The Smell of Ozone

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

That's the advertising blurb for a sci-fi book I'm attempting to read. It's supposed to be a great book that someone is going to turn into a great movie. All I can say is good luck with that. The screenwriter better have a great imagination. I mean, the premise of the book is awesome, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired.

The plot has to do with a cargo ship crew finding a derelict alien craft drifting in space. Inside the ship, they discover a dangerous alien, the likes of which no one has ever seen. I mean, how can an author take that plot and write the most boring book in the world?

I toss the book out of the bus window, not even halfway to church camp. Instead of brooding the rest of the way, I take a nap. Five minutes later, I wake up and start brooding anyway. Maybe I should take up writing. I'm sure I can do a better job than that schmuck, and he got published.

In church camp, I'm everyone's big brother. I'm the nice guy with the big shoulders to cry on and the big ears to listen with. The ladies love me because I'm a teddy bear. The guys? Not so much. The ladies trust me because I don't violate the Friend Zone. The guys believe I'm in it up to my ears. Personally, it's nice to have women hanging all over me, but it would be even nicer if one of them...well, you know.

A friend of mine once narrowed it down to one very simple truth—I'm tired of being cute. I'm tired of being fuzzy. I want some ass.

Preach, Steven Mauk!

Sure, it's not what you'd expect at church camp, but it's pretty standard for sixteen-year-old virgins. Unfortunately, for some, the camps are not so much about church as they are about hooking up with a hottie for a week or two. And, have you ever hung out with a preacher's kid? Believe me. They are the wildest of the bunch. Not my style, though.

This whole thing starts in Little Rock, Arkansas, with a pretty girl, the largest, most beautiful light brown eyes I have ever seen, the tears that stream from them, and a lightning bolt that kills the power and smells of ozone. Lightning from clear skies? Not normal.

*****

It's lunchtime on the first day of camp. I walk through the cafeteria with my lunch tray, looking for a seat, when I pass a girl I've never seen before, and she's crying. She glances at me with tear-filled eyes, then looks away quickly. Obviously, something is going on, and I, being the big brother I am, stop to find out what's wrong.

"Just go away and leave me alone! Can't you jerks stop bothering me for one second?"

"Okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you," I turn to walk away.

"Wait! You're that guy, aren't you?"

"Sure. I'm a guy, but I didn't know I was that guy. I thought I was just a guy. Does that mean I'm special? I don't see myself as special, but maybe I am. What do you think?"

Those brown eyes Van Morrison sings about smile at me though her lips don't respond in kind. Strange, but I go with it because, at the very least, she talks to me.

"That's not funny, you know," she wipes the tears from her eyes, and I hand her my napkin to help.

"I know, but at least your eyes are smiling now. My job is done here. I'll leave you be."

"No. Wait. Look, I'm sorry. Please sit, um, Femi, right? Your name's Femi?"

"Yeah, but how do you know my name?"

My voice does that thing where it varies in tone and ends up in a near-falsetto.

"I'm from Nebraska. PooBear told me about you."

"Nancy? Cool. I got a letter from her last week."

"I'm Celeste. Please sit with me. I need your help, and Poo said you were the only boy I could trust."

I sit down, and Celeste explains her situation. She is stunning, looks like Mary Steenburgen's little sister, and exudes the girl next door vibe. I suddenly hate the Friend Zone.

Guys have been trying to get with her ever since she got off the bus. She came to camp for the fellowship, not to hook up. My big ears listen as she voices all of her concerns, but, unfortunately, my big shoulders missed out on the crying. I offer to talk to the guys and try to convince them to leave her alone. I mean, despite being a teddy bear, I'm kind of a big guy, and I'm a fullback on my high school football team. They'll listen. However, Celeste presents an unusual and intriguing alternative.

"You could pretend to be my boyfriend. No one will bother me if we're together."

My eyebrows knit, "How much did Poo tell you?"

"Everything. She wishes she had been, well, stronger."

I sigh, drop my eyes to the table, then lift them slowly to meet hers. The light brown, in contrast to her raven-black hair, is mesmerizing. Still, I have to find out if she truly understands what she's asking.

"You sure you want that, Celeste? It may be 1978, but a White girl dating a Black guy is nowhere near normal. It scared PooBear off."

Celeste straightens her back, locks her blazing eyes on mine, and challenges me.

"I'm not her. I don't care what color you are or what other people think. Do you?"

She jigs her head to the side in the way some women do, so I figure I'm not gonna win this argument, and why would I want to? I'm a sane, I think, heterosexual male, probably, because that one kiss doesn't really matter, does it? Nah, so I say yes.

Right then, the lights extinguish, and the smell of ozone fills the cafeteria. Later, we find out that a freak bolt of lightning from a clear, blue sky hit the transformer right outside. Weird, right? Also, no thunder accompanied the lightning. Double weird.

