Chapter 19: I would flyyyyy away with you
Light brown eyes open in dawn's golden rays. The radio clock plays some old Anne Murray, and the songbird sings through static snow. The digital display reads 8:00 and so do the Kwicky Koala clock's hands on the bedroom wall. A side glance studies the curtains above Katie's comfy bed. The Wonder Twins activate their powers from the left and right respectively. Above them, the ceiling and walls do not appear cavernous or even igneous, like in the Valley of the Dinosaurs. Instead, they are plaster boundaries and asbestos tiles. Also, as the radiator hisses, the chamber feels cozy but not exactly tropical.
Katies casts off her Captain Planet bedsheets (she is a bit of a nerd) and swings stiffly into a sitting position. She yawns and yawps. She scratches and stretches. She blinks a bunch and tries believing what is before her. To her best knowledge, no brutes, benevolent or otherwise, are in her living space. No Brontosauruses, behemoth ants, volcanic blizzards, barbarous victuals, or bizarrely-blended reality appears to be nearby in West St. Paul, her apparent locale. In modern America, the only dinosaurs are folks reliving a half-century ago. But, only a "cosmopolitan" snob sees them so.
Sleepyhead stands-up. Katie wears a white top and blue pants. Her Smurf pajama bottoms hang to just above her ankles. Her white T-shirt has Tarzan from Filmation upon it, and it complements the canary Tarzan nightgown in the closet. "Tarzan" is what Katie always called Lok, so she doesn't want anybody else on her attire. When she thinks about Lok, she felts herself and wears her Tarzan nightgown. Smiling, she steps into Yogi Bear slippers that give her bear feet. She likes the pun.
Soon, she shall pour a bowl of Flintstones breakfast cereal after brewing some Sumatran coffee for a Speed Buggy coffee mug. However, she shall first fire-up the desktop to check any e-mail. Or, she could call Greg instead. Hopefully, he is near his phone—if he is back in the Sweet Land of Liberty like she is. Otherwise, Katie can leave a message on his machine's cassette.
In any case, Katie, having lived, must postmortem her plan. She must contact her kid brother. Hopefully, he is not currently a child. Were he about seven years younger than herself, why, that would be super. Also, where are Katie's parents at this time? And, how are they doing?
Miss Butler boots up her home computer. It is a nice one. The monitor is not exclusively green, yellow, and black. There are many-colored pretty pixels upon it. The modern machinery sits between two cool posters. On the left, Jetsons: The Movie conjures a memory of a matinee a few years back. On the right is a Josie and the Pussycats concert keepsake from years ago. Those girls rocked. Beside the PC keyboard, an autographed pic from daredevil Ernie Devlin sits atop Penelope Pitstop's hardcover memoir. Katie sits after tossing the stuffed Snagglepuss from her chair. She must chuckle. On the desk, a floppy disk lies. It is for the Teen Force educational game about journeying in and out of black holes. Amused, our hero places it in the plastic filing case containing diskettes with Pac-Man, Frogger, Donkey Kong, Donkey Kong Junior, and Q*bert. Beside that file, Katie's own writing is on disk too, and it is, of course, printed in sizable piles. The flash drive is nascent fantasy and future invention. And, a person can attach word processor output to an e-mail, but the recipient probably prints the message anyway.
Beside the desk, Katie keeps a library, as any academic or literary type would. It contains VHS recordings of nature documentaries on grizzlies, Berenstains, hair bears, CB bears, the Birdman, dog detectives, various talking animals, and Godzilla. Around the tapes, tons of books stand proud, in paper form, as they once did. Paleontology and dino-stuff dominate along with broad biology literature. However, there are esoteric alphabetized offerings on artificial intelligence such as arcane Speed Buggy, Wheelie, and the Chopper Bunch. There are biographies, some legitimate literature. However, the library also has trashy tell-alls from Fred Jones and the Go-Go Globetrotters. Of course, any library is incomplete without comic TPBs and the canonical classics.
