I never offered Michael an explanation. The rest of my friends told my mother, of course, as well as their parents, but no one believed them. I told my mother in mock confidence that it was a joke, and I thought it was too stupid to go along with. Michael didn't play with me anymore after that, and Tracy wasn't over to my house nearly as much anymore, but I didn't care. I had the biggest secret anyone had ever had, and I didn't want to share it, not yet.

I spent a lot of time in my room with the door closed, trying to find that place again. I was afraid to go, but afraid not to. Later, I felt that the only place I could get to from my noisy world, the only doorway, was in my backyard, but that didn't work either. I was fifteen when I crashed my way back to that world. The world I had begun to call The Other.

I had gotten into the habit of trying to access The Other whenever I felt I was alone. I tried wishing for it when I was at the Classes, not paying the teacher any attention. I tried pleading for it when I was in the ArmorVan, my forehead against the cool metal sides of the transport, willing all to ignore me. I had acquired the reputation of a loner, a weirdo, and most of my fellow students steered quite clear of me. This arrangement was perfectly fine with me, as The Other had become an obsession. It was at the shopping arena that The Other finally answered my call.

My mother had tried everything over the years to draw me out of my "shell" as she called it. One of her own obsessions was my appearance. I found I didn't care much for it, so she took it upon herself to care. We spent many afternoons taking a Van to the arena, searching for something for me to wear.

We were at yet another table, and my mother was fingering a purple cotton shirt, calling for me to look at it. I was sitting on a bench about five meters from her, wishing for my Otherland. It didn't seem that I wished any harder for it, or any better, than I had wished so many times in the past. But this time, it worked. The silence was as complete as I had remembered. But this time I was prepared, and I was older. This time I was determined to stay long enough to discover its secret.

I believe it took about five full minutes to recover from the shock, but eventually I stood and looked around the arena. There were people everywhere, bartering at the tables, spending precious chips on meaningless baubles and trinkets. And each one was frozen in place, as before. The arena had no windows, and its lights were always on. I couldn't know for sure that it was nighttime again, but in a way I could sense the darkness outside. I spent hours wandering around the people and tables, inspecting everything as if anything could possess some clue to help me solve this puzzle. Eventually, the novelty wore off somewhat, and I discovered I was hungry.

There had been the aroma of the sandwiches made at the stand near the entrance to the arena. My mother and I had usually eaten from there on our way to catch a Van home. The aroma had remained the same, it hadn't faded with time. I walked toward the entrance, but was stopped by a tightly packed crowd of people in front of a viewer display. I couldn't get around the crowd, or through it. In my attempts, I picked up a small child to move him. It was almost nauseating how dead he felt in my hands. It made me wonder if this was what The Other was, a place of death. With the thoughts of death on my mind, I actually laughed aloud as I tried to replace the child after passing through. He wouldn't balance again! I set him on his tiny shoes as before, but he kept tipping over,threatening to break his nose on the concrete floor. I wondered if he would bleed now, or if that would come later. Pushing this thought aside, I was finally able to stand him upright again, placing some paper waste under his right toe, though it wasn't there before. I vowed to take more care not to disturb anything while in this world, if I was ever able to come here again.

Having finally arrived to the sandwich stand after having to wade through an elevated decorative pond to escape the crowd, I realized that even though I had chips with me enough to buy a sandwich, I would have to steal one. There was no one to serve me, after all. I searched the counter for an entrance to the stand, finally finding a door near the back.

I moved among the employees at the stand, trying to get to the row of pre-made sandwiches near the front. I picked up two of them, and wondered if it was even safe to eat them here. "There's only one way to find out," I said aloud to myself, and took a bite from one. It didn't taste quite right,but it tasted safe, so I leisurely ate the sandwiches, leaning up against the counter from the inside,staring at the frozen employees.

I had one or two bites left, and was preparing to explore more of the arena, when I heard a noise. Thoughts flooded my head. I realized that I had never thought that The Other might be dangerous. The possibility of others here in my world entered my mind for the first time. I felt idiotic then, believing that I was the only one capable of coming here. Sensing possible danger, I crouched behind the counter to think of my next move.

