Spilt Milk

“Where have you been?”

“Huh?” Virgil glanced over his shoulder at Gwen as he slid the door shut. “I had to check a few things after my shift.” He latched the door and faced her full on. “Why?”

“Have you forgotten something?”

Virgil peered at his hands curiously then patted his chest and bum. With a wry smile he said, “Nope, everything’s where it should be.”

Gwen stood in the passageway, unimpressed as she pushed strands of auburn hair behind her ears. “So, you’ve forgotten nothing, then?”

Virgil studied Gwen as he unzipped his environment-suit. “What, Gwen? Just say it.”

“Oh, I guess it’s nothing.” She half turned, leaned her bum against the wall and looked at her feet. “It’s just that, well, today’s--“

“I bloody well know exactly what today is!”

Gwen spun her head back at Virgil, her mouth agape; she hadn’t expected him to come at the topic so short-tempered and shouting.

He pulled his arms out of the environment-suit as he spoke. “Look, Gwen, it’s been five bloody years. Enough is enough already.” He bent at the waist and slid the rest of his suit down below his knees and stepped out of it.

“Okay, fine.” She pushed off from the wall and walked back toward the kitchen. She gripped the archway as she turned into the blindingly bright room. A wave of sorrow and depression washed over her as she paused for a heart-beat. She had to sit. She hurried toward the eating vestibule and slumped into a chrome plated chair. With both elbows on the table she smothered her face in her hands.

Virgil followed and sat across the table from her. “Gwen, please. Are we really still here? Are we honestly still stuck in this place?”

Gwen shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s bad enough,” Virgil continued, “we’re stuck in these measly living quarters on this godforsaken ship, but to still be stuck here, in this moment...Look at me, Gwen, please.”

She raised her head, sliding her face up her hands so that her fingertips still covered her mouth. Her eyes were damp and etched in red.

“Gwen, I love you, and I hate snapping at you, but it’s been five years. Five years! How are we supposed to...” He consciously dialed back his aggression before adding, “Can we please put this to rest?”

“I’m not harping.” She pulled the cuff of her crewman’s sweater and used it to dab her eyes and wipe her nose.

“Okay, you’re right, but all year long we keep this devil buried. Banished. Forgotten. And then, today, you up and excavate it.” He glared at her. “Why?”

“Why? Why?” She slapped both hands on the table.

The loud smack echoed through their small quarters and Virgil looked left and right as though someone would witness the hysteria going on.

“Virgil! It’s not buried.”

“Sure it is,” he said, resting his attention back on Gwen.

“It’s not! If it were, we wouldn’t be in this moment.” She sat straighter, feeling less defeated and prepared for a fight. Like a walrus crossing a sandy beach, she bum-shuffled herself forward in her chair and pressed her stomach against the table. She extended her hands across to Virgil and said, “This isn’t a movie, Virgil. I’m not a hologram or a floating spirit. This is me, this is my--this is our reality.”

Virgil accepted her hands, squeezed them, and pulled them to him.

“Virgil, please talk to me about this.”

“I can’t, Gwen. I can’t.” He squeezed her hands tighter and pulled her arms further toward him. “I keep trying to forget, but you...”

“Let go of my hands,” she said, tugging gently.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. He pulled tighter and Gwen lifted her bum up off the chair to accommodate Virgil’s strength.

“Virgil!”

“Gwen, I...” His eyes were firmly shut making his crow’s feet ripple from eye-socket to temple.

With little choice, Gwen turned her hip slightly and brought her right knee up on to the table. Her left leg followed of its own volition and with the sudden release in tension, she slid across the table toward Virgil. She half landed in his lap--her torso and legs remained on the table.

Virgil released Gwen’s hands, clasped her head, and lifted it to look into her eyes.

“Virgil, stop this, please.” The palms of her hands were on the edge of his seat bracing her, helping prevent a neck injury and falling face-first into his belly. She pleaded with her eyes as he stared at her. Then his eyes widened, his pupils dilated, and finally glossed over. Tears welled and he began to cry.

Gwen swung her legs around and slid off the table onto Virgil’s lap. As she straddled him she now held his face in her hands. “You haven’t buried it either, have you?”

He shook his head.

“It’s okay, Virgil. Everything’s okay.” She pulled his face to her chest and hugged him tight.

