Felt like Buck and I were the only ones left in Fresno. Who names their kid Buck? I asked him once if it was a nickname or something, and he said no. His name really was Buck.
Fact was, I hardly spoke to Buck in high school. He was known as the kid with the shaved head who talked about joining the Marines, and then “accidentally” drank a batch of datura tea that left him perma-tripping in the hospital for five months.
Five years after graduation and we were both stuck in Fresno, becoming fast friends over gin and tonics at O’Connor’s, the stripmall Irish pub off Herndon and Marks.
High schoolers still sat on their tailgates and shot the shit on slow nights in the adjacent Taco Bell parking lot. Only difference was they were smoking e-cigs and listening to Travis Scott instead of chewing Grizzly and listening to Mac Dre. How times change.
From what I gathered, Buck was still hanging around trying to make friends with the youngins, and they only waited to ridicule him until he was out of earshot because Buck bought them beer. Saddest of all was how earnestly Buck craved their companionship. Through all the bluster and parking lot bullshitting, Buck really was just a lonely man looking for love. Who could begrudge him that?
At some point, Buck heard there was a guy his own age only a stone’s throw away, drinking away his sorrows at O’Connor’s. That was me. That’s how the two of us started talking.
I said once, “Buck, don’t you ever want to live someplace else besides Fresno?” He looked at me like the thought had never crossed his mind.
What was I doing in Fresno?
After a stint waiting tables and trying my hand at acting in LA, I: (1) got dumped, (2) got a DUI, and (3) got fired (for something that wasn’t my fault, but it’s a whole other story). All in the span of a month. And so I moved home, back in with my drunk dad. Not my dream life, but being penniless and without a drivers license in LA is like being a eunuch at the Playboy Mansion.
Only upshot: my dad had just started shacking up with a new girlfriend in San Luis Obispo and so I had the house pretty much to myself. In high school, I wished my parents would get divorced so they could busy themselves dating other people and I’d be left to host house parties like all my other friends with divorced parents. But my mom waited till after I graduated to cheat on my dad and move to Sacramento, and now the only good thing about their split was a place to go back for some post-canned-dumped-and-DUI R&R.
I pretty quickly got a sense of why Buck spent so much time in and around that parking lot. A girl who went by Sia, a junior in high school, seven years our junior. Buck was infatuated with her, but seemed to recognize it was pure fantasy. He kept himself at arm’s distance, dared to try small talk occasionally, but was mostly content to be nearby, in her orbit, shooting the shit with the high schoolers who’d begun calling him “Big Lurk” behind his back. Poor Buck. Poor Big Lurk, the high schoolers’ beer procurer. Sometimes, they wouldn’t even give Buck the cash to buy the beer, and he’d just buy it out of the goodness of his heart! Or the loneliness, moreover.
As for Sia, she seemed to hardly register Buck’s existence. Or at least did a damn good job at pretending he wasn’t there. All of this I saw while I’d sit in O’Connor’s, watching Buck’s approach across the hot asphalt of the T-Bell parking lot, or after the two of us parted ways after a round of gin and tonics. Buck would say, “I’ll see you later,” but he wouldn’t go home. I’d see him hanging back to cozy up to the high schoolers, to get into Sia’s orbit. That was Big Lurk for you.
One day I was going through my dad’s stuff and I found his cocaine. I was surprised by my own reaction. Not upset, but depressed. I’m not the kind of guy to spill my heart out, but I felt like telling someone, so I told Buck over gin and tonics. I told him what I’d found, and he said, “Whoa. Did you know he did coke?”
“No,” I said. “I had no idea.” I guess I looked awfully sad, because Buck asked me if I was alright. “I’m good,” I said.
“What’s the big deal?” said Buck. “You’ve never done coke?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?”
“So you hold your dad to higher standards than yourself?”
“I guess I do,” I said. “You don’t?”
“Fuck no. If I held my dad to higher standards, I’d be fucking miserable. I’d blow my brains out if I expected a damn thing from my dad.”
I nodded, as if I knew what Buck meant. That was the sort of thing Buck said. I guess his dad was a real asshole? Buck looked at me funny. “Let’s do your dad’s coke,” said Buck with mischievous finality.
“I don’t know,” I said, but I’d already arrived at the same decision. The baggie was in my pocket, and I was secretly hoping Buck would make the suggestion.
