By Rosemarie DiCristo
“You, too?”
Therrus ignored the she-human who spoke although he couldn’t help noting her voice was young-sounding, wry, and almost laughing, but with an edge of something else.
Something what? Didn’t concern him. The number one rule for Civarans visiting Earth: do not under any circumstances engage with the humans.
Of course, strolling the Rockaway Beach boardwalk on a gloriously sunny day meant he was surrounded by humans. But “surrounded by” wasn’t “engaging with.”
She spoke again. “No, really, you, too?”
Therrus sighed. Not answering was rude. Answering didn’t have to be “engaging.” So, he glanced at the she-human… and whatever words he might have said died in his throat.
She was as bald as he was.
She wore a big floppy red-and-white flowered beach hat while he wore a Yankees cap, but it couldn’t hide her lack of hair.
And she wore sunglasses. Not big ones like his. Skinny cat-eye glasses. So he could tell… neither he nor she had eyebrows.
“Is it you?” he asked, taking two steps toward her in his eagerness to… engage.
“Whoa!” She took two steps back. “I know we share—well, I think we do—the reason for the baldness, but I do not want—”
He had to know. “Are you…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “…Civaran?”
If so, the Earthan Initiative had made massive improvements in the past two months. Her hologram skin looked much smoother than his, he could see enough of her eyes through those glasses to know they weren’t piercing gold, and her hands…
He grabbed one of them. She yanked it back and moved to slap him, but he cried, “No, I just had to see if they were…” And he held up his hands, fingers splayed.
Her hand dropped slightly, and he could see she had only five fingers, not six like him. So she wasn’t… probably… a better-generation Civaran, also here to scout out Earth. Probably.
Her too-smooth-to-be-Civaran skin had gone five shades paler. “Holy moly, did your chemo do that?”
“Chemo?”
She pointed to her head, then his. “Isn’t that from chemo?” When he still stared blankly, she sighed. “Chemotherapy.” Then she flushed. “Oh, sorry, or are you just bald? But so very bald that I thought you just gotta… Ugh, sorry again. Everyone says I babble too much.”
While she was “babbling,” Therrus pulled out what he called his “Answer Machine.” It looked like a human smartphone, but he only had to think to bring up what “babbling” was. He stifled a laugh. Indeed, exactly what she was doing.
Then he read what “chemotherapy” was.
That’s when he made the decision to fully engage with this she-human.
“What kind?” he asked gently.
“Pancreatic,” she said, and he knew in another instant this was very bad. “You?”
“Um…” Civarans didn’t lie. At least, he, Therrus, didn’t.
But she shook her head and said, “Crazy-rude of me. Plus, if we’re gonna be talking about stuff so personal, we gotta know each other’s names. I’m Millie LoCascio.”
“Luke James.” And he knew she wouldn’t get—because no one did—the human sci-fi connections of the alias he’d chosen.
Her gaze seemed intense even through the sunglasses. “How old are you? Twenty-what?”
“Um… five?” he said.
Her laugh popped out as if she really didn’t want it to. “Don’t you know? Oh, wait, chemo brain fog.”
He couldn’t answer directly, couldn’t let her think he had The Cancer, too, but he needed to continue the conversation. Something about her smile, her voice… Were all humans with The Cancer so cheerful? “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five, too, just like I’m too bald, too.” Her lips quirked, but this time her voice wavered.
Maybe that’s why he quoted, “Quarter of a century. Makes a girl think.”
She cocked her head at him. “Some Like It Hot?”
Almost no humans got his love for their movies, or why he quoted from them so frequently. Grinning, he moved to high-five her—he knew, also from movies, that humans loved doing this—but she backed away.
“Er, sorry, but those fingers… Chemo?”
He answered honestly, “I was born this way.”
“Whoa.”
If only she could see his real appearance!
“Hey, let’s not just stand here,” Millie said. “If we’re gonna talk, we gotta sit. I mean, doesn’t your chemo wipe you out?”
“There’s benches in the pavilion. We’ll have shade while we look at the ocean.”
For a few minutes that’s all they did, look at the rough Rockaway surf.
Then Therrus asked Millie about herself. Not The Cancer. Herself. And she talked as if she hadn’t talked in decades.
His Answer Machine said that some humans shunned other humans with The Cancer, although it didn’t explain why.
“Now tell me about you, Luke,” Millie said, when her story wound down.
“Not much to tell. I’ve been here only two months, but I love it. Your movies, your culture, your food. Well, not your coffee. But you people! You’re fascinating!”
“You people? We’re New Yorkers, not aliens!”
Urk. He always messed up. Always made it obvious he didn’t fit in. But from the way Millie grinned at him, she didn’t seem to care.
She liked him.
And he liked her.
He said softly, “What’s the prognosis?”
She said as softly, “Not good.”
This time he asked before he grabbed her hand, then squeezed tight.
The Zzzzz! sent shivers back through him so he knew it Zzzz’ed! through her, too.
“Wh-What did you do to me?”
“Well, it’s all right. Everything’ll work out fine.” And he quoted, “See that you say nothing to anyone, but go, show yourself to your doctor.”
Okay, technically it was a paraphrase, but he hoped she knew what it meant. It was from what many of her people claimed was the greatest book ever written, one that people of all faiths had read.
She shot him a quizzical look, but he knew what she’d be told at her next check-up.
Millie LoCascio would live long and prosper.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wow I loved this sooooo much. 😍 Such a sweet story and lovely way for Therrus to “engage” with a human. 💙
Thanks! I had lots of fun writing this – got this idea while strolling the Rockaway beach, so of course I had to set it there.
I like to “Zzzzz!” people too, though mine is the dragging-socked-feet-on-carpet variety.
LOVE THIS! It’s clever, fun, and sweet.
That ending! I was not expecting it but it was perfect! Wonderful story.
Beautiful story!