The Symmetry of Life- Book 1: To See, To Know, To Be Human - 1. Chapter 1: Into the East

Book I: To See, To Know, To Be Human

Chapter 1: Into the East

Well, to begin, I was born on September 3^rd 1939 to Allen and Sharon Cross. Sharon Cross, formerly Sharon Hart, was a run of the mill small town American girl with a feisty sense of independence. She grew up with very little due to the Great Depression and Dust Bowl. I bet many of you have heard about the Great Depression, but barely remember the little history lesson about the “Dust Bowl” in the American Midwest back in the 1930’s. “Black Blizzards” were moving across the North American Great Plains like locust. Crops were dying out and towns were being devastated. On top of the fall in crop prices and bank foreclosures left over from the Great Depression, people now had to face a whole new monster in the form of the black dust storms that were ravaging their food supply. My mom forced me and later Brian, my little brother, to read a lot of Steinbeck as kids to remind us about those hard times. I can’t imagine how she survived that stuff and came all the way to California, leaving behind her family, home, and all she knew as a teenage runaway. She was hitchhiking in cars and hiding in freight cars of trains on the Union Pacific. Even when she got to California, she still struggled to make end’s meat; working in fields, sewing shops, and even waiting the occasional gentlemen’s club. Even without Prohibition, good looking women could make money in those joints. I doubt she’d have to put out for anyone, because she was incredibly feisty and head strong; she would choose her man, not be chosen by him.

Allen Cross, my dad, had an entirely different background. He was born in southern France, but he never knew his parents. His father died during World War I and his mother died of the flu outbreak, a few years later. As a child, he immigrated to the United States and settled on the West Coast according to my mom. I know you all want to hear about weird stuff like his family’s lineage from Europe, including tracing his descent from Piero Fruosino di Antonio da Vinci (the father of Leonardo da Vinci), his membership in secret groups, or his connection to the entity, known as “the First”. Seriously, I wish I could answer those questions, too, but he died right around the time Brian was born. I only vaguely remember him; it’s more like a feeling rather than a memory, too. It was a warm feeling of comfort with a hint of dread and bitterness, but it felt good nonetheless. Brian gave off the same feeling from time to time as he got older, so did Kevin. Ben gave off the strongest of these feelings, when I visited him.

Brian was born on June 7^th 1942, a few hours before the news of the US naval victory at Midway was sent over the radio. A few weeks later, news came back about my dad; he had died at sea in honorable service to his country according to the State Department letter. I never did learn the full story on what he did; he wasn’t even in the Navy. Mom said that he had worked on codes and ciphers, so my guess was that he was probably deciphering the Japanese coded communications on one of the ships. She took his death well based on my memory, but I think it was probably the fact that Brian was with her. For that, I held a bit of jealousy and envy for my little brother; yet paradoxically, I knew that she needed a reminder to keep her soul steady. As a kid and an adult later, I have memories of seeing other women struck with disbelief and grief over this type of news, some even went catatonic.

During the war, a continuous stream of people came to our home; they were a strange group of men. They came in pairs of two asking questions that my mom seemed to accommodate relatively well; almost like she was expecting it. Usually, the questions would be simple like “how are the kids doing?” or “Are the children healthy?” Then, there were more bizarre questions “Has Brian talked with any invisible friends?” or “Do they speak to Josh, too?” I didn’t understand those questions until years later. Yes, without much fanfare, Brian and I do perceive “invisible” beings that mankind cannot perceive. Bobby mentioned to you in history the basic background of human spirits and Agents of Death, along with an overview of demonic spirits. Outside of human based creatures, there are other beings that inhabit this world alongside us, some benign and others far less.

As for my mom’s mundane visitors, I was able to identify 2 pairs of 6 men and one other person, who came alone from time to time throughout my childhood. My mom called the unpaired man, Frank, but, to me and my brother, we called him Uncle Frankie. He always brought us toys and took us out for ice cream. He began coming more often than the others as time passed. Then after the war, he basically came every weekend. Mom seemed to be happy to see him like an old friend that she always was glad to invite over, but I noticed that whenever he came by, she would try to distance him and Brian, almost as an instinct. There was no malice behind her actions; it seemed more possessive than punitive. Despite this thought, both Brian and Uncle Frankie seemed to get along very well, even to the point of completing each other’s sentences. For a kid to complete an adult’s sentence or an adult to complete a kid’s thought, it was a good bet that there was something else in the mix, but I was young and didn’t figure it out until later.

For me, Uncle Frankie was like my second dad. There was something about him that reminded me of the “feeling” that my dad and Brian gave off, but there was only comfort in it, no dread. Essentially, I think Uncle Frankie was just more human, but I doubt you will understand completely what I mean without context.

