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When you wake up in the morning, and you get your cup of coffee and your noose- paper, do you know what you see, my babies? Do you step on each blade of grass, crushing that little bit of life, and wonder if that single blade of green, fresh grass is real? I didn’t. Or at least I didn’t use to. Oh, in my former life I worked all the time with grass and dirt and seeds. In fact, I earned my way by cleaning up fl owerbeds, planning and plotting to make our world evergreen, so everyone in town could enjoy it. Why, just the other day I was telling another one of our little group, the Anonymous, how I used to love being outside, letting that bright, golden sun just shine on me while I worked the landscape, brightening my mood.
Not anymore.
Ever look at someone and think they’re just...wrong, my babies? Like they shouldn’t be who they are, what they are, where they are? It happened to me, oh my, did it ever!
Now wait a minute here, let me try to remember all the details. You should know, my babies. You should know there’s something not right with the world today, that there’s something out there, coming for you. Why do you think I live in this green-forsaken building? I trust the rats more than I trust what’s out there. Maybe that’s why you’re here, talking to me. Are you one of the chosen ones? Has Ezekiel talked to you, too?
Sometimes this mask, it just gets in the way, like all my thoughts and dreams are just stuffed up behind it. No green, no water, no rich, brown earth to nurture me; that’s why I knew this one would hide me. So many pretty colors and feathers to hide me from those vile creatures that come from Otherside. No one knows me under this mask;
the Anonymous, they don’t even know my real name. I’m a number to them, a bar code, a thing in a cheap, black suit doing everything she can to hide.
Now let’s see, my babies. I told you I’d try to remember, to help you know what’s going on so you can join us and live. Don’t you want to do that? Live? Well, if I’m going to help you understand, you might as well take a trip with me down memory lane. I have this box of everything I ever learned about them, and I think (yes, I do) that together we can remind ourselves, my babies, why I’m here. Offi cial documents are what I keep, so pay close attention. It’s important.
Before we get started, I should probably tell you a little bit about myself and my partners in truth. You can call me DM-107864923Q-AAP, or DM for short. Now, don’t try and fi gure out what those initials stand for, because I ain’t going to tell you. I never did spell very good, plants were pretty much what I was always interested in, and I still hope that one day these Othersiders will leave so I can get back to planting. There is nothing more beautiful to me, than a world in full bloom. That, and my family.
I am part of a group that you’ll never hear about in the news. You’ll never know, my babies, how hard our job is. Well, maybe you will know, and I’m sorry for that. I have so much to be sorry for, you see. Anyway, we are the invisible from all walks of life—lawyers, housewives, chefs, and landscapers—who have banded together to fi ght something that’s all around us. To the world, we are missing persons. Names on a list that are counted, cared for, and wondered about. To us, we are heroes.
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Why, I remember when Ezekiel, our founder, fi rst came to me; it was a nice day, the sun was out and I was just getting ready to plant some azaleas in front of a supermarket.
Nice fl owers, those large-blooming, fresh pink azaleas. ‘Course I raised them from seed, my babies, not that anyone else does that anymore. No, they just hop, hop, hop like a bunny online and buy what they want from some gigantic freezer in the middle of the desert or some such. I bet it won’t be too long before they start replicating them, my babies.
Ezekiel, just like the man from the Bible, is a prophet. A genius who can see the world for what it truly is He knows, yes he does, that all living creatures are at risk. They don’t know, but some of us are gifted enough to see. It really is amazing, what old Zeke had done. He doesn’t suffer from the trappings of the world, crying and whining about wanting this thing or that thing, like the rest of us do. The rest of us are like magpies, I swear! But not Zeke. He lives off the kindness of others, a roaming paladin for good.
It was him, you know, who grabbed me from my work and shocked me with his words.
“They’re taking it! They’re stealing our world in pieces by piece. No peace, no peace!”
Now, at fi rst I thought that Zeke was just another homeless, crazy man who had lost his mind fi ghting in some kind of war, because he told me I might be next, that I’d see the “face of madness.” My memory is a little spotty here, because I can’t remember if I called for the police or if I started crying, but I can still remember the look in his eyes.
