Encounters Out There

My day started like every morning—I got up, brewed coffee, dressed my dog, grabbed a newspaper, and headed out to the park.

I sat down on my favorite bench, which was usually available. While my dog did her business, I read the newspaper and secretly watched people around me. I saw the usual dog walkers, joggers, and couples going for a stroll.

The newspaper read with the usual melodrama—crime, politics, threats of war, and impending doom and gloom—pretty much everything pessimistic.

As I read the paper, I casually glanced up. I saw a couple argue, and their dispute quickly turned into name-calling. The woman said she had enough, and the man stormed off. She sat on a bench across from us and whimpered.

The scene wasn't too uncommon. I've seen my share of arguments in the park, including violent ones.

My dog and I watched her with pity. But we knew not to get involved.

As the woman cried, we saw a strange-looking woman stroll along the path. She wore a white monkish style robe, with her hair in braids. She had a bright smile and danced as if music played in her head—but she wasn't wearing earphones.

I thought at first, "Oh great a mental case, keep my dog close, so she doesn't growl or bite the crazy lady."

The strange woman walked up to the sad woman and gave her an unannounced hug. That's when something highly unusual happened …

The sad woman stopped whimpering. She smiled, giggled, laughed out loud, tossed her phone behind her, and danced in sync with the crazy lady as though they both listened to the same imaginary song.

I wondered if drugs were involved, but she reacted too quickly and coordinated, as though they shared the same thoughts.

From retrospect, that's when it all started …

The two of them danced away, and I never saw them again. I went back to work at home and thought nothing of it. My memory of the incident faded like a forgettable dream.

I started the next day with my morning routine.

But as I looked around, strangers danced in the park, giggled, and laughed, as if someone hosted a big party. None of my regular dog walkers and joggers showed up.

Then, I read the newspaper. Colorful euphemistic language replaced the typical dark and cynical articles. Someone cleverly edited the stories to make them happier.

I freaked out, so I hastily went home. I passed by the dancers who laughed and smiled, and I smiled back, so they left me alone.

The following day around noontime, I left my dog at home and went grocery shopping. I saw grown adults play with food as they tossed fruits and vegetables—giggled, danced, and laughed. The grocery store workers seemed to ignore them.

The store manager wasn't so tolerant. He lectured the dancers, and that's when I first observed the pattern. The happy dancers hugged him, and he transformed into just like them. The workers looked shocked and ran away, but the dancers chased them down, surrounded them, and hugged them.

I had a moment of insight, so I smiled and casually danced. The dancers left me alone and treated me like one of them, so I managed to escape and go home.

I can see the entire park from my apartment, so with binoculars, I've watched recurrences of the same pattern. A happy person hugged a sad or angry person, and they danced, giggled, and laughed.

A bystander often watched in shock, but if they ran, a group chased after them, engaged in a group hug, and everyone danced together.

Before long, crowds of people regressed in age to a childlike behavior—but more than that, they became euphoric, and everything appeared to them as joyful.

Over time the newspaper shortened to pages having only announcements for meetups and playful gatherings. The world became an amusement park. I no longer saw anyone chasing another; everyone danced, laughed, and played.

I found it challenging to put up a façade, but I learned to dance in sync to survive and put on a good act.

One time I did slip, but thankfully they must have a short memory. That day, I ran for my life and hid behind a dumpster in an alley till the late evening. I heard my poor dog whimper and bark when I came home. I worried that she'd get hugged—as the contagion also affected animals.

From that point forward, I trained her never to bark or whimper when she's alone. I felt guilty for my strictness, but I had no choice for our survival if she wanted to keep being herself, and I wanted to keep being myself.

Many days later. Or perhaps weeks or months …

I spent every day with my dog and avoided other people. At some point, I forgot about work. People seemed uninterested in anything else. All-day long, they played, laughed, and danced.

One morning, however, was atypical of the past. I heard loud music emanate from the sky. A giant ship came out of the clouds and landed in the park. It opened with a big ramp, and droves of people arrived with great enthusiasm and entered it.

The ramp closed, and the ship flew off.

Every week since then, it's happened—the ship arrived and picked up the happy people. I've wondered if it'll run out of people, but if they procreate, there's no reason to think it'll ever stop.

Off to a better place? Lambs to the slaughter? I've guessed at the answer but never found it. I'm unsure I wanted to know the truth.

So here we are, alone, my dog and I, with a world to ourselves. There might be others out there, in hiding, but I may never know. Who else wants to take a chance and get hugged?