P.B.J.

“Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But what if an entire space station screamed? Or a colony? What if an entire planet screamed all at once? Would their existential shrieking pierce that vacuum?”

Mr. Takahashi’s whispy white hair bounced as he darted from one side of the board to the other, viciously scribbling images. He always wore a white coat over a rotating set of Hawaiian T-shirts and his cuffed brown slacks revealed dusty socks stuffed into black untied shoes. He was basically Doc Brown…. But Asian.

On any other day, Paul would have been an enraptured apostle among a sea of apathetic progeny, soaking in every detail of the Japanese instructor’s lecture, swelling and shrinking with every wave of his chalk baton as he flamboyantly flapped it around to emphasis his speaking points. Today, however, he was integrated among the other students as a groggy, distracted lout. Sleep had been difficult for him to catch of late, for strange things had been happening.

It had started with a dream. He was on a black sea in a black boat beneath a black sky. A flaming face appeared in the darkness and shouted his name. No matter how ferociously he rowed, the face only came closer to him.

Paul!

Paul’s therapist attributed the dreams to stress over a series of difficult exams Mrs. Mulligan (Math, ugh) had assigned over the past few weeks, his Psychiatrist simply upped his dosages, and the school Librarian seemed very confused about what books he was trying to checkout. 

The dream became the dreams. No matter what the circumstance, the face would find a way into it. One night he dreamed that he was on a picnic with a beautiful girl. The day was perfect: big resplendent clouds, a soft wind, flaky homemade biscuits. Then the girls head spun around and her hair twisted into the face.

Paul!

Paul gave his family a shot. Father had seemed to be listening intently, until he removed his teeny ear buds blasting with black metal and asked “What?”. Mother had recently joined three separate clubs: a book club (focused exclusively on the works of Agatha Christie), a knitting club (where they only knit leg warmers), and the board of the Hitters (Sister’s volleyball team/club). This left Mother with only one evening free (Thursday), and Paul targeted that very evening to talk with her. Halfway through Paul’s testimony, Mother was fast asleep. That left Sister. One look at her mean mug as she came lumbering down the stairs told Paul all he needed to know. 

The dreams became reality. The face appeared to him in shadows. At first, he would spot it in the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look it was gone. Then it began to linger when he looked. Then it was just… there. In corners, in windows, in his locker, in his backpack. Luckily out here in the real world it stayed silent. Paul nearly acclimated to his new companion, until he woke up to it screaming his name from the ceiling of his bedroom.

Paul!

After that, Paul tried religion. To cover his bases, he made appointments with a Priest, a Rabbi, and an Imam. 

The Priest heard his plea, anointed him with holy water, told him he was forgiven, and sent him on his way with assurances that if he sinned no more the face would leave him. The face screamed at him from the sidewalk as he walked out.

The Rabbi took him to the underbelly of the Synagogue. There below was a dimly lit chamber harboring a brick pool with water so still Paul wasn’t even sure it was there. The Rabbi instructed Paul on the proper steps of a Mikveh and left him with many guarantees that the ritual would relieve Paul’s ailment. The face howled at him as he was drying himself.

The Imam pulled back a curtain in his office, revealing a hidden library. He consulted the series of towering shelves, pulling from them a dusty tome that he handled whilst wearing silk gloves. He guided Paul through the pages and explained that he was possessed by a Jinn and was in need of a professional exorcism. Paul was willing to give it a go, until the Imam informed him that the exorcism required for his particular Jinn cost a cool ten thousand dollars. The face squawked at him from a wall mural by the front door.

Paul!

Without the support of his circle, his family, or God, Paul fell into hopelessness. His remaining days were spent in a horrid mash of mundane quotidian life and the existential face screaming his name and, eventually, speaking in frantic jibberish. Every waking moment that the face wasn’t haunting Paul saw him in a state of disillusioned discomposure and distraction. 

“Paul!“

The shout broke Paul from his reverie.

“There he is! The bell rang, Paul. You’re free to go.”

Paul instinctively collected his belongings and made an drowsy beeline to the door. Mr. Takahashi sauntered back to his desk and planted himself in his antiquated desk chair, “Have a good weekend and feel free to contact me if you need anything regarding this upcoming test.”

The offhand statement paused Paul in his tracks and drew his attention to the board. Inscribed in multi-colored dry-erase marker atop the white melamine were diagrams of planets and aliens and communication devices all connected with dotted lines labeled sound waves and messages and cosmic transmissions. 

“Actually, I do have something…”

The scritch-scratch of writing fell silent. Eyebrows rose in anticipation. Wrinkled ears twitched and effloresced. White bristles of hair floated with electric curiosity.

“And what might that be youngster?”

“…a question.”

