For Ryan Wires
Preface: This piece was inspired by Ryan Wires’s Sundial Biography, which read: “Ryan Wires is a confused wanderer from an alternate universe, who uses the medium of ‘humor,’ as it is apparently called, to cope with the vast differences between his home universe and this one. He writes short, highly realistic pieces set in his home universe, and wonders why no other publication accepts his serious writing. Currently, he is studying computer science in an attempt to create a device to return to his assigned family unit but is having trouble finding pure enough exophorium for it. In the meantime, he has found he is most comfortable communicating with others on Snapchat, under the name ‘ryrothedino’.”
Listen: Across The Universe – Fiona Apple
INT. A THERAPIST’S OFFICE
The main character of our story is Riley Whittaker, a messy, mop-headed, high school freshman, who looks a bit like that kid from Submarine, the Joe Dunthorne book (the movie’s also really good—you should check it out). Currently, he is sitting in the waiting room of a therapist’s office, with whom his parents and principal would like him to discuss—
Receptionist: Riley Whittaker. Dr. Stillwater will see you now.
Alright, he walks into Dr. Stillwater’s office and sits down on the couch. Anyways, with whom his parents and principal would like him to discuss his problems—
Dr. Stillwater: So your parents tell me you been having some trouble with your schoolwork, and that you haven’t been getting along with your classmates.
Jeez, isn’t she going to introduce herself? Whatever, apparently, my background information isn’t needed here.
Riley (staring a hole into the ground): You wouldn’t understand. You’ll just think I’m funny.
Dr. Stillwater: Funny in what way?
Riley exhales all the air in his lungs and then takes a long drag off an imaginary cigarette, and, after settling upon a persona to use with Dr. Stillwater, snuffs it out in an imaginary, metal ashtray on the imaginary, rosewood coffee table.
Riley: Listen, sweetheart, I’m not from around here. I’m from somewhere very far away. Things are different there. The only reason you’ve spent your life worrying about things like grades and money and relationships is because that’s what you’ve been told is important. These things aren’t important where I come from.
Dr. Stillwater: Your parents told me you like to play games with people.
Riley: No, no, no. No games. I’m being very straight with you.
Dr. Stillwater: You’ve gotten in trouble at school a number of times for playing games with people. And I must say some of the things you’ve done this year are very troubling. If you keep it up, you could wind up in a juvenile detention center.
Indeed, it was surprising that Riley wasn’t already in juvie. Dr. Stillwater only knew about the time Riley got caught filling all of the stuffed animals in a kindergarten classroom with blood and ground beef, and the time he switched the cafeteria’s brownies with pot brownies. Some of the things he had gotten away with were far worse.
Riley: I think it’s degrading to refer to what I do as “games”. I prefer to think of them as social experiments.
Dr. Stillwater: And why do you feel the need to do these social experiments?
Riley: I was sent here to gather information about the human race, so that I can inform my people about human society when I return.
Dr. Stillwater: Do you really believe that you’re from another planet?
INT. RILEY HAS A FLASHBACK
Riley stands just around the corner, late at night, quietly listening to his parents conversing in the kitchen, as concerned parents sometimes do.
Barbara (his mom): Does he really believe this stuff? I mean, I’m worried they’re going to lock him in a loony bin. He’s in 9th grade, and he’s going around telling people he’s an alien.
Clarence (his dad): He just has an active imagination.
Barbara: But it’s not even that original. I mean, it’s been done before. He probably got it from K-PAX, that lame Kevin Spacey movie. Remember? He used to be obsessed with that movie when he was a little kid.
Riley did love K-PAX, but only because he found it relatable.
Clarence: Really? I thought it was pretty good.
Barbara (ignoring Clarence’s terrible taste in movies): For Pete’s sake, it’s one thing to be delusional, but at least have the decency to be creative about it. He’s like these idiots that watch The Truman Show and then think their entire life is being broadcast on TV. Why, in the name of God, would the people, planning out your life and filming it, let you watch The Truman Show? It doesn’t make any sense!
Clarence: Please, honey, not The Truman Show thing again.
Barbara: How self-absorbed do you have to be to think that anyone would want to watch your boring, shitty life on TV? These are grown people that actually believe this!
Riley was hurt but emboldened by the knowledge that his parents would never understand him. There was nothing he could do to bridge the gap between them, because they were not truly his family, but rather temporary hosts that he was to use and study. He found it easy not to care about things he couldn’t change and decided to slink back to his room and take comfort in fantasies of his eventual return to a place where there were people he could relate to.
