The 2030-style van facilitates a bumpy enough ride to tickle my nostalgia bone. I watch the trail of dust curve in the road behind us like a dull, cloudy wall, lit up now and then with flashes of bright color from the wireworks that splatter against the sky. Alistair makes a sharp turn, sending the van careening around a saguaro cactus right when a specially luminous explosion tints its thorns a bright magenta.
"Jeez, keep your head inside!" he yells to the back of the van, "for fuck's sake, Eliot!"
Eliot, who had been up to no good while I was distracted, pulls his head back through the open window. He practically lunges forward, shoves his face into Alistair's neck, and kisses him aggressively.
"Sorry, baby," I hear him mumble through the smooching.
Alistair takes firm hold of the steering wheel and runs his free hand through Elliot's golden curls in a show of forgiveness.
Al and El
, I've dubbed them in my head.
El giggles as he returns to his seat across from me, and I answer it with another chuckle. It's easy to be giddy in his presence.
"He gets so mad at me when I'm tipsy!"
"Yeah, cuz you're a fool!" Al shouts back.
"Aw!" I say to El, who has pushed out his bottom lip in mock sadness, " Poor Eliot!"
"Well," he says, ducking forward suddenly, "at least Camille still loves me!"
He comes to a rest with his head in my lap and his face turned toward me.
"Of course I do, my sweetheart!"
I lean in to deliver small kisses all over his face and look up to see Al adjusting the rearview mirror to spy on us. El pulls me back down, and we have a more serious makeout session.
"We're here, kiddos!"
The terrain beneath us has changed; it is bumpier now and demands more sudden turns and jerks.
"Wooh!" El yells, popping up like a daisy, and looks through the windshield.
I follow his gaze to find an imposing image caught in the glare of our headlights: a spiral formation of perfectly round grass patches leading inward to the largest patch at the center of the bizarre shape.
"Marsland! Marsland! Marsland!"
He truly is a drunk fool - lucky for him that he's so darn cute! I watch him hop up and down and try to keep myself balanced in the shaking van while I laugh at his antics. Al slides the door open and holds his hand out to me. My hand looks tiny in his as I take it.
"Thanks," I say as I'm freed from the quaking vehicle.
"You good?" His hand finds the nape of my neck and stays there until I answer.
My "yeah" comes out breathier than intended. I've forgotten how tall he is, especially compared to his twink boyfriend.
El, wasting no time, whips out his pop-phone and starts a live on Bites.
"Yooooo! We're here at Marsland!" he exclaims to the camera, skipping ahead to get Al and me in the live, "We 'bout to get harvested
real
good!"
"Hey, babe," Al interrupts, "why don't we get to the center first, and then we start with the lives? How's that sound?"
It's as plain as day that the wind has been taken out of El's sails, and I can't help but feel sorry for him as he signs off, slightly disheartened. In one move, Al drapes his arm over my shoulders and reaches for El's shoulder with the same hand. He pulls him in until the two of them sandwich me tightly. He rests his hand on El's neck and gingerly strokes the edge of his jaw with his thumb.
El ignores the gesture and throws his arm around my waist. He kisses me on the cheek, I suspect to spite Al, who doesn't seem phased by it. We walk like this all the way to the center.
"Are you nervous?" Al whispers to me.
"Kinda, I guess."
I notice the woven bamboo picnic basket swinging in his right hand with the chequered blanket folded on top. El and I have both forgotten that that was part of the plan. We're equally drunk, though I carry myself better.
"Don't be nervous, girl!" El interjects, "They're so...professional. Even if you feel, like, not comfortable, they will just ... take care of you, you know?"
"And the tag?" I ask.
"You won't even feel it," Al says, fingering the space between my shoulder blades, "Just a quick pinch right here, totally painless."
We've reached the center. Al unfolds the blanket, and El flops down once it's open on the grass. Al and I sit down, and the two take off their shoes, placing their bare feet on the grass. El lays down on his back and looks up at the stars. His spirit seems heavy for the first time tonight.
I slip off my beige cowboy boots and rest my soles on the soft grass, feeling the blades tickle between my toes. Al wordlessly hands each of us a bottle of root beer from the picnic basket. He leans back and props himself on one elbow, so his face is close to El's.
He massages El's earlobe between his thumb and index finger and whispers something. "OK?" is all I can make out definitively, and at one point, "You know I love you, babe." He abandons the earlobe massage and reaches into El's shirt to caress his chest. They share a few short kisses, each one deeper than the last. It feels like I shouldn't be watching.
I lay down on my back with my head close to them - close enough to hear fingertips on skin and tongues connecting. Luminous hues streak up in the distance and burst into silent sparks that trickle down onto the half-bare land as though the stars were raining down.
The palm of a big hand flattens against my cheek, and the thumb brushes over my lips. I shiver. They're still kissing. I open my mouth to let Al's thumb make contact with my tongue. At this moment, a metallic grey saucer the size of two minivans appears out of thin air and hovers above us.
"Here we gooo!"
The hatch in the center cracks open, and I shut my eyes against the light that breaks through.
"Don't look straight into it."
I turn my head to the side and look down to see my body slowly leave the earth. My heart is pounding; it feels like my stomach is lingering behind. Once I'm vertical, I take the chance to look around. El is doing silly tricks and flips in the air, and Al ... Al has been holding my hand, I realize.
We laugh at El's shenanigans.
"You're gonna puke!" I hear myself say.
"She's right, ha-ha, take it easy!" - It's perhaps the second time I hear Al laugh. It makes me feel reassured.
The craft inside is transparent. We can see stars twinkling above us, and our picnic blanket is a small square about forty feet below. Six borgs in white lab coats are lined up before us with their latex-gloved hands folded in front of them. They're identical, with smooth, mauve skin, hairless all over, friendly smiles, and ever-shifting features morphing between masculine, feminine, and androgynous. Behind them, a big screen with exploding wirework animations displays a message:
Happy New Year!
We thank you kindly for the gift of your energy!
They separate into pairs and approach us. Al gives my hand a light squeeze before letting go.
"Enjoy!"