From that point on, we're inseparable. Holding Celeste's hand as we walk to each event is, um, stimulating, but I stay in the Friend Zone. We also spend early evenings talking while exploring the trails around the camp. At the end of the week, we say our goodbyes, exchange addresses, and then she makes everything worthwhile. She kisses me lightly on the lips in front of the whole busload of Nebraskans. Scandalous! And, definitely, not PooBear.

*****

We keep in touch through letters with endings that begin with Yours Truly but eventually morph to Love. I don't think anything of it because I figure I'm still in the Friend Zone, or it's a God's love kind of thing. No way she would be interested in me. Not like that anyway.

We grow close over the next two years, but neither of us talks about a relationship beyond friends. I mean, I live in Spring, suburb of, Houston, Texas, and she lives in Omaha, freaking, Nebraska, and we only meet three or four times a year. How will that work? Also, once I reach eighteen, I can no longer participate in youth activities. I will go on to college, I hope, but she will still be two years behind me, like I was with PooBear, who, incidentally, stops writing to me after she goes to college.

At each event, our relationship status evolves until the last two, when we tell everyone we're engaged. We're both honest people, so I actually propose to her, and she agrees to marry me. I even got two of those adjustable dime-store rings, and we wear them at camp. Still, I think I'm just being the big brother and protecting Celeste from the riff-raff.

I feel closer to Celeste than I ever have to anyone else, but I still don't think of her as my girlfriend even though she won't let go of my hand and kisses it quite often. Stupid, right? I'm beginning to think that I've lived in the Friend Zone way too long.

Our final goodbye crushes the not-girlfriend thoughts when Celeste French kisses me, then boards the bus, as the freaky, clear sky, no thunder lightning, blows the same transformer as before, filling the air with ozone again. I stand there long after the bus disappears, replaying the kiss in my mind, wondering if, and maybe even hoping, our engagement is real.

We stay in touch through letters, but I make minimum wage, yep, community college-bound, so I can't even escort Celeste to her Prom. We continue with our lives, close our letters with Love, talk about that last kiss and try to make plans for the future, but inevitably, we begin to drift apart.

The summer after Celeste graduates, she and her family travel to Dallas to visit relatives. She calls me and says she'll drive down to see me. It's perfect timing because the Budweiser Superfest is happening at the Astrodome, where I work, and a carnival has set up in the parking lot. We have a great day together, and it's like we were never apart.

We hold hands, feed each other cotton candy and ice cream, which she promptly smears all over my chin and neck. The fun begins when she cleans it up...without napkins. Clear sky, no thunder, lightning strikes again and fills the moment with ozone as it kills the power for the entire carnival.

We find ourselves in an empty Astrodome Skybox, where we trade marriage vows before God, then gift each other our virginities while Earth, Wind, and Fire sings Fantasy as the long-forgotten ice cream cones melt in the summer heat.

Our honeymoon is a short one as the sun rapidly falls toward the horizon, and our time together nears its end. This time, our goodbye kiss is much longer and sweeter—and sadder. When the baleful twin eyes of the taillights shrink, so does the joy in my heart.

The next day, I quit the Skyboxes and try to join the Navy, determined to forge a career, hoping that someday I can earn my way back to Celeste. So much for the best-laid plans of mice and men to mangle Robert Burns' poetry.

You see, I have an exceptionally high aptitude for Math and Physics. I took Calculus III and advanced Physics in high school and aced both classes.

Even after I graduated, I returned to my math teacher, who gladly fed me equations and did his best to help me find scholarships, to no avail.

When the ASVAB results come back, my recruiter tells me that I can almost write my own ticket. Once I finish Basic, I will be promoted three grades to E-4 or Petty Officer Third Class. I find out that's not normal, so I figure I'm off to a great start.

While in Basic, a guest speaker lectures at an advanced math class, and I argue him to a standstill on concepts surrounding String Theory. I prove my theories mathematically, and before I know it, the Navy whisks me away to a facility inside the eastern face of the Chocolate Mountains of Southern California. For four years, I disappear from the world except for one heavily redacted letter a month to my family.

After a year of virtual captivity, our taskmasters trust my team members and me enough to grant us some freedom. Or maybe it's because one of our team cracks under pressure and nearly destroys our work with a Claymore mine he stole from the armory? Maybe?

Sure, we have more freedom now, but the nearest decent-sized town is El Centro, almost fifty miles away across the landlocked Salton Sea. Still, it's better than being cooped up inside a frigging mountain, but only just.

After four years of very hard and sometimes frustrating work, we succeed. Our invention will undergo its first human trial tomorrow. If we're successful, the Navy will transfer the whole rig to Groom Lake for miniaturization and implementation, or so they say. More likely, they'll box the whole thing up and shove it into a deep, dark corner of Warehouse 13. Yeah, it's that scary. Think Philadelphia Experiment; the supposed WWII myth, not the movie.

