Outlier Radio Pt. 1
Strange frequencies, a blighted small town, and a kid with questions.
The town of Lost Gem was cursed, I was convinced.
The “Drug Store” was like a town landmark. It had been abandoned since the early 2000s. My Dad said the whole town went belly up when industry moved out of the area, or something.
My Dad has a radio show where he talks all about it. He does the whole thing in the basement. It’s not even on the internet. It’s like old fashioned radio frequencies. I told him that nobody even listens to those frequencies anymore. And the area is so small, it’s just several miles. I guess he hijacked the old frequency from the junior college radio station. My Dad just says “the outliers will find me.”
It’s weird. I guess it’s not really a normal life. It’s just me and Dad. He spends a lot of time in the basement, looking over old newspapers. I just see him down there with his lamp on at his desk, covered in clippings and stuff.
He goes on there at random times. Like there’s no set time for the show to start. It just kind of starts when he wants it to start. He calls it “Outlier Radio.”
It’s kind of hard to talk to him sometimes. He’s sort of there, but not there, you know? I mean he comes in, like all crazy, and his eyes dart everywhere, pacing around. I’m just sitting there at the kitchen table, a little round green table under a hanging light, and Dad is all rustled up. He’ll say stuff like, “you eat?”
My Dad just says “the outliers will find me.”
He seems really weird, like far away. I’ll be like, “Yeah, I ate. I just had peanut butter and jelly.”
And he’ll be like, “Arlight. Sorry, I lost track of things. I meant to cook dinner.”
He said something like this every week, usually. The truth is he usually forgot dinner. Some odd nights, he’d rustle up a grilled cheese or something, usually burnt. It was always a chaotic ordeal. Like a grilled cheese is not complicated, but somehow the kitchen looked like a tornado hit it. He’s got bread slices all over the counter and he’s pouring way too much oil in the pan, and fumbling with the little wrappers of that fake plastic-y cheese.
“I can’t believe I forgot,” he said.
I can.
“Uh–you like tomatoes in your grilled cheese? I like tomatoes in mine.”
“Uh, just regular for me.”
He doesn’t say anything back, just kind of shakes the pan like an agitated line cook.
“Hey, you wanna go to the movies this Saturday?” he says.
This is another thing I’ve sort of gotten used to with him. He’d ask me something, then like, blank out, and start a whole new conversation. It was kind of weird. But it was Dad, you know? I just accepted that that’s how he is–his brain is just adjusted to some other frequency I guess I couldn’t hear.
“Uh, sure,” I said.
He slammed down a plate with the grilled cheese in front of me. Not in an angry way. Just in a way like he didn’t really know how loud things were. My grilled cheese was steaming, and had these thick slices of tomato in it. But it actually smelled pretty good.
I took a bite. It was actually not bad. He put a weird amount of pepper on the tomato, which was kind of juicy when I bit into it. The bread was a little burnt. It was all wrong, but it all just worked, somehow.
“They’re playing an old creature feature at the Regional,” he said with his mouth full.
That’s the old movie theater. They mostly played weird old movies. It smelled like fake popcorn butter that was like 50 years old. But it was fun. Dad always seemed to love those movies, so I guess I loved them too.
“Yeah, okay.” I said.
He wholfed down his sandwich as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Because, probably, he hadn’t. I washed down my grilled cheese with some flat cola. I kind of liked it that way.
It was funny. Dad would get sucked into whatever he was doing down in the basement, and then he’d get lost in it, I guess, and then it was like a bolt of lightning hit him and suddenly he remembered he was also a Dad, and also that he needed to eat something to not die. And maybe take a shower.
“Yeah, Creature From the Black Lagoon,” he said. “It’s a good one. It’ll be fun. We’ll get some popcorn and big sodas.” He doused his sandwich triangle in hot sauce, shaking the little bottle as if he was trying to kill it.
“Yeah, sure, Dad.”
I knew there was like a 50-50 chance we’d actually make it to the theater.
After he finished the last of his grilled cheese, he came over to me, and did this other thing he always did. He wrapped me in the most violent hug–as if it was like the last time he was ever going to see me. He’d kiss my forehead like five times and run his fingers through my hair.
“Love you so much, Kid. Best thing that ever happened to me.”
I always knew he meant it, because he was sniffling a little, wiping away a few tears from his eyes. I never quite understood why it was always like that. So emotional all the time. I couldn’t help but get teary too, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe his whole thing was just rubbing off on me.
He stood back up and wiped a few tears away. And then burped a little.
“I’ve made a lot of headway,” he said. “I think I’m going to crack this thing. Soon.”
I never quite knew what that meant.
“Cool,” I said. “That’s great.”
