(Not) Just Static

Static [stat-ik]

1. (noun) noise produced in a radio or television receiver.
2. (adjective) standing or fixed in one place

***

Nathan was still trying to catch his breath. The words that slipped from his mouth moments earlier coating his tongue like a thick film.

His cloak lay in the middle of the ring, deflated. The word “BLAZE” stared back at him coldly at the feet of Anna Daniels.

“Wait… I can still-”

Before he could finish, Daihm pulled at his arm, dragging him along.

Just ahead of making it through to the back, Nathan looked up toward the capacity crowd of 70,000 as their cheers began to wind down like a broken tape player.

BLAZE!

BLA-

BL-

B-

Silence.

Then he heard a voice somewhere a few feet away.

NAY-THAN!

And then another

NAY-THAN-LAKE!

LIGHT-HOUSE!

NAY-THAN-LAKE!

LIGHT-HOUSE!

A confounding mix of voices became a call-and-response chorus as Daihm pulled him the rest of the way, ushering him into a nearby restocking area.

Nathan felt the jab of hard plastic as he collapsed onto an empty palette of Pepsi soft drinks.

He could feel a pounding in his chest and a pit in his stomach.

He tried to look up at Daihm, his vision blurred. Cheeks wet.

“Oi. Breathe. Breathe Nathan.”

So he did.

One breath.

Then another. And another. His heart began to slow as he wiped at his eyes.

Then he felt a hand on his chest.

His vision began to clear, seeing Daihm crouched in front of him with his arm outstretched.

“Good.”

He shook his head, his voice shaky.

“Wh… what’s good?”

“Your heart.”

He cocked his head, confused.

“What about it?”

He saw Daihm smile.

“It’s still there.”

***

Funny how you can hold onto a memory for so long, and so tightly, that it means the world to you and so little to everyone else.

So much so that you begin to question whether it really is even a memory at all.

Then again, growing up in a small town, memories are sometimes all you have.

Even as a kid there’s not a lot to do in a place like that.

Ride your bike up and down the main drag.

Watch, maybe even join, the older kids get trashed in the high school parking lot after a football game.

Mow lawns in the summer. Rake leaves in the fall. Shovel snow in the winter.

Rinse. Repeat.

Is it any wonder why people did what they could to try and escape?

I found that in stories. Books. Movies. Television. Anything I could get my hands on.

High fantasy. Sci-fi. Horror. Heck, even the occasional uplifting Disney or Pixar film, or a romantic comedy was better than the alternative.

But as a kid I never had cable; not until I was in high school. This meant in a town where there was one school for elementary, middle, and high school I got to hear everyone whose parents had cable talk about shows I couldn’t watch.

Spongebob.

Pokémon

Family Guy

But the worst were the shows featuring actual kids.

Freaks and Geeks

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

GUTS

In a world with hundreds of channels and millions of worlds for other kids to escape into, I was confined to old VHS tapes, rented DVDs, and eight over-the-air channels. And I got to watch them all on this monstrosity of a tube television that was balanced on a dinner tray with one leg shorter than the rest and a coat hanger sticking out of the back where the antenna should've been.

But in an odd way, I didn’t hate it. It was safe and familiar, even when the world wasn’t.

Especially when it wasn’t.

Until that night.

***

“We don’t have to do this now if you’re nah feeling up to it…”

Nathan took in a breath, the pen in his hand shaking above the stack of papers in front of him.

“No, better to do it now than let it fester. At least I hope so.”

A PRIME lawyer stood, arms crossed, watching as the pair stared at the legal paperwork in front of them. Paperwork that the company had explained was necessary to have Nathan Lake referred to, officially, as Nathan Lake.

Trademarked. Copyrighted. Patented.

Official.

The stack looked like he was signing mortgage paperwork.

“Christ, how many of these are there?”

The man in the suit cleared his throat and adjusted his tie.

“The appropriate amount, Mr. Lake.”

“And you had all of these just ready to go?”

“We accounted for every possible outcome of your contract with Ms. Daniels.”

Nathan scoffed.

“At least someone did…”

Daihm elbowed him in the back.

“OW! Hey!”

Daihm crossed his arms.

“Nah. None of that, mate.”

Nathan moved a final stack of signed papers off to the side and saw, sitting underneath them, a thin, unmarked manilla envelope.