Virgil clutched her and sobbed, his body shuttered violently. “I miss him, Gwen--every damn day.”

“Me too, Virgil. Me too.”

They remained holding each other on the chair. Neither of them spoke, they just held on as they rocked back and forth, soothing their pain, swaying away the demons and the devils bouncing around their quarters begging for attention.

Their front door triggered a series of beeps; notification someone on the outer deck was requesting entrance to their quarters. Without speaking, Gwen lifted herself off Virgil. He stood and squinted as he walked through the kitchen, and ran the sleeve of his engineering sweater over his eyes as he headed for the front entrance. He stopped at a panel on the wall and pressed a button. An eight-inch screen set in the panel instantly flickered to life and displayed the image of someone standing in the passageway looking up and waving into the camera.

“It’s Shon,” Virgil shouted for Gwen’s benefit.

“Yeah?” she replied.

“Should I invite him in?”

“I guess so.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so. You?”

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed, and then mumbled to himself, “Come on in. Join the party.”

He pressed another button on the panel that both released the lock on the outer door and lit a tiny red bulb to indicate the door’s breach. Virgil continued looking at the screen until he was sure Shon had entered the anti-room and resealed the door behind him. The tiny red bulb went off.

Virgil stepped to the main door, unlatched it, and slid it open. “Hey, neighbor, what’s up?”

Shon was still in the process of removing his helmet, but once it was off, he hung it on a hook in the anti-room and then stepped into the hallway. He shook his head to loosen the matted flatness caused by the helmet, “Hey, neighbor, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Virgil said with an ironic smile, “I just said that.”

“Said what?”

“I asked you ‘What’s up?’”

“Oh. Nothing. You?”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, forgive me.” He unzipped his suit and it quickly shed itself from his upper body and slid all the way to floor. He stepped out of it and peered over Virgil’s shoulder. “Where’s Gwen?”

“She’s back there,” Virgil said and nodded over his shoulder. The sight of his unannounced neighbor standing there with ‘nothing’ to say was troubling. “Seriously, Shon, what’s up? What brings you round without contacting me on the communicator first?”

Shon controlled his wandering, inhuman eyes and turned his attention back to Virgil. “Oh, right. Well, Malia and I were thinking you guys might like some company tonight.”

“Oh, really, why’s that?”

Shon’s eyes took off again, this time he looked at his wrapped feet and prodded nonchalantly at the floor. “Well, you know...We, uh...We were thinking that...”

“Shon! Jesus, mate, spit it out.”

Shon was startled, but quickly got a grip on himself. “Virgil, we know today’s the anniversary of your son’s death.”

Virgil was taken aback at Shon’s bluntness. Then again, he had tried to dance around the subject. Despite the earlier episode in the kitchen, Virgil slipped easily into hating the perennial situation they were in. He got his back up and said, “Not just our son, Shon.”

“I know, but we--“

“Don’t worry about us. Gwen and I are fine.”

Just then Gwen appeared in the kitchen archway and Shon looked toward her. She was so blazingly back-lit by the kitchen’s array of lights she seemed to glow. “Shon,” she began, “how are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

“Where’s Malia?”

“She’s at--“

“Shon just stopped by,” Virgil interrupted, “to see if we wanted company tonight. Tonight being the anniversary and all...”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Gwen. Please, if you require an evening alone, I shall be on my way.” Shon stepped back toward his suit.

Virgil watched his neighbor redress while anger and hate welled inside him. Gwen stepped next to Virgil and clasped his hand, she sensed Virgil’s frame of mind deteriorating.

“Shon,” Gwen said. “Thank you for stopping by.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Shon replied genuinely. “I understand you need to be alone tonight. I am still learning your ways.” Shon had both feet in his suit and was pulling it up his torso when he added, “But Malia insisted--”

“It’s okay...Shon,” Virgil said, cutting his neighbor off again. His tone dripped of sarcasm, though mostly lost on Shon, but not Gwen--she dug her nails into Virgil’s hand. He shook his hand free and pressed on, “Really, Shon, it’s okay, but if it were my race that destroyed your planet, I’d make damn sure I steered clear of you for several days on either side of the anniversary of said planetary destruction.”

