ONLY HUMAN by Mike Mehalek

Mehalek/Only Human 1

CHAPTER ONE Then what is your real name? I asked him. Vincent, the man whose skin smelt like green tea, laughed. I dont think I can say it anymore. He stared at the tines of the salad fork he held, his mind seeming to drift away. Ive heard it repeated in my head every day for thousands of years, but my lips either wont or cant say it. Have you ever seen an actor in a movie and knew who it was but couldnt remember his name? Its something like that. It hangs right where we can see it, but its in the periphery. If we turn too quickly, we lose sight of it. So its like trying to remember the lyrics to a song without hearing the music? I said. He lit up. Sort of. Good. So you dont know your own name? I know my own name. What I cant do is say it! I took a sip from my Long Island Ice tea, trying to process this information. How couldnt he say his name? It didnt make sense. I can say my name. Kevin. Yes, Kevin, Im well aware of that. Vincent scratched the top of his head, searching for a way to clarify to me what he meant. After a brief pause, he said, What was the first thing you called your mother? I was about to say Mom but then reconsidered. I guess it was ma-ma. Are you sure? No.

Mehalek/Only Human 2 Then how do you know? I guess I dont. You dont? Interesting. Now speak lion. Without a thought, I growled as best I could, knowing that to Vincent it must sound like a weak mewling considering his history. A shocked brunette at the nearest table coughed a bite of poached salmon into a red cloth napkin. Vincent grunted. See. Not so easy is it? No, I guess not. My lips curled revealing my crookedand hopefully charming smile as Vincents concept began to sink in. His aqua eyes sparkled, probably realizing he was getting through to me. Imagine, Kevin, trying to squeeze your pitiful voice box into a shape that could imitate the sound of a creature even larger than that and not just a sound, but also meaning to that sound. This was a creature, who if you used its tongue as a trampoline, you wouldnt be able to touch the roof of its mouth. This is a creature that could swallow you wholelengthwise. I fidgeted in my chair, wondering if the brunette was still eavesdropping. Im a little claustrophobic, and I dont like dark places. And I like people eavesdropping on conversations even less. Vincent seemed delighted with himself, and I couldnt be sure if it was because he had made the connection he wanted or because he made me squirm in my seat. I whistled. You were that big? Yes, I was. Well, I would have been...I mean I would have been by now. He gestured with both hands. If I were still a dragon. As preposterous as this must have sounded to the brunette with the salmon breath or the cummerbund waiter with the ponytail, whose head snapped back as he passed with a tray of Cosmopolitans high over his head, it rang truer to me than a bell made of crystal. Though I wasnt a full-fledged biologist, I had worked in a number of labs during my twenty-four years of life. On the surface Vincent looked much like anyone else my age blue eyes, lean 61 frame, brown hairbut as you delved deeper, his chemical structure was anything but human. So how did you get the name Vincent? Is that the English equivalent? I took a sip from my Long Island iced tea.

Mehalek/Only Human 3 No, he said, there is no equivalent. Wedragons I meanhad no need for one. We considered humans to be insignificant. Insignificant? Insignificant! Were the ones that are still around. Was the room getting warmer or were the drinks kicking in? He frowned. So are cockroaches. What? The two preceding drinks gave me the courage that I often lacked on my own. My fist crashed to the table in mock anger, loving the debate we were about to have. The silverware clanged together. You spoke lion just now. What did you say? Apparently Vincent wanted no part of this conversation. He wasnt shying from my challenge; wed have the debate later, in private after we were sure that none of Spectres spies were listening. Causing a scene in a public place wasnt the wisest of decisions when the most powerful being in the world wanted you dead. What? I blinked, suddenly confused, my eyelids sticking shut in their alcohol stupor. What are you asking me? Vincents diversion had worked. He ignored my question. You didnt know. You just made it up. I nodded weakly. Well, I kind of had to do the same thing. All the dragons weve talked about, I had to make up their names in your language, so I can tell you my story. I tried to use names that somehow remind me of them, my name included. And over the years my name changed. Im sure it will again. But for this story my name is Shylock. Shylock? Why would you pick that name? The room was spinning. The Salmon girl and her date were long gone. Vincent blushed. He actually blushed. After the last few weeks, I thought I was starting to know him better, didnt see that coming. Did you ever read The Merchant of Venice? No. You probably should. Come on. Tell me. Well get to that. I promise Well at least tell me about Jiffypuff. How could that possibly be the name of a

