Normal Like Me

Melchior Qualchamides was a good man. And like any good man, he just wanted love and affection. And why not? He was kind, courteous, and had eyes that could turn back into his head and see his own brain.

This came in handy when he wanted to bypass intellectual processing and get straight to the nitty gritty of what he was really thinking. Like that one time when Lance, the guy who worked at Panty’s Garden Center but also secretly lived there most nights, told Melchior he was interested in their mutual friend Lacie. Melchior himself fancied Lacie and after a quick brain-eye-look was able to better understand exactly how to handle it. What a gift to see one’s own intuition without the burden of overthinking. What a blessing to have a second sight to silence a second guess!

And in case this all sounds weirder than it is, it isn’t. Aside from the seeing-his-own-brain thing, Melchior was a pretty normal guy. For example, it wasn’t like he rolled his eyes up and back into his head like some kind of zombie. Trust me, it was just a simple synchronized 90° binocular movement to the left, and when he was finished his pupils came back out 90° to the right. Pretty standard stuff.

And then sometimes, when the situation called for it, Melchior could also lick his own forehead.

Anyway, Melchior politely suggested to Lance that he was a better fit for Lacie and it’s crazy how communicating your honest thoughts to someone while slowly creeping your eyes back into your head can be enough to make them get the point and be swiftly on their way. After all, ‘Lance and Lacie Lovejoy’ just didn’t roll off the tongue as well as ‘Melchior and Lacie Qualchamides’ did.

But hold on, I should introduce myself. My name’s Dan and I used to be best buds with Melchior back when we were roommates in Pauper’s Crotch, Wisconsin. Even though I haven’t seen him in a number of years, I’d like to think I know him better than most. There are a lot of rumors going around and maybe I can clear some things up. Why don’t we start with the events of September 11, 2001.

Melchior and I found ourselves at a co-worker’s housewarming party and Lacie was there too. She was more than common pretty and if I was feeling poetic, I might say that her blonde hair cascaded over her powder blue sweater like sand into a lagoon. It wasn’t hard to see why he was smitten. She had a demure charm and kept her voluptuous figure hidden under a long chiffon skirt. That intrigued Melchior and as they were both waiting for the bathroom he decided he might as well go for it.

“Everyday thing or pretty serious?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Your bathroom hopes and dreams,” he clarified.

“I was just hoping to powder my nose.”

“Cool. My nose is kind of unique.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my nostrils are like little mouths.”

“Little mouths?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, they don’t bite,” he said with a chuckle.

She remained silent. And still. She was playing dead.

He waited a minute and then a tiny tongue popped out of his left nostril and licked the rim. He gave a ta-da smile and waited for a response.

The bathroom door opened and Lacie clutched the arm of the woman exiting. The woman was confused but got the gist and took Lacie with her.

Just to clear up something from earlier. When Melchior licks his own forehead, it isn’t with the nostril tongues, it’s with his mouth tongue. It’s long and prehensile.

Melchior headed into the bathroom and found he already missed Lacie. Her perfume lingered and it reminded him of that one time when he saw her in the hall waiting for the bathroom. That was a treasured memory of his.

He finished his business and cursed his powerful digestive musks for overwriting Lacie’s soft scent. When he emerged from the bathroom Callum Brost was waiting to use it. Callum and Melchior knew each other from Freckle’s Yoga Stadium — which to clarify, is exactly what it sounds like. Callum played for the Raleigh Vinyasas and all the girls, including Lacie, crowded to the front row of his scrimmages. Melchior wasn’t a yoga man, though he hoped to be one day. He was actually a security guard at FYS.

One more quick thing though. This whole thing has nothing to do with the larger events of September 11, 2001. I feel that’s important to mention.

Melchior gave Callum a cool guy nod and said, “Big game tomorrow, huh?”

“Yeah, I should probably be home getting some sleep.”

“Not me, I’m a bit of a night owl.”

“Cool,” said Callum.

