants were long gone. The loneliness of turning to find that the only living creature within her reach was one whose eyes were as empty as his heart. Choice had not been hers. He’d reached out to take her hand, and she’d let herself be led away, knowing somehow that things were very, very wrong. For months the night had terrified her, the night when she would again be alone. The tears would come and burn their way down her cheeks, never touching the hollow emptiness that left her cold inside. She felt an absence in her life that she couldn’t name. Nasedo would whisper bedtime stories that nudged at some deeper awareness, at a truth she knew only on the most instinctual level. He told her of the Plan. She was Important. There were two worlds in the balance now; one was this one she’d been reborn in, the other a world much richer and grander and stranger. This world didn’t matter much; they were here simply to learn how to fight the enemy who’d selected Earth as its latest project. But the Other World- his voice would take on an uncharacteristic note of longing when he spoke of that place she couldn’t remember. It was almost as though he were homesick, though she didn’t understand how such a thing was possible. He had no humanity. Emotion was not in his repertoire. Then he would speak of the Others. She was Important, yes, but she couldn’t do it alone. It was during this story that she finally understood. Finally remembered. She’d begun to cry when he told her of the boy who’d been her brother, the girl who’d been her friend, the man who’d been her husband. She realized they were who she was crying for those nights alone in bed. They were the absence her body felt. Her tears had not pleased him in the least. “Hush, Tess,” he’d said. “Crying is a weakness. It could kill you. If you want to live, if you want to find your brother and the girl and the other boy, you must never cry. You need to learn to be strong, to overpower the natural tendencies of this human body you’ve been placed in. You need to reach down deep within yourself to find the strength you were created to have, the strength that is who you once were.” He’d leaned in closer. “Do not let emotions fool you, Tess. They are alluring, I realize. They are powerful. But you have to be stronger than they are. You have to fight them..”
It was the memory of his lips on hers, of the surge of triumph that had risen up and threatened the tentative hold she’d had on him. It was the memory of the desperate belief that finally, things were as they should be. But he’d broken away from her, and she’d seen the truth in his eyes, in his very human eyes. “Who are you?” he’d whispered, sounding broken, and defeated- and afraid. She hadn’t answered. What answer could she give? Who was she, indeed? And suddenly she understands the concept of coming full circle, because she is standing in that very spot. She sees the window of the Crashdown and recalls the slamming of her heart in her chest when the human girl, Liz, had confronted her with what she’d seen. It had sent some feeling through her, some strange wave of nausea-like panic, something she thinks is what humans call guilt. The lights of the Crashdown are off, because it is late. Indeed, she could very well be the only one in the town of Roswell still awake. She doesn’t know why she’s here, but something keeps her from leaving, from going home- if “home” is even what anything on this godforsaken earth can be called. A few moments pass and then she is standing in front of the wooden doors to the restaurant. A quick manipulation of the basic laws of physics and she could be inside, though she’s not sure what she’d do. Why is she here? What does she want? What is she expecting? The only response she receives is the endless drumming of the light summer rain against the pavement. “Tess?” The voice is wary, guarded, and undeniably surprised. Tess looks up and sees Liz standing on the other side of the door, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her dark hair hanging limply. She doesn’t respond, but Liz twists the key in the lock and opens the door. “What are you doing here?” “I was taking a walk,” Tess says, keeping her face perfectly blank. Liz regards her with some emotion Tess can’t name, perhaps because emotion is something she’s never had a chance to learn, much less understand. “In the rain? This late?” Liz takes a step back, effectively unblocking the entrance. “Come inside.” Tess obeys, more out of curiosity than anything else. She realizes, once she’s inside, that Liz must have been in the dark café for awhile. There’s a book at one of the tables, and a small flashlight and a half- empty glass of milk. Liz follows her gaze and explains. “I couldn’t sleep.” “No lights?” “The power went out.” “Oh.” Tess wonders at this. It’s not raining very hard. And shouldn’t a business like her family’s have a back-up generator? Perhaps Liz had simply said that to avoid explaining why she preferred sitting in the dark, so late at night. Liz returns to her seat at the table and continues to study Tess. She grows uncomfortable under the intensity of Liz’s gaze and is reminded of why it is that Liz has always unnerved her and intrigued her in equal measure. It’s her eyes. They have a sharpness to them that makes Tess suspect that they miss nothing. “Do you want anything?” Liz asks. “Like- a towel, maybe?” Tess waves her hand over her clothes and they instantly dry. “No, thanks.” “Right,” Liz says. Tess sits in the chair across from Liz’s and wonders, briefly, if her presence is making Liz nervous. She hesitates, wanting to offer up some explanation as to why she’s there, but nothing comes to her. Any reason she could give, she knows, would be a lie. Tess hasn’t the faintest idea why she’s here. Or maybe she does. There are questions she wants to ask, questions that have plagued her for weeks, since that fateful day in the Pod Chamber when all had finally been revealed. She knows that day must be what’s put the circles under Liz’s eyes and the limpness in her hair and the stiffness in her once- graceful movements. When Tess first met Liz, she’d been struck by the way the girl flitted so comfortably and easily through life, at the light that seemed to emanate from her very existence, as though simply being alive gave her a quiet sort of joy. Now Tess looks at her and sees only a girl whose own emotions have fought a war within her, her body the battlefield, and Tess can see the aftermath. There is no light in her now, only the pain that comes with continuing to live. Tess sees it, and she knows the source of Liz’s pain.
