"Welcome Home--Where You Been?"
by
Timothy Stillman
"You sure, Tommy?"
"Sure. Brudda would not lie. Lie here beside me."
"On the dewy grass."
"With me, Brit. We gonna watch history."
They lay on the grass, only in pajama bottoms. Shorties, the pajamas and Brit. Brit was two years younger. He was 11. He had a burr haircut. He was a little meaty. He was going to be an astronaut one fine day. He had been on the Vomit Comet at Huntsville and had not vomited as he swung round and round, didn't need to be strapped in like the little kids, made him mad, his own private little universe, and no one could get through the door to it, unless he said so. And the kids screamed and their hair flew in funnels and their clothes rippled and they couldn't breathe. And they felt like they were dying.
And it was so frickin' cool. Like Tommy now. Lying beside him.; Their much older brother, Tim AKA Brudda, out there at the space center, out there this night of July 4, when the world would change and the dinosaurs would take their rightful place here again. And humans--save for the two bros--kaput-gone-so long Charlie Earthworm. The Rex will stomp down and the heavens will spit gut spring open.
Brit had, as was his wont to do, his little hand resting in Tommy's pajamas, holding Tommy's `rection. Tommy smiled. Little squirt could not even pronounce erection right. But he was a little sweet puppy. And he had a heart as soft outdoors when the summer sun gets to it, and the paint starts to get runny and kind of nice and friendly and homey.
"Our names really goin' be there?"
"Brudda said."
Tommy's hand went to Brit's little penis, already hard. They liked being almost naked on the grass of July 3, close to eleven thirty p.m.
The grass was springy. The night had lots of stars. Tommy made sure and sure again they were facing in the right direction to see it. To see the rocket hit the comet. Looking for that comet so hard their eyes almost had black shadows in the back of them. To see their names and many thousands of others race speed scream demon demolish road derby hot rod like a zillion miles an hour straight into that dirty old comet of ice and who knows what--which was the idea for the probe--to see what exactly it was made of.
"Nobody knows?" Brit.
"Nobody's sure. You'd think we would by now. But we don't."
"It gonna hit us," and Brit chilled a little in the hot humid air and his penis pole wavered a little.
Tommy gave it an extra squeeze and it stood firm again.
"Sure, it's like fifteen million miles away from us.....so you know what, Brit?"
Brit looked over at his brother. And there was such innocence in Brit's eyes, looking at Tommy's eyes that didn't look as innocent anymore, even from six months ago, or three maybe, and Brit didn't know what it meant, but was glad Tommy pretended to still have the innocence there, therefore it was so. The boys loved science fiction shows, and Brit thought, "Make it so, Tommy, please make it so."
"It's coming that close, so--"then Tommy scared the life out of Brit and jumped at him from the side, which freaked Brit who had never seen his bro do that or anyone on TV or movies do that; it was like a super nova fast scuttle of a spider, and Brit screamed his reedy voice, and Tommy was lying his perspiring body on the perspiring body of his bro. And Tommy was like Adonis standing straight up at the stars, though in truth Tommy was a bit chubby and had red hair that had a cowlick and some freckles that didn't look too good, kinda big and blotchy, but to Brit, Tommy was the world and everything in it, but now Brit's heart was pounding as fast as the space ship heading toward the comet----and he thought Tommy had lost his mind, had become a gigantic Outer Space SPIDER, OH GOD, when his bro screamed out--"here that comet comessssssss--so you better duckkkkkkkkk."
And he ruffled the little boy with hands suddenly cold as winter winds ruffling leaves and he rolled him over and laughed and held him tightly and the scent of Tommy was safety, and the scent of Tommy was his bro again, and they laughed and rolled like topsy turvy rides at amusement parks, and Brit thought, oh god Tom, Tom, Tommy?, Tom?, who are you?, push the thought back, Brit this is summer and their Brudda got their names on a CD-ROM heading toward a comet, gonna smash a projectile right into it, gonna stick hard and deep right in the cowardly thing's eye, and gonna take pictures of it up close, like the Mars pictures, and the ship is going to maybe keep up with the comet and the projectile dug into it, and we are gonna see it fly and fly and we take a little concourse of the universe this way. A piece of the Grand Tour.
