The Evolution of Glory Loomis

By Michael Bassen

On a Friday afternoon in early spring, Glory Eleanor Loomis, 13, of Sackatucket, Long Island makes a shocking discovery in a second-hand bookstore. She finds a novel called Invasion Earth! set in Roswell, New Mexico (her parents’ birthplace) containing a picture of her brother Michael, captioned “George Edward Livermore,” and a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cedar Grove Books
• Release date: Aug 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781941958094

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The Evolution of Glory Loomis is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Evolution of Glory Loomis.

Copyright © 2014 by Michael G. Bassen

Cover art copyright © 2014 by Tho Dinh (thodinh.com)

Glory’s Metasapien language © 2015 Andy Lu (2wocreations.com)

All rights reserved.

Published and printed in the United States of America.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2014947180

ISBN 13: 978-1-941958-06-3/eBook ISBN 978-1-941958-09-4

No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, digital, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For more information, contact [e-mail]

www.cedargrovebooks.com

For L – for everything and more.

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INTRODUCTION

Glory Eleanor Loomis had bottle-green eyes and crinkly copper-red hair. She wore "Teen-Scene" eyeglasses from Sears Optical; her ears had just been pierced, at long last; and her favorite actors were Harrison Ford in the first three Star Wars movies and Perry Strewmeyer as The Emcee in the Canarsie Middle School production, The Canarsie Middle School Story—Fifty Years and Counting!—even though, when she congratulated him in study hall the next day, he could barely muster a thank-you.

Currently, she lived on Peace Pipe Lane in Sackatucket, Long Island with her mother, father and older brother. Her house was a twelve-minute walk from the Canarsie Middle School, where she was in eighth-grade homeroom with Ms. Naomi Cantor, who was also her math teacher. Ms. Cantor had an excellent sense of humor, a new-model cabin-cruiser boat that her husband had bought (mostly for himself), a very cool BMW, and a really smart daughter, named Amalie—in honor of a great woman mathematician named Amalie Noether.

Amalie Cantor was someone that Glory could identify with—despite the fact that compared to her, Glory was a washout in math and science—because Amalie had hoped to get into Harvard on early admission in December and was turned down. And even though she’d get a second chance in April, Glory overheard Ms. Cantor talking to another teacher about Amalie’s SAT verbal scores being too low. Glory had already been rejected twice by the Sackatucket Middle School gifted program after disappointing scores two years in a row on the Quantitative Reasoning section of the entrance exam.

Personal history-wise, Glory was born thirteen-and-a-half years ago on October 31st, which is also Halloween, as every kid knows. Her mother and father called the connection a kismetic coincidence—or actually "a reverse-kismetic-coincidence—since Glory’s birth had been both a trick and a treat. Also on her last birthday, Glory’s parents told her absolutely and positively" that she was not adopted, in spite of appearances to the contrary, notably her parents’ advanced ages—Mrs. Loomis was currently fifty-two and her husband was fifty-six—and the fact that Glory—with her copper-red hair and bottle-green eyes—looked like neither. They even showed her a birth certificate and told her she was a "glorious surprise," which was also how they came to name her Glory.

But then Glory overheard them chortling in their bedroom a few days later, chortling being a combo-word made from snort and chuckle, a tidbit she’d learned from Mr. Barnes, who ran a local secondhand bookstore. And it was pretty obvious—though she couldn’t make out what they were saying exactly—that they were chortling about her.

. . .

Canarsie Street was an excellent street for a school to be on because traveling there on foot you passed Vinny’s Pizza (excellent at a dollar-a-slice), Canarsie Drugs (candy, stickers, cosmetics, and sundries), Mr. Barnes’s secondhand bookstore (called Milo’s Book Bin) and a florist: Appleseed Flowers & Ferns. At the end of Canarsie Street heading home, Glory would make a left then a right, and in a block she’d arrive at her house. It was a two-story cape with dormers, one of which poked out of Glory’s room, the other out of her brother Michael’s. Her parents’ bedroom was at the back.

Till two years ago, her brother Michael had spent nearly a decade living near Roswell, New Mexico (of science-fiction fame) with his great-great uncle-in-law, Dr. Nolan Howe. Uncle Nolan supervised a special private school and hush-hush research center called The Howe Institute and Academy. Michael was enrolled there when he was thirteen, after he’d shown special gifts. He came back to Long Island after Uncle Nolan passed away on his hundredth birthday.

