Grounded

Don’t blame gravity

Come on, come on, focus. Kel took a deep breath, letting it out slow and adjusting his legs above the surface. Be present, be present. With those two words, stillness sunk in, nudging him closer to being in the moment. Calm. The next sentence flowed; there’s nothing you could do to change what happened.

“Are you ready?”

No. Yelling in silence, he pushed the memory of the room away and began reciting, T-minus ten, nine, eight, seven . . .

Weightless. There it was. There were only a few times in life you could truly feel it. And not the air-filled plastic strapped around your arms kind, more in the womb safely suspended, or was it more like being tossed in the air, fingers reaching for the stars while the wind ripped past you? Kel wrinkled his brow, sifting through his memories, the drop, the split second where air flowed freely across the surface of your body on a rollercoaster, complete weightlessness. That’s why he loved them, for the moments where nothing held him down.

Kel lay on his back, allowing the outline of the memory of the last coaster he rode to color in his mind, as the Florida sun sucked the moisture out of his skin and turned him into a toned, salted caramel. Eyes shut, he searched for his favorite sound he longed to hear up close, but for now, he would listen for it while enjoying Mother Nature’s Zero-G. Kel wondered, knowing the answer, “Is this what it would feel like to float up there?” While he imagined the feeling, his thoughts slid — would he ever get his chance to feel the real thing?

It had been ten years since the seal of space travel had been cracked even further, and in that time, the cap had been jettisoned, allowing the true star wars to begin. Governments and corporations now held hands to get to new stars, making astronauts household celebrities rivaling the MJs and Oprahs. The popularity of “I want to be an astronaut” steadily rose, but for Kel, he knew he belonged up there before it became the norm.

For fifteen years, he searched for ways to defy gravity and imagine leaving earth, but the only thing that came close was the ocean and it wasn’t cutting it anymore.

With his eyes shut, the buzz of jet skis speckled with laughter drifted into his ears, and for a moment, Kel allowed himself to ride the wake, wondering what his life might have been like if he hadn’t chosen space. From the time he left home, Kel had trained his body and mind to leave Earth. The Navy, flight school, and grad school had become one big blur of routine immersed in preparing for the unknown and its isolation in isolation. At ten years old, he’d decided and ignored the laughs and disbelief that came as he pursued a life untethered.

Brushing his tongue along his lower lip, he tasted the freshness of the sea and savored its echo along the walls and roof of his mouth. As the salt lingered on his tongue, its crispness clashed with the chemical flavor seeping in from his memories.

Sterile. That would be the word to describe the room, devoid of life except for the two people in it and any organisms that may have hitched a ride in.

“Are you ready?”

Kel nodded and followed with a quick, confidently nervous “yes,” aiming his mouth at what he thought of as the tiny giraffe sitting in front of him. Might as well get used to speaking into the mic, he reminded himself.

When he looked up from the tiny black foam-covered mic he’d only seen watching C-SPAN with his aunt, he looked at her for the first time.

CLICK.

“Interview commencing Tuesday, May 19, 2037, at 2:58 PM Eastern Standard Time, interviewer 051 Jamie Hill interviewing candidate 909. Candidate, please state your name for the record.”

Kel marinated on the sound of the click when the recording started. Why a click? It’s digital. He’d heard this sound before, maybe ten or twelve years ago in his uncle's garage. A boombox was the polite term for it, his uncle said, when he pulled it out of the box filled with cassettes. Kel looked at the woman across from him, studying Jamie Hill. She couldn’t have been more than two or three years older than him. She had a few hairline fractures on her practical beige face, possibly all from smiling, yet hidden by her expertly applied makeup that was so faint it was almost invisible.

Analog girl in a digital world. No, no, woman, analog woman.

Kel took a breath, brought the tips of his fingers and palms together, and spoke unshaken, “Kelvin Emmanuel Davidson.”

“Let's start with an easy one. Mr. Davidson, why do you want to be an astronaut?”

The ocean lapped at his ear, drowning the hum and vibration coming from his wrist, as the distant roar he’d been waiting for rippled through the air above, bringing a curl to the corners of his lips. Kel paused his daydream, opened his eyes to remind himself why he was here, and followed the curve of smoke as it faded. The Saker had launched on schedule, almost precisely to his calculations. Next up would be the Neo Mercury with his answer, why was he grounded?