“And what’s this one?”

The lawyer shrugged.

“That was already there when I got here.”

Nathan turned to look at Daihm and then back to the envelope as he pulled the cover open to reveal the words “AVALON” in big, bold letters at the top.

He scanned the copy, eyes wide, quickly gesturing for the pen back from the lawyer.

“What does it say?”

Daihm leaned in as Nathan paused.

“Well…?”

Suddenly, Nathan began to scratch out parts of the text and write in the margins. His eyes fell to the bottom of the page before he slid the tip of the pen across it before he slowly closed the folder.

The lawyer cocked an eyebrow as Nathan handed him the document, placing it on top of the stack of already-signed papers.

“When you deliver those to Lindsay, can you give her a message for me?”

“And that is?”

“Nathan Lake will be ready.”

***

That evening my mom brought home Pizza Hut, which always meant something special: dinner and a movie in the living room. And I got to choose the movie this time.

I went with Monster Squad.

She asked me to get everything ready while she changed from her work clothes, so I grabbed some paper plates, filled our plastic cups with Dr. Pepper, and went to work getting the television set up.

I knelt on this… vomit green shag carpet, wiping my greasy hands on my pajamas before reaching up and turning the dial.

CLICK.

CLICK.

CLICK.

Then I saw it.

An image on one of the other channels. Barely visible behind a wall of static.

I stood up to adjust the coat hanger, watching as the picture slowly became clearer, even if it wasn’t all the way visible.

There were kids my age walking through some sort of dark passageway, headed toward some sort of opening in the distance.

It wasn’t just a show I had never seen before. It was one I had never even heard of.

The feed would cut in and out and what I saw came in bursts.

An arching stone structure that may have been an abandoned subway station or maybe even an ancient ruin.

One of the kids held a book in his hand. Not one of those Scholastic YA novels, but a tome that was heavy and old.

There were five kids. Maybe six. I remembered their clothes better than their faces.

A girl with red hair and a light green windbreaker she was drowning in with elastic cuffs pushed up past her elbows.

A boy with black hair and an asymmetrical buzz cut that looked like it wasn’t quite finished. He wore what appeared to be a jean jacket and had a satchel over his shoulder.

There was the leader, the oldest of the group with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a simple white shirt and jeans and took the book, holding it tightly at his side, while another one of the kids pointed the way forward with a flashlight.

The illumination caught the outlines of markings made along the structure’s walls. Two triangles connected at the tip. That was all I could make out before another burst of static.

I slammed my hand against the side of the television firmly, but softly enough to not try and make my mom think I broke our TV.

I heard the girl with the windbreaker say a name, twice, as if calling out. But her voice was warped and distorted.

Another one of the kids, I don’t know which one, said something about doing this before.

How they already lost someone once.

They all began calling out the same name. But I couldn’t make it out. Each time it got cut short mid-transmission, as if it was erasing them from memory.

The adults didn’t care, I remember one of them saying.

They never do, I thought.

Just like that line from that movie I managed to sneak down and watch when my mom thought she was alone and I had gone to bed:

That when you grow up... your heart dies.

***

“Daihm, why are we at a beauty salon?”

Nathan’s eyes were locked on a sign that just said “Rizzzzzzzzzz” (and yes, all those “z”s were there) before he turned his head over to his young friend who gave him a sideways glance before scanning him from tip to toe.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Your split ends and dry skin would beg to differ.”

Daihm laughed.

“Oi wait, do you think that’s why you never got any callbacks when you were an actor?”

Nathan slapped Daihm’s shoulder.

“Fuck you.”

Daihm slapped Nathan back.

“Ye’ wish.”

Nathan rolled his eyes, running a hand through his apparently busted ass hair, ready to tell Daihm that he wasn’t taking any of this seriously, and then he saw the grin on his friend’s face.

Had being Blaze Claymore made him forget what it meant to have fun?

When did the kid who would perform one-act plays for his stuffed animals, film his own monster movies on an old video camera, and famously pranked his high school senior assembly doing cheesy impressions of actors become so… joyless?

“Daihm, wait.”

He did.

“What… uh… is going to happen in there?”

Daihm shrugged.

“Aye, the reviews on Reddit said this place works entirely off of a person’s vibes. Like… a vision board or color psychology.”