Melchior winked because two nights ago he ate a mouse, and just like an owl, digested it in a throat pouch to later barf up as a ball of bones, teeth, and fur.

“Oh, by the way, are you gonna make a run at Lacie?” asked Melchior.

“Make a run?”

“Yeah, you know, go for it.”

“Uh…”

“Cause if you’re not, I would like to,” explained Melchior.

“Um, I don’t have any plans to,” said Callum with a quizzical look.

Melchior was sensing some weirdness from Callum so he turned his eyes back into his head to see what his brain was thinking. His brain was thinking that Callum was lying and it was pretty clear Callum intended to go whole hog on Lacie.

Melchior rotated his eyes back around to find Callum lumpstruck at what he had just seen. The blood drained from his face and he began vomiting a large puddle into which he would immediately pass out.

Vinegar Jill, who lived up at the quarry, came into the hall to use the bathroom and said, “Guess someone can’t hold their liquor.”

Melchior giggled and gave a what-are-ya-gonna-do shrug. He excused himself and exited through the sliding glass door to the backyard.

He saw Lacie across the pool. On his way over, he snagged a couple of salmon skewers from an hors d’oeuvre table.

Oh, speaking of fish, Melchior had gills too. But not on his neck.

“Imagine us running into each other twice in one night. It must be fate,” Melchior said with salmon on his face. He specifically used his mouth tongue to lick it off as he didn’t want to showboat again.

Lacie was standing with her friend Louiselle. She introduced them “Um, this is Melchior. He’s a security guy at the stadium.”

“Hi,” said Louiselle.

“Hey,” said Melchior and put his hand out for a shake. Louiselle shook it and instantly recoiled. It was unclear to Melchior why. He had five fingers just like everyone else. Well, four fingers and a toe-thumb.

Tustin Wetwater, one of the senior yoga refs, looked over and saw the commotion. “There a problem here?” he said with a puffed chest.

Melchior had a puffed chest as well but that was because his nipples were also functioning air sacs. Nothing sinister though — they were for buoyancy.

“Nope, everything’s honkey-donkey here Tustin,” said Melchior.

“Why does she look so scared then?” demanded Tustin.

A small group of people were beginning to gather and Melchior was feeling crowded. “Time out ref, I was just bringing Lacie a salmon stick. It’s not game day so you can relax your stripes,” joked Melchior.

“You getting smart with me, Qualchamides?”

Melchior was confused by Tustin’s tone so he thought it best to check in with his subconscious brain to see if they were both on the same page. His eyes rotated back to his cranium and uh-oh, Melchior sensed that Tustin was being a jerk. His eyes came back around and the small crowd was staring at him with their mouths agape. Melchior recognized their state because he could unhinge his jaw like a python. So to join in, he did just that.

Everyone screamed. All except Tustin and Lacie. She was frozen stiff and Tustin was grabbing her arm.

“Come on Lacie, we gotta get out of here!” warned Tustin.

Melchior was still a little confused and grabbed Lacie’s other arm to protect her from Tustin. A tug-o-war commenced and Lacie started screaming the scream of a thousand banshees. Melchior naturally assumed it was a mating call and shrieked back accordingly. The two screams combined to create a dual-resonant-frequency and every window on the house shattered like glass.

The partygoers began running scared. Tilde Ramirez, the owner of Delgado’s Plumbing & Loan tripped and fell face-first onto the outdoor barbeque. When she peeled herself off, her head and hands were marionetted to the grill in a cluster of smouldering skin-strings.

In all the commotion, no one noticed the struggle between Melchior and Tustin. Tustin was an accomplished athlete but Melchior had the natural strength of a silverback gorilla. Worth mentioning: his back was actually silver, having hardened over with a polished abalone mucus.

Both men pulled Lacie’s arms but Tustin was no match for Melchior’s brute strength and Lacie slipped from his grip. The release was spring-loaded and she went flying into the swimming pool.

“Lacie!” Melchior and Tustin cried at the same time.