The smell of perfectly sliced and fried potatoes hovered over the beach, wafting from the boardwalk and filling the nostrils of everyone in a ten-mile radius, enhanced only by the sun drifting closer to the horizon. Depending on who you were, you either loved zero-waste

combustion or hated it — for everyone standing between the manmade dunes, waiting on the concession stand, it was the latter.

The Stand, with its bold signage and simple menu, was the latest addition to the ten-year-old observation platform and a smart investment for the city, opening at five in the evening an hour after the first “French fry” ship was launched, which almost always guaranteed a rush of visitors and commuters. With its 1950s-styled design in honor of the decade it all started, The Stand was a perfect place for science trips, dates, and families with future explorers. Kel perched at a picnic table, sun dry only a half-hour after leaving the water, scanning the beach and everyone approaching The Stand as he picked at his hard-earned fries. He’d spent much of his life planning — no, calculating — so much that he didn’t eat food; he ate fuel. He didn’t work out; he trained. It wasn’t a study session; it was research. He’d curated and planned his life to almost every detail, but as much as he tried to prepare, he wasn’t prepared for her.

“Final question.”

Kel looked at Jamie, trying his best to hide his growing exhaustion and his awe for her stamina. How did her voice and demeanor not waver? It had been two hours and not an inflection or change. Just the same warm and inviting tone, making you feel comfortable sharing. He’d researched the interview process as thoroughly as he could, only now understanding why so little information existed about it and why the non-disclosure he signed looked more like a novel than a contract. The star wars had unleashed a tsunami of space exploration, mining companies, and other businesses to support them. Exosphere had become the fastest-growing headhunters for the stars, making them the newest gatekeeper for recruits to get to space and setting the bar so high it was almost invisible.

“Which of these animals do you think best aligns with your personality?”

Caught off guard by the dating profile question, Kel’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly.

“These are your options: a ruby-throated hummingbird, a leopard, a humpback whale, a sloth, or a bear.”

As Kel adjusted himself in his chair to buy a fraction of time, he considered that every question had more than one answer. “What kind of bear?”

With a smile, Jamie replied, “Any kind you like.”

This question especially struck him, and with hesitation, his answer left his lips: “A leopard.” And as it landed, he felt regret. What did any of these animals have to do with space travel? Some were solitary, others moved in packs — how, why was this even a question? What were they looking for with this?

Every answer had ripples, even the silence before and after. Kel felt the waves of the ripples pressing against his chest, tightening his muscles, spreading and lingering on his shoulders. He could still feel those ripples as he scanned the boardwalk between The Stand and the beach.

“Fries,” an eight-year-old’s voice sang across the boardwalk, snatching Kel’s attention and bringing it to a mint green custom space suit that held a girl. Her enthusiasm raged through her curly ponytail, which wagged back and forth as she hopped up and down like a puppy beside Jamie. Was this happening? Kel felt his heart drop, knowing the odds of seeing her again were lower than him winning the lottery, and he didn’t gamble but had to take a shot. He imagined this moment for days, after finding her way too easily online. It was as if she wanted to be found, one social account with only images of sunset launches.

Kel stared at Jamie walking down the boardwalk, forcing down the rising anxiety in his stomach and recalling Jamie’s controlled demeanor at their interview. As she got closer, he noticed her smile and warmth was brighter outside of the sterile environment and felt his regurgitated memories subside. It had been two weeks since he’d received his better-luck-next-time letter from Exosphere with zero explanation why. Kel looked down at the future explorer in her bright suit, and considered her: daughter, sister, cousin? Who was she? He pondered this and shook it off when the little girl ran off to The Stand to order. He was finally going to get some answers.

Kel approached Jamie, squinting, walking slowly, moving as nonthreateningly as he could, and hoping not to startle her. “Hi,” he said, with his palm opened and raised in a wave that went nowhere.

But to his surprise, she replied with zero apprehension and full recognition. “Oh, hi, Kelvin Emmanuel Davidson.” It had been three months since they first met, but it felt like it was just the next day.

“I wasn’t sure it was you. Jamie Hill, right?”