So we closed our tab at O’Connor’s and slid into the cab of Buck’s truck and snorted the coke right there in the hot parking lot. The way he was parked, we had a perfect view of the high schoolers across the way in front of T-Bell. They were like a muted TV show, offering passive entertainment while we discussed other things. Until Sia showed up. I could feel Buck tense. He watched her hawkishly, like a cat watching a squirrel. I didn’t say a word. I let him pretend like he was totally engrossed in our conversation, nothing else on his mind. As for Buck, he did a convincing job keeping the conversation going while he glared at Sia. Buck was a chatty dude by nature, but high on ayo, he talked a mile a minute, unable to stay on any one topic for too long.
I’d say Buck did seven-eighths of my dad’s cocaine. Buck cut it into fat, neat lines with a folding blade he kept in his pocket. He seemed like a real pro. Not his first time, clearly. He started telling me about how he couldn’t join the Marines out of high school after his bad datura trip stained his record. The only two things I remembered about Buck in high school were his Marine aspirations and his bad trip—and here we were rehashing that very lore. But he moved on quickly enough, saying things like, “You got to be careful these days because China White can be cut into ayo from Sinaloa, and one bump of some untested powder can send you six feet under.” I didn’t have much to comment on his drug talk. Again, he recalled the datura episode. He said that was the beginning of the end for him, the moment he went from outsider on the fringes of high school society to complete, utter outcast. And now this, I thought. Big Lurk.
“You never know what’s in a drug,” said Buck wistfully.
“Mm,” I said sympathetically. He snorted the last morsels of my dad’s stash and looked back up at Sia. We soon found ourselves both staring unabashedly at Sia. Two keyed up losers doing coke in a Fresno parking lot, watching a high school girl. She was dancing now, to some song playing loudly from someone’s car.
“I’m gonna talk to her,” said Buck.
“Who?” I said, pretending not to know what he was talking about. Before Buck could answer, a drunk high schooler came stumbling in to make a move on Sia. I recognized the kid. Sergey. Little brother of a guy I played soccer with in high school. Sergey was clearly drunk, drinking some murky concoction from a water bottle. Not very discreet on his part. And he was trying to get on Sia’s level, dancing with her. Sia played along for a bit, laughing at Sergey’s impaired motor skills. I glanced at Buck and saw him utterly transfixed by the two. Poor Buck. Then, Sergey grabbed Sia by the arm. The whole thing played out clear as day from our post in the parking lot. Sergey aggressively tried to kiss Sia, and Sia retracted. That did not stop Sergey. He tried again. And then something in Buck snapped. He started his truck and drove over towards the two, even though it was a mere walk from where we were parked.
It was obvious Sergey was too rough with Sia, but perhaps I thought someone closer could handle the situation before it got out of hand. Buck didn’t feel that way. He was high and he was mighty. His truck screeched before the high schoolers. Buck hopped out while I remained in the cab, dumbfounded. Someone shouted, “Big Lurk!” Before Sergey could say a word, Buck decked him. The drunk kid fell hard and then looked up in a daze, blood now seeping from his nose.
“Dude,” was all Sergey was able to muster. Everyone present appeared too stunned to interject, as Buck continued his assault. It was only after Buck landed several more hits to Sergey’s face, that the surrounding high schoolers mobilized to try and stop him. Buck was undaunted, though. It wasn’t until Sia screamed that Buck seemed to awaken from his rage. He looked over at her, sobered.
“Yo, get the fuck on out of here,” said one of the high schoolers. Buck obeyed the command like a dog, retreating to the truck cab. “Fuckin’ weirdo, man,” said someone else, as Buck closed the door to his truck. He peeled off, away from Taco Bell.
Buck wouldn’t let me go home, though. He just kept driving and talking and talking. I thought for sure we’d get pulled over. Fresno cops are like birds of prey. Buck started texting and driving, which made me nervous. I asked him to stop, to let me text for him, before he got us both killed. Buck was silent, ignoring me, engrossed in his text conversation.
“Fuck, man, just pull over and let me out,” I finally said.
“Here?” asked Buck, confused, as if he had no idea why I was upset.
“Yeah, here, wherever,” I said.
“Nah, man,” said Buck. “The night is young.” He handed me his cellphone, which was pulled up to his text conversation. “Help me with these directions,” he said.
“What is this?” I asked, looking over the texted directions.
“Some party,” said Buck.
“Who sent them?”
“Clovis kid.”
“A high schooler?” I asked. There was some biting subtext to my words, surely. Buck didn’t register it, though.
“Clovis East kid,” he said matter-of-factly.
