Astronaut.
and you know i might have
Getting off of the airplane felt to Noah like being led to the gallows. Madeline had him by the hand and was pulling him past the crates and hanging hammocks filled with luggage and random traveling accessories. The woman’s long red hair flew in his face and splashed him with the smell of strawberries and sex. Her green eyes were fierce and fiery, as well as her blood red lips. Her smile was tingle-inspiring.
All through the trip, the many stops and refueling stations, Noah had forced himself to pay no attention to his surroundings. He had asked to stay in the airplane as long as possible, so that he might soak up the smell and feel that was left of Cape Cod. There was a certain warm chill that he only felt when he was at home with Jupiter. He had wanted to be able to experience the new places in full, without distractions, without any trace of what he had left behind. He wanted each place to have as big an impact on him as was possible. Nothing he didn’t want to see would stay in his memory.
When he stepped out of the plane and opened his eyes, he found that California was much different than he had ever imagined. The sun was actually hot! There was a huge wind that carried his breath away and threatened to topple him head over heels down the sandy slope upon which he stood. It was warm and bright; it was perfect.
The next few hours were spent cleaning the plane. They had passed through a snowstorm over the Rocky Mountains, and ice was still stuck to the tail. Watching it melt in the blazing heat was exhilarating to Noah. All his life, if there was ever frost on something you boiled water and poured it over the inflicted area and hoped it was hot enough to melt it instead of adding to it. Watching this ice just… melt away like that, fascinated him.
When they were finally done, Noah leaned his shoulder on a rather large rock buried immovably in the golden sand at his feet. Its side was smooth and covered in a peculiar green fuzz that seemed to give off its own heat. This he pressed his cheek to, with sunny eyes closed, and relaxed his body. The air smelled of salt and something almost too sweet. When he glanced around to look for the source, he saw in the distance a large, white tree with billowing tendrils of blooming flowers. A faint smile touched his lips, soft as a kiss.
“We are done now, Noah,” said a smooth voice from behind him. He hardly had to move to see that Madeline stood behind him, her brown leather jacket halfway undone. Her tight khaki pants were tucked into a rather tall pair of black boots, and her hands were clothed in bright red gloves. She looked like she meant to eat him. “Will you like me to show you where we shall stay?” Her smile was too big; it was like she was trying to show him every single white tooth in her mouth. Maybe it was to frighten him into her bidding.
Noah chuckled at his thought and ignored Madeline’s questioning glance. “Show me the way, Madeline,” he said grandly, sweeping his hand, palm up, in front of him. She grinned in response and took his hand tightly in hers. The cloth on her fingers was cold and hard, not warm nor soft like when Jupiter stuck her mitten-covered hands in Noah’s shirt during a cold night. He felt a small wave of homesickness, but pushed it away rather earnestly as he followed Madeline.
They would be staying in a small, new hotel near the beach. The manager bragged about the fact that they could hear the waves from their bedroom window. Noah was tired with it almost immediately, and left the moment Madeline let him out of her sight.
He stepped outside and lifted his face to the sun’s embrace, listening to the screaming seagulls and imagining it was just a hot day in the Cape. Dissatisfaction filled the pit of his stomach, and so he dismissed the feeling and began to walk down the crude sidewalk of dry dirt. Before long, he was simply on a long stretch of beach with no buildings or roads. It was nice to see the plain parts of California, rather than the big-time beach houses and wave parties that he was sure would keep him up at night. The raw beauty of the country was what had always allured Noah to places differing from his hometown.
The sand here was much hotter than that in Massachusetts. It didn’t hold water unless you were right next to the shore. It pushed back on his boots, as if in protest of his marring its perfection. Smiling to himself, he took a moment to sit on the beach and pull off his boots. He decided that he would get a small tattoo to remember the heat when he traveled to hotter places. After a second thought, he made his feet bare, shoving his socks in his shoes. He rolled the legs of his pants past his knees and leaned back on his hands to look around him. There were no signs of anyone else, which he found slightly odd.
He stood again and buried his toes in the warm sand, grinning down at his feet like he had just found them after a decade. A thought occurred to him: he would like spending a month here.