The next morning Nasedo had left, and Tess had known he’d heard it too. Not that he’d told her as much- he never explained his actions until it suited him to. But she’d been right, and he’d returned with a handful of photographs, three names, and the announcement that they were moving once again. To Roswell, New Mexico. Tess wasn’t dumb; she’d heard all the stories about Roswell and knew it was near the cave in which she’d been “born”, so to speak. She grasped the faint irony of moving to the alien capital of America. Nasedo had joked about it the entire trip. Humor seemed the one facet of human emotion he was capable of. Tess always laughed at his jokes, wanting to please him, though truthfully, they weren’t always funny. Sometimes his humor was more frightening than amusing. In the car that drove them from Alabama to New Mexico he gave her the pictures and the names. Tess had gazed down at the glossy surfaces and had known without him having to tell her who was who. The beautiful blond girl, Isabel, had a smile Tess recognized; it was a smile that had once flashed at her with the secret knowledge of some shared private joke. The boy, Michael, wore the scowl that she remembered seeing whenever she did anything that displeased or amused him. She saw his defensive, protective stance and remembered when that protectiveness had been for her, when that defensiveness had been directed at anyone who’d dared hurt her. Then there was the other boy. Max. Tess had studied the picture and waited for the same recognition to take hold, as it had for Isabel and Michael, but nothing came. She’d been confused; surely something had to be familiar. Of the three, he’d been the most important to her, hadn’t he? Tess had decided it didn’t matter. The mere knowledge of who he was, of what they had once been, was enough to fuel her hope. She felt the resurgence of long-suppressed longings and realized it didn’t matter, because she didn’t need to suppress them anymore. She was no longer alone.
Liz blinks. “All right,” she says, her voice quiet. “And yours?” This human civility, this politeness, is already grating her. Enough with the formalities, she decides. Liz is too smart for them, anyway. Tess gears herself for cold, brutal honesty. “My summer doesn’t matter,” she says. “I know what you’re wondering, Liz, and I’m going to make it easy on you, all right? Yes, I’ve seen Max. No, we aren’t together. He refuses. For you.” It’s always been about Liz Parker, for Max Evans. Tess has known him for three months, and she can already see that. Liz finally looks away. “I wanted to ask you something,” Tess continues. “A favor, actually.” “You want to ask me a favor?” Tess isn’t deterred by the note of incredulity that has entered Liz’s voice. “Yes, a favor.” She lowers her voice. “I want you to tell me about Max.” When Liz looks back at her with wide, alarmed eyes, Tess shakes her head. “Maybe I said that wrong. I want you to tell me about why you love Max. I want to know who he is.” What she doesn’t add is the real reason for her question. “Is this some kind of game for you, Tess?” Liz’s eyes are flashing. “Do you enjoy watching me suffer? I already gave him up for you. Isn’t that enough? Didn’t I do the righteous, honorable thing? Can’t you just leave me alone now?” And there it is, the real reason. “This isn’t a game, Liz. I don’t want to hurt you. It was never my intention to hurt you.” “Perhaps, but wasn’t that only because I didn’t matter to you?” She’s right, of course. “Please, Liz.” Liz regards her solemnly. Tess is ready for her to refuse- she expects it, really. Coming here, she thinks, was a mistake. It was futile. She is completely surprised when Liz closes her eyes and begins to speak, and then she is lulled, and it’s like Nasedo’s night time stories all over again. But there’s big difference. Where Nasedo’s tales had been edged with courage and valor and bravery and nobility and other grand, empty gestures of strength, Liz’s words and the story she spins drip with emotion, ooze humanity, and radiate love. And she feels the truth of the part of the story that Liz can’t place into words, and that part is the love. That part of the story glitters in Liz’s eyes, speaks through her suddenly animated body. As she warms to her own narration, her hands gesture wildly, she moves to the very edge of her chair, and her upper body dances. It is amazing to behold, and Tess is enraptured. But too soon it ends, and the light in Liz dims once more. Tess thinks about what Nasedo told her, all those years ago. “Do not let emotions fool you, Tess. They are alluring, I realize. They are powerful. But you have to be stronger than they are. You have to fight them.” She looks at Liz, whose life has been ravaged by those very