Mehalek/Only Human 4 dragon? It sounds like the name of a character in a kids book. Vincent flipped open his menu, using the golden tassel like a bookmark. From behind it he muttered quickly, He was fat and smelled like popcorn. Before I could inquire further, the waiter, who had previously passed with the Cosmopolitans arrived at our table. His clothes were neatly pressed, his black hair greased and braided into a ponytail giving him the cheesy appearance of a martial arts action hero. Are you gentleman ready to order or would you like another round of drinks. At the latter half, he turned his nose down to me. Apparently, he thought I had had enough. Ill have the filet mignon--but make it 12 ounces, just the steak, no au jus, no mushroom, none of the other stuff. Rare, and I mean rare. Pittsburgh rare if your chef can do that. Ill also have a Caesar salad, baked potato, loaded with sour cream, bacon and cheddar, bananas foster for two for dessert. Oh, and a cup French onion soup if you melt the cheese under the broiler. If you microwave it, I dont want it. Also, I know that you serve meals in courses here, but bring our soup and salad immediately. And if the entre is ready but it looks like were not, bring it anyway. Im starving. The waiter grunted his approval, scribbling the order, his pen flowing with the fluidity of an assassin flicking his blade through a trachea. It had just sunk in to me how much money Vincent must have at his disposal. I knew his lifestyle was above mine, but with this level of comfort in fancy restaurants with snooty valets, he could be with any guy. Why would he want to be with me? I didnt even know what Pittsburgh rare meant. My palms began to sweat. And for you sir? Like a tell from a bad poker player, Vincent hid his mouth behind his hand waiting to see what card I was about to play. Ill...uhh...have another Long Island and...um...what he said. Obviously I still had some work to do. Im sure behind that concealing hand, Vincent was grinning ear to ear. Shortly after the waiter dropped off our first courses, Vincent told me what it was like to be a dragon. To soar the air currents, to breathe fire, to lack emotion. This caught me off guard. Vincent does not share his emotions all that much, so it surprised me to hear him bring them up so flippantly. I sipped the remnants of my most

Mehalek/Only Human 5 recent Long Island, maneuvering the straw around the crushed ice, searching for any drops I may have overlooked. Since I was now full of intrigue, courage, and several 80 proof liquors, I figured what the hell I might as well ask. You act like you dont, but I know you can be a very emotional guy. Ive seen it. Youre telling me dragons dont have them? Not as many as humans do, and the ones we do have are much weaker although some would prefer refined. Soup and salad bowls emptied, the waiter returned with our dinners. The maple smoked bacon on the baked potatoes wafted to my nose, complimenting the other dishes. On two pristine plates, our steaks sat in a sea of red. When the last of the dishes were set down, Vincent gave a simple nod. The waiter did likewise, then returned to the kitchen with his empty tray. Like a lot of people Im not ticklish, Vincent said. What does that have to do with anything? Think of emotions like that. It doesnt mean I dont feel. It just means that they dont easily evoke a response. Thats how most emotions are for dragons. They dont evoke a response? I felt a little betrayed, hurt...and drunk. I dont believe that. Youre not like that. Ive seen you respond to emotions. Im a human now, Vincent said tucking his napkin into the collar of his shirt. So you never loved anyone? All Im saying is when I was a dragon... Why wont you say you love me? Vincent glared at me. I murdered my mother and my sister. My mouth opened. I tried to say something. I thought Id have something--anything-to say but no sound came out. I began tapping my foot off of the floor and time, much like the dragons views of the human race, seemed insignificant, the seconds spanning beyond the limits of minutes, which whorled beyond their borders to days as the weeks lengthened back, back through written history to a place untouched by time, undefiled by ink and paper, all while our steaks sat untouched. For a moment the thought of their squishy textures reminded me of the still beating heart I once saw when I was back in college in a parasitology course where I was forced to extract a tapeworm from a lab rat, Rattus norvegicus. In my mind that tiny pulsing heart with miniscule veins pumping blood through a dead heart sat in place of our steaks, and just like that day in class right before I