“You remembered. Most interviewees don’t, but just call me Jamie.” Jamie extended her hand to Kel, and as they shook hands, she nodded at his other hand. “I see you’re a fan of the fry rocket.” He’d rehearsed what he’d say if they met again at least twenty times, but now he was drawing a blank and resorted to casual niceties.

“Best invention since Velcro! Do you live around here?”

With a knowing smile, Jamie looked at him. “No, I don’t. I’m here to watch the Neo Mercury launch. Why are you here?”

She had given Kel an opening, whether it was intentional or the natural ebb of conversation. He took it. “Same, I’ve been watching the launches all week. I took some time off after I received my rejection letter and needed some time to think.” At the time, Kel thought it was strange that

they would use paper for this and felt the same in this moment. “But you know us Planet Hoppers — none of us could be happy doing nothing for long.”

There it was, her undaunted demeanor. Not a flinch of surprise, no acknowledgment as he stood stripped in front of her. It was like she knew why he was there. “Most future Planet Hoppers do have that issue, but how’s the thinking going?” she replied.

Kel felt it this time, the game of cat and mouse, but he wasn’t sure who was who. “I haven’t figured it out yet, but I’ve been thinking the leopard meant more than I thought it did.”

“Probably.” And with that, Jamie’s attention shifted to the girl in the mint green space suit approaching. “So what did you get, Emma?” Emma’s tiny hands handed over the Disposagrow tray brimming with beautifully salted fries and mustard on the side. As fast as she’d handed Jamie the tray, Emma’s tiny hand filled with fries. “Fries, of course, silly!” Jamie nodded her head in agreement. “Emma, I would like to introduce you to Kelvin Emmanuel Davidson. He wants to be an astronaut like you.”

Emma looked up at Kelvin with the confidence and honesty only an eight-year-old could have. “That’s a long name.”

Kel directed a dampened smile at Emma. “You can call me Kel.”

With her boredom beginning to mount and becoming visible, Emma turned to Jamie, taking charge of the situation. “Can Kel join us to watch Neo Mer?” A knowing smile spread on Jamie’s face, clearly aware that Emma’s invitation was a means to an end of her boredom and Kel’s quest. She responded in her even tone, “Why don’t you ask him?”

Looking at Kel, Emma mustered all of her childlike sweetness to say, “Would you like to join us to watch Neo Mer?” Kel paused and moved his finger to his chin like the Thinker, pretending to consider his answer as humorously as he could for Emma’s entertainment. But behind his veiled attempt at humor, he felt the ripple grow. This was supposed to be a quick in and out if it happened, not an evening hangout. A “do you know why I didn’t get in?” Insert answer. A “thank you,” and then he’d walk away and evaluate. Kel mentally recited to himself, Adapt or die, adapt or die, while stroking his chin. Turning to Emma, he smiled, looking her in eyes.

“I . . . think . . . I would like to join you if that’s okay with you.” Swinging for the fence, he asked, “Mom?”

Feeling Jamie’s laughter trying to escape, Kel looked over at her. This was the first time she’d allowed anything to slip during their short interaction. Emma’s face twisted with confusion as she replied,

“She’s not my mom. Ms. Jamie is my mentor.” Emma smiled at Jamie, proud to have this person in her life, then turned back to Kel. “Now, come on, let’s go before we miss it!”

As they walked towards the stairs in silence, Emma looked up at Jamie, then Kel. “Hey, Mister Kel?”

“Just Kel.”

“Okay.”

“Why do you want to be an astronaut?”

Jamie smirked and raised her eyebrow when Kel looked over at her, amazed by Emma’s bravado.

“I’ve wanted to be an astronaut since I was six, when I saw the Falcon 9 rocket.”

Taking it in, Emma looked at him quizzically and dug her toes into the sand. “But there weren’t any astronauts on that rocket.”

Kel smiled and shook his head. This wasn’t the answer he’d given at his interview and maybe they knew using biometrics or something else. “I know, but it was the first time I saw a rocket, and it was the first time I realized that you could leave Earth.” Kel felt Jamie watching him as his pupils drifted to the corners of his eyes to remember himself sitting and staring at his mother’s iPad, watching Earth getting smaller from the rocket. “So, the next year, when I watched the Dragon take off, I decided I would have one of those seven seats. I would leave Earth, maybe not come back.”