Glory and her parents had visited her brother several times. On their first visit, she was just four-and-a-half and had nothing to do for two long days except play with Uncle Nolan’s cocker spaniel, Euphoria. That changed for the better though, when the forty Howe Academy matriculates returned from a field trip they weren’t allowed to talk about. Each of them took a shine to Glory, which made her feel special. The subsequent visits were even better.

The trips were also very nice for Glory’s parents, who’d been born and raised in the area. Glory’s mother Maryann was especially affected by their visits, and every night after dinner she’d make a reflective record of the day’s events in a journal (many volumes long now), which was "not just a diary but much, much more, as she explained to Glory. Though a diary is an excellent way to begin your development of an inner life," she’d add. Having an inner life, Maryann Loomis believed, was the difference between living life as a human being as opposed to the average maple tree.

To pay their bills, the Loomises ran a hobby-and-craft store called Loomis’s Hobbies and Crafts on Teepee Road, just west of Wigwam Way.

CHAPTER ONE

DEMONS, PIZZAS AND PUZZLES

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It all began on a Friday afternoon in early April in Room 306 of the Canarsie Middle School. Glory had felt out-of-sorts all day after a fitful night’s sleep, and was now feeling more so trying to solve thirty math demons with her math partners (and best friends) Francine Kim and Tiffany Lopez. Francine was a squash of a girl with a bright pink face. Her mother was an insurance actuary and her father was a certified public accountant. Tiffany was slender like a lily, with almond eyes and the voice of a mourning dove. She had a younger sister named Lucille, and her parents were both dentists. The three girls had been in school together since kindergarten.

Math demons were number puzzles that were supposed to fertilize your math center, according to Ms. Cantor. Today’s were called combinational. Each combinational consisted of six random numbers, and you were supposed to find ways to combine the first five so they would equal the sixth. In less than a minute, Francine found three solutions to the first problem, which was to combine the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 to equal 6.

The most obvious solution was 1+2+3 divided by 5-4, said Francine, but there were at least six others, the most entertaining of which involved the exponential use of 3 to indicate the cube root of 5+2+1, which was then added to 4—in other words: 4+ ³√5+2+1 = 6.

You’re a genius, Francine, said Glory.

Both Tiffany and Francine were excellent at math, especially Francine, who was nearly as smart as Amalie Cantor. Glory was definitely not. It was a big part of the reason she didn’t do well on the Quantitative Reasoning section of the gifted program entrance exam.

In September Ms. Cantor had tried to comfort Glory, when for the second year in a row, Francine and Tiffany left without her on the gifted program bus. Ironically (as life can sometimes be), Ms. Cantor’s good intentions actually made Glory feel worse, which in turn made Ms. Cantor feel worse.

But then Glory put her hand on Ms. Cantor’s arm and said, Don’t worry, Ms. C. It’s okay. I mean, it’s not the end of the world as we know it. Right? It was one of Glory’s father’s pet expressions. No matter how bad something sounded or got, he’d say, It’s not the end of the world as we know it. Right? Even so that very day, Glory made a pledge to boost her analytical brainpower by studying math and science with books she would buy for a dollar each at Milo’s Book Bin.

To be honest, of course, she already went to the Book Bin quite a lot—mostly to hang out with Mr. Barnes, who was a very amusing conversationalist, but also to browse among the books and old-timey magazines. Mr. Barnes thought her self-improvement project was admirable, but he also said standardized tests were insidious, scurrilous, subversive, redundant and inaccurate. He was very outspoken, with an excellent vocabulary. More often than not, Glory would so enjoy their chats that she’d forget about the math and science books altogether.

Ms. Cantor came by Glory’s team. How are things going, ladies?

Precisely excellent, said Francine, who was known for her precise responses.

"Like a poem," Tiffany cooed.

I’m only sorry there are just twenty-six more! Glory chortled.

Ms. Cantor gave her a private wink then hurried to a team that had the super-conscientious Kevin Chan working with the problematic Popov twins, Denis and Dimitri. Ms. Cantor called them the Shenanigan Brothers.

Boy, girlfriend, Ms. C. really likes you, said Francine.

I guess, Glory said.

That’s okay, said Tiffany. We do, too.

. . .

Twenty-six problems later it was 3:05, TGIF, and by 3:15 Glory, Francine and Tiffany were in Vinny’s Pizza ensconced at their regular table, where as usual the conversation was under Francine’s supervision. Today, it featured Kevin Chan as the main topic and secret looks he’d made in Tiffany’s direction, at least according to Francine.

Tiffany, surprisingly shy for a girl so cute, disputed Francine’s claim.