After he had wandered at least a mile down the beach, he came upon a small building, half buried in the sand. The burnt orange walls were peeling, looking as if someone had dragged a rake across the concrete. There was a small door-less opening facing the shore, and from it drifted a soft tune. Curiosity tugged at Noah’s heart as he walked closer, listening intently to the music as it grew in volume. There was someone playing a smooth bass guitar, and a soft tap-tap of drums kept time. He came to the corner of the building and stopped, just listening to whoever was playing inside. After a few minutes of the same pretty rhythm, a new instrument joined. Noah felt his skin crawling at the heavy sound of a saxophone, starting quietly and blending in quite well with the drums and guitar.
When the music stopped, he had to fight the urge to start clapping ridiculously loud. Instead, he stepped into the open door and struggled to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
“Hey, looks like we’ve got a visitor,” a man said, his voice followed by a clanging of drumsticks on a cymbal. Noah stepped in further and smiled at the sight before him.
There was a small, dark boy sitting on the ground with a golden saxophone cradled in his lap. Beside him was an older man standing behind a rather old looking kit of drums. He smiled brightly at the newcomer and outstretched a hand. His shake was strong and firm; Noah admired that.
“Wow. That was beautiful. What are you doing out here on the beach?” Noah asked, looking up and down at the dingy clothes clinging to the thin man before him. His dirty blonde hair hung low in his eyes.
“Oh, nothing,” he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. There was a small tattoo on his forearm; it looked like a sparrow with a ribbon flying from its beak. “Just having some fun. What about you?”
The curly-haired man raised his eyebrows and looked around, as if the explanation would be written on one of the walls. He caught sight of another person standing in the corner, and realized that it was the bass guitarist. She was tall and strong-looking, with shoulder-length orange hair. Her clothes were dark and her hand remained on the neck of her guitar like she was afraid it would try to get away from her. She looked up and caught him gazing at her blue orbs.
Noah averted his eyes. “Uh, I was just… wandering around. I heard you from a little ways that way.” He gestured with his hand. “You have wonderful sound,” he said, looking with a smile at the boy. “Where did you learn to play the sax so well?”
The boy’s grin showed a very white row of small teeth. “My friend was giving it away and he taught me how to do it. Do you play, too?” His eager eyes were dark, his hair cut very short on his head.
He shook his head and glanced uneasily at the blonde. This kid was looking at him like he was a steak. “No… I play the guitar. But you three have that taken care of, I guess.” He smiled and met eyes with the man before him. “My name is Noah. I’m just visiting California for a little while, then my pilot and I are flying overseas.”
Surprise touched the drummer’s brow. “Oh, how long? We’ve been looking for a lead guitarist for a few weeks. Perhaps you could show us what you’ve got, and maybe…?”
Noah looked at him and blinked several times. “What, you mean join you? No, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to intrude…” To spite his statement, his eyes turned and gazed longingly at the guitar being clutched by the giantess.
“Well, if you’re interested, I’m Garth Edwards.” Garth pointed to the boy, who was now crouching and rubbing at a spot on his saxophone. “That’s Damon Fischer, and the bass is Marina Sozan. We formed this little band together. We’re The Leveled Hills.” Each member straightened slightly, obviously proud of becoming an organized group.
“That’s amazing. I’d love to try, but right now I should really be getting back to Madeline. She’s my pilot. She’s kind of…” He pointed at his temple and turned his finger in circles. “Very possessive. Where can I look for you, say in two days?”
Garth looked at Marina and shrugged. “My house is a couple miles that way.” He pointed to the back wall and then looked back at Noah. “Just ask around for me; people know me here.”
Noah nodded and shook his hand again. “It’s been such a pleasure. I’ll definitely come see you.”
He walked out the door and stopped, about to go back to ask if he should bring anything to drink, when he heard a small voice whisper “He is so beautiful. Is he Greek?” At first he thought it was Marina, but then he heard a low laughter that was definitely a boy’s. A hot blush coursed over his face. Damon thought he was beautiful. Shaking his head hard, Noah turned on his heel and started walking quickly back the way he had come.
Once he had forgotten the anomaly of a boy commenting on his looks, he felt a surge of happiness overcoming him. He had always wanted to play in a band. He would sit for hours in his bedroom, strumming away and composing anything that came into his head. He would play for Jupiter and Lora Joan, especially when the latter was sick and stuck in bed all day.
