All This Life

“I asked you a question,” the woman says.

“We’re looking for Kathleen,” Sara says, “because she is his mom.”

The woman looks at Rodney. “I saw a picture of you yesterday.”

“Are you okay?” Sara asks.

“I thought you were the cops. They’re on their way. He punched me. He took Kathleen.”

“Who?” says Rodney.

“Craigslist.”

“You need to sit down,” Sara says. “Let me help you.”

They both assist the woman to the couch. Sara sits next to her. Rodney stays standing, still picking at his eyebrow.

“Go get some ice for her face, Rodney,” Sara says.

But he doesn’t budge, saying, “Mom.”

“He said he was taking her to the Golden Gate Bridge,” the woman says. “Then he knocked me out.”

“When?” Rodney says.

“Ten minutes ago. Fifteen? We’ll tell the police and they’ll handle it.”

Rodney points to the door, says to Sara, “Now.”

“You don’t want to wait for the cops?”

“Now.”

“They’ll be here soon,” says Sara.

“Keys,” he says.

“I’m coming too,” she says, then to the woman, “You stay here and talk to the police.”

Sara and Rodney are almost out the front door when the woman calls from the couch, “Lab coat. He’s wearing a lab coat.”

•••

A FREE MAN travels wherever the wind blows him. On earth or the moon. On anywhere. Jake is almost out of life support. 2 percent battery left. Then no iPhone. Then he’ll really be in unchartered territory.

It has to happen here. This is the only place to do a hard reset. This is the only place to give his fans what they want.

Walk out to the middle.

Imagine all those moon rocks crunching under his boots.

Hear that heavy breathing in his helmet.

He expected people to be flocking up to him, asking for autographs or inspirational quotes. He expected a mob of followers to lift him up, like a singer in a rock band, surfing the crowd to the middle of the bridge, basking in their electric affection.

There are lots of people around him, moving from the Marin side to the Golden Gate. Tour buses drop off here, letting everyone with guidebooks and cameras loose to snap pictures. Even the bus Jake took for his lunar landing had foreigners on it. A couple, both attractive; Jake would totally watch their porn. They kissed and spoke Spanish loudly. Every other seat on the bus had been empty and Jake couldn’t sit still, constantly moving from one seat to another, to another, to another.

And now the wait is over. His astronaut boots are on the bridge’s walkway, moving toward the center. Jake walks in the throng of tourists, knowing he’ll be recognized any second by a loving fan.

He is important.

He is viral.

Imagine a time-lapse version of what awaits every earthling, the world continuing to test our wills, doing its best to demolish us, the fickle and sputtering world trying to take our dignities, our friends and families, our hopes and dreams, all the sadness swelling our internal temperatures and we get hotter and hotter until the whole world burns up. We both know this is the future, Albert, if they’re not saved from the heat of their despairs, which is why I’m almost there, to the bridge, the car will be parked in minutes, we will walk to the center, I will wait for your sign. I’m scouring the whole solar system for that sign. I’m hearing a constant spinning of a record in my head, the scratching of the needle on vinyl, it’s affecting my equilibrium some, not staggering but feeling sort of dizzy, which is the last way I want to feel while waiting on the portal to be opened. It doesn’t matter what’s going on in my head because Isaac Newton was wrong about there being three laws of motion. There are actually four, and the last one is this: Heroes are unstoppable forces.

22

Someone’s filming this, thinks Noah911. Somebody’s capturing him with the ashes. There’s always a camera running somewhere on the Golden Gate.