“Wouldn’t your mom and dad miss you?” Her innocent curiosity tugged at Kel.

“They might, but my parents didn’t really think I would get to space. They thought it was silly. They actually wanted me to be a teacher So, I’m not really worried whether they would miss me or not.”

Emma nodded with a smile of finality and stopped, forcing the rest of her caravan to follow her. Then she looked up towards the rising moon and, with unwavering assurance, spoke, “I believe you can!” She turned to Jamie for confirmation and pointed at the sand in front of them and then at the sky. “We need to sit right here.”

Kel engaged the youngest member as the three-person crew spread the blue and ivory blanket over the blond sand.

“So why do you want to be an astronaut?”

“That’s easy! So I can come back and tell my mom, dad, and friends all about space. I want to be the next Purple Hair Planet Hopper. Maybe they’ll call me the Curly Hair Space Cruiser.”

Settled on the upper left corner of the blanket with the boardwalk to his back and ocean to his front, he watched Jamie and Emma setting up the go/no go countdown stream for Neo Mercury. His smile grew along his shut lips, watching the next generation of astronaut grow in front of him. He realized she would be more qualified than him when she reached his age, but she would still have to fight for her seat, maybe even harder. Kel frowned, afraid he knew the answer to his next question. Would space ever be open to everyone, or would most people remain grounded?

Staring at the horizon as the sun drifted closer to it, fighting a losing battle against a frown that sprouted in his mind, he noticed Jamie smiling at him as she left Emma giggling and reciting her way through the countdown. Jamie sat next to Kel, taking her time to get comfortable. He felt her calm and wondered if she could see his mind racing. Just as another thought began to grow when she spoke, “So, have you figured it out?”

Flashing his well-practiced but nervous smile, he responded, “Figured out what?”

“Why Emma would pass the Exosphere screening today and you still wouldn’t.” Jamie watched as Kel held himself together, his breathing quickening and a faint hue of pink rising from his neck and turning red at his ears. Her candor had caught him off guard, and the conversation had gone from happy surprise to ‘let’s do this’ faster than any rocket they had ever seen and it showed in his silence.

In the hanging silence, Jamie nodded and looked at Emma as she looked off in the distance through her AR Zoom glasses plugged into the mission control stream, then broke it. “Humpback, hummingbird, even sloth would have been better than what you picked.” Kel opened his mouth, and he turned to her, the heat of his rage bubbling its way out from the back of his throat, ready to defend his choices. But then it was gone. He looked at her, waiting for an answer, and realized she was trying to help, that it wasn’t her fault he didn’t make it to the next stage. It was his.

“If I remember correctly, you got high marks on everything except one thing, and it’s the most important to our clients.”

Finding his voice, Kel let out a demure response. “And what’s that?”

“Simple. Will they come back to Earth?”

Jamie let this question linger longer than a moment before she continued, “You’re a risk. You have nothing keeping you connected to this planet once you’re up there. No wife, no kids, no deep relationship. You’ve dreamed and worked so hard on your dream of getting into space that you forgot to have a life down here.”

“I,” Kel stopped himself as she continued.

“To them, you would be a huge investment, so they like to know where you consider home. And right now, it feels more like space.”

Kel felt the weight of Jamie’s words land like a new stone tossed in the pond. He checked himself as quickly as he could: Was that what I was feeling? Betrayal, anger, but at whom? Looking to the shore, he watched the waves crashing as the sun turned them purple, creating a million little sapphires reflecting back on the surface, dancing then disappearing, each like a moment of his life there then gone, leaving him with a new realization. The only person to be angry with was himself. How did I forget to live? The question echoed in the howls of his mind as he glared at the ocean.

In each sapphire, Kel saw the moment of his life, the choices he had made that had brought him to this beach, each one rewinding. Finding Jamie, the second flight forum, getting his rejection letter, moving to Florida, grad school, flight school, Space Force, seeing the Dragon take off and dock with the ISS.