Mr. Takahashi, who had never once received a question from any student ever, exploded from his seat, “Really?! Excellent! I love questions. Science is all about questions. What is it, my boy? Ask away!”

“Uhhh, “ A thousand and a half scenarios ran through Paul’s mind as he imagined how this would go, each one ending in misery or embarrassment as Paul was laughed out of the classroom, “You know what… never mind. I’m good! I think I just thought of the answer already. Ha! Silly me. Anyways, thanks!”

Paul sprang into a traipse toward the door. A look of deathly seriousness seized Mr. Takahashi’s face. The short man seemed a hundred feet tall as he marched up to Paul, blocking his path. Nose to nose he stood without saying a word, his heavy breath coating his glasses with fog. Paul remained frozen and wide-eyed waiting for something to happen. 

“You dare tempt a scientist, and a teacher no less, with a question and then lie to that scientist slash teacher that you know the answer when it is very clear that you still have a burning curiosity because it is practically written on your face?!”

“It’s… it’s not that.”

“What could possibly be keeping you from asking a simple question?”

“I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“…That you won’t believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe you about a test question?”

“It’s not a test question…”

“Well then what is it?!”

“It’s about something that’s been happening to me.”

“Oh dear,” Mr. Takahashi nervously brushed his coat and pants, “Perhaps you are correct my boy. I am most certainly not equipped to handle this. Puberty is not my-“

“It’s not puberty! …It’s about something strange that’s been happening. Something that I can’t explain.”

“Oh,” A thick gust of air left Mr. Takahashi as he relaxed, “Now for that I’m far more qualified.”

“Really?”

“Of course! Science is my forte and Science was made to explain the unexplained! Now tell me about these events, these things that have been happening.”

“Well… For a while now, I’ve been seeing something. It started only in my dreams, but now it’s showing up in the real world. It seems like no one else notices it, because if they did they would surely say something about it! It’s always screaming my name! Paul, Paul, Paul! Again and again!”

“What is it my boy? What’s screaming your name?”

“…A… …A face."

“A face?! ” Tiny, spotted hands wreathed around Paul’s shirt collar and pulled him up. Mr. Takahashi could go from zero to sixty real quick. “Are you sure my boy?! And you’re sure it was screaming your name?!”

“Yes. Most definitely, I am sure.”

“Did it do anything else? Did it say anything else?!” Spit splattered across Paul’s face and brow.

“It also screamed a bunch of gibberish.”

Paul was yanked closer, “When?!”

“I don’t know! Not at first. First is was just my name, then after awhile it started saying the gibberish.”

The ground plunked as Paul’s rump met it. Mr. Takahashi vanished and returned with an absurd amount of files. Incoherent mumbles mingled with the swishing of a thousand papers. Then, a single file was suspended in the air.

“This! This is what we need,” The file landed in Paul’s lap as Mr. Takahashi swept the remaining folders into a cardboard box, “I have been waiting over fifty years for this moment!”

Paul remained planted on the floor, confusion and intrigue twisting his face, “…What?”

A face swallowed Paul’s vision, “Fifty. Years. This is it.”

Mr. Takahashi’s tapped the manila dossier. A title was inscribed in thick black letters on its face: 

COMMUNICATION FROM THE FUTURE: HAVE WE BEEN CONTACTED AND OTHER THEORIES

The heading did nothing for Paul’s bewilderment, “…What?”

“I’ll spell it out for you kiddo!” Paul was suddenly whirling in a chair as Mr. Takahashi flipped the white board to a fresh side. A black shoe halted the spinning and Paul was face to face with a mad scientist and his point, “You are being contacted from the future.”

“…And how did you come to this conclusion?”

“It’s simple! Absolutely elementary my boy! It began with my sensei Master Hayao Miyamoto PhD,” Mr. Takahashi drew images corresponding with his monologue, crafting an expert and informative palette with the four different colors at his disposal, “One day he was lazily noodling with a set of equations that were thought to contain a mathematical blue print for time travel, if only someone could marry them together into an exquisite and elegant composite.”

“Did he figure it out?“

“No!” Mr. Takahashi’s marker smacked the board in coordination with his rhetoric, “He discovered that these particular equations would never, and I mean never, answer time travel. Instead, he ascertained that they held a far more narrow, but no less fascinating, discovery: The necessary evidence to prove that future time travelers were trying to contact us!”

“Wow! What did he do after he figured that out?”

“He died.”

“Oh, geez. I’m sorry.”

“The time for mourning has come and gone, my boy! Master Hayao Miyamoto PhD was a scientist to his last breath, and he would never have wanted any student of his to waste one precious Science minute more then they had to before getting back on the Science train! So, I got back on that thing!”

“Ummm… Okay! So what did you figure out on the Science train?”

