40. sightseeing with (m)icky (h)ill
“Hey you.”
Icky Ill, who had accepted the recent name change in order to no
longer bear any similarity whatsoever to persons living or dead,
turned to notice a gentle white-haired middle-aged man standing in
the neon lights of a bus stop. Icky pointed to himself.
“Yeah you. Come here.” The man motioned for Icky to approach. “I have
something for you.”
Icky Ill, anti-constructivist, neo-errorist, A.C.N.E artist, lived
for today, was always ready to take advantage of the moment, and had
great ideas for the future. He stopped before entering the B’B’s and
stood looking at the man.
He doesn’t look threatening and actually seems mildly familiar. He
looks like he might work at any one of the three military bases
around Sacramento. I wonder what his gimmick is? I’ve got a couple
minutes. Talking to the guy, is no big deal.
Having convinced himself, Icky approached and was caught by the man’s
penetrating stare. He stopped in front of the man not saying a word,
smiling and looking into his eyes. After a moment, the man inched
forward, invading Icky’s personal bubble. Icky stood still as the man
slowly reached up and touched his earlobes. He gently caressed the
lobes with his thumbs and index fingers, eyes closed and head bowed.
He stood still as if reading Icky’s earlobes, as if tuning into his
thoughts.
Icky was instilled with a feeling of confidence, so he also closed
his eyes and allowed the man to read further. Suddenly, Icky jerked
his head free from the man’s grip and stepped back. A sharp pain had
shot through his right earlobe down his neck and through his spine.
Icky wiggled his shoulders, shook his head, and rubbed his earlobe to
regain equilibrium.
“You’d better eat some more carrots,” the man said and stuck his
hands in his pockets.
“Whoa. Wha’dya do that for? That hurt. How’d ya do that?” Icky asked
still rubbing his right earlobe. “You got something attached to the
back of your thumb?”
“You’re a bit out of kilter. Eat more carrots.”
“How do you know that? I mean, how many should I eat?”
The man only smiled. He turned and took a step back, looking out over
the lit street in the direction of the capitol building. He paused a
moment, slowly raised his left arm and pointed up into the foggy
night sky. Standing, eyes closed, he took a deep breath and
announced, “There is a lot of energy out there.” Then he opened his
eyes and looked out past his outstretched arm.
Icky followed the path, which led beyond california’s seat of power
into the gray starless sky, and smiled.
“Do you feel it?”
Icky kept smiling and very slightly nodded his head in agreement.
“The aliens are visiting the planet. There’s a lot of energy out
there tonight. I can feel it. Can you feel it?”
Icky mentally stumbled. He had often played along with schemes
devised by the homeless to get pocket change, but he had never before
encountered one quite like this.
“Uh-huh. I can feel something,” Icky mumbled. “What’s going down,
gentle man, may I ask?” He chose his words carefully, not wanting to
break the man’s concentration.
As the man continued to search the skies and feel for the energy,
Icky searched his memory file to work out who this man might be. He
seemed vaguely familiar to Icky but so did half the population of
sacramento. This was a first. He had not read about anyone claiming
to feel energy from aliens in the tabloid press. It had been a long
time since anyone had mentioned an upcoming visitation. He continued
to study the man looking for clues that might assist his mental
search engine.
“I can talk to the aliens.”
“You can talk to the aliens? Wow!”
“I have the code. I figured it out. I figured out the code to talk to
the aliens. I thought it was complicated. I spent years trying to
work it out. When I finally did, I knew it must be right. It’s so
simple. Look here.” The man reached into his breast pocket and
produced a package of Lucky Studs cigarettes.
Thinking he was about to be offered a cigarette, Icky reached for the
pack.
“This is the communication device to talk to the aliens.” He withdrew
the communicator from Icky’s reach. “When there is a lot of energy
out there, I use this to communicate with them.” He placed the
cigarette pack to his ear and then to his forehead. “Hello. Hello.”
he said looking out into the sky.
