“You should just turn that thing in.” That is what Libby said when I called her, though I shouldn’t have. I knew what she would say, what anyone would say. Turn them in. Let them go. Not your problem. To call them a problem is wrong, cruel, erroneous, but I do not know who else’s “responsibility” they could be. I was the one that found them in the park, fallen from the heavens, a shooting star found glowing in the grass, eyes tracing the sky above. At first, I thought they were an animal, a fawn or a kitten, until the cavity on their forehead twitched, and I realized that it was an eye and that they were no creature that I knew. Their mouth was wider than I expected it to be. It seemed to unfurl rather than unhinge, a smooth liquid motion that did not prepare me for what the creature would sound like. Their speech was rough, desperate, painful, like each utterance was a little imp that crawled into my ears and desperately scratched at the skin within. I could not understand what they were saying, but it was certainly a cry either for help or for home. I did not know if I could provide either of those things, and still do not, but vowed to at least try.
They looked apologetic, reaching up a limb to try to soothe me, but I panicked and flinched backwards, still unsure if my skin would boil or melt or warp.
I reached out to touch them, and though they squirmed a bit, they did not recoil and let me gently touch one of their legs, of which, I noticed later, there were three. When I pulled my hand back, it was covered in a clear substance that was not quite blood and left my fingers stained a strange, opalescent green. They looked apologetic, reaching up a limb to try to soothe me, but I panicked and flinched backwards, still unsure if my skin would boil or melt or warp. They warbled, a sad, soft song, and shrunk into themselves, the substance that coated their skin hardening into something resembling a shell. I could not leave them there, so I told them to wait, though I knew they wouldn’t understand me, and ran to the restroom. There was a woman washing her hands beside me, and she did a double take when I entered, finally choosing just to glare at me in an attempt to demonstrate that I was not welcome there. I knew that. I did not want to be there, but I knew that if I used the other restroom, I would not be welcome there either. I gave her a soft smile, ducking my head, trying to accentuate my earrings in the hopes that they would appease her, prove to her that, at another point of my life, my presence would not have been questioned here, and grabbed as many paper towels as I could from the dispenser.
People were looking at us, at the swaddled mass in my arms, at the person who had come to the park alone and now was leaving with a baby.
The creature had chosen to wait, though I do not know if they had any other options. When they did try to move, their body was stiff and unforgiving, as if the gravity was too strong, too heavy, too unfair. Perhaps it was. They did not complain when I picked them up, when I wrapped them in brown paper. All they did was look at me, the gaze of their third eye strong and unwavering, making my face feel oddly hot as if their eye was a spotlight beam. I tucked their face against my jacket, feeling the soft shiver of breath against me as we walked towards the exit. People were looking at us, at the swaddled mass in my arms, at the person who had come to the park alone and now was leaving with a baby. I smiled, nodded, walked briskly but never too fast. Perhaps they did not notice that the “child” was new. Perhaps they merely thought that I should not be holding one.
I neglected to mention that I had already touched the creature several times and that my fingers were now bright green and perhaps starting to tingle.
I was lucky my apartment was nearby, lucky that the doorman opened the door without question, lucky that the elevator had decided to work. The same substance that had stained me earlier was seeping through the paper towels, dripping onto my clothes, leaving puddles on the floor, and the creature was babbling quietly against my shoulder, their tiny teeth catching in the folds of cotton. I held them tighter against me, partially to muffle the sound if anyone boarded the elevator with us, partially to provide some iota of comfort to the poor soul. When I got to my room, I placed them on top of a towel on my kitchen table and immediately called my sister. She did not believe me until I took a picture for her. The creature hissed at the flash, dark rings forming around their eyes, but they stayed still. Libby nearly screamed when the picture came through, and she started rambling about safety and danger and legality. I neglected to mention that I had already touched the creature several times and that my fingers were now bright green and perhaps starting to tingle.
I could imagine the laughter, the guns, the fear, police swarming the block to take both of us in.
After she took a deep breath, that was when she told me to turn them in. I nodded at first, out of habit, out of deference to the sibling hierarchy, but then paused. I imagined cold metal, white tile, latex gloves, and the creature, whose eyes, in all their warm intensity, were on me now, looking out from between bars. “It would be for science,” Libby said, but I doubt any scientists would be involved. The knives, the scalpels, the tools would be in the hands of butchers, people who only wanted to see what was within, what flaws or gaps could be found in their viscera. “It’s the right thing to do,” she said, but her voice had become nothing more than a simple drone in my ear. I could imagine the laughter, the guns, the fear, police swarming the block to take both of us in. They would laugh and say how convenient it was that I found them, and though their scalpels would not touch my flesh, they would scrutinize me, tear me apart just the same. The creature was warbling again, singing again, and I placed my hand against their forehead, careful not to poke their eye. I felt the light touch of downy hairs underneath the clear film, and when they spoke, the sounds resonated through my hand, their thrumming insistence matching the beat of my heart. When I pulled my hand away, the green did not feel like some unnatural, applied shimmer but instead something that highlighted a hidden hue deep within.