The dial-up does its thing. Prof. Butler hopes to get broadband before the turn of the century (which happens soon enough). The modem's din could wake the dead or at least Katie. On-line America operates some and . . . Alleluia! An e-mail from Greg! Katie will not have to hang-up (the connection) to phone him!
The message communicates (to Kate) that Tennessee is fine this time of year. The Smokies are a sight for sore eyes after a most demanding South American sojourn deep in the heart of the Amazon, where every day is an adventure in survival. From the Volunteer State, Ranger Butler will forever remember the Valley of '74 fondly. However, if he never sees another extinct animal again, it will be too soon. The future beckons. It offers other tantalizing territories for exploration, and a Butler fancies all the opportunities outside of Brooklyn, Brazilian Amazonia, and bucolic Appalachia. Perhaps, a person will peruse Sealab's construction off the coast, search for Snorkland, or visit Hanna-Barbera Studios in Hollywood, California.
Greg's e-mail goes on. Could Katie please call as soon as possible? He wants to know that she got home safe from the black hole. The moment he awoke in Gatlinburg, Greg got on the horn, at a payphone. But, Prof. Butler's voicemail was full (as though after a long absence) yesterday, the e-mail's date. If Katie does not contact him soon, the intrepid soldier's next trip is up-north swift as the snowbird flies. Or, he may contact West St. Paul police for a welfare check. But, Greg interceding in-person is more gallant, he grants. And, the method may be quicker depending on the copshop and its capabilities, Keystone or competent.
Katie caresses her chest-bone and coughs. Thank God that Greg is delivered. She crosses herself. Sometimes, speculative science works miracles, and experimentation answers prayers. Gladly, Katie phones Greg soon. Soon after other important items.
Sipping Sumatran java, John's daughter just has two more concerns to consider before simply celebrating her successful return. First, where are her folks? Second, how shall she leave Lok by his lonesome in the land of the big lizard while she luckily lodges and lives in the Land of the Free, latched with a Lok-longing heart? "There's a hole in my heart that can only be filled by you" sings she to herself. Extremely apt.
On the former matter, Ms. Butler messages her parents via e-mail. Her parents are sufficiently progressive to have an address. However, Katie is also going to call until. . . . . She notices an envelope atop a pile at the door under the mail slot. The postmark is a day after the day that she departed the homestead at Homestead, Florida.
The letter is on office paper. However, it did not originate from a typewriter or dot matrix. Rather, the writ appears to be from one of those spiffy laser printers. Very cutting edge. Katie is impressed. The epistle reads, indicates, that Puerto Rico's Arecibo Observatory is a fine place full of possibilities. . . . .
Incongruously, a Southern Hemisphere quetzal plays outside in the West St. Paul wintry weather. Then, it flies away.
To the far south, in Arecibo on the Caribbean, Kim calculates with pencil and paper near clustered coconut trees. An adding device sits on her outdoor desk, but her elbow extends not to it. An old intellectual does not need it except for occasional equational confirmation. At one time, in Kim's day, educated people knew how to do math in their heads. And, they knew how to spell, pen cursive, not start sentences with conjunctions, recite poetry and prayers, manage money, get some exercise, be grateful, politely listen, read a map, walk where they had to go, do their civic duty, do an honest day's work, do their own canning, stay married, and properly parent children too. Kim remembers when people remembered all of these things. Those were the days!
Contemporary kids do not know essentials—including their advanced figuring. What are they going to do in the 21st-century? What is going to become of these Gen Xers and today's newborns? Will they let computers completely compute for them? Both common sense and Amazing Stories say to never let the robots totally take over. But of course, no one reads anymore either! At this century's beginning, immigrants inundated Ellis Island avid for education and every possible All-American opportunity. Now, in the '90s, ninnies only "need" their Nintendos, Nirvana, and NBC Thursdays. The old one just shakes her head like a soured shaman. Sometimes, Kim would like to fly away like the quetzal passing overhead.
John joins his busy wife with juice and ginger snaps. "A penny for your thoughts" he utters.