When I retire to my hut the night before the big test, a shore patrolman tells me I have a phone call at the communications shack, so I pull my boots back on and jog over, figuring it's my mother.

After the Claymore incident, the command chain decided to allow one monitored phone call each month in addition to the letter. Fortunately, since I am now one of two project leads, I'm no longer openly monitored. I'm no fool, though. I'm pretty sure someone is listening in. they just want me to think they're not. I'll grant them their little deception. They need to think they're in control.

As it turns out, it isn't my mother.

"Hi, Femi, it's Celeste."

My brain locks up on me because that's impossible.

"Femi?"

I swallow hard and croak, "Celeste?" Behind me, the lads and ladies whoop and whistle at her name. Of course, I talk about her.

"Yes, it's me. It's been tough tracking you down. Even your mom doesn't know where you are."

"Yeah. That's kinda the point," I shake my head because she doesn't deserve my snark, "Sorry, Celeste. I'm working on a sensitive project, and I'm not used to talking with anyone outside the chain."

"I understand, Femi."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes, I live in L.A." I file her address in my memory, "Um. I need to talk to you about something."

"I'm still all ears. What's up?"

"I've been dating someone,"

My heart leaps into my throat, then plunges into my belly where it sits, slowly melting in my stomach acid.

"and he's asked me to marry him. I want to know how you feel about that?"

Something hides in her voice, but I can't figure out what. I drag myself out of my daze, sort of, "Celeste, I thought we were..." I reset, "How is it my business?"

"You're still my best friend, and I still trust you, Femi. I need to know what you think about me getting married."

Friend Zone? Really? Yet there's that something in her voice again, but my mind is too full of pain to figure it out,

"Do you love him?"

"Maybe."

"That's not enough to marry him."

"So you're saying I shouldn't?"

Does she sound happy at that? God, it's been so long that I don't even know her voice anymore.

"You need to be sure like you were when we traded vows, Celeste."

"Right. So...."

My agony mutates into barely-contained, pain-fueled anger, "Why are you asking me? We haven't seen each other since Houston," I regret it as soon as I say it, but the words have already spilled from my lips.

"You're the one who disappeared, Femi, not me. I just...oh, forget it!"

Click.

Dead silence assails my ears and blames me for the lack of sound.

I meander back to my hut and sulk. The tears stop just before my roomie returns from the chow hall. I tell him what happened. As I explain, I figure out why Celeste called.

"Bert, I need to see her."

"Good luck with that, brother. We're on lockdown until after the tests. Call her."

"I didn't get her number, but I have her address, and..." Funny thing about roommates, they know you almost as well as lovers.

"Nah, bro, forget it. They'll throw us both under frigging Leavenworth, shove rebar up our butts, and fill the hole with concrete."

Bert's southern drawl is normally kind of cool, but at that moment, it irritated the hell out of me.

"C'mon, Bert. I can't lose her. You gotta help me."

"Bro, it takes ten of us to work that thing. Two just ain't enough."

"I designed and built it, and you wrote the code for it. You know the Navy. Ten's just a failsafe. We can do this."

It doesn't take too much convincing because he's heard my stories about Celeste for the last four years. Bert finally caves. As project leads, we can enter the facility at any time, so we go perform some 'final checks and simulations.' With any luck, no one'll catch on to what we're actually doing. Bert works his magic with the programming and security issues while I reroute the power and control modules to operate from inside the device chamber. We are ready.

We must test its targeting accuracy first, then calibrate it. Bert nods to me, and I touch a control node on my chest. Unexpectedly, no thunder, lightning flashes as the device surrounds me in a field of energy, pulls me out of phase with the rest of the universe into an alternate dimension we call Aetherspace, and instantaneously transports me to the middle of Celeste's street, right in front of a car.

CRAP!

I smack the node again and return, chased by the sound of screeching tires and a fleeting image of Celeste looking back as she and a man climb the stairs to her condo.

Bert jumps for joy, pumps his fist in the air, and whoops. The lightning surprised us both, and it sparks an old memory. I thrust it to the side because, at the moment, I find it irrelevant.

I want to enjoy our success too, but Celeste is the only thing that fills my mind. We recalibrate. The second time, no thunder lightning twice, and I land at the bottom of the stairs.

Much better.

I ascend them and ring the doorbell as my heart bruises my ribs from the inside. The door opens, her eyes meet mine, then grow wide as ozone fills the space between us. I open my mouth, the universe flips, and I'm back in the device chamber.

"What the hell, Bert?"

"Brass coming. No choice, bro. Powering down!"

"No, don't. It'll take too long. Stick with the story."

"But they'll smell the ozone, bro. We're cooked."

Though my anxiety level spikes, I slowly respond in as calm and placating a voice as I can muster.