While Kel was searching for an answer to his newest question, Emma sprang to her feet, bouncing, turning towards them, and yelling, “Up and down, 100 percent.” Then, returning to the launch with her head tilted to the sky, her bounce now a hop, she ignored the world around her. With each of her lift-offs and landings, the corners of Kel’s mouth curled. She loved space, but he could tell she loved sharing it more. Seeing this connection changed his question to: How could I live?

Jamie watched Kel walk away as she prepared to take a photo, the cooling Florida sand drifting from his skin back to Earth. He’d ended their conversation with a light smile and a “thank you.” Before he could wave goodbye to Emma, he accepted a hug from her. His smile, now peaceful and weightless, was confirmation that he’d understood Jamie.

As a gust of wind took the rest of the sand clinging to Kel’s skin, it carried the sound of faint beeps escaping his watch. Kel paused in his tracks and looked up into the night sky, waiting.

The Boom, Ba-Boom, Boom Ba-Boom of the rocket engaging traveled across the ocean. Leaving Kel transfixed with the night sky, Jamie turned to Emma, catching a split second of the mint green future defying gravity as Emma whipped off her glasses and fell back to watch the rocket take flight, her eyes wide open and face filled with the joy of possibility. And, with a smile, Jamie looked up, knowing they had launched another astronaut.

In darkness we reflect 

The wonders of life

Light glimmering and shimmering 

Ever so bright 

The surface we see blurred and faded 

Memories we hold

Slowly twisted and jaded 

Still water reflects what we see 

Under the surface we may always be.

Look closer and closer into the night

Darkness reflects ever so bright. 

The moment you escape you reflect the light

Leaving a shimmer that even glows in the night. 

Free from the boulder that held you there,  

You leak your soul everywhere.

Soon you find that freedom is not free. 

from fluid to frozen forever you maybe.

Your sheen now lacking as your mark begins to fade.

Your soul forever married to the page. 

Photo by Nicolas Thomas on Unsplash

I want my time back.

Didn't realize I was giving it away until I had a heart attack

Seconds, minutes, hours fly by and now I'm starting to change, react.

Feeling the change in my brain is starting to make me go insane. Seconds, minutes, hours, days—all this time just slipping away.

What else am I supposed to do, exchange my time? Nah. Fuck you.

My time is mine and mine alone. Forget about working my hands to the bone 

To bring to life other "people’s" dreams so they can profit off my steam. 

Exchanging my time for a little bit of green—that's starting to feel obscene.

After the attack, I realized I can't have my time back, and that put tears in my eyes.

But now I can see that where I put my time should represent me.

My time is now and that's all I get. Either I move forward for me or I live with regret. 

What I do with my time matters more than I know, ‘cause who knows how much time is left?  That shit’s unknown.

Words by Jamal Bilal

Picture by Min Hwa Jung

In My Head

Inside my head there is one sound, a quiet unlike any around. 

A rumble and rhythm that surges through me, that feeds the quiet that few can see.

The world is still from behind the fiberglass, lending me a focus that I hope will never pass. 

My pulse quickens as air rushes by. Nothing I've known has given me such a high. 

A peaceful moment consumed in speed. All other things begin to bleed, 

Disappearing in the moment I hear the sound, that rumble, that rhythm unlike any around. 

Caution That's the first feeling. Then apprehension mixes with wonder, and soon it all swirls in and around you and you accept the knowledge that every dollar in your pocket is about to magically disappear.

You tether on the edge watching, listening then finally you inhale and the wave of euphoria crashes and engulfs you, you smile. That was your first mistake. Then you sit—your second mistake—and just like that the night is lost. Everything disappears but the blood rushing to your head and as your brain begins to drain, the rest of the world begins to feels.

Now it’s over, and the magic you once feared has consumed and digested you. You reflect while relishing the memory. Your curiosity has been satisfied and the calm surf retreats, leaving you at peace, but wondering… Will it always be that good?

I tire of my desire,

To see the world on fire,

And make every pessimist a liar.

I tire of my desire,

Of looking on higher, 

For others to fuel fulfill my firer desires.

I do not dare to stand here clear.

But only aware of how fear can steer. 

Know my desire is to see us inspired.

To be fueled by passion that does not tire.

Know that I stand here fully aware but still unclear of where we steer. 

Tired, unaware, gripped with fear, with little to nothing clear. 

