All Backwards, and Perhaps Sideways

There had been many things that had confused me about the boy, his very existence turning everything I thought I knew about myself and the world on its head. First, how could someone so young survive in a wasteland alone? Second, how did he enjoy it? Last, what sort of upbringing had made him this way? By that, I mean flirting with my soldiers and insisting he's never met a woman. In fact, when we first said the word “woman” his dark eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What man?” He asked.

“What?”

“Who man?”

“No. Woman. Wu-Man.”

There was a moment of silence in which we regarded the other as stupid.

“Is that a type of man?”

“No, it’s… woman. Not a man. Woman.”

This boy was at least sixteen, probably older. Was he slow?

“Is that an animal? Like a wombat?”

“What’s a wombat?”

“I’m not sure. A bat, I guess. I read about them somewhere.”

The conversation was going nowhere. 

“Woman. Girl. Female?”

He shrugged.

“They can have babies?”

How was it possible for the deepest black to light up like a star?

"Ah!” The boy exclaimed, eyes bright with understanding, “why didn’t you say so?”

There were a lot of things that had confused me about the boy. First, he was alone and claimed to have been alone for a while, but refused to say why. Second, he claimed he came from a family composed entirely of men. Last, he'd propositioned me loudly and often. The ring on my left hand betrays my loyalty to another. There is a photo of my wedding party, half female and half male, tucked safely into my wallet. It wasn't surprising to learn that he didn't know what a wedding ring or a wedding was.

“What is this garbage? My God, a corpse would taste better! There’s nothing better than some warm deer, with this many men we could bag a couple.”

And so that night we ate fresh venison. Our superiors had warned us away from eating the wildlife for fear of radiation, but if this was what radiation poisoning tasted like then I was ready to welcome death with a full stomach. After weeks of eating the military packaged "meals", my men would have sold their souls for a burger with a side of small fries. Morale was high.

The boy was sexually persistent and didn’t stop pestering me until I confessed what should have been obvious.

“You’ve never had sex with a man?”

“Of course not! I’m not gay.”

He squinted, “What's a gay? Did your dad die?”

“What does that have to do with whether I’m gay?”

“Is there something wrong with you?” He looked at me with empathy in his eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper, “did someone hurt you as a kid?”

“What? I... I just don’t like men that way. I have a wife.”

He patted my shoulder; the weight of his condolences was heavy in the air. “It's okay.” 

Thirty-six years alive and that was hands down the most confusing conversation I've ever had. Talking with him was like having a one-sided conversation on the phone. The connection is gone, but both parties were still yelling “Hello?” into the phone hoping someone would hear and understand.

After the bewildering talk about my sexuality he'd treated me differently. The word I’d choose to describe it would be delicate. Doting, even. He brought me water in the morning, talked softly to me throughout the day, and laid beside me at night.

This should have made me nervous, but it put me at ease. His presence was strangely calming; the curls on his head were the shade of a dark yet refreshing summer storm. We were born worlds apart, had little in common and both played our cards close to our chest. Yet without meaning to we fell into a rhythm so natural it felt as if I've known him for years.

Some of my men had hated him, some were intrigued, and a couple had gotten too close. I refused to acknowledge the simmer of jealousy. As the leader, it was my job to set an example for my men, and so I knew it was important to put the boy in his place. That must be it, the twisting in my gut when he placed his hand on another soldier's arm wasn't jealousy it was a reminder that we were there for a job and I had to set some boundaries.

“You can’t ask my men for sex.”

“Why?”

Jesus, here we go. “Because you can’t. It’s wrong; they can’t sleep with you.”

He was silent for a moment and given his contrary nature; I braced myself for an argument. I planned to win, I couldn't handle even one more day of him draping himself over other men.

“Okay, I’ll stop.” 

I raised my eyebrows.  

“I’m sorry. I never asked if some of you are bonded. It was rude of me.”

Knowing him, I’m sure he thought we were “bonded” to each other, but I was tired and I knew how to pick my battles. We set up camp, he curled beside me, and quietly I marvelled at his existence. Given all estimates no one should have survived, and shouldn’t have survived long enough and in great enough numbers to have raised children and develop a strange culture. It seemed impossible.

The sun rose regardless. 

“Osarye,” I called the strange name that matched my strange boy, “are you sure we’re going the right way?”

He smiled; his sharp incisors caught my eye and reminded me that this boy was a predator. “I’m sure.” 

With a sixth sense, or maybe he could sniff them out, we ate venison for another night. 

The New World’s media was exploding with excitement. The scientific community was akin to a mosh pit. Our government had said that they wouldn’t tell the press until they got more information, but the press had a way of getting what they wanted. There were people alive in the Dead Zone. Was it a miracle, a gift from God? Or was it a symbol of human perseverance? 

When Rye looked up at me I saw long lashes and tar-black eyes, upturned nose and sharp teeth, hair curling at his neck, and trust etched into every line on his face. When Rye looked up at me and smiled wickedly, well, I’d call that a miracle. 

I should have cherished the weeks we had together. They called us back from the field, and because of the fear surrounding Osarye’s existence, we couldn’t take him back with us. I tried to explain my world to him, but he got bored quickly. A hot meal, a safe place to sleep, a cool drink of water and a warm body to lay with, that was all Rye cared about. I doubt I could explain things like the Internet, or currency, or the average family to him even if I could get his attention for more than three seconds. A large part of me was desperate to offer him everything he could ever want and more, but deep down I knew I couldn’t tear him from the wasteland. It was his cradle and his grave; he’d be miserable anywhere else. 

When Rye looked up at me in the helicopter I saw tears pouring down his round little face and his snare-scarred hand waving me goodbye. I saw his black hair whipping in the wind, pink mouth turning into a frown, and then his features fading as we rose higher and higher. When Rye looked up at me and then turned to walk away, well, I’d say that letting him go was the greatest mistake I’ve ever made. 

Three months later we went back to look for signs of life and found nothing.