Suit yourself, Tiff, said Francine. But the ‘Chan-Man’ has his eyes on you and that’s a definite factoid.

"Actually, a ‘factoid’ is a commonly accepted falsehood," said Tiffany. Tiffany was a genius with words.

Oh by the way, Francine said to Glory, are you going to eat that crust?

Oh no, Glory said. Help yourself.

Thanks.

Both Glory and Tiffany thought Francine was somewhat though adorably chunky, though health-wise in denial. Francine noted the look they shared.

Just so you know, girlfriends: My mamacita was exactly the same as me when was she was thirteen, and now she’s as slim as a cheese stick.

"Always food? sighed Tiffany. Really?"

Whatever. —By the way, Glorioski, Francine turned to Glory, you know that great-great uncle of yours? Turns out he was a total man of mystery. She dunked the crust into her Coke. Tiffany rolled her eyes.

Uncle Nolan? said Glory.

Oh yeah. My dad found a whole chapter about him in a book he got at Milo’s Book Bin—way-out science-fiction type stuff that the old dude did during World War II.

Uncle Nolan?

Ever heard of Area 51 in Roswell, New Mexico?

Didn’t your parents grow up near there? said Tiffany.

They did, said Glory. I visited a few times when I was a kid, when my brother was going to Uncle Nolan’s school.

Well, did he ever report anything weird going on out there? said Francine.

Michael? No. Actually, he never reported anything going on out there.

Well then the mystery thickens, said Francine, "because my dad says there were some amazing discoveries your uncle made in a field called ‘Para-Genetic Meta-Psychology’ in that very area. My dad also said there ought to be stuff about it on the net—and if there is, I’m going to find it—because I do love a mystery and you know it. —You going to eat that crust, Tiff?"

Tiffany shrugged.

Gracias. Francine turned to Glory. So your brother never said anything?

Nope.

Wow. Totally suspicious. She looked at Tiffany. You don’t think so?

Perhaps it is, Francine. I don’t know.

Presently, the conversation shifted to teen Goth and Francine’s black-lacquered fingernails. Tiffany expressed a dislike for the fashion in principle as well as on aesthetic grounds, then she and Francine started talking about some kids that Glory didn’t know from the gifted program. Glory tried getting in on it, but it was a fairly useless effort. Then Francine bought another slice of pizza and a Coke, and a couple of kids from the program showed up, and they all started talking about a project that Glory didn’t know anything about. Since it was still early, she excused herself and headed down to the Book Bin.

On the way she thought some more about what Francine had said. Glory really didn’t know anything about what her brother had done all those years in New Mexico. In fact, she didn’t know much about him in general. On the other hand, he was thirteen years older than she was, so he was more like a young uncle to her, or an old cousin, with a grown-up life far removed from her own.

As for Uncle Nolan, he was more of an unknown man than a man of mystery. When she and her parents visited with him, he hardly ever talked—just chewed on a corncob pipe, which he never lit, and smiled a lot. Every now and then, he would write something down in a little notepad that hung around his neck from a lanyard.

She did remember him on several occasions showing her different pictures of flowers and certain long numbers, and then playing bird songs on an old Wollensak tape recorder. Then he’d ask her to connect the different pictures, numbers, and songs to different arrangements of odd shapes that were printed on cards—arrangements like the following:

alu1alu1alu1alu1

and

alu1alu1

She didn’t know what he meant for her to do exactly, but she tried to answer as best she could. After they’d finish, he’d kiss the top of her head and write some more notes.

CHAPTER TWO

MILO’S BOOK BIN

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On the main floor of Milo’s Book Bin, twenty-three thousand second-hand books bathed in a hazy suspension of florescent light and dust. Ten thousand more resided in the basement, which Milo Barnes (with his fondness for theater) called the Sub-Texts. All around the store there were posters of famous science fiction and horror films like The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Total Recall, The Time Machine, Forbidden Planet, Frankenstein, Dracula, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, plus a few pretty good sketches Mr. Barnes did of famous writers. Glory tapped the bell on the front counter: a refurbished Hawaiian style bar from the rec room in Mr. Barnes’s old basement.

Hi-ho, she called.

It was thought by many that Milo Barnes was one of the smartest men in Sackatucket, having graduated from Yale, Columbia and NYU. He said that only meant that he was "disconnected to everyone by three degrees of separation!" which was a joke based on a play of which there were two copies in the Drama: Mostly Modern section. Now he was retired from high school teaching and lived above the Book Bin. He had a pony tail of gray hair and always wore a sweat shirt with Just Ask! printed on the front. His wife and daughter had died in a plane crash three years earlier. A little after that he sold their house, retired from teaching, and bought the Book Bin building. He moved into the floor over the store, which he set up as an apartment, and had lived there ever since.