“What I figured out caused me great suffering. I was ridiculed in the Science community and forced out of the lab my sensei had started.”

“Why? I thought Science people were cool!”

“They are! So, so cool. But I discovered something in those equations that I could not prove… Until now.”

“Because of the face?”

“Precisely! With your help my boy, I can finally capture solid proof of my theory and retake my place in the halls of Science!”

Mr. Takahashi ripped a panel off the wall and yanked a pull cord within the darkness. The muffled sound of an engine rumbled underneath Paul as the room transformed. Metal sheets slammed in front of every window pane in a wave of steel screams. The cabinets and counters flipped and spun, replaced by laboratory tech and gizmos.

The floor split and the two pieces shifted upward. All of the rooms contents, including Paul himself, began to slide. Stages sprang from the pit beneath. Paul haphazardly parkoured himself across the slumping desks, landing face first on a newly sprouted platform. He clasped his body around the metal plate like a support blanket and shut his eyes with an implausible force. The remaining chairs, tables, and escritoires all disappeared into the endless pit below him. The two spilt rectangles that had once been the totality of the floor pressed themselves against the walls of the abyss and settled with a loud clank sound.

And with that, the madness subsided. Silence returned. Paul cracked opened his eyes and bore witness to the array of platforms suspended upon a blanket of nothingness. They were arranged in a rectangle that followed the shape of the room, with one large hole in the center of the layout. In fact, Mr. Takahashi was missing as well. Oh no.

“Yaaaaaahooooooo!”

The shout came from below like a shotgun blast. As it grew closer, so too did the wiring and pounding of another engine. A new platform exploded from the darkness and filled the empty center space. Upon it stood Mr. Takahashi, now garbed in a completely different outfit complete with rubber gloves, huge tinted goggles, and just so many buckles, and a colossal machine. Standing half a man above Mr. Takahashi, the contraption was a tangle of sparking cables and metal tubes. Copper appurtenances budded from every available space, vibrating with energy. At the mechanisms center, a translucent tube formed a ring that hung motionless within an energy field. Paul could do nothing but gape.

“This machine is a Grand Master work of my own design. I call it: The Communicator! Fifty two and one half years went into its development, all in secret here in my secret lab of secrets. Right underneath Science, the School, and even the Students noses! Ha!”

Mr. Takahashi ripped several cables out the machine and plugged them into a different section causing smoke and explosive energy particles to discharge. The Communicator gave a cry and began to whir more loudly.

“Are you ready lad?”

“Ready? Ready for what?!”

Mr. Takahashi produced an impossibly long reacher grabber from his coat and picked up Paul by the shirt, gently placing him two platforms over.

“Do you see that ring my boy?”

“The big one in the middle?”

“That’s right!” Mr. Takahashi ripped out yet more cables and plugged them into a panel on the other side of the device, “It will be there that you will see your mysterious face, but you will be able to understand it this time! I think.”

“You think?!” Paul was now shouting in order to be heard above The Communicator’s blaring engine.

“I’m still working out the kinks!” The machine burped and an explosion fumed from a vent underneath the ring.

Paul took the scene in. The madman frantically adjusting things on his volatile creation. The bottomless pit beneath him. The blinking lights and pulsing tubes adorning the walls. Whatever initial shock that had consumed Paul before was now vaporized, replaced by an urgent need to get the hell out of there. He wobbled to his feet and began the journey to the next platform. When he made contact with it, the support beam holding it up bent and he was launched to the platform beyond. His body slide across it as he grabbed wildly for something to hold onto, finding nothing but slippery chrome and empty air. As his body left the platform, a loose bolt jutting from the side of it tangled with Paul’s shirt leaving him hanging face to face with a black chasm and the potential immediacy of his own mortality.

Mr. Takahashi materialized next to him.

“Where are you going my boy?! Don’t you want to know why you’ve been contacted?”

Paul shook his head.

Mr. Takahashi heaved Paul up from his existential dangling and spun him to meet his eye.

“You would reject curiosity? The very nature of the Scientist?”

Paul nodded his head.

“But Paul, my boy. You could end your suffering. You could put a stop to the endless harassment of the face. Think of it! Through the power of Science, you could end the horror of the unknown. That’s all the face is! The unknown! You believe that it is impossible to understand, impossible to know, and that is frightening. But you must be brave my boy! You must face the unknown with all of your courage and spirit. It is the way of the Scientist. “

“But are you sure this will even work. That machine looks like it’s about to explode.”

Mr. Takahashi turned to look at his beloved invention, vibrating and sputtering in all its glory. The mad scientist turned back with a crazed grin.

“Risks are essential to Science my boy. Discovery comes with a price. Are you willing to pay the price? To take the risk?”

“Uhhhh-“

“Fantastic! That’s the spirit!”