Shon continued pulling on his suit, desperately fumbling with the sleeves. He needed to get covered up before Virgil’s verbal assault became worse. Unlike Earthlings who blush or blanch in concert with their state of mind, Kooyanians have scales that stand on end to form a protective armor. Shon knew he had to get his body covered up before his skin shifted--he did not want to fight Virgil.

“Shon. Honestly, I try to approach every situation with a level head and an optimistic assumption the beings I interact with mean me no harm--mentally, physically, or otherwise.” He studied his neighbor for a second before adding, “Do you get that, Shon?” He then stepped closer, “Does what I’m saying make any sense to a Kooyan?”

Shon got one arm in, but half-way through sliding home his second arm his scales shot up, rigid. The scales on his neck erected next and then the elongated scales covering his scalp furrowed making his head look roughly twice the size.

“You come looking for a fight, Shon?”

“No, but your attack will not go undefended,” Shon replied. He stood next to the door, half dressed in a suit that now appeared freakishly small. “You know how we react to aggression.”

“Virgil,” Gwen said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Leave Shon be. It’s not his fault, and we’ve known Shon for years.” She looked passed Virgil to where Shon stood motionless; she knew his predicament and feared for him. She feared for Virgil too, but mostly knew the shame Shon felt and would feel further if things got out of hand.

Shon didn’t move. He didn’t want to splice his suit with his razor-sharp scales in their agitated state. Instead, he said to them both, “I am sorry for stopping by today and I will once again explain the inexplicable depths of your psyche to Malia.”

Gwen smiled.

Virgil looked at the floor while bitter thoughts tumbled through in his head. Settling on one, he brought his head up and said, “You know what, Shon. Fuck you and fuck this fucking ship we’re stranded on!”

“Virgil!” Gwen pleaded.

“Virgil, don’t do this,” Shon managed to say evenly.

“Don’t do what, Shon? Don’t do what?” He got right in Shon’s face, shrugging Gwen’s hand off his shoulder. “Your people, Shon, your people destroyed our planet--you guys annihilated planet Earth. It’s gone, Shon! Gone! Gwen and I can never go home.”

Shon acquiesced with just a gentle, self conscious nod.

“So you’ll excuse me,” Virgil continued, “if I get irritated at the insensitivity of you coming over here expecting us to smile and enjoy your company. Today of all days!”

Shon remained motionless. He struggled to control his instincts, every fiber of his being wanted to violently defend himself and his honor. “Virgil, I--”

“You what?” Virgil spat.

“I do not wish to fight you, Virgil, but I will remind you,” Shon continued in hopes of quelling his neighbor’s irrational anger toward him, “that in the Earth-year 2073 your planet was in chaos. Its natural resources were depleted, the population was unsustainable, and the governing body overseeing the wellness of Earth decided it was time to aggressively explore those planets identified by NASA’s Kepler II satellite telescope as being Earth-like.”

“And?” Virgil shifted his feet and placed both hands on his waist. He’d heard this argument before.

“And, it was Earth that launched the first salvo against Kooyan. We simply retaliated in self defense. It was the weakened state of your ozone that destroyed your planet, not us. We had no idea our attack would level such dire consequences.” Shon sensed Virgil was calming down; his pores no longer emitted the testosterone-rich musk that triggered Shon’s scales into action. His scales began to settle down. “Virgil, this is why you and thousands of other Earthlings live aboard this ship and others like it. We know the devastation our counterattack caused.”

Gwen reached again for Virgil’s shoulder as he dropped his head in defeat. To Shon she said, “It’s been an emotional day. We’re trying.”

Shon nodded as he shrugged his suit fully on. “I will leave you now,” he said and turned to unlatch the door.

“Shon, wait,” Virgil said. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault. I just...”

“I know,” Shon said, assisting his neighbor--it would seem he had a better grasp on Earthling behavior than perhaps once thought. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow you will come next door and dine with Malia and me.”

“Sounds great,” Gwen said. “And thank you.”

The double entendre was not lost on Virgil. Shon was a good neighbor, and in the deep recesses of his mind Virgil knew they were lucky, as Earthlings, to have had the Kooyanians as neighbors. Despite Earth attacking first, for the rich Kooyan natural resources, the Kooyanians remained steadfast in their refusal to let the human race die off. They’ve kept us with them. They’ve embraced us as one of them--as fellow Milky Way Galaxians.