I now stare, and little by little become aware,

My mind slowly cutting through the glare.

and dare, to wrestle with the fear,  as I search for a lens that will

cut the glare. I feel the heat everywhere.

I feel the fire rising and I become aware, that those who care 

Will help me will steer., 

But my desire will light the world on fire,

And I will never tire. and our desires will the light world on fire.

Poem by Jamal Bilal

Photo by Yaoqi LAI

It was the music. It’s always the music. But maybe it was the alcohol. Could it have been the alcohol? No, no, now I’ve got it, it was the moment. Yes, hundreds of them. Hundreds of moments colliding, swirling, devouring and ingesting each other, all combining to create the one. The one moment. 

I can remember only the last time I remembered this moment. Tables being turned by the man with a fist in his ‘fro, his head down and ears open reading the room. His hands showed us his heart, while molding our energy into a masterpiece.

Strange bodies surrounded me, absorbing the chill from the first night in October. Every pore on my body open and crying with joy as I tried to merge with the stranger in front of me, halted only by layers of weaved fabric.

What the hands played may have been heard by all, as I listened it elevated me. What I smelled, what I tasted, what I touched and what I heard became intoxicating. 

As I looked into this stranger’s eyes it all melted away, leaving only possibilities, revealing that every breath taken before now was practiced, all practice for this moment.

A moment that can never be relived, can never be recreated, a moment that will change yet remain the same. In this moment the quest ended; in this moment love was realized. 

Written by Jamal A. Bilal

Illustrated by Josephine Lee

It wasn't the norm for them to meet, or for the occasion to last very long, but after traveling to Italy via their taste buds and crossing the Sahara of tar and asphalt they now lounged in Mark’s living room with the smell of melted mozzarella, spinach, and pepperoni permeating their skin.

Mark's home had become a hub for holidays, birthdays, and brunches. It was the unofficial den for ideas, bullshit, fun, and food: an oasis for the wandering mind.

Mark, Sam, and Dustin weren't always the Three Musketeers; they had a fourth. And after waiting, chatting, eating, and repeating, two hours had passed and the fourth, known better as Will, was nowhere to be found. 

As they lounged, a fifth pottered around. The new edition to the clan was Jasmine, Mark’s best friend and co-owner of the den, who never missed a beat. 

This lazy Sunday afternoon, they embarked on tirades from gentrification to higher education, career expectations, and, of course, Will.

Sam and Dustin had accepted Will's non-committal behavior, his ability to be there one minute and gone the next, his mastery of flaking—but they couldn't understand why Mark wouldn’t accept it. 

Mark refused to accept Will's behavior because he thought by accepting it he was condoning it, and he refused to be treated like a second-class citizen. (Mark had his own issues of abandonment.)

On this particular day, after Will's third no-show in a row, Dustin suggested a game, mostly to quell Mark’s annoyance. The game was simple: what happened to Will?

The glee in Dustin’s voice as he posed the question was slightly unnerving, bordering on maniacal, as if he knew the answer already but kept it to himself.

For a moment Mark thought the game was silly, but as he looked at Dustin and then Sam he said, "Fuck it, I'll go first.”

"Last night Will was at a bar." They all looked at each other with the same expression of no surprise.

"What started as a routine night at his local turned into a night of road drinking…”

Will, Mob-Tony, Black Jimmy, Mickey Bones, and Butch all stumbled into Mob-Tony’s Sentinel.

The road drinking took them upstate, and without their knowledge, Mob-Tony gave them a tour of where the bodies were buried. 

When Tony reached for another beer, taking his eyes off the road, he heard the familiar thud and crunch of the bumper hitting fabric and flesh at 60mph, sending his thoughts to bury the evidence.

Tony knew all of his passengers heard the smack, thud, and roll of the body hitting the ground behind the Sentinel, but he also knew they all shared his questionable moral code. 

When Will heard the wet smack he knew his weekend was shot, so he fired off his last text saying he wouldn’t be around—Looks like weather will be disgusting tomorrow. As he hit send, Mob-Tony turned to his passengers and requested their phones. Now doomed to be sober, he handed Mob-Tony his phone and reached in the cooler for his last beer.