INT. AN ART MUSEUM
Dr. Stillwater decides that Riley could use some medication, and so he picks some up at the pharmacy and then heads to the art museum across the street. He wonders how difficult it would be to steal a painting, but finds that all of them are too large to slip out unnoticed. He doesn’t really like any of the paintings anyway, but he’s struck by a video of the conceptual artist Adrian Piper. In the 1970s, she dressed up as a character she called the Mythic Being, who had an afro, a motor-head mustache, and round, disco sunglasses. She would walk around the city streets, repeating the same line from her diary over and over again.“No matter how much I ask my mother to stop buying crackers, cookies and things, she does anyway, and says it’s for her, even if I always eat it. So I’ve decided to fast.” The label explains that the intention behind this was to explore how appearances affect experiences and perceptions, or something like that. Riley reads it several times, but never really gets the point. He likes the costume, though, and decides he’ll test the idea at school the next day.
INT. SCHOOL THE NEXT DAY
Riley dresses up like the Mythic Being and hits the hallways of high school, repeating for all who will listen, his chosen mantra (a selection from his diary).
Riley: I went to the doctor milkshake shack and drank down a cup of hello-goodbye happy, and then it was off to the art museum to see hanging orgies of color that make believe meaning.
Mrs. Flemming, a veteran English teacher, passes by at just the right moment to hear the word “orgies” ringing forth from the apparent disco patron, and briefly stops to consider taking issue with it, but ultimately decides that it’s best to steer clear of Riley when he’s wearing a wig. Jeff Vassar, the bulldog bully with eyes like a snake, sees Riley walk into the bathroom to tinkle his winkle, and decides to follow him in there. Mid-tinkle, Vassar places Riley’s head quite forcefully into the toilet, not even giving him enough time to put away his winkle. Imagine it: Riley with his faux afro and sunglasses, head in the toilet, winkle hanging in the air like a sausage fresh out of the press, and Vassar standing over him, confused as to why he’s a little turned on by what he’s doing, and trying to make Riley feel as bad as he does. Quite an ordeal. Quite. Also, am I the only one that’s in the mood for sausage? Not penis sausage, but, like, real breakfast sausage. Sounds pretty good, right? Or, better yet, chorizo. And hash browns. And some coffee. Anyway, the school toilet mistaking Riley for human waste has the unintended consequence of ruining his costume, and he throws his wig, mustache, and sunglasses into the trashcan with a touch of bitterness and rage. It takes him a bit of time to dry off and gather up enough dignity to walk back out into the hallway, but when he does he’s fortunate enough to run into Sally Pascal.
Sally (hands in her pockets, just strolling along): Hey, Riley. you look sadder than usual. What’s the news?
Riley: What? Oh, nothing.
Sally: You got beat up in the bathroom?
Riley: Oh, that, yeah. Yeah, I got beat up a little bit.
Sally (pointing casually): Your nose is bleeding.
Riley remembers that humans view blood as a bad thing.
Riley: Yes, and that is bad.
Sally: I’d say so.
There’s a long pause, and Riley wonders why Sally isn’t walking away. He’s always utterly unprepared for these types of situations, where escape seems impossible and suicide seems dramatic.
Sally (thoughtfully): People here don’t really like you, do they?
Riley: Um, it does not appear so. No.
Sally: We should go out sometime. These people all have terrible taste, so you must be alright.
This is the type of bullshit that only happens in stories.
Riley (taking a moment to respond): Yes, I suppose that would be alright.
Sally (repeating to herself as she walks away): I suppose that would be alright.
INT. RILEY’S BEDROOM
Riley sits down at his desk, dressed up in his spaceship jammies, and takes out his laptop to write in his diary like Doogie Howser. (If you liked that unnecessarily dated pop-culture reference, be sure to check out my new one-man show, Catullus 16: The Genesis of Gangsta Rap, opening off-Broadway this fall.) Riley has a weird little affectation where he reads what he’s writing aloud as he’s writing it.
Riley: To whom it may concern, I’ve made some big decisions today. As you know, from reading this logbook, I am an alien. As such, I do not possess the same internal organs as typical Homo sapiens, however, I have taken on a human appearance in order to better adapt to human society. It has become apparent to me that my human form is attractive to earth women. One such woman, who goes by the name Sally Pascal, propositioned me today to engage in romantic relations at some point in the foreseeable future. I have decided to court and eventually marry her. Although I do not find her appealing in any distinguishable way from other creatures, there seems to be a number of benefits to having a paramour of the opposite gender and of the species Homo sapiens. Personally, I find Canis lupus familiaris to be more appealing, but humans tend to look down on romantic relations between species, which seems appropriate given the significance they place on reproduction. Associating with a human female will allow me to appear well-integrated into the culture, and therefore will help me avoid suspicion. This leads me to the other decision I have made today. In order to increase the chances of my safe return to my home planet, it may be more advisable and expedient to abstain from social experimentation and to instead focus on conformity and exploitation of resources. At the therapist’s office, which I visited 29 hours ago, Dr. Stillwater asked me what I wanted to do in the future, proffering the attendance of a university as an example that would be deemed commendable. She noted that I was interested in space and might find physics or astronomy to be agreeable fields of study. I vocalized her conclusions and sentiments as if they were my own, but only to expedite the conclusion of the conversation. When I looked into these matters after the meeting, it dawned on me that studying these subjects would indeed be of great assistance to me. Therefore I have decided to focus on my studies for the next four years, and then to enroll in a university with programs in these fields, which I will then ensconce myself in and master to the best of my ability.