Yes sir. The flyboys are the robot boys, but so what? They carry our hearts in their vast cool intellectual chests, and that's what counts.
And two boys with their names up there in the black and starry and big mooned night, gonna get smashed into history, gonna see the ship, gonna see the comet, any second, now, please God any second now; gonna make a deal with Man and God and when they did, when they got to that eleven thirty mark, Tommy had checked his watch by Greenwich time over and over again before he came outside, to get it on the dot, cause JPL sure would, and they were little boys on a little planet and it wasn't much but Brudda had got their souls in that CD-ROM, and anything could happen--they could be whisked away right to that comet, to see the ingredients of the thing up close inches away, all that fire, and speed and power, and life making and life killing dust, breathing in the un-breath of space, that had been circling the space stars for billions of years, and scientists at NASA were going to maybe figure out a little more about that big bang theory.
And the earth was two boys and the boys rolling and laughing and their pajama bottoms half off anyway, so they pulled them all the way off. Their house being the only one in the cul-de-sac, and their parents out with Brudda to see it up close and knuckle gnawingly second by second, but Tom, no, Tommy, and Brit, astronaut, were naked on the grass now in the light of magic, in the age of science fiction come true.
"And what we gonna do, Tom, Tommy?" Tommy. Not Tom. Why was he calling him Tom recently? Tommy had always been called Tommy by everyone. And their legs giggled. And their stomachs rumbled with the orange soda they now drank from the bottle they had on the broken sidewalk with the grass tufts creeping through, and little ants almost in the middle of the night, still in their book of creation only being for them and nothing else mattered, none of the miracles mattered. That man could guide ships millions of miles away, send out robots to take pictures of Mars, of the Rings of Saturn, of the depths of space no one could measure with brain and eye, but there it was anyway. Stupid ants, stupid as hell.
And they loved each other. Brother to brother. Brudda might as well have been an adult by the tome Brit and Tommy got old enough to know him, and then Brudda was gone, and Tommy said:
"Gonna be an astronaut, Brit?" as he kissed the sweet hair of the boy mixed with boy hair smell and onion smell and fried summer air.
"Gonna be a `naut." And Brit and Tommy were lying side by side again.
"Astronaut."
"Naut." Brit said haughtily, knowing his brother was kidding him.
"Nut."
"Nut, yourself, specially these." And Brit bent over and lay his face on his brother's rection and balls. They were nice and warm, as Tommy put his hand on his brother's curving side and hip, and they lay there like that for a long time.
"We gonna cum when eleven thirty p.m. gets here?" Brit asked, blowing hot breath on Tommy's nut sacs.
Tommy was silent for a while, wanting Brit to take his hard on in his mouth. He took it and put his hand at Brit's face, so Brit took it inside and wiggled it around his baby teeth still.
"No, don't think so. They'd be expecting that." Mad scientist determination in Tommy's voice.
Brit took his brother's hard on out of his mouth.
"Who?"
"The aliens who are watching this, of course."
Brit laughed though he didn't get it, though he was afraid there would be a nightmare in there for him some night not long from now when it would percolate through his dreams and come in and BITE HIM. But he was suckling again.
Tommy stroked his brother's tiny finger length erection and Brit sucked Tommy off, and Brit looking up the body of his brother saw Tommy nod, and he eased off Tommy's penis and rubbed it hard and Tommy groaned and his body shook a little, and then the lift off, and nothing came out yet. Both boys looked closely. Nada. The street lamp gave them enough light to see by.
Tommy lowered his head to the ground again, and Brit mashed his little wiggle worm body next to his brother's.
And said:
"It'll be soon, Tommy. Real soon." And lay his head on his brother's now fast rising and lowering chest.
Tommy checked his illuminated watch face. He looked at his brother.
"Five more minutes, Brit. You feel anything yet."
" `Sauraus stomping?"