“Wait. Color psychology?”

“Aye. How you dress influences your attitude. It explains why you wear red all the time.”

“And that’s supposed to mean… what?”

Daihm shrugged again.

“Red gives anger… power… passion… and… love.”

Nathan looked away from Daihm as he felt his face get warm.

“Okay, so what color should I be wearing then?”

He felt Daihm grab his hand and pull him toward the door.

“Hey!”

Nathan looked up as he was pulled through the threshold of the salon, the smell of shampoo, nail polish, and acetone assaulting his senses.

“Come on. What’s the fun in that? Isn’t it better if ye find that out for yerself?”

***

The one with the book kept walking, the flashlight illuminating the path in front of them, until they came across another archway. Identical to the one they had come through earlier.

I couldn’t make out any of their faces. Maybe I did at one time… but now all I remember is the feeling of dread.

Watching something no one else was supposed to see.

And while I was scared. I also felt excited. Like there was a discovery on the other end of that doorway those kids were walking towards that I needed to see.

I broke away for a split second to see if my mom was coming down the stairs and saw the clock.

Two hours had already passed. There was no way. My head began ringing.

Did my mom fall asleep? I didn’t dare get up to check.

It makes me wonder now what it was I was actually seeing. Or maybe what I was missing.

The static came back as they reached the threshold, more aggressive and louder than before. I gave the television case another hard smack. One that, this time, was far too loud.

“Did you break the TV!?” my mom shouted from the top of the stairs as the rest of the kids all turned on their flashlights, pointing them toward the darkness.

I knew if I turned my head, or even blinked I was going to miss it. Whatever was in the darkness.

My mom called my name again but my eyes remained fixed on the screen as the oldest of the kids opened the book and began to read from it.

I could hear her footsteps coming down the stairs as I leaned in. The arced glass of the tube television was close enough to press against my face as I kept one eye on the screen.

The kids all stood in a line. No… not a line; it was a V shape. A triangle.

But there was a gap. A missing piece.

That’s when I could hear a muffled voice behind me.

Something about why I was sitting in front of a screen of nothing but static.

Something about how I was going to ruin my eyesight.

My mom’s hand reached up toward the knob. I tried to yell for her to stop. But no words came out. I could feel tears streaming down my face.

And the last thing I saw was the oldest kid closing the book and stepping through the archway as the others followed, and then a girl, the same age as the kids, stepping outward from the darkness.

She looked absolutely terrified, turning toward the screen so she was suddenly facing me. The image and sound on the television now crystal clear.

“You have to remember.”

CLICK.

***

Nathan strained his neck from the backseat to try and catch a glimpse of himself in the driver’s rearview mirror for what had to have been the tenth time since they had gotten into the Lyft.

He hadn’t had hair this short since he was in middle school, and now he had blue highlights too? Daihm wasn’t kidding when he said the salon was vibes-based.

“I look like Abercrombie and Fitch got into a fight with Hot Topic.”

“I’d say that’s an upgrade.”

Nathan fell back into his seat. A parcel wrapped in butcher paper sat on his lap.

“Can I open this now?”

Daihm tapped his chin contemplatively.

“Only if ye can answer a question.”

“What?”

“Do you think you can do it?”

Nathan furrowed his brow.

“You mean… live with Ivan, Steve, and Tom? I don’t have a choice.”

Daihm looked down toward the parcel before meeting Nathan’s eyes.

“Of course you do. But that’s not what I was asking. I want to know if ye think ye can win Survivor. And then secure the Universal Title.”

Nathan shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“Because I do. That's why I’m here.”

Nathan tried to speak, but couldn't find the words.

“Daihm, I-”

A beat.

“That and Anthrocon.”

Nathan blinked.

“Anthro… what?”

*SCREEE*

Their ride slid to a stop in front of a long strip of rowhouses set along the middle of an arching hill and before Nathan was able to ask further, Daihm had already stepped out of the car and headed toward the trunk.

Nathan glanced at his reflection once more before he sighed and exited the vehicle.

Daihm pushed Nathan’s roller bag over, gesturing toward the package in his hands.

“Only open that if you believe you can win, Nathan. It won’t help you if you don’t”

“I promise.”

Daihm reached over, the pair sharing a hug before Daihm slid back into the Lyft.