On Glory’s last visit they’d had an excellent conversation about time-travel, its pros and cons. Glory enjoyed the idea of going back in time to fix things that had gone wrong, but Mr. Barnes said it might create new problems that were even worse. Anyway, he said, time is an arrow, pointed in one direction only. The best thing humans could do was make well-informed decisions and prepare for the worst. He could be pretty gloomy at times and apologized for it.

On the counter was a picture of his wife, and daughter, who looked to be about Glory’s age when the photo was taken. She had a big smile on her face and was holding up a sign that had Happy Father’s Day, Dad !! printed on it. Mr. Barnes said both his wife and daughter were smarter than he was by miles, not to mention a lot sweeter.

Glory was about to tap the bell again when she heard voices coming from the basement steps. It was Mr. Barnes talking to Rabbi Seltzer and Father Lamb, who were climbing up behind him. Mr. Barnes loved to talk to anybody about anything, but he especially liked talking to Rabbi Seltzer and Father Lamb.

Listen, Jacob, he was saying to the rabbi, "I already said there’s nothing wrong with the stuff that you and Father Lamb put out. It’s very good stuff. But it’s limited to a lot of abstractions and admirable values. In real life, people-management and brain-power are just as important—sometimes, more-so."

Now you know it’s not that simple, Milo, the reverend said.

"Of course, it is, Father. It’s just common sense, which is also in short supply. Look at how God encouraged Moses to overcome his stuttering, to help him talk to his followers. And my goodness, Jesus was both super-smart and a charmer. It’s right there in the Bible: Charm and brains are the last best hope for humankind, aside from a full-blown Second Coming. Am I right, Glory, or am I right?"

I don’t know, Mr. Barnes, she said uncomfortably.

Excellent answer. The beginning of all true knowledge is avowed ignorance. —Now, how many books do you gentlemen need for this ecumenical jamboree?

We thought maybe a hundred, said the rabbi. If that’s not asking—

Make it a hundred-and fifty and it’s a deal, Barnes said. But I get to pick them.

That would be fine.

Father Lamb smiled. Of course, what you say has some merit, Milo. But charm and intelligence are outside our sphere of influence.

"Well then make a call upstairs—you know, to the Man who writes all of our DNA code. Tell Him what we need now is just a couple of decent upgrades. He’s got the time. Heck, he invented time!"

I’ll see if I can find His number, smiled Father Lamb.

Barnes said he’d send the books over in the morning. Then he shook their hands and thanked them for doing good work.

Shameless dreamers, he said to Glory after they had left. But very sincere and extremely kind, which is all that matters.

What does ‘ecumenical’ mean?

Religions playing together nicely, as they should. There’s going to be a Peace- on-Earth fair in the park on Monday night. —So how’s the Edgar Allan Poe coming along? He’d given her an anthology of Poe’s most famous horror stories. Fun stuff?

Oh sure. But I have been having some fairly far-out dreams from it.

Uh-oh.

She took a Peppermint Patty from a dish he offered. Actually, my mom got pretty ticked off about it. I mean about me reading that kind of ‘over-stimulating’ stuff. I am fairly impressionable.

Oh, he nodded. Your mom’s a pretty smart woman. Maybe you ought to lay off for a while.

"But he does have, like—I mean as—you said, an awesome vocabulary. Like ‘ratiocination’, which I looked up: ‘To think or argue logically’. I used it in a composition with a semi-colon to combine two complete sentences, the way you said. And Mr. Warriner was totally blown away. Mr. Warriner was Glory’s English teacher. But Jeez Louise, Mr. Barnes, ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’—that story scared me half to death—"

Listen, I’m closing a little early today.

Oh?

No, no problem. I just didn’t want you to feel rushed.

Oh. Okay.

He offered another Patty. So go have a browse, old girl. In fact, make it a browse-and-a-half.

You sure?

Absolutely. We’ve got some new things downstairs you might like.

There was a rumble of distant thunder.

Uh-oh, Barnes looked up. I guess it’s not so smart to kid about the Maker of the Universe.

I guess not.

CHAPTER THREE

INVASION EARTH!