"Yep." Tommy tried to come out of his disappointment, it was stupid to let the night be wrecked cause a little bit of useless cream hadn't come out. The feeling was good anyway. That was what Brit always said when his bro blew him, but Tommy was Tom, not so deeply inside anymore, at skin surface more and more, and Brit would not be the `naut, but Tommy would, Tom would, and Brit would be reading comic books still and science fiction paperbacks and going to Star Wars movies and all of that and Tom would be taking Brit's place in the sky, the sky, and he felt a moment, did Tom, a deep well of betrayal that he was already guilty of, but that was the mission of big brother and little brother, and they couldn't be kids forever. It wasn't Tom's fault. He would give his brother pieces of stars and space and planets everytime he came earthside. Wasn't that enough? Well?
As Brit lay there and thought, we will be kids forever. And Tommy blew his little brother, which surprised Brit who was not expecting it, and Brit giggled and wiggled his naked ass on the green green grass of wet night and the boy came almost instantly and Tom blew him again, whisper soft winds of space from Tom's mouth, Tom would be legend and here very very soon, and Brit would be famous because he would always be in his hero's shadow and just the fact Brit was his brother would make Brit have a very happy life.
Brit's body bobbled. And Tom held the thrusting dick, and then they huddled together, like Indians round a teepee, and they glued their eyes to the watch of Tom, the time keeper of space, and they listened to the silence of the crickets and thought those stupid little noise makers won't know what hit them when the saurs came back to earth, when Project Deep Impact (which Brudda and the men and women who worked for him called unofficially "One for the Dinosaurs" because one theory was the saurs were killed because of a comet.
And when Brudda told his bros that, they thought it was so neat, and Tom and Brit, mostly Brit, had decided the saurs would come back tonight, shake little mankind off the world, and take their rightful place, all that steel armament, all the growls and tearings asunder of flesh and shaking the world have to pieces, primeval swamps and lizards to be tossed down like French fries, and the animals with named neither boy could spell would be there and the world of Thunder Lizards returned to get it right, all death machines, and eating machines, and all those saurs broken bones and scars and rips deep in them from the teeth of their enemies and man that would be the coolest thing in the world and the world would be a blood bath of monsters and it would never end, the comet would be smashed into a million miles an hour.
And the comet would have this door in it, and the door would be smashed open by the projectile, and the monsters would come screaming and bellowing and huge leagues high and blood in their eyes and they would take one giant leap from the open comet door and be standing on earth, their once and future domain, and the `saur blood would rain on the names on the CD-ROM, only two names though, which would be Tom and Brit or Brit and Tom, depending on who was sending the prayer up to holy God like they had at bedtime, on their knees for the last six months, never missed at night begging God for it, no sir, so they could be here with the giant behemoths, and Godzilla and Gorgo and monster show without end--WELCOME HOME. Banners for those most peculiar space travelers already pasted in the boys' eyes.
Their eyes almost visibly counted down the minutes now as they looked at the slow as molasses hands of the watch tick by, the boys hands on each other's penises, hard again, the analogy of rockets and penises not having been lost on them--think they were stupes or somethin?, c'mon--and there it was aching in their balls, and their dicks they massaged unknowingly--minus three minutes, and then minus two minutes and 58 seconds--and the boys making the countdown with their voices, in awe, and their bodies in commas, and dancing their feet in the air, and their legs drawn up like bows Robin Hood would in just moments use to shoot his arrows out to the Sheriff of Nottingham, from the forest of Royal Green....and one minute...and fifty nine seconds...and fifty eight....and fifty five.....
And the boys' bodies were like filled with electricity. And they were clapping each other on their backs, seeing their names in gold leaf on the CD-ROM that would smash into the comet and give it what for, for all those murders millions and billions of years ago, and then ten seconds...and five...and three....and two....and....
And they looked up in the sky that was calm and starry and moon full and Tom was so afraid they would never see the comet, that it was up there and maximum impact, and it would pass them by, and it was a dud of a firecracker, and it wouldn't work, it would miss the comet, and the boys could not see it anyway..
