The Oltich Journals

Oltich Journal 1

I have been assigned by the Oltich Intergalactic Committee to research life on the planet Earth. Well, not really assigned. Volunteered. The majority of the committee believe that Earth is best left alone. A planet full of hostile creatures who seem to delight in their own destruction. But, having researched and studied the human race (albeit from afar), I cannot agree that a species who created Starry Night, The Godfather, Parable of the Sower, Moonlight Sonata, and so many other remarkable works of art, is a species that we should ignore. I believe there is something worth looking at there. Something worth saving.

Oltich Journal 2

Landed on Earth. Los Angeles, California. I have studied that humans respond better to people with symmetrical faces so have fashioned myself to look somewhat like the celebrity, Brad Pitt. This has received a positive response. There are many smiles directed at me by both male and female humans. Someone even bought me a coffee. Coffee. A strange drink that, while tasty, after a few sips caused me later to feel like I was going to explode. I do not think I will be drinking coffee again.

Oltich Journal 3

Took myself to a bookstore. The smell made me think of home. I do not know why this is. It requires further investigation. I bought Parable of the Sower and am looking at it now. To think that I hold in my hands the story I have read so many times but only on a screen. Never an actual book. It is quite amazing.

Oltcih Journal 4

Tacos. If nothing else, Oltich should be interested in Earth, because of tacos. I am currently researching how we can get tacos to our planet.

Oltich Journal 5

Today, I saw a man sleeping on the street. His skin was red from the sun. He woke up and saw me staring. Yelled at me to, “Go away!” I asked him if he wanted something to eat. I told him that he should have some tacos. That tacos were absolutely delicious. He stared at me for several moments without saying anything and then when I was about to repeat myself because I thought that maybe he had not heard me, he nodded.

“Have you ever tried tacos?” I asked.

“Everyone has had tacos,” he said.

I made a note of this.

We walked in silence and then I asked him his name, to which he told me to Mind My Own Business.

“Nice to meet you Mind My Own Business,” I said.

He looked me and said, “Are you funny?”

“I do not know,” I responded, “Do you think I am funny?”

He did not say anything, so I once again repeated the question.

“Hilarious,” he finally said.

I have taken note of this because I am still not sure what he found to be ‘funny.’

I ordered us eight tacos from a man selling them from inside a truck. In my short time here, I have discovered that these are the best spots to get tacos.

I asked Mind My Own Business if he was enjoying his tacos.

“Yea,” he said and then, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” I told him.

I then told him that I did not think anything could be more delicious than tacos. To which he responded,

“Harry.”

I asked him if he thought the tacos were hairy and he laughed.

“No,” he said, “My name. It’s Harry.”

“But I thought, you said-

“Yea, yea, funny guy. It’s Harry,” he said.

After we finished eating our tacos, I invited Harry to come with me to watch the Moonlight Sonata at the Hollywood Bowl.

He stared at me for a long time. But I did not repeat the question, because I was learning that sometimes Harry took a long time to answer.

“Are you serious?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” I said, “Why would I ask if I was not serious?”

Harry again stared at me for a while. I wanted him to answer the question. I was curious why he would ask if I was serious. Why would I not be serious?

“They might not let me in,” he said softly, looking at the ground.

“Why?” I asked.

He glared at me then, and his hands curled into fists, “Are you making fun of me?” he asked.

His behavior was a warning. A lead up to aggressive action. I knew this. But I was not sure why.

“Why would I make fun of you?” I asked.

He stared again. His hands eventually relaxed, and he sighed. Deeply. He stared at the sky.

“You are funny,” he said softly, and I began to realize that he meant something else by ‘funny.’ But I did not know what it was.

He looked at me and said, “They might not let me in because I’m homeless.”

“Because you sleep on the street,” I said, needing confirmation.

“Yea,” he responded.

“Is there a rule that says sleeping on the street means you cannot go to the Hollywood Bowl?” I asked.