Mehalek/Only Human 6 had to excuse myself before I passed out, I could feel the nausea wash over me--the tingles, the perspiration that did not cool me, the vertigo, the pulsing zigzags that appeared and nearly blinded me--and all I could do to maintain some semblance of composure was to clutch the sides of the table. Through all of the silence and my obvious discomfort Vincent seemed indifferent. I decided he was testing me. He wanted to see how I would react. And if he wasnt, well I had to say something. The lights in the restaurant lowered for the late night crowd, our table illuminated by the soft glow emanating from a frosted votive that seemed a glowing beacon on a deserted island surrounded by millennia of time. The waiter materialized from the darkness and inquired about our dinners. Neither of us budged. When he saw nothing was touched, he faded away from our coldness without a word. And finally after we were swept back to the beginning of existence along the surf of this primordial tidal wave, back to this place that felt so strange, so savage, I managed just barely to squeak these words, Youve never killed anyone. I was expecting a big joke. Vincent sat up straight. No punch line came. Oh, Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. Ive killed a hell of a lot of people. And more than just people. Countless lives have suffered. Countless have ceased because of my existence. But when we go back to the beginning of it, it all started with my mother and my baby sister. I slaughtered them. I ripped them limb from limb. I want to be able to tell you otherwise. But I wont lie to you. Vincent took a swig of beer. I covered my mouth momentarily, vodka, gin, rum, triple sec, and tequila boiling in the pit of my stomach. How? How could you? I was shaking. I had no choice. But you loved them? Weve been through this before, he said testily. Love is an emotion void of a dragon. I cared for them. Yes. Saving them was impossible. I never said I wanted them dead. Vincent was a stranger again. I dont understand. Vincent paused, averted his eyes. No, I suppose you wouldnt. Times were different then...I was different then. He

Mehalek/Only Human 7 reached across the table and caressed one of the studs in my left ear between his finger and thumb. Lets save the answers to these questions for another night. The last few days have been really tough. Tonight I promised wed relax. Setting aside his knife, he rested his other hand on mine. I had to know the rest of the story. I had to know how he killed his family. I wanted to understand him, to understand why he had done it. The whiskers of my five oclock shadow made a scratching sound in my ears as his forefinger traced my jaw line. Okay, I said. He had learned manipulation somewhere. That was certain. We sat still for a second. I could tell that he was thinking. He still had a look to him that suggested he never fully drifted back from wherever he had done when he first picked up that fork, and I had an impression that somehow he was flying, sailing mere feet above that primordial tidal wave, following it back to wherever it had originated on leathery wings protruding from his back. It was as if he was weighing the merits and tribulations of decision. Lifting his hand from mine, his attention returned to his steak. Without another word he picked up his knife and made a cut as cleanly as a surgeon. And quick as that, the conversation was dropped, and he was Vincent again. I made a few tentative cuts myself and prodded the steak with the tip of my knife. The monstrosity almost mooed. So this is Pittsburgh Rare? Keeping his gaze on his handiwork, Vincent said in a whisper so smoky that the words practically dissipated as soon as he spoke them, Imagine a field with two red dragons--one large, one small. He slashed again, but as he did, the fork slipped causing the steak to split clean open and the plate to squeal nastily beneath the serrated blade. Between the ivory plate and the filet mignon, blood flowed out.