“Good. Now go have fun with your friends.”

“They’re not my-”

“Onward!”

Daihm cut him off gleefully as the driver grunted.

“You freaks don’t gotta make everything weird, ya know.”

The car jolted forward, continuing its trek. And across the street a light was already on at the Air BnB.

“Shit.”

Nathan could hear a ringing in his ears as he turned the package over, a free hand hovering above the string holding it together as Daihm’s words hung in the air.

With a tug, he released the twine and let it fall to the ground.

Nathan's chest felt tight.

Folded inside was a vest.

Blues. Whites. Teals.

Waves stitched into the fabric beneath a sky of clouds and stars.

And at the center was a lighthouse; shining brightly against the sky.

***

I finally blinked. The sound of the world around me coming back into focus.

The clock read 8:45, just 5 minutes from when I remember putting the food down on the coffee table. The pizza was even still steaming.

But so was my mom, which was scarier than anything on the other side of that archway.

Long story short we ended up watching Monster Squad, but I could barely focus. I needed to know what it was I had seen – or if I had even seen it at all.

The next day at school, and every day after for years, I would ask if any of the other kids saw the show with the book, triangles, and the archway. I would tell them to stay up and look for it; they had to scan all the channels.

No one ever saw it. Or if they did they never told me.

And no matter how many times I tried to find it, or explain it to my mom, she would insist all I was looking at was static.

So now all I have are the memories. Every year they blur a little more around the edges, but one thing has never faded:

I have to remember.

As a kid I think I confused moving forward with escaping; turning the opposite direction from where you were standing and heading as far away as you could.

But all that did was cast me further into darkness and push me further away. Now I know there were always people trying to find me; like that friend who went missing. Always just crossing paths, but never finding connection.

Now it’s up to me to be there for them.

Even if it’s scary. Even if I feel exposed. Even if my mind is screaming for me to turn back.

I am choosing to walk forward and not away.

Because I know I am not doing it alone.

***

Nathan’s hand gripped the handle of his roller bag as he approached the door to the Air BnB he would be staying in with Team Avalon.

He tried to force his other hand toward the door handle, but it wouldn’t move.

“Calm down, they may have each beaten the shit out of you, but they aren’t strangers. They’re your colleagues. Teammates. Tribes…men.”

Nathan crouched down to pop open his suitcase, checking to make sure everything was in place.

Toiletries. Check.

Chargers. Check.

Change of clothes. Check.

Research materials. Check.

Then he noticed a patch of… fur? poking out from underneath his clothes. He reached down and pulled out a long, blue animal tail attached to a studded belt. It had a note on it.

“In case you need to find me. P.S. I thought blue might be your color - D”

Nathan held up the tail, face contorting in confusion.

“What the hell.”

Suddenly the door in front of him opened and standing over him with shoulders boxing out the door frame was the Russian Bear himself. Ivan Stanislav.

“Another fur child.”

“A what now?”

“Like I told the other… anthro-thing, you want to go that way.”

Ivan pointed down the hill as Nathan stood up until he met the Russian’s box-shaped sternum.

“Ivan, it’s me. Nathan.”

“Who?”

“Nathan?”

“Who?”

Nathan sighed.

“Blaze.”

Ivan narrowed his eyes.

“You not pull wool over Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav’s eyes,” Ivan growled with a waggle of his huge finger. “Comrade Blaze has poorly managed hair. Obnoxious American sunglasses. Phallic symbol on his back.”

Nathan turned around and pointed toward the symbol on his vest.

“Like this?”

Ivan stared at the image on the vest, “Ah, yes, you do still have cock on your back.” He sighed, turned, and walked back inside. As he moved, Nathan saw red and yellow flags tacked to the walls, brutalist sculptures dotted across the living room, and a massive map rolled out over the coffee table with markings all over it. But no Tom. No Steve.

“Come inside. Or leave,” Stanislav said, not turning to look back. “But choose quickly. And close door.”

Nathan closed the roller and lifted the handle as the same pit in his stomach from a few nights prior returned.

Somewhere inside the luggage a furry blue tail slid along the liner, mingling with the rest of his clothes.

He placed a hand on his heart.

Fireworks exploded in the distance.

Nathan took a deep breath…

…and stepped inside.