I looked down at the directions. They read something like this:
Directions to Spillage
Buck and I both knew Spillage. It was a place kids went to drink 40s and smash empties on the concrete. A little hidden nook in the endless farm country that had been turned into a troublemaker’s paradise. I’d been there a couple times in high school. Buck told me on the drive through the night-shrouded farmland that they’d started throwing raves out there.
The second we touched down at Spillage, Buck was circling and scanning the crowd like a goddamn vulture. He wasn’t as impressed by the freaky scene as I was. I kind of wanted to take it all in without Buck’s agro energy, but I couldn’t find the will to tell him to chill out. So he scanned and circled while I took in the crowd and nodded my head to the fast-paced psytrance. Everyone was sort of in their own world, which was good; purist, about the music, not about the talking. Some socialized on the sidelines, and you could tell they were either too fucked up to dance or they didn’t get it.
Then, I followed Buck’s gaze to Sia and realized what we were doing there.
Sia wasn’t upset with Sergey any longer. Quite the contrary. Maybe she’d never been. The two were as affectionate on the concrete dance floor as any two people can be without entering the realm of public fornication. That really soured Buck, which soured me in turn. I pitied his pitiful comeuppance.
For a while, Buck pretended to enjoy himself and nod his head to the music, but he kept watching Sia and Sergey. He finally said, “Fuck this, let’s go.”
“I’m not ready to go,” I told him, which was a half-truth; I could stay or go, it didn’t matter. I don’t know why I felt like kicking Buck while he was down. Maybe it had something to do with his reckless driving earlier in the night. Maybe Buck was just too easy to bag on. Buck looked annoyed by my attitude, but he finally recognized someone else off in the distance.
“Hey, that’s Bryan!” he said. “Bryan!” he called. I didn’t know who Bryan was, but I followed Buck as he made his way through the dance floor to the rave’s periphery, its outer rungs where the people taking breathers stood talking and chain smoking a safe distance from the PA. There, Buck united with “Bryan”, but he didn’t think to introduce me. I didn’t care; I got a good enough look and had no desire to meet the guy. I let the two old friends hug it out without me. Buck seemed happy to have some friend to distract him from Sia. I obviously wasn’t helping the cause. We were never really friends, as it was. I stood alone at the outer rung with the chain smokers, marveling at the dancing throng congregated in the dried-up irrigation canal. A kid offered me a cigarette. That was the kind of scene it was—Fresnan ravers drugged and dancing in the middle of nowhere, liable to offer you a cigarette without you having to bum one. I’d noticed the kid offering me the cigarette moments earlier. Hard to miss. Wearing a stuffed animal backpack. Dancing alone with his eyes closed, sort of swaying like a breeze could knock him over. Evidently tripping. Uppers and downers combo, or maybe just too much uppers. Too much serotonin release. I took the cigarette.
“Tiger Lily,” he said.
“What?”
“My raver name.”
“Oh,” I smiled, and then introduced myself as “Mad Dog,” making up my own on the spot.
“Why so sad, Mad Dog?” Tiger Lily asked.
“Me? I’m not sad,” I forced a laugh.
“You sure look it.”
“I guess that’s just how I look,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“Fine? Who wants to be fine? I’d rather be sad. At least that’s a real feeling.” I didn’t know how to contest this logic. Tiger Lily watched me, or rather studied me, like he could read my mind. Then, he smiled, as if he knew something about me, something I was trying to safeguard.
“What?” I said, a bit amused and a bit annoyed.
“Nothing, just, you,” smiled Tiger Lily. He drew on his cigarette, and then he said, “You’re fine. But I think I might have something that would make you happy.”
“I’m not trying to stay up all night,” I told the keyed-up kid, thinking now that the free cigarette was an entry point to sell me drugs.
“Nah, man, not like that,” said Tiger Lily. “You ever heard of Fermi Lines?”
At this point, Buck materialized as if on cue. “No,” said Buck. “What’s that?” Buck was full of happy energy, revitalized, as if Sia, his reason for being here, hadn’t been seen moments ago gyrating on the dance floor with Sergey.
“Buck, this is Tiger, Lily,” I said. I could see Tiger Lily was put off by Buck’s agro energy.
“A friend of Mad Dog’s is a friend of mine,” said Tiger Lily. Buck looked at me like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
“Mad Dog?” said Buck, and then burst out laughing. “I’m sorry,” said Buck. “You were gonna tell us about Firmy Lines.”