INT. AN APARTMENT (SEVEN YEARS LATER)
It’s the future now and Riley Whittaker is a senior at The Ohio State University (how relatable) and is majoring in aeronautical and astronautical engineering (how unrelatable). He is now engaged to Sally Pascal, who, as part of her preparation for a career that does not exist, decided to major in Japanese and Jewish studies. Their engagement was one of those things that happens to people who just go through the motions of life. Neither of them ever had the guts to end their relationship, and on the eve of their sixth anniversary, they decided that getting engaged was the logical next step. Riley returns home from his last class of the day, the same time as he usually does, enters the apartment and hangs his jacket on a hook near the door.
Riley (as if a character in a 1950s sitcom): Honey, I’m home.
Sally walks out of the bedroom, half naked and smoking a cigarette.
Sally: Hey, sweetie. How was your day? This is Derrick.
Sally turns around, expecting to see Derrick following close behind.
Sally: Where’d he go?
She returns to the bedroom to look for him.
Sally (searching about the room): Are you hiding in the closet?
Riley (walking to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee): Hello, Derrick!
Sally leads Derrick, who is rushing to get his clothes on, into the kitchen.
Sally: Derrick, this is Riley, my fiancé.
Riley (sizing him up): Derrick, my man, what’s the good word? I must say you’re an attractive, young specimen. Very muscular and fertile looking. You know, come to think of it, we’ve now had coitus with the same woman. Haven’t we? I suppose that makes us brothers.
Derrick looks horrified.
Riley: No. That’s not right. Is it? Well, it makes us something. I’m sure of it. But I suppose we’re all something or another. Would you like a cup of coffee?
Derrick is on guard. He’s not the type to get drawn into any weird, cultish, sexual arrangements.
Derrick: I think I’m gonna go.
Derrick exits like a champ who’s too concussed to know he won the fight.
Riley (pouring a cup of coffee): Nice fella.
Sally: He was only okay.
Riley slowly sips his coffee, so as to avoid burning his mouth.
Riley: Hey, what do you say we go out for dinner tonight?
Sally: We probably shouldn’t. I went grocery shopping today and our credit card was declined. When I called, they said we maxed out.
Sally takes out her wallet and hands Riley the card.
Riley: Hmm… Well, I guess it’s time to order another one.
On the bookshelf, there is a shoe box full of maxed-out credit cards. Riley takes the card over and places it in the box.
Riley: I think that’s enough conversation for today. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
Sally: Great, I’m gonna go watch Netflix and take a bath.
Riley (shrugging): I don’t care.
Riley walks into his bedroom, which is separate from the room that Sally sleeps in, and sits down at his desk. He takes out his laptop to update his diary. He still very much has the affectation where he reads aloud while writing. A happy consequence of which is that Sally always knows exactly what’s on his mind.
Riley: To whom it may concern, I have finally completed my rocket ship. Tomorrow I will, at last, return to my home planet. I’m not sure where it is yet, but I’m sure once I’m out of the earth’s atmosphere, my own species will be able to find me floating about, and will take me aboard their spacecraft. I look forward to informing them about your civilization. Signing off for the last time, Riley Whittaker. PS I love the earth dish that you call matzo ball soup, and wonder why the ones you call Jews are the only ones that eat it. I will be introducing the dish to my home planet, once I arrive, as an example of earth’s culinary excellence.
INT. THE FUNERAL
It is a small ceremony. The deceased Riley Whittaker lies cold and alone in a casket propped up by ancient people’s bones. Phosphorescent cherubs of winged glory sing silent tunes about saints puking on the ragged souls of sin. Riley came to a crashing end of hooker-spit-lipstick mediocrity, and his funeral is just as foul and putrid. The eye of a skinless wart dines on the rotting remains of an owl without a name. An average owl with a heart so loud its beating woke the hopes of children and the flightless dreams of old. Bitch pirates on a sinking ship cry out for love but receive only water. That’s the last shit. An end to pitchfork daydreams that lust after hot Hell, tortured by their humanity. Imagine a turtle on a train in the mind of a man in his underwear. A funeral. A funeral. A funeral. There are only five people present: a teacher, a lover, a mother, a father, and a friend. They all have eulogies in hand. And their words are truth. And their truth is words. And their there is here and now. Humanity. Cowardice. Tricked by that “Cashews are legumes” stagger step. Worship the whole damned ink stain.