Will, Mob-Tony and the others stood in the shade of the forest as the moon illuminated the fresh plot of dirt in front of them. Mob-Tony spoke in an unwavering tone, “This day never happened. Tomorrow we talk to no one, and Monday is just another day.” With those words weighing the air down, Will looked at his friends—now accomplices—and knew he was tied to them forever.

As Mark finished his story of Will’s misadventure in the woods, Sam seemed eager to go, almost as if he was only listening to know when to take his turn.

Sam’s sense of humor wasn’t much different from any of the members of the group, except he tended to apologize for things he thought weren’t PC.

“So I think Will’s been gone for weeks now. After a long day of drinking, blow, hookers, and Netflix...”

In a haze Will watched Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a reminder to him that he loved road trips. While he enjoyed the euphoric afterglow from The Mouth of an Angel, he looked up to see Desperado was now playing. From that moment, he decided his life would be better anywhere but here.

After convincing The Mouth of an Angel to join him on his journey, he was on the road—in her car—creating his very own Hunter S. Thompson adventure.

One night, after traveling closer to the border, Will and his Angel stopped for free HBO and a place to sleep. And while she retired to the shower, he retired to the bed and ingested The Hangover Part III. As the hangover marinated in his mind, the excitement of a solo adventure gripped him, sending him out the door, car keys in hand, leaving Mr. Chow cackling on TV and his Angel washing the grit away.

“As we speak, Will’s ruling a small Columbian town, selling contraband, loving life, and hating the heat, while his pet spider monkey wreaks havoc on the villagers.”

A small smile and apology followed Sam’s story. “Sorry I had to make it a little racist.”

Sam seem satisfied by his story, it ticked all the boxes for an extraordinarily cinematic reason why Will was MIA.

Read on >> Missing Will (Part 2)

Written by Jamal A. Bilal

Illustration by Fabian Lelay

Have you read >> Missing Will (Part 1)

Dustin was up next and after helping Mark make fun of Sam’s apologetic tone, he began his story. “You know what I think happened? Last night Will was out drinking with a bunch of people…”

And once again Will was on the road, but this time with a destination—a strange one, but a destination nonetheless. Will and his gang of drinkers were off to find cows.

North they drove, searching on Google Maps for a dairy farm to go cow tipping. This wasn’t an original idea, but one As Seen on TV. The slow drip of Tommy Boy playing on the bar television next to the Bulls game seeped into Will and his gang’s consciousness.

Will mastered the search engine and was the first to find a cattle farm in Salem. He was also the first to stand at the peak of the meadow and take in all the sleeping cattle as they shimmered in the moonlight.

As his friends paired off and rushed to their respective cows, Will watched, and began his rapid descent alone to what he thought was a slumbering cow.

What Will didn’t know was this cow was a light sleeper, and as Will thundered down the hill, the cow awoke.

When Will collided with the black and white maiden, with enough force to tip a smart car, his cow only groaned and galloped away, leaving him disappointed and breathless.

The sound of the galloping faded while he caught his breath. Will then headed toward his friends, who all proudly stood next to their toppled cattle.

“And out of nowhere the cow appeared from the darkness and drove her head into Will’s back, sending him flying face-down in the dirt. And that’s where he’s lying, unconscious in a field.”

Dustin’s story had Will performing the least criminal act of all, leaving the group feeling that this could happen—and if it did, they would be tipping cows with him.

While they digested each other’s stories, Jasmine continued to potter around until Dustin asked, “Jasmine, what do you think happened to Will?”

And like always, without missing a beat, her vision for why Will was missing bloomed.

“I think Will was out last night and on his way to the bar when he meet a girl…”

This girl wasn’t like any girl he had encountered before, an unconventional beauty with a wit sharper than a razor’s edge. Her name was Lily. She was a flower from France, visiting the concrete jungle of NYC.

As Lily and Will walked to the bar, they matched each other’s ever-slowing pace, trying to savor this insanely rare moment. And after standing outside talking for 30 minutes, which felt like 30 seconds, Lily reached for the door to head into the bar and a sudden uncontrollable urgency gripped Will. He gently stopped her and offered himself as a guide to his city. She made him promise not to murder her or keep her in his closet, and once he agreed he wouldn’t—at least on the first night—they were off.