“Fermi Lines,” Tiger Lily corrected, annoyed. “Alignments that span the globe, connecting important places in the earth.”
“Like Ley Lines?” I asked.
“Sort of. Except Ley Lines are just conspiracy theory. Fermi Lines are real. Do you know the Fermi Paradox?”
“That it’s statistically impossible that we’re alone in the universe, but for some reason, we’ve had no contact with extraterrestrials,” I said.
Buck looked at me befuddled. Tiger Lily looked impressed. Like we were talking quantum mechanics. Click around on YouTube long enough, and you’ll end up with the same base knowledge.
“Fermi Lines are the unseen borders between our world and theirs.”
“Theirs?” I said.
“You know,” said Tiger Lily.
“Aliens,” said Buck.
“Sure,” said Tiger Lily. “People usually have a specific image in their head when they think of aliens, so I try to avoid that word.”
“What’s politically correct?” I asked.
“The others,” answered Tiger Lily, offering no recognition of humor.
“Uh huh,” I said, just to fill the ensuing silence.
“What the fuck are you guys on, ‘cause I want some,” Buck laughed. Tiger Lily smiled, but I don’t know what tickled him. He definitely didn’t seem to find Buck funny.
“Here,” said Tiger Lily. He pulled out his phone, an iPhone 12. Plugged into the port was an unusual dongle with an orb-like appendage. He unplugged it and offered it to Buck. Buck took it and studied it. I looked down at the thing, wondering why Buck suddenly got the present. It was about half an inch long with your standard male lightning cable on one end and a small marble sized orb dangling from the other end of the wire.
“What is it?” asked Buck.
“It’s a dongle to cross the access points on the Fermi Lines.”
“You just plug it in?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. Do you have Tinder?”
This was getting stranger and stranger.
“Yeah, I got Tinder,” said Buck.
“Try this,” said Tiger Lily. “Look up your nearest access point. You can find maps online. And then go there. At the access point, if you got the dongle plugged in, you’ll start picking up the other side’s grid network. Tinder’s a good app to test the crossover capabilities with that dongle. Just start swiping.”
“And?…”
“See if you match.”
“With an other,” I said.
“With an other,” Tiger Lily confirmed. He lit another cigarette.
“And you’ve done this before?”
“Mhm, yup.”
“You’ve matched with an alien on Tinder, using this dongle?” Buck asked, holding up said dongle.
“Yessiree Bob,” said Tiger Lily, drawing on his cigarette.
“Do they have, like, four tits?” asked Buck. “Or tentacles?”
“You can’t even tell the difference. And they’re super into Simplers. That’s what they call us. Simplers. Because we’re simple, as in, we don’t have full knowledge or access to the grander universal systems that surround us.”
“What about DoorDash?” I asked. “Can we get food delivered from the other side? Extraterrestrial Chipotle?”
“I’ve never tried that,” said Tiger Lily. “Give it a go.”
Buck dwelled on Tiger Lily’s words. I was silently laughing my ass off, certain Tiger Lily and I were on the inside of a joke. I was excited to see how Buck would react. Buck finally chuckled and offered the dongle back to Tiger Lily. “You should be an actor,” said Buck. “You keep a straight fucking face my guy.”
“Keep it safe for me,” said Tiger Lily. “If you’re not impressed with the results, give it to Mad Dog. Otherwise, you know where to find me.” With that, Tiger Lily gestured to the Spillage psytrance rave, as if he could be found there any hour of the day. He stomped out his cigarette and turned back to the dance floor, leaving Buck with the dongle. Buck stared at it and then looked up at me, as if embarrassed to be caught considering the little thing’s potential. I walked along the rave’s outer rim, giving Buck the chance to decide in privacy what he wanted to do with the Spillage dongle.
It wasn’t long before we were hiking back to Buck’s truck, back through the field, through the hole in the fence. We were silent, and the psytrance grew quieter behind us. When we arrived at Buck’s truck, he offered me the keys.
“You mind driving? I’m fucking exhausted,” he said.
“I don’t have a license,” I reminded him.
“I don’t care, man, I’ll fall asleep at the wheel.”
So I drove down Shaw Avenue, back towards Fresno. The sun rose behind us, peeking over the Sierras, giving shape to the surrounding farmland. Buck looked tired, but he was awake. He was staring at his phone damn near the whole ride. I tried to sneak glances. I had a hunch what he was up to, but I wanted to confirm it. When I couldn’t, I just asked him: “Looking up your nearest access point?”