"We're doing short teleports of organic material before the actual tests to iron out any kinks. That's our story."

Anxiety drives Bert's voice half an octave higher than usual, "I don't know, Femi, I don't know!"

"Bert. If I don't do this, I'm going to lose the love of my life. Look, you've done enough. I got this, so go on and get outta here. Thanks for helping."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I might spend time in Gitmo, but I'm gonna tell Celeste how I feel. I could still lose her, but I gotta try."

Bert looks at the security cams again, then back at me. "It's cool, bro. It looks like they're leaving anyway. Let's do this."

I smile, press the node; no thunder lightning thrice. Celeste stands before me again, way too calm, capturing me with eyes as beautiful as ever. Something doesn't add up, though, but I shove the thought to the side. The ozone is potent, but I don't care.

"Back again? Care to explain?"

"Clarke's Third Law."

"Techno-Magic, huh?"

"Sort of."

"Why are you here?"

"Because of you."

"What do you want?"

"To tell you I'm an idiot."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious."

"I'm a fool."

"Given. And?"

"Not going to make this easy, are you?"

"Who disappeared on who?"

"Don't you mean...."

"Are you really gonna finish that sentence?"

"Right. Sorry."

"Answer me, Femi."

"What was the ques..."

"Goodbye."

"No, no, no, no. I'm sorry, Celeste, Please."

"For?"

"Everything."

She folds her arms, "I need a detailed list."

"Right now?"

"Who disappeared?"

"Right. Okay," I list all the things I'm sorry for, and the list is longer than I think. I really was that stupid. "It took me a minute to realize why you called."

Celeste's voice softens, "Why did I call?"

"To give me one last chance to tell you how I feel, and I failed you yet again. I've loved you for so long, Celeste, and I've never put it into words except for a meaningless blurb at the end of a letter. And our wedding vows. Can you forgive me?"

Her smile warms me to the core, "Finally," Celeste steps toward me and takes my hand in both of hers, "Femi, I have loved you since that first camp when you saved me from those misogynistic misanthropes," She pauses, "I've waited so long for this, but we can't be together—not yet."

My face falls so hard I'm surprised it doesn't bounce off my feet. My shoulders are attached to my neck by weak rubber bands, and my knees quake like gelatin, "But, why?"

The question comes out as a whisper because my lungs have almost stopped functioning.

She reaches behind the door, grabs something, and shows it to me. It's her khaki work jacket with a shiny, silver bar pinned on each collar. Celeste is a Second Lieutenant in the Navy. "Because officers can't fraternize with enlisted."

I pop to attention. "Sorry. I didn't know, ma'am."

"I joined to find you, Femi. At ease."

"I guess our timing's just off."

"Not true. Three impossible, no thunder lightning strikes with ozone in our past and three more now. They're connected, and I don't believe in coincidences. God wants us right here, right now."

The lightning suddenly makes sense, both past, and present. I finally understand that foreshadowing is actually a thing, even in real life. Shakespeare is a prophet, especially in Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5. We truly don't know what is or isn't possible. Can we actually achieve the things we dream?

Bert and I have with our transporter. Perhaps Celeste is the author of this particular dream. Our dream. She believes in it so strongly and has worked so hard to make it come true that the universe has no choice but to bend to her will.

Another man's voice approaches from inside her townhome, "What's taking so long, Celeste? Oh, hi. Who's this?"

"The reason I won't marry you, Carl."

"Femi."

"Yes, now please leave as I asked."

Without another word, Carl brushes past Celeste, scowls at me, and storms down the steps. I deftly change the subject because the something that didn't add up before just hit me.

"You weren't surprised to see me. You know about the project. How?"

"I'm your new supply officer."

Femi has no idea what she had to do to get that posting, but she did it for him. There is no way he was going to let her go ever again.

Her smile speaks volumes. Celeste has a plan, just as she did so many years ago, at that cafeteria table in Little Rock, Arkansas. Finally, I catch on.

"What do you have in mind, Lieutenant?"

"Your term of enlistment ends in seven months, right?"

"Yes, ma'am,"

"Plan on reenlisting?"

"No, ma'am, DOD wants us in DARPA, but Bert and I have other plans."

"Oh? And what plans are those?"

"Plans that will change to include you."

"That's not really an answer, Femi."

"You changed your whole life to find me, Celeste. I will keep my plans fluid until I can adapt them to you and your needs. I won't lose you again."

Celeste takes another step closer, and the smile she grants me makes everything worthwhile.

"We spoke vows before God and consummated our marriage in that Skybox, Obinrinfemi. I haven't been with anyone else, not even Carl."

"Neither have I. So, you know my full name. Do you know what it means?"

"Of course, it's Yoruba, for she loves me."

"And?"

Celeste raises her left hand.

"I still wear our ring."

Femi raises his.

"So do I."