Monday, September 23, 2013

It's Funny How They Do That. . . (Pt. 1)

It's funny how they do that, isn't it?”


What's that, then?”


The Ascari. Do you ever notice that? The way they rub their hands together when they're standing idle, like houseflies?”


Bernard looks up from his paper and glances around. Sure enough, across the street an Ascari is standing at the corner waiting to cross, diligently rubbing his hands together much like a housefly. “Huh. I guess they do at that, then. Funny.”


Exactly. Strange.” Ellen has sat down her tablet and is now staring, fascinated, at the Ascari crossing in front of a car that politely waved it on. “Strange the whole thing, you know? Though I've never thought about it. They look so much like us, but they aren't. Seems strange.”


Strange? How's that?” The words float over the top of the newspaper. He turns a page.


Just, you know. You'd think a different species, born in an entirely alien . . . environment might be a bit different. But there they are, two legs, two arms, something like a head. It all seems mighty convenient.”


Oh come now.” He lowers the paper, glancing over the top. “Next you'll be one of those conspiracy nut jobs they talk about online. You know, just yesterday I read about this fellow who claims that they're all a synthetic species, engineered by the mega-corps to create a new market segment. Says it's all a capitalist conspiracy to make more money, and goes on to say that they were originally meant to be much more alien, but the clothes manufacturers kept them humanoid to make it easier to sell the current stock.”


Well, that doesn't make much sense, though”


Well, you're the one talking about it being convenient. He did go on to say though that it was deeper, you know? That they planned it so the Ascari would hit the ground running with a different culture and different styles, which all us rabid consumers would automatically mimic, thereby having everyone go out and buy a new wardrobe, etc. etc.”


Hmmpf. You're making fun of me.”


A chuckle, always a chuckle from Bernard at Ellen's expense. Just like a man, she thinks, to make fun of me. Still, she finds herself exiting her novel and looking up the kook with his capitalist conspiracy theories. It actually all makes a bit of sense, when you get down to it.

You know, what if they really are some sort of crazy synthetic species which was cooked up to distract us or something. You never do know, what with the government and the companies being all in each other's beds these days.”

You're sitting over there reading those damn conspiracies, aren't you! Ha!”

Well, you got me on to it, you did! It's interesting, don't you think?”

He lays his newspaper down, careful to fold it just so it was at first, and stands. “Yes. Interesting. I have to use the restroom.”

That's the only way he knows to end an argument, a conflict, anything. To leave. Small bladder, my arse. He just doesn't want to talk to me. Ellen thinks the same thoughts she's had often for the last seven years. Seven years. . . So it's been that long since the Ascari landed too then. She always remembers because the Ascari's descent was exactly one week before their first kiss. Seven years.

She looks around, pensive. The Silent Pearl is moderately full, most of the tables outside are occupied, but those within are sparse. Couples leaning over their coffee, chatting; A few college students entrenched under mounds of papers, tablets, or computers. Everyone wrapped up in their own little world. All except for the one Ascari. It's funny though, she didn't notice it when she came in or when they sat down. She's sure she would have if it had walked past her, though. Maybe it was there the whole time, sitting at a table alone, a cup of whatever that drink is they like in front of it, untouched.

It's so hard to tell their genders, they all look so much alike, but she does remember that they do have genders, two of them no less. Whatever its gender though, the alien sits and watches, looking out at the coffee patrons going about their lives. Slightly ominous now that she's noticed it, though it seems harmless enough.

Bernard returns, stern faced. “Damn Ascari must've been in the toilet before me. Had that smell about it. Like rotten lemons.”

Oh, you always say that. I think it smells kind of nice, like an air freshener.”

He picks the newspaper back up and folds it out carefully, not a glance toward anything but the paper and his coffee, “Ha, you would, at that.”

Don't be like that Bernie dear, please?”

“Oh, pish, and don't call me Bernie, you know it gets on my nerves.”

You used to like it.”

“And I wore diapers once too, didn't I? Things change. People change. Enough said.”

Ellen looks down at the dark screen of her tablet. Its black, shiny surface looks back at her and she can see her reflection in it. Her face is sad, though Bernard of course wouldn't notice. It seems he notices all too little these days. It seems hardly anyone notices much these days about her.

You know, I'm going to go and ask that lone Ascari in there what he thinks of all this conspiracy nonsense. He looks like he's nothing better to do.”

Sure dear, that's nice.” Bernard doesn't look up, but does give her an evil glance when her leg brushes the table and coffee mugs clink together. “Careful.”

She walks away without a word towards the door inside, to the Ascari's table.

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