Entry 13

Now I don’t consider myself a nerd. John has a friend who feels insulted if you call her anything besides a nerd. She is captain of the school’s Quiz Bowl Team, president of the Latin Club, Captain of the Woodwind Section of the Marching Band, and president of the Science National Honor Society. She wishes she was one of the Doctor’s companions, thinks she’s a Jedi, openly covets the job of Geordi LaForge, and wishes she could grow up to be half the woman Samantha Carter is. I think she has every line in Star Wars memorized. She is one of John’s good friends and together they have waged a campaign to make me very science fiction literate. It was through their acts of kindness (aka making me watch Star Wars several times in a row) that I recognized the line that had just been uttered to me. And it was my friend’s influence that led me to respond as I did.

“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” I asked. The man frowned in confusion, probably since he was quite tall.

“I am not a stormtrooper,” the man responded, the word sounding awkward as if he had never heard it before. Was it possible that an American could exist without knowing about George Lucas’ white armored soldiers of evil? And didn’t Hitler call some of his forces stormtroopers? A man certainly could not live to be twenty and not know about World War II. “I am part of the Anti-Anthropologist movement. I am here to rescue you from the Society.”

“Carrie,” I called to my friend. She was standing beside me looking puzzled. “Do you see this person here?”

“Yes,” Carrie said. She studied the man with confusion. “Are you a substitute teacher?” The man did not even glance at her. His eyes stayed firm on me.

“Carlee Earhart, we must go,” the man said. “I do not know how much time we will have before the Anthropologists will realize we’re here. They’re in symposium so they should be distracted, but part of the symposium may be to come look at the newly captured Earthling.”

“No,” I stepped away from him, reality suddenly clashing with my delusions. Was I sick again? Had I passed out in French class? “Stay away from me.”

“I know how real this seems,” the man said, grabbing me firmly by the upper arm. His grip was strong. I would not be able to escape him. For a delusion he felt very real. In fact he felt more real than my friend Carrie who was standing beside me. “Undoubtedly this is exactly like your home, but this is not your home. You are not on Earth. You are on a planet called Lixel, in the Andromeda galaxy, the headquarters of the Society of Anthropologists.”

“No,” I responded, shaking my head and trying to pull away. His grip was too strong. “That’s just a delusion. I was sick that’s all. There is no Society of Anthropologists, no aliens, no androids.”

“I don’t have time to argue,” the man said. “You will come with me, Carlee Earhart, whether you like it or not.” He then began to drag me towards one of the nearby walls. I struggled and looked about wildly for help.

“Carrie,” I cried to my friend. “Get John. Go get John.” My friend nodded and raced away to find my big brother.

“Your holographic friends will not be able to help you,” the man said. “I’m not part of the program. They can’t touch me. They can only touch you because you’re brain waves are programmed into it.”

“You’re crazy,” I responded. The man ignored me, continuing to pull me towards a wall covered in lockers.

He stopped at the wall, maintained his tight grip on my arm, and used his free hand to pry at one of the lockers. I wanted to tell him he was stupid to think it would open without using the combination, but I kept my peace. The longer the man took to do whatever it was he thought he was doing, the more time John had to rescue me. John would never let someone accost me like this. As soon as Carrie found him, he would come to my rescue.

Suddenly a two foot by two foot section of lockers ceased to be lockers. Instead the man pulled back a hinged section of metallic panel, revealing some sort of duct.

“Crawl through,” the man said, shoving me ahead of him. My upper body lurched forward into the duct. The metal walls felt real, more real than my desk and textbooks.

“No, I need to know more,” I protested, not crawling in as he had directed but not pulling out either. It felt too real to be a delusion.

“You are a specimen in a zoo,” the man said. “And if you ever want to be free again you will crawl through that duct.”