Buck was quiet for a moment, maybe considering whether to save face or answer in earnest. He finally said, “This Fermi Line shit is actually super interesting. Like, there’s not a lot, but I found one forum where someone’s posted a map on this random ass message board.”
“Cool,” I said.
“There’s an access point in downtown, near the ‘Welcome to Fresno’ sign.” Buck continued to scroll around on his phone, analyzing Fermi Lines, I assume. “The next closest one is in Hanford,” he said.
I drove myself home, handed the keys back to Buck, and said goodnight. He no longer looked particularly tired. I think he probably went straight to the ‘Welcome to Fresno’ sign from my dad’s house.
And for three weeks after that, I didn’t see or hear from Buck. I drank gin and tonics at O’Connor’s alone. The red-faced bartender asked me what happened to my friend. I said, “He’s dating hot alien girls from other dimensions now, no time for me anymore.”
The bartender laughed and said, “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”
It was strange to realize that I actually did miss Buck’s company. Not Buck; I secretly loathed Buck. But I missed having a person to speak reliably and openly with. I’d developed a sort of codependency without realizing it. I soon found myself leaving O’Connor’s and watching the high schoolers shoot the shit in the T-Bell parking lot before walking home.
One night a high school kid asked me if I’d buy him beer. As I bought the kid two Mickey’s, I realized I was slowly transforming into Buck.
I thought about joining AA. I started Googling new places to live. I had some scratch saved up, but couldn’t afford damn near anywhere in California without blowing it all in the first few days. I wished I’d sold my dad’s coke. I started Googling odd jobs in Nevada and Utah.
Then—just as I was ready to pull the plug on my Fresno stint, ready to get the hell out and live on the streets if I had to—I ran into Buck at O’Connor’s. It was supposed to be my last gin and tonic hurrah. Buck came in looking for me. He gave me a big hearty hello and even hugged me. The guy was glowing. The happiest I’d ever seen him. “What’s going on?” I said. “You fell off.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” said Buck. “Been busy. But it’s good. Real good.”
“Yeah?” I said, amused by his enthusiasm. Buck ordered a bourbon neat. That was a first. Like he was a whole new man.
“I met someone,” he said smugly, almost conspiratorially.
“Yeah? That’s great. Tell me everything.”
“Her name’s Tasha, she’s six-two, long legs, and long black hair that hangs down to her knees.”
“Sounds like a keeper,” I said. He sounded like he was keeping a scorecard.
Buck said, “Tasha has a friend. She wants to meet you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, her name’s Sharvi.”
“Is she six-three with a perfect ass and blonde braids that drape down to her ankles?”
“You’re trying to be funny.”
“Am I not succeeding?”
“So much for trying to do a friend a favor.” Buck made like he was preparing to leave.
“You want me to ask, I’ll ask,” I said. “Tasha, and her friend, Sharvi…they’re others?”
“I don’t care if you ask or don’t ask.”
“So what happened? You just posted up at the ‘Welcome to Fresno’ sign and started swiping on Tinder?”
“Yup.”
“And you matched?”
“We went on a few dates. Got to know each other. And we just clicked.”
“That easy?”
“Sometimes, that’s how it is.” Buck downed the rest of his bourbon in one sip. He let out a fiery “ah”, and then said, “Look. I can promise you one thing. This is one double date you won’t regret.”
Buck looked at me lasciviously, with innuendo. “Alright Buck,” I said. “I already thought you were out of your fucking mind, what could this do to change that?”
We made plans to meet the following evening at Shobu’s Noodle House. Buck was so eager to have me tag along, I felt like reminding him he was fawning over a high school girl who didn’t know his name only a few weeks earlier. To sober him up, to bring him back down to Earth. But then again, Buck had disappeared for some three weeks… What had he been doing? Had he really been having wild sex in another dimension? If it was a con, it was a long one. The odds that a drugged-out kid who called himself Tiger Lily had given Buck a dongle that gave him access to date women from parallel universes? I would’ve given similar odds if you’d told me back in high school that Buck and I would be hanging out together in Fresno five years in our future. Anything was possible, especially in the noxious heat of a Fresno summer, when triple digits and lingering smog and bottom shelf gin and tonics can make you feel like you’re living in a fever dream. That’s what this was: a fever dream. I even began wishing my dad would come back from his stint in San Luis Obispo with his new girlfriend, to wake me up from whatever this was. But while I was stuck in it, I was going to follow this fever dream to its logical conclusion, whatever that might be.
