Billboard Sky

Chapter Four, Sticks and Stones

From a deep sleep, Ed awoke and could have sworn he heard a switch being flicked up to turn something on. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the light... the moon? As the sleep drifted from his eyes, into focus came the midnight shine of MICROSOFT.COM, and the moon was hidden behind a large cloud about a hand's length away. The cloud drifted towards the billboard in the sky, like a fluffy overused school chalkboard eraser. Ed crawled out of his hut to watch.

He heard the switch flicking sound again, and realized it was the sound of underbrush cracking under the feet of a rodent. He couldn't be sure what kind, as no other noise came but the footsteps, marked by twisted twigs and bamboo snaps. As Ed walked to the shore of the island, he wondered what rat meat would taste like if cooked on an open fire. So far he'd survived off the protein of bugs and he'd eaten them raw. A few clams, a few snails, and the rain had been minimal, but he'd collected enough to keep himself content between the coconut drinks and the seaweed soup, with bugs thrown in for content.

The warm sand fondled his feet as he walked closer and closer to the water's edge, as the cloud moved closer and closer to MICROSOFT.COM

It really was a big sky, Ed mused. If he turned to his right, the light of the ad wasn't even visible, and the stars were unobstructed. If he turned to his left, the same. It was only if he stood this particular way that he was subjected to the letters, the words, the advertisement.

The cloud's edge touched the last letter, the M, and Ed felt both merry and then, almost instantly, very concerned. The cloud pushed against the O, eating it whole. Ed's heart raced, and he didn't feel the water on his feet as he stepped forward into the ocean, closer to the sky. The C was just about to lose its top curve when the cloud, for no reason at all, sunk down and floated south, leaving the rest of the letters untouched. The OM reappeared, as well as the dangling half moon of the C, and Ed was up to his neck in the ocean. Waves bumped over him in small folds, and Ed let his tears mix with the salt and sea.

A small porpoise or seal, he wasn't sure which, poked up in front of Ed. Stared at him. Then, turned to stare at the part of the sky Ed himself was looking. Together, they both watched as MICROSOFT.COM seemed to breifly go brighter, and then, out. The sea creature looked at Ed in what could only be described as a quizzical look, as if Ed could somehow explain what they had both seen. But Ed had no answers, and even if he did, he wouldn't know how to explain it with just his eyes, and the sea creature could only communicate with him, a human, in that way.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," Ed said, out loud, to the face and eyes of the sea creature. The sea creature tilted its head, so Ed said it again.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but WORDS will never hurt ME."

Ed liked how his voice sounded, and was so warmed to hear a human voice, even his own.

"STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT WORDS WILL NEVER HURT ME," he said, laughing and walking, almost dancing, back towards the shore. The sea creature remained where they both had watched the advertisement shut down.

Ed ran and then fell, splashing, swimming, to the shore. He reached to the bottom and pulled up some sand, some rocks, some leafy floaters and whipped it all into the air. As it hit the ocean, it sounded like applause at a baseball stadium.

"Who's on first?" Ed laughed, and turned to look at the sea creature, but it had already gone away, too.

His eyes darting around, in the hopes of seeing the eyes, the nose, the face of the sea creature that had shared a moment with him, but there was no proof it had even happened.

But he knew it had happened.

Ed brought his eyes up to the sky and tried to see the satelite image, the outline of the letters, but with no light, with no energy, with nothing being put into it, it could not be seen.

"Go back on," Ed demanded. "GO BACK ON. Now. Now! Turn it back on," Ed cried. And then Ed remembered how his mother used to battle with his dad about the nightlight in his bedroom.

"Night lights are for sissies, Ed!" His dad had yelled and ripped the Buzz Lightyear nightlight from the socket.

"Edward!" His mother had yelled at his father, "Eddy just needs a little light in case he has to use the bathroom at night."

"No son of mine is going to be a pussy and..."

"Edward!"

"Discussion over! No night lights!"

Ed imagined that Space Marketing probably felt the same way he had during the years of debate on the right to have an advertisement in the sky.

Ed awoke, two hours later, as a crab trying to climb up his head got tangled in his hair. Grabbing it and yanking off most of its claws, Ed looked up at the sky. Glancing at his wrist, which wore no watch, but still bore a light indentation of where one had been for almost a decade, Ed shook his head and then the legless crab and bits of sand fell to the shore. With claws in one hand and the main body in the other, Ed stood up and breathed in deeply through his nose, and sighed it out through his mouth.

"I missed the two o'clock show!" Ed mumbled and walked to where his fire hole was. Bits of red embers still remained from the previous day's bug roast. It wasn't even that the bugs tasted better cooked on open fire; they didn't. It was Ed's need for small changes, variety and his taste buds' boredom with the same bug and worm gig. Ed lifted a few pieces of drift wood and twigs he had in a pile nearby and got the flames going. His calloused fingers placed the crab on top of the driftwood, with the legs on top of the torso, one of which quickly rolled off and fell deep into the burning. He watched as the fire tapped with long reddish-orange flares the crab's oval shaped body. Tap, tap, tap. Tag, you're it. Tag, you're a late night snack.

Using two long sticks, Ed pulled the cooked crab off the fire and placed it on the sand to cool. Leaning back, his hands sinking into the softness of ocean-smoothed earth and boulders reduced to the size of pinheads, Ed wondered when and if anyone had even looked for any of the fishermen. Maybe it was just assumed they had all perished. Ed often was assumed to be dead. Old friends who hadn't seen him in years, bumping into him on the streets, or in bars, saying "I thought you were dead." and "Someone told me you killed yourself, I'm glad to see that's not true!" as a greeting.

He hadn't thought about the storm at all since the boat had been thrown around by waves bigger than two story houses. He hadn't thought of the sounds of the Captain yelling out orders and throwing survival gear around like candy being thrown from a float in a parade. He hadn't allowed himself to think about the way the Captain's face got smashed in by a barrel that broke loose from rope thinned and frayed by years of use. He'd not wanted to recall how the Captain kept talking, as if his left eye wasn't crushed deeply into the socket, as blood poured from the tear duct in spurts, and all of his top teeth shooting out of his mouth with every word spoken at high velocity. He wish he'd never have to hear again the sounds of a nearby fisherman drowning, once the boat was gone, Ed's ears under the water, breathing in gulps of air and ocean spray through his nose, listening to vanishing cries of "no, God, no," which spoken under water sounds more like "oh, go, oh."

And the vomit that rose moments later, circling Ed with the foul evil of strangulation by the sea.

And Ed was in the ocean's grip, thrown around and sucked under, slapped upside the face by mean smacks that seemed to come straight from God himself. So Ed had yelled "FUCK YOU, I'M SORRY." And God stopped hitting him, even though Ed was lying and wasn't sorry, and never would be sorry.

And the crab meat was good. It was sweet and full, and it came out in large pieces. Ed ate quietly and sleepily.

Posted by nft at May 24, 2004 11:00 PM