AND FIVE OTHER MYSTERIES

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Glory leaned her schoolbag against the counter, took the Patty, then headed for the basement stairs. She remembered saying Have a browse-and-a-half to Ms. Cantor when they were in the library doing a math project. It made her laugh, which was nice. She was having a lot of tsuris that day because of Amalie’s verbal SAT scores. Amalie took the test again after she didn’t get accepted by Harvard in December. When the new scores came back, Ms. Cantor was all smiles. Amalie’s had gone up a lot; Mr. Barnes had tutored her.

Glory most enjoyed the section of books Mr. Barnes had labeled Sort-of Science, with LOL titles like Transylvanian Sunrise, The Spandau Mystery, and The Homopolar Handbook. Today, she found a book called Invasion Earth! (The Roswell Abductions), of which there were three copies. The volume was slender, which she liked, most books being too long. Also, the cover was intriguing, with the picture of a flying saucer hovering over a little house in the middle of a desert. The Editor and/or Author as he called himself was named H.G. Finney, PhD, who also did the graphic renderings (drawings and diagrams).

At first the book looked like another she’d read, which Mr. Barnes had recommended, but when she opened to the first page of Chapter One: The Alien Terror Begins! her eyes bugged out in astonishment. An eighth-grade picture of her brother—a drawing of him anyway—was staring out at her. And behind him was a building that looked a lot like Canarsie Drugs, though it had another name beginning with CHAN. The caption below the picture read: George Edward Livermore, age 13.

Several pages further on, there was another amazing picture—of Glory’s parents—captioned: Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Livermore. The Livermores were sitting in front of a large oval window filled with stars and a section of Saturn’s outer rings. They were dressed in Star Trek-gold jumpsuits. On the facing page was a black-and-white photo of a desert scene, captioned: Roswell, New Mexico. June, 1948.

Glory turned back to the cover to check the Author/Editor’s name: H.G. Finney, PhD. She’d never heard of him but what did that mean? She hadn’t heard of anybody. On the title page she found his Editor’s Note: The following material was compiled in the spring and summer of 2001. Supporting documentation (including charts, recorded transmissions and other relevant data) is available upon request. (See Introduction).

Glory wondered if this is what Mr. Barnes could have meant by new things, though somehow she doubted it.

In the middle of the book there was a glossy insert filled with sky charts and techie-type diagrams, and two drawings of alien creatures. One was mostly humanoid except for bulging eyes and a mouth like a trout. The other was shaped like a green-feathered torpedo with pink three-toed feet and a blue beak. Toward the end of the book was a picture of another humanoid figure in a dark blue suit, standing in front of a building that looked like the Canarsie Middle School.

Now it should be mentioned that ever since turning thirteen, besides having some fitful sleeps and unnerving dreams, Glory had also noticed some very peculiar goings-on. Her mother had told her it was just her imagination playing tricks on her, which is how she explained the burly woman pushing a baby carriage, who’d followed Glory most of the way to school one day. And then a week later, a schnauzer-faced tow-truck driver who’d asked Glory for directions to a house that was just around the corner. Glory’s father said it was common for anyone in this day-and-age to be sensitive about out-of-the-ordinary experiences.

All of which was reassuring enough, except that Glory had just found this book about aliens in Roswell, New Mexico, with a picture of her thirteen year-old brother and another of her parents dressed in spacesuits and calling themselves the Livermores. And it also didn’t help that a squeak-creaking sound was now coming from the other side of the basement, followed by a loud ka-thump (as from a falling book). When she turned to look, she caught a glimpse of a dark blue figure gliding between the bookcases not fifteen feet away.

Mr. Barnes? she said, though Mr. Barnes had been wearing his sweatshirt and jeans, so how could it be him? There was no answer. Then she said, Randy Slack, is that you? Randy Slack was Mr. Barnes’s assistant, though he didn’t usually work on Fridays and also wouldn’t be wearing a suit. But he did fancy himself a jokester, so she was about to ask again when a ferocious lightning strike caused the lights to flicker, and before she could blink, another blacked-out the basement.

At the same moment, an insanely itchy prickling in her nose crescendoed into a sneeze that knocked her glasses half-way around her head, and following that, a cloud of rotting flowers so nauseating it would have gagged a dung beetle appeared from nowhere.

Glory wasn’t great at holding her breath, though she’d practiced a few times in Francine’s aboveground pool. But the smell was so bad that she set a personal best, until she couldn’t hold it anymore and sucked in a desperate lungful of air, expecting the worst. But amazingly, when she inhaled, there was just the faintest scent of lilacs, as might waft on a springtime breeze. And while her eyes burned a little, allergy-like, a wash of tears cooled them off.

"What the heck was that?" she thought.