At Shobu’s, I sat drinking beers with Buck, waiting for Tasha and Sharvi to arrive. “Girls from the other side are just way chiller,” said Buck. “And they’re dying to get with guys from our realm. They call it dumb reality ‘cause they think it’s so simple. They get’a kick out of it.” I was wondering when Buck was going to drop the act at this point. Buck checked the time. The chill girls from the other side were twenty minutes late. “Sometimes they get caught up in the crossing,” Buck said, as if to explain their lateness.
“The crossing?”
“You know, from their side into ours. It’s like crossing the border into Tijuana or something. Backed up. Lots of paperwork.”
“Are there dudes selling puppies, too?” I asked. Buck laughed at my joke. “You’ve learned an awful lot about the way of things on their side in only a few weeks,” I said.
Buck bristled. “They’ll be here,” he said defensively. I guess he could tell I was dubious. We ordered another round. I was starting to feel drunk. I’d fallen a bit deeper into my old patterns, buying mini vodkas at the liquor store and drinking them periodically throughout the day. I was going to excuse myself to the bathroom, to down another, when Tasha arrived. I knew by the dumb smile on Buck’s face. And when I turned, I saw a very tall woman with dark flowing hair entering the noodle house. She met eyes with us, smiled, and waved. She approached. I scrutinized her. If you saw Tasha on the street, you’d do a double take, not because she was incredibly gorgeous. She was good looking, sure. But there was some other quality about her that was arresting. Something ineffable. Call it her otherworldly sparkle. As Tasha arrived at our table, Buck rose like a true gentleman. The two embraced and proceeded to kiss with lots of tongue, Tasha leaning over to reach Buck’s lips. When they finally concluded their affectionate greeting, Buck introduced me. Tasha shook my hand with a cold, limp grasp.
“I’m sorry,” said Tasha. “Sharvi couldn’t make it.”
“Bummer!” said Buck.
“Oh, that’s alright,” I said. “I’m happy to meet you. I’ve heard so much.”
“And I’ve heard a lot about you as well,” said Tasha. I wondered what Buck could’ve told her. The only thing that seemed off about Tasha was her eyes. Her pupils looked like they were forever dilated, and seemed a bit bigger than your average human’s.
“So Buck tells me you’re from the other side,” I said casually enough.
“That’s right,” she said with a playful smile.
“What do you do?”
“Do?” asked Tasha, and then looked to Buck, as if he might be able to translate for her.
“For work?” I clarified.
“They don’t really have work the same way we do,” said Buck.
“They don’t?”
“No, but I understand the concept,” said Tasha. “What I do is hard to describe in Simpler terms, but I suppose one possible translation is that I manage tissue extractions on behalf of an organization that is similar to your Department of Homeland Security.” My look must have appeared baffled enough, because Tasha tacked on, “I’m sorry, but my Simpler language is not perfect. I can’t always find the right words.”
“You’re very articulate,” I said. “And I’m certain you’re better at my language than I am at yours.”
“They don’t have language on the other side,” said Buck, like I was an idiot for suggesting they did.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“They also don’t believe in apologizing,” said Buck. “It’s a sign of emotional weakness.”
“Oh,” I said. “I apologize for my apology. And for my emotional weaknesses.”
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Tasha said. “I’m sometimes shocked at how quickly and adeptly Buck has internalized it all.”
Buck leaned in to beckon discreet, conspiratorial conversation, and said to me, “You know how you said you were surprised at how much I know in only a few weeks? That’s ‘cause others can communicate without words, and download info to your brain like, a thousand times faster than we can talk.” Tasha laughed. “What’s so funny?” said Buck.
“We can download information by a factor much speedier than that,” she said.
“You know what I mean,” said Buck.
“Maybe you can download some info to my simple brain,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” said Tasha with a smug snicker.
“Why not?” I said.
“I just met you. I don’t know if you can be trusted.”
“But you trust Buck?”
“I love Buck,” said Tasha. “Or at least I feel a certain set of emotions about Buck that is analogous to your term ‘love’.”
“I feel the same about you,” Buck told Tasha. They began kissing again. I felt nauseous and ready to leave. When they finally ceased making out, Buck excused himself to the bathroom. “Maybe you two can start building some trust,” Buck joked.
“I’m not sure who the joke’s on here,” I told Tasha, as soon as Buck was out of earshot.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“What are those, contacts?”
“Contacts?”
“You’re big black saucer eyes.”
