Ironic Walkman

Ella Raeanne

“I love you.”

“But what if the only thing we had was Bowie?”

Humans are so weird, with their strange fascination with the rich and talented. As you watched old human television boxes with strange stories overwhelming your senses, I was already too consumed with the idea of holding your hand. The television boxes you found were ones oddly stashed in space crafts. You deduced the door had opened accidentally to one and it came crashing down. It took you a while to fix the television box, but you had the time and I had my own personal projects. A project I started alongside you to be close to you. I had started fixing up a Walkman that had come crashing down with the television box.

Walkman wasn’t what I called it originally but, as we observed humans more and more in any way we could, I came to the conclusion that they do everything but walk so, out of the cleverness of my mind, I thought it would be ironic if I were to call it a Walkman. Walk. They do everything but walk. 

Once we had our old gadgets and things fixed, we transported ourselves to Earth as you said.

I learned today that you immersed yourself in their walkless world more than I did. Of course,  I found humans and Earth interesting, but I think you were even more interesting.

Did you notice how I never found those television episodes as inviting as your warm hand in mine? How humans could dance and dance in our view and I would still sit quietly staring at you? That’s how much I love you and, of course, how much we loved David Bowie. That ironic Walkman was our savior, our God, like some of those humans had. We held hands the most on the days we played the Walkman. Six times a day when we didn’t play it and at least fifteen when we did. You didn’t pull yourself away from those human screens if I simply asked, but if it’s to play Bowie, you would happily oblige, and that’s why he was our favorite. 

I finally had you—you and Bowie and the stars forever and we never spoke about anything else. Did we really need to? We were happy this way, so I didn’t think so. 

The sands we lived on were the perfect place to dance in, The Space Man would be pleased, impressed we would joke. You also joked that when you grew up, you would go to Earth and be the first human to simply walk, which was clearly a joke as you are not human. Be the first non-human to simply walk on Earth then, you would reply as I laughed. I don’t think I ever heard that last part as I was too busy holding your hand. I see now I should have listened because you made the joke true when you said you were joining the air fleet down to Earth.

When did our joke become true to you, between “Let’s Dance” and “I’m Afraid of Americans?”

Watching you leave for Earth today was too much. I told you I’d wait for you. I told you loved you. 

“But what if the only thing we had was Bowie?”

No. We had more didn’t we? I was holding your hand in the sands where we danced, I watched the television box with you? I wonder today if my childhood irony on the Walkman is what sent you down this path. You heard me say they do everything but walk and you saw that as a challenge. 

Maybe if I had called it a Stayman you would have stayed dancing with me. You wouldn’t have left me, the Walkman in your hand, taking it to prove that humans can simply walk too. You could have been the first non-human who stayed for me.

Not even Bowie stayed with me, you took The Space Man back to Earth. 

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Ella Raeanne from Alberta Canada attends high school where she puts as much love as she can into her English courses. She usually is in her comfort zone when writing poetry but has always loved short stories that may be a bit strange.