When I was like 7 years old, Uncle Frankie got me a bike, but there was one problem, no training wheels. He kept a close eye on me and whenever I began to lose balance, he’d swoop in and steady me. He did it with great care. There was something in him that I knew wanted to help me learn to ride that bike, but he would not hesitate to give a helping hand to keep me steady, until I was ready to do it myself. Something inside me told me that it was what my dad would have done if he were still alive.

Outside of the “invisible friends”, Brian and I had regular childhoods until the summer of 1947. I remember distinctly, because preceding the incident, it was the first time my mom and Uncle Frankie had ever argued. In death, my memory of that argument is much clearer than it was in life:

“You can’t take the boys with you, Frank. They’re still too young and Brian can barely color in the lines” my mom angrily responded in a loud tone that I could hear from our bedroom. Brian and I shared the same bedroom until high school.

“Sharon, a signal was picked up, requesting an audience. Brian has to come. With Josh and me, Brian should be able to reach the necessary state described in the message,” Uncle Frankie replied with a tone equally as loud as my mother’s tone earlier.

“I don’t care if Truman is making a personal phone call, why must you put yourselves on the firing line”.

“The signal asked for the “First”. People don’t make calls extending light years like that without a reason.”

“Frank, you’re part of the “First” or whatever you call that bastard do-nothing, can’t you just fill in for Brian. When Allen chose to take on the fight for his cause, the bastard didn’t give him any protection from death, so why should we answer his calls? Hell, why do you need Josh, he’s got nothing to do with this?” My mom’s voice was still loud, but there was a hint of fear.

“Allen told you, I can’t connect with the “First”, only he could and his successors could. I know you don’t want to lose Allen again nor did I. Now, Brian is the only one. Don’t you think I cared for Allen just as much as you did? Don’t you think I wished Brian could be a normal kid, too? I love them both more than you will ever understand or even can comprehend” Uncle Frankie paused momentarily to get a hand on his emotions, “As for Josh, he will one day become a protector according to Allen. I don’t know what that means, nor know who he is protecting, maybe his little brother. There’s a lot of stuff in the world that is unfair and bull, you can’t protect them forever in this house. The three of us have to make this journey and hear things out” Uncle Frankie firmly responded.

My mom was eventually persuaded and she allowed the three of us to travel the next day; though she glanced longingly at all three of us before we left in Uncle Frankie’s black convertible. The car in many ways was ahead of its time as it featured full automatic transmission, radio, and seatbelts. I know to most of you younger guys and even this writer, these things are old news, but in the late 1940’s, these features were rare sights to see in cars. Uncle Frankie must have spent many hours working on it. Sadly, I never had an aptitude for automotive work, nor did Brian, but the car nonetheless was in fine working order for decades despite wear and tear.

As for the journey, Brian and I didn’t know what to expect to be honest. We heard the yelling the night before, but we did not understand what it meant. A long silence held in the car for what seemed like hours, until I broke the silence.

“Where are we going, Uncle Frankie?”

Uncle Frankie exhaled and replied, “New Mexico, do you know where that is Josh?”

“Yes, we learned it in class…it’s to the right next to Arizona.”

Brian waved his right hand to point towards my direction, “That way!”

I chided Brian and used my left hand to point to the left, “Nah, Brian, it’s this way. That’s right.”

Brian shook his head, “No, Josh, that is the wrong way.”

In hindsight, it’s pretty stupid to be arguing with your little brother, who has barely gotten out of Kindergarten, but it seemed right at the time. However, I think it broke up the silence in the car and my guess is that Brian probably started the argument to get Uncle Frankie out of his silent self-torture over dragging us hundreds of miles into the desert.

We began to argue different things, like why the sky was blue and how are clouds made? Uncle Frankie could not settle all our argument, even as intelligent as he was about many things; he wasn’t a walking library like someone I know. Instead of doing the adult thing of ignoring childish banter that many people do nowadays, he actually joined in on our speculation on why things are that way.

At around noon time, Uncle Frankie stopped at a roadside diner in a small town for lunch. We all got burgers and French fries with milkshakes. None of us had good table manners, when we saw our lunches arrive. First, Brian began stacking the French fries into elaborate structures, the waitress at the counter stared in wonder at the little architect. Then, she looked incredulously at me as I began cutting the burger into tiny equal pieces forming words with bread and meat on the plate. Lastly, she held an admiring look at Uncle Frankie, who was voraciously consuming the food and paying neither of us much heed.

The waitress tried to start up small talk, “You’ve got quite some boys there, Mister.”

Uncle Frankie gulped the food in his mouth and responded simply, “Yes, they are great kids.”