He smiled, “It’s probably frowned upon,” and then he asked, “Where are on earth are you from?”

It was my turn to smile, and I simply answered, “From far away.”

He laughed.

“Besides,” I said, “I have money. And as I understand it, we should be able to get in with money.”

He raised his eyebrows at me. He looked at the sky again. He looked back at me and said, “Fine. Let’s try it.”

On the way there we saw several other people sleeping on the street. I invited each one to come with us. The first stuck up his middle finger at me, which made Harry laugh. I did not understand the joke and I am not sure what the middle finger means yet, but I have taken note of this. The second one just stared, saying nothing, but running short on time we could not stand there and wait for his answer, so we continued on. The third person, a woman, asked me if I was serious. I realized at that point, that humans must ask questions they do not mean. Why this is, I am not sure yet. But I have taken note of it.

I told her I was serious. She looked at Harry, who shrugged.

“He thinks because he has money, we should get in,” Harry said.

The woman looked at me and then at Harry.

“Don’t go,” she said, “Don’t put yourself through that.”

“Through what?” I asked.

She sighed, like Harry had done and just shook her head and walked away.

We eventually got to the Hollywood Bowl.

The person selling tickets smiled at me but frowned at Harry.

“You can’t come in,” the person told Harry.

“He is with me,” I told the person, “I am buying his ticket.”

The person looked at me, his eyes now narrowed.

“He can’t come in,” the person said.

“Why not?” I asked, “We have money.”

The person shook his head, “He can’t come in. You can. He can’t.”

I looked back at Harry who was looking at the ground.

“Is it because he sleeps on the street?” I asked the person.

The person sighed. It was a different kind of sigh than Harry’s or the woman’s. It was short. Exasperated, I think is the word.

“He can’t come in,” the person insisted.

“But why?” I asked.

Harry tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to look at him.

“It’s not worth it,” Harry said, “Just let it go.”

“I have money,” I told the ticket person again, “Money for both of us. Let. Us. In.”

I dropped my voice. I narrowed my own eyes. I was frustrated by this point. And I let my frustration show. I was upset that this person was not letting Harry in and not saying why. I was upset because I could see that Harry was upset.

I watched the person swallow and finally the person nodded.

“Fine,” he said, “But you have to sit in the back.”

I wanted to ask why but did not. It had taken long enough for the person to agree to let us in. Why they did not want to let Harry in, I am still not sure. But I have taken note of it.

I bought us hotdogs and soda. Hot dogs are another item that we need to get on Oltich. I have noted this as well.

We sat in the back of the Hollywood Bowl. I could see Harry watching me as I ate the hot dog.

“Where on earth are you from?” he asked me again.

Instead of answering I pointed to the stage and said, “It is about to start.”

The piano begun and I felt…I don’t have the words to describe this, yet.

Light. And full at the same time. Like I was floating. Like I was about to burst. Not like caffeine. Like. Just being too much. Existing too much. Too much wonderful. But also just enough. This does not make sense, I know.

And then I looked at Harry who was crying silently.

He had his coat clutched tightly. Every once in a while he took a bite of his hot dog. His eyes shimmered as he watched the music.

“Are you sad?” I asked him.

“Yes. And no,” he responded.

Yes. And No.

“Thank you,” he whispered so softly that I barely heard it.

“You are welcome,” I said, patting his shoulder.

“You’re one funny guy,” he mumbled again shaking his head.

And then we stayed quiet listening to the music play underneath the stars, and I wished that Oltich could see it.

Yes, there are things that need to be further investigated. Like the treatment of Harry. I have taken note of it.

But I wish Oltich could have seen the beauty of what Harry and I heard and saw that night.

The magnificence of it.

The splendor.

A thing you only know when you experience it.

A moment that is imprinted on my mind, both because it was a moment that seemed to stretch on into forever but also went by so quickly.

Like the blinking of an eye.