Holding very still, I faintly heard voices yelling to each other far down the arena. I was so naive about The Other, and I felt that getting closer to the voices would finally provide the clues to everything I had been searching for. I dropped the remainder of my second sandwich on the ground at my feet, even though I knew it would be there when the world returned to normal. I remembered what had happened when I changed my ripped shirt the first time I had come here. I crept on my hands and knees to the door that led out to the arena.

Closing the door as silently as I could, I hurried into the frozen crowd. I scanned the arena frantically looking for movement, in a panic to control my audible breathing. I dropped to a crouch when a large black bag went flying over the pond I had recently waded through.

"What's in it?" a booming male voice called out, and I jumped. I immediately held my breath. I caught myself wishing I could sink into the concrete at my feet, but stopped when I realized that maybe wishing could make that come true.

"Money, shithead, what'dya think's in it!" another male voice called, this one frighteningly near.

I heard laughter from the direction of the first voice. I was nearly as frozen as the shoppers around me, I didn't know what to do. I looked around as quickly as I dared, and noticed a table about fifteen meters to my right, through the crowd. I heard things being moved around from the direction of the second voice, and I crawled slowly toward the table.

"Hey, can Rob still sell viewers if we get some?" the second man yelled.

"Naw," the first called back, "the Feds caught him that last time, so he's still pissed off. Did you hear? It took him, like, two days to get out of the station after he jumped."

"Man, I wish I coulda seen their faces when he disappeared!" the second one laughed.

They seemed to understand this place, and I fought the urge to ask them to explain it. But I knew I would be in danger if they caught me. I didn't breathe until I was safely under the table. There was about twenty centimeters of open space between the floor and the table's covering, but I felt fairly safe there. They would only find me if they were looking.

After my breathing returned to normal, I looked around my surroundings. There were some boxes under the table with me, filled with merchandise for the table. I noticed a crack about three centimeters wide where I could look out onto the arena, probably without being seen. I slowly moved toward it to peer out from my hiding place. I anxiouslyas afraid of what I might see. They sounded normal, but what if they weren't. Thoughts of extraterrestrials and big scientific experiments gone horribly wrong danced through my head,making my hands and my breathing shake. When I was at last at the crack in the covering over my table, I hesitantly looked out. What I saw was a man of about 25 years old, normal as anything could be. He was whistling that stupid song from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. My father has an antique machine that plays movies, and a collection of black boxes that hold them. He said they were very popular, though I never saw the point. Why bother with boxes and machines when all you have to do is push a button on your viewer for a film? He just laughed then, I remember. Thinking of my family brought nervous and terrified tears to my eyes. Being fifteen and too old to cry, Ianxiously wiped them away. My nose began to run, and I had to just let it run, afraid of the noise a sniffle might make.

"Hey, Ryan, you about done?" the man near me yelled. "Ryan!"

"Yeah, yeah, come check out this babe first," the first voice called. I didn't like the tone of his voice, something sinister.

The man I was watching chuckled softly and walked away, toward the other man.

I couldn't see them, but I think I knew even then what was happening. Once, when I was thirteen, I saw a banned movie at a friend's house. She said it belonged to her father. It was all a bunch of people having sex. I knew all about it. The sounds coming from the two men were nearly the same. I could taste my terror in the back of my throat.

"Yeah, man," said one of the men, I couldn't tell which, "this is the life."

The other man chuckled, and I recognized it as the one who was near me earlier. "You are one crazy asshole, man. Let's get outta here, all these stiffs gimme the creeps."

"I'm with you," the other answered. "Let's get back. You do it this time, I did it on the way here."

"Yeah"

I sat there under my table for another hour or so, but I never heard another sound. Tentatively,I crawled back out into the crowded arena and stood in a low crouch. My knees cracked from being in one position under the table for so long, and the sound made me jump. I decided that it was time to return to my mother.

I sat where I had been so many hours before, and wished with all my might to return to the land of the living. As though I had done it countless times before, I was instantly returned. The noise was again deafening, and my mother was still calling for me. I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief.

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Copyright © 1995, Monica Israels
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