Will and Lily wandered the city, from Flushing to Astoria, Williamsburg to Coney Island, never an awkward moment between them. And after watching the sun rise over the beach, they found their way to Lily’s room at the Plaza.

“And that’s where he is now, sleeping, totally unaware that he’s missing your lunch.”

The mic had been dropped and Jasmine smiled, thinking about the happy ending she had created, when a cell phone ring interrupted the silence of the room. 

“It’s Will.”

Written by Jamal A. Bilal

Illustrated by Patrick Boutin-Gagné

The way she moves.

Her body recites every show she’s ever seen. Her sexuality preprogrammed before 13.

Like directions on shampoo. Watch, memorize, and repeat. That’s what she’ll do.

Her hips swivel and swing and so do your eyes, locked and loaded on her thighs.

The pendulum drops when her fingers reach her hair, sliding up, jzeushing, flipping, yet going nowhere.

Your mind darts, left to right.

The taste, the touch, you want to steal.

Then you realize, it’s not real.

You’ve been programmed by your screen.

The life that you want isn’t your dream.

Written by Jamal A. Bilal

Illustrated by Brydon Everett

When you arrive after your flight, you may not remember the first night.

The feeling of belonging you once had, drifting away with the jet lag.

As you rise through the ranks you smile and say thanks.

But behind the smile no one sees, you’re searching for identity.

Your culture, your ways, how you spend your days, all of these things are now in a haze.

What you read, watch, hear and see, make your reflection harder to be.

With those around you talking about back in the day, when things were different, how they wish they could stay.  

You hear the music, listen to the words, on some occasions you taste the bird.

Your senses loaded as reminders begin to fade, and you find yourself seeking a new cave.

In a new world where you have to adapt, find a presence or feel trapped.

As things move forward, you start to see how many have created their identity.

You watch and learn how they belong, their heart tethered, their love strong.

Taught by those who came before, the wonder, the beauty, never to long. 

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, you feel connected, day by day.

Time drifts by as your anchor drags, beneath the surface you hope for a snag.

Written by Jamal A. Bilal

Illustrated by Michael DeNicola 

I lived in it, like a pig in its pen. Reveling because I never knew when. 

Realizing now that I am not my own, but pieces of others grafted to my bone.

I see the kaleidoscope shimmer and change, allowing my fingers to relax on the reigns. 

Unsure and uncertain is how I ride, wondering what will grow from the inside. 

The fire still burns furious and bright but is only a flicker in the darkness of the night. 

It all makes me weary as it does you but what are our options but to keep moving through. 

One step forward because there is no back, one step forward on or off the track.  

The end of another rough day. When you walk out the door, the fresh air shocks you back to reality, reminding you that none of it really matters. All of the stress and anxiety you’ve felt all day is just a side effect of life in the fast lane, a life you’ve been told to want.

As you wait at the crosswalk, the noise of your day drifts away. Slowly relaxing, the person next to you quietly waits, their eyes shifting between you and the cars passing by, and as you embrace your new-found clarity you decide to share it. As a smile clings to your lips, it’s met with a look of contempt from your crosswalk acquaintance, their nose now pointing to the sky without a hair shifting from its place.

Their disregard for your friendliness ignites something in you, and as the light at the crosswalk changes, the race begins.

The engine rages in your head as your hand wraps tightly around the imaginary stick shift buried in your pocket. Your eyes lock on red, hand holding your beast at bay, and in a flash pixels of white signal the green to go and now the rubber meets the road.

You keep pace with them, your new nemesis, battling it out for the longest stride, until a gust of wind causes them to waver and fall behind. In front of you lies more commuters. No, more competitors, merely obstacles to the finish. 

Suddenly, without warning, another appears, well-dressed and sneaking into your periphery, matching your pace with two inches on your stride. The unspoken gauntlet has been thrown and the race is on.  

They use those two inches to their advantage, extending each stride and quickening their pace. 

But, no, not today. Today you need a win. Today you need that feeling.

When you feel there’s nothing left, you suddenly pull out all the stops, heeling and toeing each step, your pace quickening, closing the gap, step by step, inch by inch. 

To your former competitors the race looks tight, but in this moment there can be only one. In this moment you have your small victory.

Written by Jamal A. Bilal

Illustration by Creees