It was the look of someone who had traveled a long way, like he had ridden in a boat on the river Styx and saw Hades himself. But there was something there that screamed and screamed; oh, I was so frightened for my babies! I had fi ve of them you know, fi ve beautiful grandchildren who lived right next door to me. I wasn’t sure if this Zeke-man would follow me and hurt them, especially when he grabbed me, whispering in my ear that when I saw the truth I should fi nd him.
I thought my babies were safe.
It wasn’t until I went home that day that I understood what Zeke was telling me. You see, I walked home from work, without ever really knowing why. I left my car, my plants, even my tools and just walked for miles to see them, my grandchildren. To know that they were safe. My babies. But when I got to their house and saw them, playing on the front lawn, I could tell there was something wrong. Something was defi nitely not right with the world where the green grass was supposed to grow but didn’t.
Oh, you may think I’m off my rocker, but I’ve been planting life into the earth for over thirty years, and I know with all my green thumbs, that Zeke pointed me out somehow, made me look at the world and see it for what it was—copies of copies of copies, all zeros and ones. Maybe it’s a disease; maybe it’s like when a blind man can fi nally see.
All I know is that before Ezekiel spoke to me, I was a happy grandmother of fi ve, and now I’m stuck here, in this run-down smelly warehouse where only the mold grows, sitting next to some person I barely know, grateful that it’s a “person,” at least.
They got one of my babies, oh blessed crows they did. My youngest grandchild, Toby, he just felt wrong. His laughter was the same, his memories, all of it, but some kind of red haze surrounded him, painting my Toby with a blood-red outline like he was
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going to grow up to be some kind of killer. Why, even when I used to plant fl owers and vegetables, I never did like red. No roses or tomatoes for this old girl, no sirree. Give me pinks and yellows and pure whites, but never red. Too much pain, too much like blood.
Maybe I should have gone to old Zekiel straight-a-way, but I didn’t. No, I waited to go see him because I rationalized what I saw. Maybe I had too much sun that day or maybe I was a little too freaked out by some crazy homeless man who got a bullet in his leg and couldn’t remember that the war was over. Instead, I kept going about my business for weeks on end, planting around the city, trying to keep it fresh and growing.
Hugging my grandchildren and trying not to fl inch when little Toby threw his arms around my knees. Then one day, just a few days after I saw Zeke, I went shopping for a birthday present for my oldest grandchild. I remember is so well, yes I do. My mind is not slipping. I parked my car and saw a giant bug climbing the side of a building. I thought of pointing it out to other people, but I was so scared it might notice me I kept quiet. Instead, I looked around and wondered why the other folks didn’t bother to say anything, as if they couldn’t see what I saw.
I could just kill myself now, my babies, for all that wasted time. Instead of going to someone right away, I just went on pretending. I didn’t want to give it all up, you see. Whenever I was out in front of businesses planting annuals into the soft, brown earth, I tried to ignore what I saw. For about a week afterward I’d still see bits of blue crackling around folk and red, always red, surrounding people I knew: neighbors, business owners, friends. Good Quetzalcoatl, but do I ever hate that color. Red. I thought I was sick, so I made an appointment with the doctor. Was it an emergency?
Of course not, I said. But during those 15 minutes, in the shiny little room, I ended up not telling her much, especially since the red had seemed to fade from my little Toby in the previous few days. Didn’t want her to think I was crazy, still don’t. No I don’t. No drugs, no needles, no pain. No pain.
Tried staying in bed more often, tried waiting for the sun to go down at night and hide all the things I saw somewhere, deep down in my mind. But I got up anyway, went about my business, and eventually my strange visions faded. Still couldn’t forget, my babies, still couldn’t forget. I just had to see him, I had to know. So I went to Ezekiel.
For them. For my grandbabies.
I put on my good walking shoes and packed what I could, taking some food with me for him. (Poor man, he looked as though he hadn’t had a real meal in months.) And I went about town in all the places where a homeless man might hide; the shelters, the alleys, the dumpsters. My world went dark, no life there. No life, no family, no fl owers, just hunger—but I had to know. I had to fi nd out what that truth was.