Homesick and happy, Noah realized that his life was only just beginning.
All through the trip, the many stops and refueling stations, Noah had forced himself to pay no attention to his surroundings. He had asked to stay in the airplane as long as possible, so that he might soak up the smell and feel that was left of Cape Cod. There was a certain warm chill that he only felt when he was at home with Jupiter. He had wanted to be able to experience the new places in full, without distractions, without any trace of what he had left behind. He wanted each place to have as big an impact on him as was possible. Nothing he didn’t want to see would stay in his memory.
When he stepped out of the plane and opened his eyes, he found that California was much different than he had ever imagined. The sun was actually hot! There was a huge wind that carried his breath away and threatened to topple him head over heels down the sandy slope upon which he stood. It was warm and bright; it was perfect.
The next few hours were spent cleaning the plane. They had passed through a snowstorm over the Rocky Mountains, and ice was still stuck to the tail. Watching it melt in the blazing heat was exhilarating to Noah. All his life, if there was ever frost on something you boiled water and poured it over the inflicted area and hoped it was hot enough to melt it instead of adding to it. Watching this ice just… melt away like that, fascinated him.
When they were finally done, Noah leaned his shoulder on a rather large rock buried immovably in the golden sand at his feet. Its side was smooth and covered in a peculiar green fuzz that seemed to give off its own heat. This he pressed his cheek to, with sunny eyes closed, and relaxed his body. The air smelled of salt and something almost too sweet. When he glanced around to look for the source, he saw in the distance a large, white tree with billowing tendrils of blooming flowers. A faint smile touched his lips, soft as a kiss.
“We are done now, Noah,” said a smooth voice from behind him. He hardly had to move to see that Madeline stood behind him, her brown leather jacket halfway undone. Her tight khaki pants were tucked into a rather tall pair of black boots, and her hands were clothed in bright red gloves. She looked like she meant to eat him. “Will you like me to show you where we shall stay?” Her smile was too big; it was like she was trying to show him every single white tooth in her mouth. Maybe it was to frighten him into her bidding.
Noah chuckled at his thought and ignored Madeline’s questioning glance. “Show me the way, Madeline,” he said grandly, sweeping his hand, palm up, in front of him. She grinned in response and took his hand tightly in hers. The cloth on her fingers was cold and hard, not warm nor soft like when Jupiter stuck her mitten-covered hands in Noah’s shirt during a cold night. He felt a small wave of homesickness, but pushed it away rather earnestly as he followed Madeline.
They would be staying in a small, new hotel near the beach. The manager bragged about the fact that they could hear the waves from their bedroom window. Noah was tired with it almost immediately, and left the moment Madeline let him out of her sight.
He stepped outside and lifted his face to the sun’s embrace, listening to the screaming seagulls and imagining it was just a hot day in the Cape. Dissatisfaction filled the pit of his stomach, and so he dismissed the feeling and began to walk down the crude sidewalk of dry dirt. Before long, he was simply on a long stretch of beach with no buildings or roads. It was nice to see the plain parts of California, rather than the big-time beach houses and wave parties that he was sure would keep him up at night. The raw beauty of the country was what had always allured Noah to places differing from his hometown.
The sand here was much hotter than that in Massachusetts. It didn’t hold water unless you were right next to the shore. It pushed back on his boots, as if in protest of his marring its perfection. Smiling to himself, he took a moment to sit on the beach and pull off his boots. He decided that he would get a small tattoo to remember the heat when he traveled to hotter places. After a second thought, he made his feet bare, shoving his socks in his shoes. He rolled the legs of his pants past his knees and leaned back on his hands to look around him. There were no signs of anyone else, which he found slightly odd.
He stood again and buried his toes in the warm sand, grinning down at his feet like he had just found them after a decade. A thought occurred to him: he would like spending a month here.
After he had wandered at least a mile down the beach, he came upon a small building, half buried in the sand. The burnt orange walls were peeling, looking as if someone had dragged a rake across the concrete. There was a small door-less opening facing the shore, and from it drifted a soft tune. Curiosity tugged at Noah’s heart as he walked closer, listening intently to the music as it grew in volume. There was someone playing a smooth bass guitar, and a soft tap-tap of drums kept time. He came to the corner of the building and stopped, just listening to whoever was playing inside. After a few minutes of the same pretty rhythm, a new instrument joined. Noah felt his skin crawling at the heavy sound of a saxophone, starting quietly and blending in quite well with the drums and guitar.