“I don’t wear contacts. In fact, my vision is twice that of the average Simpler of your realm.”
I laughed. “I hope Buck is in on this and you’re having a go at me. Because if he’s not, then that means the joke is on him, and I don’t think it’s nice to pick on a guy like Buck.”
“What kind of guy is that?”
“He’s been through a lot.”
“I see.”
“What’s the endgame? You seduce him and drain his bank account? No, the guy’s not rich. So what’s going on here?”
At this moment, right when I was getting fired up, Buck returned from the bathroom. “So you and Buck went to high school together?” Tasha asked me as Buck sat, as if I hadn’t just been grilling her.
“That’s right,” I said.
“Tell me a story about Buck in high school,” she said.
“Hm,” I said. I could only think of one. Buck looked at me gravely, as if to warn me from telling the only story that could feasibly come to mind. “To tell you the truth,” I began, “Buck and I weren’t that close in high school. But everyone knew him as the kid who wanted to join the Marines. All Buck would talk about in P.E. was how he was going to enlist. Then, I guess one of the stoners told Buck about datura. Do you know what datura is?”
“No,” said Tasha. “What is it?”
“Jimsonweed. Hells Bells. It’s a plant that grows on the side of the road around here. I guess the Indians used to smoke it or drink it. But if you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re in for the craziest fucking trip of your life. Buck didn’t know what he was doing. Drank a whole seed pod’s worth of datura tea. And he came to school acting completely out of his mind. Swinging and punching and shouting at people who weren’t there. They called an ambulance, he was acting so wild, and then he socked an EMT in the face. When they finally restrained him and took him to the hospital, Buck ended up getting transferred to the psych ward for, like, five months because he was still seeing and talking to shit that wasn’t there.” I paused my story. Tasha was listening equanimously. Buck was staring at the table, abashed. “I guess the Marines wouldn’t take him after that,” I said, concluding the story.
Buck looked up and signaled the bartender for another beer. He looked sad as hell, and I daresay his eyes were wet with burgeoning tears. Tears of shame, I suppose. I wondered why I felt the urge to chastise him at that moment. Again, I pitied him, and loathed my own meanspiritedness. If Buck wanted to believe he was dating a girl from another dimension, who was I to rain on his parade?
“That’s quite a story,” said Tasha. A chime sounded from her cellphone, which looked no different than your average phone from this dimension. “Oh my gosh!” she said. “Sharvi made it. She’s on the Simpler side.”
“Awesome,” said Buck. I offered nothing.
“She wants to meet up,” said Tasha. “She’s super excited to meet you, too,” she told me. Turning back to Buck, she said, “Let’s go to that casino you took me to last week. The one with the card games and pretty lights.”
“What do you say?” said Buck. “Want to come with us to Table Mountain Casino?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“What’s wrong? I’ll drive,” said Buck. He turned to Tasha and explained, “He can’t drive ‘cause he flipped his car driving drunk and they took away his license.”
I didn’t know Buck knew I’d flipped my car. I wondered who’d told him. “Next time,” I said. “You guys have fun.”
The next day, Buck invited me to O’Connor’s. I felt bad about giving him shit, so I agreed. And to be fair, I wanted to hear about how things shook out with Tasha and Sharvi at Table Mountain Casino. But the moment I sat down at the bar, Buck had other things on his mind.
“Tasha invited me to the other side,” Buck said. I didn’t have words to answer that statement. “I’m gonna do it,” he tacked on.
“Good for you, Buck,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say and I wasn’t going to continue to bag on him or be the butt of some drawn out joke.
“She wants me to meet her dad,” said Buck. “I guess he’s like, super high up in the government over there.”
You’ve finally fucking lost it, I thought.
“I might even be able to get a job in their military, like, high up. A military strategist, or something like that. I guess they like Simpler brains, because our emotional capacity is simpler and we can look at things in ways they can’t.”
“That’s great, Buck,” I said. “I’m really happy for you.” Hollower words had never been spoken. I felt a familiar sense of pity for the poor bastard.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Buck.
“You do?”
“Could be dangerous. But some dangers are worth taking. I’m just ready to get the hell
out of here, ya know? Fuckin’ Fresno.”
“I get it,” I said. Apparently he had thought of leaving as well.
“Small town. Everyone remembers me as the dude who got fucked up on datura and it was seven fucking years ago. Anyway, I appreciate you, bro. You were nice to me when others weren’t. Even in high school.”
“Of course,” I said, having no idea what Buck was referring to.