Paul was thrust back to his center platform and landed with his face to The Communicator.

“Now keep your eye on the ring my boy and focus your mind on the face. Picture it, vividly, and it will appear!” Mr. Takahashi slammed his fist into a large red button and two jets of fire bleached from beneath the machine.

Paul stared at the pellucid band as it began to spin within the energy field. Green bolts appeared all around it, absorbing into the transparent tubing. Its edges blured into a sphere of pure white. Paul strained to keep his eyes open and fixed upon the ball. From deep within his mind, he pulled the images of the face from every memory he could gather. He imagined the memories shooting from his eye sockets into the glowing orb. Recollection by recollection, a shape appeared within the blinding light.

“Yes! It’s happening my boy! Keep going!”

The Communicator began to levitate, along with Paul and Mr. Takahashi.

“Uh-oh.”

The platforms around the room split from their support beams and crumbled into balls, forming atomic spirals around the machine. The tubes, wires, and panels tore from the walls and joined in the orbital dance. Paul did not break his glare. He pressed more and more memories into the glowing heart of the device. With each new addition, the shape became more distinct. Mr. Takahashi floated by, tangled in the mess of junk now winding around Paul and The Communicator, his finger locked onto the forming shape.

“You’re doing it! I can see it my boy! Just a little more!”

Paul hammered more memories into the white-hot core until at last he reached the end of them. When the last one hit, the room fell silent and the scrap helix ceased to spin. Time stood still. The contents of the room hung frozen in a perpetual pause. Then, a single, angelic note rang out from the machine. As it crested, the room began to vibrate. Upon its peak, the room was trembling with earthquake force. A burning light sprang from the core of The Communicator and swallowed the world around them.

Paul awoke in a field of white stretching to a white horizon metting a white sky. Before him was not the face, but a creature. An almost man. It was a bi-pedal humanoid, and at first glance it could have been mistaken for a human. But then… The faint bluish hue of its skin. The six fingers on each hand. The line of tiny holes running from its forehead to its chin. The extra eyelid that crossed horizontally with every blink.

“Paul.”

When it spoke, the words did not match its lips.

“Paul. Can you understand me at last?”

“…Yes?”

“Really?”

The creature stood with excitement and turned to nobody.

“He understands me! Yes, I know! A miracle from the Unia at last!”

The creature laughed a strange laugh and hugged the air around it before returning its attention to Paul.

“Paul. I am Stranu Nirjis, steward to The Mighty Klarew of Vulol and caretaker of Drypso 3655.”

“Holy monkeys. Aliens are real?”

“Not exactly. It is true that I am perhaps quite alien to you. But rest assured, I am as human as you are. I am simply from a far distant future.”

“What future?”

“The year 40,000AD to be precise.”

“Woah! Well, can you tell me if aliens are real?”

“I would love to educate you on the nature of our universe and beyond, but I am afraid I have far more pressing matters to discuss with you and this method of time communication is quite expensive.”

“Wait, you need my help?”

“Indeed, Paul. Indeed.”

“I’m not helping unless you tell me if aliens are real.”

Stranu fell to its knees and bowed.

“Please Ancient One. I am begging you. My very life depends upon your aid.”

“Your life?! What on Earth do you need from me?”

The future person sprang to its feet.

“In three Earth days hence, an Ambassador from the Emperor will be visiting my planet to dine with my Mighty Lord. This feast is of the utmost importance, for it may forge an alliance that will bring an end to the Galatic Civil War. The problem is, this Ambassador holds a love for 21st century Earth foods.”

“So? There’s plenty of 21st century Earth Foods to choose from. Just make this dude something!”

“It is, unfortunately, not that simple.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Well… Food is no longer a requirement for humankind in my time. We instead inject a nutrient shot into ourselves twice a day.”

“Gross.”

“It is not!”

“Yah! It’s gross. Why do you need my help?”

“You are Paul William Bell, son to Atticus William Bell, correct?”

“…Yes?”

“This Ambassador is the High Ambassador Woklot. Woklot Bell.”

“What?! My family survives to 40,000AD and I have a great-great-whatever grandson name Woklot?”

“The data is as the data is, Ancient One. ”

“Wait, y’all have all this crazy cool technology. Are you telling me the future didn’t keep track of any Earth recipes?”

“It is as you say…”

“What meal did you want to make for this dude?”

“We commissioned a thorough research project. Our historians were able to uncover the most important and defining dish from your era, the High Ambassador’s favorite decade I might add.”

“Oh, really? And what does the future think is the most important and defining dish of my era?”

“As mentioned, the records are slim, but a cryptic acronym was discovered on a weathered historical artifact.”

“And?”

“The dish was called.. The P.B.J.”

To be continued.