Professor Gilbert: Hello, everyone. I’m Professor Gilbert. Today we will be talking about Riley Whittaker, a student whom I had the pleasure of advising over the last four years. This will be a brief overview of his life, his death, and his legacy. Please hold your questions until the end of the eulogy. Riley Whittaker was born on March 9th, 1995. He was majoring in aeronautical and astronautical engineering, and he was set to graduate at the end of spring semester, 2017. Unfortunately, he died dramatically on December 28th, 2016. He will be fondly remembered and missed. Any questions?
Most advisors don’t know that much about their students.
Professor Gilbert: Alright, well then that’s all for today. Thank you very much and have a wonderful weekend.
Professor Gilbert takes a seat and is replaced by Sally. She places her iPhone, with external speakers attached, on top of Riley’s coffin and plays Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata over her eulogy.
Sally: God, full of compassion, Thou who dwellest on high, grant perfect rest beneath the sheltering wings of Thy divine presence, among the holy and pure who shine as the brightness on the heavens, unto the soul of Riley, the son of Clarence, who has gone unto eternity, and in whose memory charity is offered. May his repose be in paradise. May the Lord of Mercy bring him under the cover of His wings forever, and may his soul be bound up in the bond of eternal life. May the Lord be his possession, and may he rest in peace. Amen.
Sally lets out a long and theatrical sigh.
Sally: I’m also reminded at this trying time of the Japanese death poem, “Kanete naki/ mi koso yasukere/ yuki no michi.” Which translates to, “Since time began the dead alone know peace. Life is but melting snow.” May Riley rest in peace now and for all eternity, and may all of your snow remain cold and unmelted for years to come.
Sally turns off the music and returns to her seat. She is replaced by Barbara and Clarence.
Barbara: I don’t know what my son, a beautiful, young boy, who had his whole future in front of him, was thinking when he blew himself up in that awful rocket of his, but I hope he knew that he was loved. I only wish—and I know this is selfish of me—but I just wish he would have killed himself in a more original way. Now I have to tell all of my friends that my son blew himself up trying to fly to the moon. As if they didn’t already think he was an idiot. And it wasn’t even something cool, like a failed time machine or a laser gun. I mean, he probably got the idea from The Astronaut Farmer, that lame Billy Bob Thornton movie. I remember, he always used to watch that movie is his room on weekends.
Clarence: I think it’s a fine movie. I don’t know why you have to knock it.
Barbara: My God! This coming from the man who didn’t like La La Land. We saw it last week, and the only thing he could say afterward was, “That Emma Stone isn’t a very good singer, they should have given her vocal lessons.” Seriously? What kind of reaction is that? That movie was adorable. It was like a cute, little puppy snuggling with your soul. But, no, to him it was “a tad too unrealistic” and “overly sentimental”.
Clarence: Please, honey, not the La La Land thing again.
Barbara: I mean, what are you dead inside? Because I don’t know a single person, with a shred of hope left in them, who’s heart wasn’t warmed by that movie… Anyways, it was very sad about Riley. And may God bless his soul.
Barbara and Clarence sit down and are replaced by Derrick (yes, that Derrick).
Derrick: We gather here today to honor a truly great man, the late Riley Whittaker. I’m reminded, in hearing the details of his death, and in hearing of how he came to a fiery and tragic end while trying to reach the stars, of the fable of Thales & The Well.
Hey, that’s the name of the story.
Derrick (wiping away a single tear): Back in the days of ancient Greece, there was an old story about a philosopher, Thales, who was walking about the city, pondering the stars, so caught up in his own thoughts and theories that he failed to notice a well in front of him. And so he fell in. At the time of its telling, some used the anecdote as a joke meant to amuse and delight, and others used it as a cautionary tale. I can only believe, based on the limited information that I have about him, that Riley would have viewed the story as one of endurance and determination. He would have seen Thales as someone with his eyes on the prize, always focused on the right things, no matter how many pesky wells got in the way. And that is why I have decided to dedicate the rest of my life to honoring his legacy, and to ensuring that his memory lives on, so that his inspiring tale can reach the hearts of all those who dare to dream.
And he was completely forgotten 20 years later.
Listen: City of Stars (from La La Land) – Ryan Gosling
THE END
–EJS, Senior Staff Member