“You remember that time, freshman year, when Troy Pinto pushed me into the urinal while I was taking a piss?” It wasn’t ringing any bells for me. Buck continued: “You pushed Troy and told him not to touch me.”
“Are you sure you’re not confusing me with someone else?” I said. I had zero recollection of the incident.
“No,” said Buck. “It was you.”
“Huh,” I said.
“That’s why I’m giving you this,” said Buck. He handed me an envelope. I already knew what was in it. “If you don’t want it, maybe you can do me a solid and return it to Tiger Lily.”
“Okay Buck,” I said, taking the envelope from him. “Sure.”
“Well,” said Buck. “I guess this is goodbye.” He stood from the bar counter and opened his arms. I followed his lead, and he gave me a big bear hug. “I love you, bro,” said Buck.
“I love you, too, man,” I said, feeling the need to rise to the occasion. I wanted to tell him to be careful, but stopped myself.
With that, Buck exited O’Connor’s, like a cowboy in a Western movie, bracing himself for a new frontier. He even gave me one last look over his shoulder, a little smile, and a nod, as if it say, “Don’t worry about me, honcho. I’m off to greener pastures.”
My dad got me a job answering phones at his friend’s physical therapy office. I did that for a while. I got my license back. I was still in Fresno, but I’d decided Fresno was an alright place to start building anew. One day, I got a call from Buck. I was on the clock, so I couldn’t answer. I texted him: Yoyo, back from the other side? Buck didn’t respond. He called me two more times. Finally, I had someone cover the phones while I snuck off to call him back. He answered, but said nothing.
“Buck?” I said. “Buck?” No voice came through. “Yo Buck, you there?”
Still, nothing. I could hear the faintest music somewhere off in the distance, so I knew the call had been answered. It sounded like psytrance. And then the call ended. I went back to my desk.
That night, after my shift, I tried him back but the call went straight to voicemail. I drove to Taco Bell to grab dinner, wondering on some level if I’d catch him lurking in the parking lot. He wasn’t there, but the usual crowd of high schoolers was. Sia was there, holding hands with Sergey. The drive-thru line was around the corner, so I parked and went inside. When I exited with my Crunchwrap Supreme, a high schooler drinking some purple concoction from a water bottle said to me, “Yo, aren’t you Big Lurk’s friend?”
“You mean Buck?” I said.
“Weird dude who used to buy us beers?”
“Yeah, that’s Buck.”
“You hear what happened to him?”
“No. What happened?”
“They found his car bottom side up in a ditch out in the country, in like, Hanford or some shit.”
“Oh no,” I said. “Is he alright?”
“That’s the thing, man. Hella blood and shit, but no body. Like, he was just gone.”
“Gone?”
“Gone,” said the high schooler. He took a swig of his purple liquid matter-of-factly.
“Fuck,” I said. I had nothing further to say. Just when I thought the fever dream had lifted. “Hey,” I said to the kid. “You know when they’re throwing the next rave out at Spillage?”
“Spillage?”
“Yeah, you know, out in Clovis?”
“Pssh, there ain’t no rave out at Spillage,” said the kid.
“I’ve been,” I said defiantly. “Hella people, too.”
“Yo Josh,” said the kid, signaling one of his cronies. “This guy thinks there’s a rave at Spillage.”
“The fuck?” said this Josh guy. “At Spillage?”
“Yeah, they spin, like, psytrance and shit,” I said, trying to sound on their level.
“Fuckin’ psytrance rave out at Spillage?” The two high schoolers laughed. “There ain’t no rave out there, man.”
“There is,” I said, annoyed. “I’ve been.”
“Have fun,” said one of them. They walked off.
Back at my dad’s place, I ate my Crunchwrap Supreme. I then made for my bedroom, where I found the envelope Buck had given me at O’Connor’s. Inside was the dongle. I was tempted to drive out to the ‘Welcome to Fresno’ sign right then and there and start swiping. But I didn’t.
They never found Buck’s body. I followed the story in the Fresno Bee. They used DNA testing to confirm that the blood was indeed Buck’s. But no body. No Buck. A few months later, an LA friend hooked me up with a hosting job at a fancy steakhouse in Tarzana, and let me crash on an air mattress at his place. I packed up my shit and moved back to SoCal, but before I left, I put the dongle in the envelope and put the envelope in a safe deposit box at a Union Bank in Fresno. On slow nights, when I’m standing at the host station waiting for the next party to enter, I wonder to myself: what the fuck happened to Buck?