emotions he warned her against. But when he said what he did, he wasn’t referring to this. In all of his talk of human weakness, he forgot to mention this. There is nothing alluring about Liz’s pain. There is nothing powerful about it. It is devastating, yes, but it is quiet as well. She is reminded of T.S. Eliot and that poem he wrote about the hollow men, and how the world ends. That could apply to Liz, she thinks- this is how her life ends; not with a bang but a whimper. Tess thinks that perhaps Nasedo is right, and emotions are a weakness. But she thinks, maybe, just maybe, he is wrong. Or maybe it’s both. She has no answers- her humanity has been too carefully repressed. She realizes, suddenly, that she knows nothing. It’s a release. It’s glorious. She feels like jumping up and screaming with giddy delight. I know nothing. I don’t know who I am. She does know one thing, though. This love that she just watched, it’s something Tess can’t touch. It’s too fierce, too intense, and too unselfish. And it’s beautiful. It’s strong. And maybe the only real weakness is not knowing this emotion, this madness. It would be much easier, after all, to shut these things out, to focus on the realities and the tangibles and the bravery and the nobility and the grandeur of empty gestures of strength. To never know this pain- that is a truly alluring idea. But Liz’s pain exists because of her love, and Tess realizes, suddenly, the inherent paradox of human nature. She knows, then, what she has to do. What she wants to do.
Her eyes flutter open again. “Yeah?” The tone is dull, flat. Tess feels a strange growing excitement in her stomach at the thought that maybe she could be the one to bring the life back into Liz Parker. “You still love Max.” It’s a statement, and Liz doesn’t respond. Tess plunges forward. “You should go to him.” “What for?” “He still loves you. You’re everything to him, Liz, and it’s obvious that he’s everything to you.” Liz opens her mouth to protest, and Tess holds up a hand to stop her. “And there will never be a me and Max.” Liz’s mouth closes, and her eyes register momentary confusion. “Tess.... what are you talking about?” Tess smiles. Her joy is a new and wondrous thing, and she revels in it. “I don’t want Max. In fact, I’m refusing him. In fact, if he so much as touches me, I’ll scream.” She has to bite her lip to stifle a giggle. Liz has nothing left to argue with. If she believed there was any chance that Max would fulfill his supposed destiny, she would stand firm and resolute in her decision to let him go. But Tess has removed that final chance. Even if he wanted to- which he most definitely does not- Max couldn’t fulfill his destiny without Tess. “I don’t understand,” Liz whispers softly. “There is nothing to understand. You gave Max up. I’m giving him back, and nothing will change my mind. If you don’t go to him, it will all be for nothing.” Tess reaches out and places her hand on Liz’s arm. “Go to him now. Please.” Tess knows Liz doesn’t understand, that maybe she never will. But Liz hesitantly stands, and Tess knows her plan has worked. Throwing her one last, confused, bewildered, and grateful look, Liz stumbles out the door and into the rain. Into the night. And, ultimately, into Max’s arms, where Tess now realizes she belongs. There’s sadness mingled with her happiness, but she accepts it because she sees now that you can’t have one without the other. She never loved Max, because she didn’t know him. Tess doesn’t remember that past life any more than the others do; all she has are ten long years worth of stories, fed to her when she was needy and alone. She can’t help but mourn the Max she’d dreamed of, the Max she’d thought she’d find- the man who would complete her, the man who would love her, the man who would take away that emptiness inside of her. But that was never really Max. It was an illusion, nothing more. Her humanity stuns her. She can feel it, growing and thriving, and knows that it has always been there, just below the surface, straining to break free. It’s a frightening thing, Tess thinks as she stands and lets herself out of the café, to be human. The rain is pounding down now, and she smiles. The emptiness and the loneliness are still there, and they’re stronger than before, and it’s scary. But it’s worth it. It’s worth it because it means there’s a chance. There’s hope. Hope that she will one day find what Liz and Max share. That wondrous, beautiful, unselfish love that transcends sense and logic and reason. The love that can be understood only within the confines of this, the human heart. Her humanity, it’s a gift. There is so much to being human. So much to explore, so much to experience, so much to feel. And Tess can’t wait to begin. THE END |