However, Kim Butler knows that a real lady never openly laments any more than any Great Depression girl makes her problems others' sorrow. A good wife and mother never washes dirty laundry publicly. She is her husband and house's heart and strength. She only gladly makes the whole world happy. A good woman, such as she, never grouses—except secretly to her girlfriends and gossip circle. Gosh, Kim misses Gara, even after twenty years.
John sits at his wife's shoulder. "Do you need help with that math, hon?" he asks.
"No. I am better at calculus than you are," Kim comments, "In fact, I taught the kids their cosines, sines, and tangents."
John does not correct her with his own tangent. If memory serves, Dad and Mom tutored the kids equally mathematically.
"I'll take that as a no," John nudges her and pats her back, "Instead, I should query. Have you found anything interesting in the Arecibo telescope's data? Have we found any space aliens yet?"
"Math explains all scientific mysteries," Kim credits, "However, I have not found E.T. code yet."
Her partner produces a professorial pipe and puts it between his teeth. Almost preening, Mr. Butler explains, "Arecibo Observatory is—of course—famous for its SETI searches, not to be confused with the Yeti searches of the Himalayas. SETI stands for—of course—the search for extraterrestrial intelleignece, which may complement our extraordinary intelligence on Earth."
"Yeah, I know," Kim acknowledges, "The huge radio telescope scans vast space for alien energy, transmissions, talk."
John leans back starry-eyed. He uses his lit pipe like a prop, "Perhaps, we shall encounter otherworldly explorers someday. We are august explorers ourselves, of course, although in the October of our lives. We have seen the Americas, Asia, Africa, and Europe. We have investigated the immense psyches and potentials of our students, our offspring, and ourselves. We have encountered anamorphic talking animals and excavated the Korg archaeological site. For a while, we conversed and communed with actual cavemen. We have corresponded with wunderkinder Jan and Jace claiming to be extraterrestrials. However, the eldest Butlers have yet to engage an unearthly entity in-person."
"Would now work?" speaks a voice from the vicinity.
Butlers startle. They scan for the surprise visitor. However, no one is anywhere to be seen. The concealed speaker excuses his effrontery. Space Ghost deactivates his Inviso-Power and becomes visible. Initially, he is just some guy in a black cowl and white bodysuit with an odd-attired monkey on his shoulder. But then, Jan and Jace likewise reveal their presence and introduce themselves. The cosmic crew explain what brings them to planet Earth and island Puerto Rico. Their words enthrall and amaze.
Somewhere out there, the planet Amzot, a.k.a. Quasar, sits, and an incredible group sits upon it. They are called the Herculoids. Surely, adventurer-explorers the Butlers would want to meet them. And, though it may surprise, head Herculoid Zandor and his extended family would like to meet the famous Butlers too. They are most impressed that the Butlers existed in and escaped from the Valley of the Dinosaurs. Only most-particular parties prosper when proximate a piece of pulsar's powerful pull and provincial phantasmagoria.
"Furthermore," Jan judges, "Amzot may do you one better than the Valley of the Dinosaurs. The Herculoids have a space-dragon."
The aging earthbound explorers, not getting any younger, exchange glances. John replies "Well, they sound interesting."
Elsewhere, somewhere in South America, Lok's blue eyes look longingly into the Black Lagoon. Katie came to this exact spot seventeen full seasons ago. Greg was with her and also left tracks to the shore. Then, the Butlers disappeared like a dream, like that strange white owl flitting past over there. Lok does not know what a snowy owl is.
Distinctly stoic, Lok locks away his worry and sorrow within. Over the seasons, he only occasionally visits this spot amidst his active life in which every day is a session in survival in the Valley of the Dinosaurs. Yet, he heartily yearns to see Katie again. Perhaps, he is just curious about her. Perhaps, he has remained a bachelor, all these moons, for a reason.
Suddenly, the swamp waters begin to swirl and sink in a select section. On the shore, a captivated caveman stares into spectacular sights within a magical maelstrom. Seemingly, he spots Katie. Enraptured, Lok wonders if he should leap.