She pressed on, “Is your wife in town visiting a friend?”

Uncle Frankie shook his head, “No, I do not have a wife. These are my nephews, Josh and Brian.”

Her eyes gleamed, “Oh, I can’t believe a nice flutter bum like you is not committed to a special lady?”

Uncle Frankie began to flush a little at the word “committed” sounded, “No, I can’t say that I was ever committed to a lady.”

Her facial expression lit up, “Wow that’s kookie, you’ve never been on the hook with anyone.”

Uncle Frankie looked over at Brian, who had stopped his creation of the seven wonders to stare at the waitress in growing contempt. Luckily, at that moment, the line cook had called up the waitress to drop off some food to other customers.

The waitress attempted several times to start a conversation with Uncle Frankie throughout our lunch. He was very patient with her, but as the attempts continued, Brian became more irritated and in the end demanded to leave. My thought at that point was merely annoyance at his childish behavior. Uncle Frankie took the hint and paid the meal’s costs with a generous tip to the waitress.

After a few moments in the car, Brian was the first one to break the silence this time.

Apologetically, Brian said, “Uncle Frankie, sorry.”

Uncle Frankie, whose expressions usually ran parallel with Brian, turned pale, “You don’t have to be. I know what she wanted and I know I didn’t want it, nor would ever desire it.”

I completely missed the point and muttered, “Brian was being a baby”

Brian looked at me with tears in his eyes, “Josh, you think I’m being a baby. I didn’t like the girl talking to Uncle Frankie. I don’t think Uncle Frankie liked her, too. He’s just too nice to tell her.”

I looked over at Uncle Frankie for a response, but he gave none. Then I returned my sight to my sobbing brother, who I felt I had somehow betrayed with my remark about the tantrum earlier. I really stepped in it that time and I knew I touched on something neither Brian nor Uncle Frankie really wanted to go into, but something in me just needed to know.

“Uncle Frankie, why don’t you like girls?” I think I meant to say something like why don’t you like the girl, but I made a verbal slip. If this writer is a Freudian, I guess he might ascribe to the theory that I probably already knew about my own innate sexuality at 8 years old.

Yes, in hindsight, a gay man being asked that question is uncomfortable; it didn’t help the matter that the asking person was a kid. It was childhood innocence that allowed such curiosity to escape, where adult sensibility would prevent. Uncle Frankie was struck by the question and was forced to stop on the side of the road. He stared back at me with a somber look. I did not know what to say to him as I could sense that something was wrong, but didn’t understand what it was. If I had been paying attention around me, I would have noticed that Brian had stopped crying.

It was Brian, who broke it down to the simplest words, “Uncle Frankie likes boys.”

The silence was broken and Uncle Frankie’s expression had changed, “Brian, you’re both too young to know what that means.”

Brian twisted his head and I could feel something primal coming out of him when he said, “It is what we are not!”

I was confused and repeated, “What we are not?”

Brian’s next words would stick with me for many years to come, “Uncle Frankie does not like girls; but he like boys. We are not sleeping, but we are awake. I am not, what I am not!”

After he said that, both Uncle Frankie and I felt the release of tension. The feeling is like you are drowning in an ocean of your own fears. Then the coast guard finds you. It is the knowledge of what you are not, which define who you are. It’s a breakthrough point that many people don’t seem to understand, nor respond well to. It is the complete parallel corollary of the central tenet of Judeo-Christian faith, “I am what I am” is the fundamental to all their central beliefs, because it closes all questions into a closed loop. There can only be right and wrong. Brian’s answer was really two questions, enveloping and supporting one another through infinite potential.

An 8 year old version of me did not understand things so deeply, but it did make me ask questions on top of questions, which are what the meaning of Brian’s words was. All of us said nothing for the duration of the drive that night as we tackled a riddle wrapped in infinity.

As it was getting dark, Uncle Frankie called it a day and none of us were in the mood to eat anything after the large lunch and problems of the drive. Uncle Frankie found a motor court, the predecessor to the modern motel chains, for a night of rest. The sign out front said “Air Cooling rooms available”, which was another way to describe early air conditioning. He ordered two side by side rooms, one for him and one for Brian and me. Once we were settled, Uncle Frankie left our room for the night. After we brushed our teeth and washed our faces, we started to get ready for bed. We both changed into our pajamas. We both jumped on the bed several times before actually placing our bodies onto the bed for sleep. As we laid there half awake, I half whispered a question to Brian.

“Brian, can you tell me what I am?”

I did not expect a response, but I could feel Brian answering me as I surrendered my thoughts to sleep, “I cannot tell you what you do not know yet.”