Icky looked at his surroundings, to the right of him was the Sutter
Hospital, to the left, the new Sutter Villa Plaza built around the
raised block-long stretch of the I-80 freeway. He looked across the
street at Sutter’s Fort barely visible through the fog. He looked up
at a blanket of billowing fog and looked around to see if anyone was
looking at him.
The man repeated his greeting, “Hello. Hello,” and put the alien
communication device back into his breast pocket. He fumbled in his
pants’ pocket and pulled out a braided piece of yellow string.
“Here.” He showed Icky the piece of string. “Are you left or right-
handed?”
“Right-handed,” Icky replied.
“Give me your left wrist.”
The man placed the string around Icky’s wrist and tied the knot three
times. “This will help to keep you centered. Take stock of where you
are when you notice it on your body.” He placed his index finger
under the knotted string and yanked Icky’s arm. “You have a lot of
energy, but it is not directed. You lose things. Your possibilities
are endless but you are resigned to letting things happen.”
“Yeah. Don’t you feel that way too?” Icky asked, and jiggled his
wrist. “I mean, it seems that everything I do, I run up against a
brick wall. Just goin’ with the flow means sailin’ downstream. Besides,
I’m not into explorin’ my possibilities. If I did, I’d wind up in
jail.” Icky dropped his arm to his side. “How else am I supposed to
feel?”
“Before you can understand and make use of what I am going to give
you,” he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a yellow piece
of paper folded into a triangle, “you got to get yourself centered.
Here. Take this.” He handed Icky the paper triangle.
Icky pointed to himself.
“Yes, you.”
Then Icky took the piece of paper, immediately unfolded it and read
the message handwritten inside.
“This is the code to talk to the aliens,” the man said pointing to
the letters written on the yellow piece of paper.
“E.G.Y.P.T.” Icky read out loud. “This is the code to talk to the
aliens?” He shook the paper in front of him. “Dilute man.”
The man smiled and nodded, “Told you. It is so simple. Egypt gives
you plenty time to see under your eye. That’s the reason Egypt is the
code.”
Icky read the entire code again and looked at the man for an
explanation.
Reading Icky’s thoughts, the man pointed to each letter on the paper
and spelt out the word, “E.G.Y.P.T. See, E. is for Egypt, G. is for
gives, Y. is you. Plenty time and so on.”
“Yeah?” Icky needed more of an explanation.
“Take the T. in Egypt, the S. in gives, the U. in you, the Y. in
plenty and the E. in time and you get, … to see under your eye.”
“Now I get it,” Icky lied. He almost got it. He would have to do a
little more thinking about the code, perhaps put it into action at
some time to prove its effectiveness. “Hey. Thanks. Can I give you
something for the code?” He reached into the small upper right hand
pocket of his jeans for his emergency buck, a dollar bill with his
name and Denver’s telephone number. He never used this dollar, it was
only for situations like this, or in the case that he passed out and
someone needed to be called.
The man shook his head. “No. I’ve been watching you. You look like
you are ready.”
“You been watchin’ me? You know, you look kinda familiar.”
“I feel you can use it, someday. Do you smoke?”
Icky nodded.
“Take this.” And handed Icky his package of Lucky Studs. “L.S.M.F.T.”
He winked. “This will help you communicate. Place the red dot to your
forehead.
“L.S.M.F.T. I remember hearin’ that somewhere before. What’s it mean?”
“Lucky Studs means fine tobacco. On Earth’s spaceship save yourself.”
“On Earth’s spaceship … huh?”
“You’ll figure it out. Same principle. You start thinking like that
after awhile.”
“Dilute man. Thanks a lot.” He went to give the man his hand but
fumbled when the man only reciprocated with his outstretched thumb.
“I appreciate you givin’ me the code.” Icky latched a shake from the
man’s extended appendage.
“You have a good life. Remember your carrots.”
Icky immediately reached for his ear and yanked on it a couple of
times in remembrance of the pain.
“And remember. Wherever you go, you take yourself.”
“That’s good to know.” Icky left the man standing at the busstop
underneath a diseased elm tree. Before entering B’B’s he turned
around and saluted the man with his outstretched arm and yelled,
“Heil Peace!”
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