Chapter Text
It was June 1, 1983, and Beach City’s one-room library had blown away in a storm the previous night. The shoreline was littered with paperbacks, coated with sand or sopping wet—but the wind died down without further incident and locals were starting to poke their heads out.
Gregory DeMayo “Mr.” Universe had done what any reasonable person does when confronted with the awesome majesty of nature: He’d driven away from it. Unfortunately, it was becoming clear that he’d picked the wrong direction to flee in. He was about halfway to Ocean Town when he stopped, the radio not sounding too optimistic about the situation over there either.
Voices gave way to crackling, then silence, as he pulled into White Castle’s parking lot.
He had seen Marty siphon electricity from a store like this before—and not just electric, but diesel fuel, cooking oil, and even fountain soda—and he was just thinking about the best way to hook up his amp despite the driving rainstorm when he heard a knock on his side window.
Greg was unexpectedly filled with a sense of foreboding—
For a second he wondered if he could get the van a-rocking so no one would come a-knocking.
But there was a slender silhouette out there and he had definitely been spotted. The awkwardness of pretending no one was home while he was sitting in his van, clearly visible, was too much even for an aspiring rock star. He put out his joint and decided to go see what was going on.
If he had expected anything, this would not be it.
Pearl was there, sopping wet and vaguely glowing in a way he might have mistaken for the drugs if it had been a few minutes later. Flickering street lamps in the parking lot barely pierced the storm-tossed night, but their light was all welled up in her, outlining her taut shoulders.
She had a gleam only Gems could have, something he would’ve sworn anyone could see—
But then, he was the only one who ever really looked, and there was nothing wrong with that.
She looked at him. He looked at her. He slowly raised an edible to his lips and popped it in.
She wrinkled her nose. He was hoping for a groan, but then—
Then she was gone.
“What in the—?”
Greg stumbled out of the van, heel sliding on the slick asphalt. As he caught his flailing body hard on the door, he was just in time to hear a thump of weight settling on the roof. He looked up against the rain, some part of him half-expecting a vast and terrible shadow.
But there was only a glint of light.
“Get down from there,” said Greg, trying to sound tired rather than terrorized.
But the muzzy-mellow bubble had popped. Greg’s lizard brain was firmly in command, and it pushed him a step back, out of danger. Goose-flesh broke over his arm as a dense, wet something shuttled past, leaving part of him convinced he was standing on the doorstep of eternity.
It took a few seconds to realize worse than death was at stake:
Someone was in his van.
Pearl was curled up in the corner now, limbs askew, her gem the light of an oncoming train; it took until lightning flashed again for him to see the small and scrawny and soft thing—being—person who looked almost like any other girl he could’ve picked up at a party.
Almost.
“Get out,” he told Pearl.
“We need to talk,” she answered.
He couldn’t have thrown her out if he wanted to, he knew; and his arms and legs were heavy, reminding him how much THC was now on a mosey through his bloodstream. The adrenaline was fading fast, congealing into a memory he didn’t dare examine too closely.
“Fine,” he said, sitting heavily on the opposite seat—
Scrounged for a moment in the junk between them—
And came up with a peace offering.
“Taquito?” he asked.
“Oh, my stars,” went Pearl.
“If you’re too good for my hospitality, then you can just—”
“Listen. It’s about Rose.”
Greg Universe was suddenly three shades soberer.
“What about Rose?”
He sat up to stabilize the number of Pearls before him.
“Look—” Pearl folded her hands as she leaned in closer. “We both care for Rose, but it should be obvious even to you that she has no idea what she’s doing. If the two of us are going to coexist for now, it makes sense to come to some kind of understanding.”
“And why should I listen to you? It’s just as likely Rose’ll get rid of you and stick with me.”
“Rose has kept cats longer than she’s been dating you.”
“She and I had a great d—wuhhhait a minute.” Greg squinted. “I didn’t know she likes cats.”
“The last one was Mr. Bingus, and he’s buried by the pier.”
“What happened to him?” Greg asked softly.
The thunder rolled. Pearl stared at the musician as if it took a while to comprehend exactly what he meant. Then, all at once, the snark broke forth: “He lived a long and happy life surrounded by his friends and family. The point is, Mr. Universe, you’re the new thing.”
“You’re not gonna scare me away—”
“You’re not going to last.”
“Or insult me in my own van—”
Pearl’s hands flailed as if slapping an invisible set of bongos. Greg was momentarily fascinated, seeing after-images there he knew he shouldn’t; he lapsed into silence as waves of light slowly spread and slithered around him. Pearl, her voice softer, continued to talk.
“No. Let me try this again. Just listen. You’re not going to last. Humans only live about a hundred years. With all the bizarre things you willingly put into your body, you would be fortunate if you made it halfway to that point. And you’re already, what, ten?”
“Twenty-three,” Greg supplied.
“Ten, twenty-three, same difference. Rose is happy around you. And even if you stay together for as long as you possibly can, it won’t really be that long. But it’ll be all the same to you, won’t it? She’s all you could ever hope for. More than you ever hoped for, to judge from your lyrics.”
“You pay attention to my lyrics?” Greg asked, wavering on the cusp of genuine surprise.
“I pay attention to everything, Gregory. Including you. If I thought you’d ever try to harm her, I’d—” Pearl stopped herself, waved a hand dismissively. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I know you would never do that. Not on purpose, anyway. Not any more than any other human.”
Greg took a deep, steadying breath.
“What are you trying to say, Pearl?”
“I—isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to help you.”
Greg raised his finger as if to answer, diverted himself, and started over: “Why?”
Pearl sighed gently, leaning out of her tight crouch into an uncomfortable half-sprawl.
“Let’s just say I know how it feels to look at her and see more than you ever hoped for.”
“Wow, I didn—”
Pearl cut him off:
“Now, do you want to last longer than Mr. Bingus or not?”
“I …” Greg stared at his own raised finger. The afterimages were gone. “I do.”
“Well, good. I have some proposals for you to consider. But right now? I suggest you stay put until morning. The whole—” Her fingers fluttered airily: “—undercarriage of your vehicle is flooded. If you tried to plug in your silly little amp, you’d probably electrocute yourself.”
With that, she climbed out. When he checked the window, she was gone.
Once he felt fairly sure she wouldn’t return, he retrieved his joint from the ashtray.
In the silence, Greg imagined what it would have been like to die in a literal blaze of glory right here in the White Castle parking lot, his final strum dispersing the chemical elements of his body far beyond this earthly domain as they united in a flash with pure cosmic energy.
But it seemed this—whatever this was—might be even better.