...and they should have seen it by now, no wait, that was wrong, it was magic up there, along with hard scientific datum and fact, and dream: human, and dream: thunder lizard, you waited for the magician to do the trick, to pull the curtain, so you could release your breath, and every thing about it would be just perfect, timing being all; and then the sky turned golden, like bright blasting daylight, but not like the daylight of noon, but of a unique sort--golden and gleaming and holy, not hot yellow jungle sun, not slate sky run of the mill summer day around it, but gold, real gold, and gold meant that was the comet being exploded upon and screaming in pain, good, the boys thinking, you damn well deserve it, good, the `saurs weren't doing a thing to you--and the comet exploding, all the sounds space can't let you hear--they heard--the whole world heart--if the world was bright enough to hear it, if even Brudda and the gang as NASA and the lab heard it at all--were they having champagne poppings and drinks round for everyone there, all those scientists this very second, this very instant?, now that the thing had done what it was supposed to do, and all the names exploding on the comet and enveloped in fire.
Save for the names of Tom future `naut, and his dreamer brother who would always be a dreamer and never get close enough, good, thought Tom, forgive me, thought Tom an instant later.
And the Comet exploded again and again and the dark skies were ripped open and the stars tumbled along with the Moon out of their line of sight, and there was this almighty roar from the comet and the door was blasted open, the prison that held the rightful owners of earth were slammed to hell, and the magnificent creatures were free to take that one giant step, and the boys were groping their way to their feet, so trembling, and they, laughing, screaming, crying, were trying to put on their pajama bottoms, but kept falling down, tripping in the material, and each other, their hearts pounding faster and harder than hearts could ever possibly pound, and they got their pajamas on, and they were, the heat taking X rays of them, sweating and the sky was golden and beyond golden and the stars rained white bright sizzling fires down on the earth, and there were huge black shape up there coming earthward, and the boys held each other in mortal fear, and they made to get ready to greet their friends---
And the boys said in perfect unison--"Welcome, your majesties. Oh dear god above, welcome home." And in the present of the sky was the future of the sky and the future of the sky vomited out the creatures of the past and that was the way it was and the way it always had to be. In the imaginative minds of a boy going to destiny sooner than he knew, and his little brother forever after calling out "Take me, oh, please, take me with you. I want to see the Christmas trees up so close I can touch them too. Not fair. Not fair. I hate you. I hate you."
But now was now. And the boys waited. Ill prepared as they were. And inside their house, the phone rang, rang happily, no doubt about it, too bad it would stop any second and everything of man turned molten and useless, but long enough it rang for the boys to know and they grabbed each other round the neck and squeezed hard, and saw a dexterous landing of something no one had ever seen before, big and huge and monstrous, you'd need a road map for the whole world times twenty to work your way round the beast and its substances, and with trembling legs and quivering hearts and jellied brains, they took the long short walk over to converse, somehow someway, and there was no doubt in their minds they would do just that.
But to help their bravery along, each boy held the other's trembling hard on and their nipples were hard too and their but cheeks clenched, and it was 11:40 p.m. and that was how it all started--all over again--let this time, please God, let this time, no man be born in primordial swamps, to screw everything up again.
And a thing with a massive living rock horned head looked at them with a huge row of bright square white lights, like the lights of a spaceship from another planet in the black night without street lamp, ringing of phone, or moon or stars. And the space ship grumbled and roared and blew African deserts fast and hard at the boys who fell backward, fell down, and then got up, and fell down again, and as their hair singed off, and as their bodies felt sand blasted, got a little further before the hell breath knocked them down, and this is how they continued...until...they...reached... the hot burning breath of space, and began to make the acquaintance of.....
It.
No other word would do. No other word could ascribe to the ascendancy that awaited patiently, huffing, getting the lay of the land again, in front of them, and the boys' front yard was big as the world, their house already melting, they taking no notice of it, and there was so much waiting to be explored, as grass set ablaze. They had absolutely no idea what was ahead of them. And they were so incredibly happy to be boys right now and forever more. Even Tom. Even Tommy.
The way it is, here on Monster Island, should be, with boys, monsters, spaceships and July 3, eleven thirty p.m. California time, 2005--the night of the comet and its interception. As the boys walked into the ancient past of a future hoped to be far wiser than now.
See you there.
Timothy Stillman silvershimmer@earthlink.net