And now I know it.
You see, me and Ezekiel, we share a special bond. It’s the kind of promise that people make to one another if they’ve seen something not meant for everyone else, like when you stare at a plot of dirt for the fi rst time and picture what fl owers you’re going to plant. Only you can see how it might look when the plants are grown and their
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fl owers are blooming, but you still know the overall garden will be something amazing to match your vision. You just know it, even if nobody else can see it.
We found each other that same day, and Ezekiel told me to come along. Gave me a piece of paper, someone’s old business card with an address written on the back. He kept telling me I was chosen to fi ght, a warrior for good that would turn back, push away the invaders. The ones from Otherside.
When I walked home that day, still feeling a little guilty for having eaten the food I’d packed for Zeke, I tried to make up my mind whether or not to go. For weeks I still tried to work, hoping that I could just go back to my life, my babies, my world. But I had to know, you see? For them. So bless my stars, I packed up the best picnic lunch I could and stuffed an extra pack of clothes (not sure why I did that) just in case I’d be traveling. I left everything else I had, because I felt infected, diseased, unwanted. Oh, my grandbabies! Why them? I had to protect them, save them, do what I could.
So that day, I up and left, added my name to a long list of missing persons, tried not to make it look too conspicuous. Pulled a backpack together, made extra sure no one was following me, yes I did just like ole Zekie-Bekie told me to. He said they’d be watching with their black eyes and their empty hearts. They had no hearts on Otherside. They weren’t from space, they were in a place, another space. A whoosh of air and then you’re there, that’s what he said to me. A whoosh.
Some of the other members tell me I drove to our safe house that day, but I don’t believe them. I know I walked, erased my tracks, double-checked what I could to make sure I didn’t leave too much behind. Yep, double-checked and re-checked, made sure no one followed me. I think I remember putting a piece of tinfoil underneath my gardening hat; you never know if someone’s trying to microwave your head.
You see, I know they were trying to scan me, like a big barcode. Yes, a bunch of numbers and letters all scrambled together like an egg. I really like scrambled eggs, kind of miss them now. But I won’t go out there, nope, nope, nope. Not to that blue roof that houses all the pancakes of the world, not to the green one with its omelets and ham and cheese. You could try paying me to go, but you’d better make sure your money hasn’t been replaced. Fake money won’t work in the machines.
I deleted a few memories from my mind, so you’ll have to forgive me while I pull up the one about how I was initiated into my group, the Anonymous. Just takes a minute to reboot my memory, pull a feather then you’re there. Did you know that peacock feathers have eyes on them to distract their enemies? My mask is full of eyes: greens and blues and browns and blacks. They’re all there, the others. They’re named and unnamed; sane and unsane, but they aren’t me or Zeke-Tiki-Tavi. No sirree. Not this monkey.
Brrrrr, click. Brrrrrrrr, click. Accessing. Data. Data stream 10011110001. Accessing.
Ah, there it is. Sometimes my mind just needs a good reboot before it can get started again. How’s that for effi ciency, my babies?
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Must have had a socket loose, looks like my team members were right. I did drive over to the address, was afraid I might get mugged. I wasn’t nervous or worried or freaked out, I was like I used to be; I just wanted to get to the bottom of this nonsense and fi nd out what was going on.
Then I saw them, the others of our group. At the time there were just a few, huddled together like they were tired from a fi ght. They wore suits, all of them, shiny, black polyester with seams so cheap and threadbare some of them were starting to rip. A few of them hid their faces from me; some wore ski masks, cartoon heroes and even the rubbery masks of politicians. All of them looked to be patient and sane and focused, though, as if they were waiting to die. All of them, except me.
“Welcome,” one of them said to me. “We lost one.”
“Lost who, where?” I replied.
“One of us, on Otherside.”
Ezekiel was there, and he told me what was really going on. It was then he gave me his eyes to see the truth, that we were chosen. We. An elite fi ghting force from all walks of life because, somehow, we were wired to see what couldn’t be seen… the invisible.
