The first moment I liked Zuko, the banished prince from Avatar: The Last Airbender, was in the cave when he said his sister was born lucky and he was lucky to be born. “It's okay. I don't need luck," he said, wounds still fresh on his face. “I've always had to struggle and fight and that's made me who I am."

By the time he stood atop the mountain screaming at the gods, “Come on! Strike me! You've never held back before!" I was hooked. 

I thought of Zuko on that night I cried quietly into my pillow in the big-big house, careful not to wake the girl I shared a room with. 

I thought of all the shit things I'd done. I thought of the shit person I'd been. 

I thought of the little basement I rented from the nice couple with a baby on the way. 

I thought of the way I'd been there. 

For example, one particular day, I sat in the cold water of the bathtub like I did on many other days. 

Taking a few shuddering breaths, I leaned back and plunged myself entirely beneath the surface. 

I searched for the signal. 

It wasn't something I could hear, see, or touch, but something I could sense. 

A thin membrane pulsing with blood wrapped our plane of this universe. 

On the other side, an intelligent species strained to communicate with us. 

We were in grave danger and they knew it. 

They wanted us to know how to defeat it. 

They kept sending the signal, hoping someone would receive it. 

I received it. 

But, it was difficult. 

It took great concentration of a certain type which various things helped with. 

Among them was the cold water of the bath. 

It helped me understand the signal better. 

It helped me interpret the tiny sensations prickling across my skin.

It helped me understand the thin spikes of electricity penetrating my brain as the aliens tried to communicate with me what I needed to know. 

They didn't speak our language, but we communicated through impressions. Little variances in attention that would tell me what I needed to know if I only listened hard enough. 

I let the water drain out of the bath and sat to dry for a while. 

Eventually, I climbed out and drifted through the basement to the mini kitchen. 

I watched a slug eat a dead spider on the floor. 

On the couch sat two day old margarine noodles and the TV was playing the 80th season of something I had going on a loop - some old, C-rated TV show that was free if you watched ads. 

I followed another spider, a delicate one on his trek down the hall behind the stairs. 

At one point, I blew on him gently and he fell over, his hair-like legs draped together on the floor. 

I watched him for a while, but he never got up. 

I owed the nice people upstairs a lot of money. 

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Next page: “Zuko is More Interesting Than Aang.”