When the music stopped, he had to fight the urge to start clapping ridiculously loud. Instead, he stepped into the open door and struggled to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
“Hey, looks like we’ve got a visitor,” a man said, his voice followed by a clanging of drumsticks on a cymbal. Noah stepped in further and smiled at the sight before him.
There was a small, dark boy sitting on the ground with a golden saxophone cradled in his lap. Beside him was an older man standing behind a rather old looking kit of drums. He smiled brightly at the newcomer and outstretched a hand. His shake was strong and firm; Noah admired that.
“Wow. That was beautiful. What are you doing out here on the beach?” Noah asked, looking up and down at the dingy clothes clinging to the thin man before him. His dirty blonde hair hung low in his eyes.
“Oh, nothing,” he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. There was a small tattoo on his forearm; it looked like a sparrow with a ribbon flying from its beak. “Just having some fun. What about you?”
The curly-haired man raised his eyebrows and looked around, as if the explanation would be written on one of the walls. He caught sight of another person standing in the corner, and realized that it was the bass guitarist. She was tall and strong-looking, with shoulder-length orange hair. Her clothes were dark and her hand remained on the neck of her guitar like she was afraid it would try to get away from her. She looked up and caught him gazing at her blue orbs.
Noah averted his eyes. “Uh, I was just… wandering around. I heard you from a little ways that way.” He gestured with his hand. “You have wonderful sound,” he said, looking with a smile at the boy. “Where did you learn to play the sax so well?”
The boy’s grin showed a very white row of small teeth. “My friend was giving it away and he taught me how to do it. Do you play, too?” His eager eyes were dark, his hair cut very short on his head.
He shook his head and glanced uneasily at the blonde. This kid was looking at him like he was a steak. “No… I play the guitar. But you three have that taken care of, I guess.” He smiled and met eyes with the man before him. “My name is Noah. I’m just visiting California for a little while, then my pilot and I are flying overseas.”
Surprise touched the drummer’s brow. “Oh, how long? We’ve been looking for a lead guitarist for a few weeks. Perhaps you could show us what you’ve got, and maybe…?”
Noah looked at him and blinked several times. “What, you mean join you? No, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to intrude…” To spite his statement, his eyes turned and gazed longingly at the guitar being clutched by the giantess.
“Well, if you’re interested, I’m Garth Edwards.” Garth pointed to the boy, who was now crouching and rubbing at a spot on his saxophone. “That’s Damon Fischer, and the bass is Marina Sozan. We formed this little band together. We’re The Leveled Hills.” Each member straightened slightly, obviously proud of becoming an organized group.
“That’s amazing. I’d love to try, but right now I should really be getting back to Madeline. She’s my pilot. She’s kind of…” He pointed at his temple and turned his finger in circles. “Very possessive. Where can I look for you, say in two days?”
Garth looked at Marina and shrugged. “My house is a couple miles that way.” He pointed to the back wall and then looked back at Noah. “Just ask around for me; people know me here.”
Noah nodded and shook his hand again. “It’s been such a pleasure. I’ll definitely come see you.”
He walked out the door and stopped, about to go back to ask if he should bring anything to drink, when he heard a small voice whisper “He is so beautiful. Is he Greek?” At first he thought it was Marina, but then he heard a low laughter that was definitely a boy’s. A hot blush coursed over his face. Damon thought he was beautiful. Shaking his head hard, Noah turned on his heel and started walking quickly back the way he had come.
Once he had forgotten the anomaly of a boy commenting on his looks, he felt a surge of happiness overcoming him. He had always wanted to play in a band. He would sit for hours in his bedroom, strumming away and composing anything that came into his head. He would play for Jupiter and Lora Joan, especially when the latter was sick and stuck in bed all day.
Homesick and happy, Noah realized that his life was only just beginning.
♠ ♠ ♠
“I have memories - but only a fool stores his past in the future.” - David GerroldfYes, yes, I'm horrible. Please forgive me.
Check this out, as well. Alternativity.