Ten years ago we were a friendly desert community, where the sun was hot, the moon was beautiful, and mysterious lights passed overhead while we all pretended to sleep. Now we’re still all of those things but we also have the new Adidas outlet at the mall. Welcome to Night Vale.

Ok, well today is the day. Carlos is on the way to the station, and he should be here very soon, and I will get to present him with his surprise. I am holding the certificate. There isn’t usually a certificate, but I insisted, and printed one out myself. There should always be something tangible to mark the really important intangibles.

You see, Carlos arrived in town ten years ago today. And after ten years, he is now officially part of the town of Night Vale, just as much as Station Management, and the Brown Stone Spire, and Barks Ennui, the crime dog. He belongs to Night Vale, and Night Vale belongs to him, and no one can take that away.

I got him a certificate. I couldn’t find any appropriate templates so it has a picture of a man golfing and word art that says “‘GRATS TO MY GRAD” but I think he’ll get the idea.

Ok, if you see him on his way here, please don’t let him know. Oh he’ll be so excited.

Looking back at these ten years makes me think about everyone else who went through this decade-long journey with me. Take Dana Cardinal. Ten years ago she was a high school senior, editor of the school paper, with a strong interest in a career in journalism. She became an intern here at this very station, and you could say that really launched things for her. Specifically, she was launched into the same desert otherworld where Carlos was once trapped, and then she became mayor of Night Vale, and then she wasn’t mayor anymore and we’ll never have a mayor again, yadda, yadda. Now here we are ten years later, and Dana lives a quiet life. She works as a therapist. I asked her “don’t you usually need a degree for that kind of thing” and she said “yes” and then changed the subject. Mostly though she relishes the quiet. No longer being in the public eye. No longer having me talk about her on the radio all the…oh. You know what, never mind. Let’s talk about something else.

Continuing our look back at these ten wonderful years, let’s talk about Lights, seen in the sky above the Arby’s. Not the glowing sign of Arby’s. Something higher and beyond that. Now we all understand the lights above the Arby’s. Except they are no longer the lights above the Arby’s. Not since Rudy Arby, owner of Arby’s Discount Shoes, which the lights floated above, closed up shop and was replaced by Burger King. Yes, Janet Burgerking’s sportswear and tuxedo rental sits where the Arby’s once was. But we still understand the lights. Listeners, the future is here, and it’s about a hundred feet above the Burger King.

An update on our top news story: Carlos called and said that as long as he’s out, he just needs to pop into the Ralphs and pick up some stuff for dinner. Which is so thoughtful of him, and I love him taking on that responsibility, but also: I can’t wait much longer. To be the one to get to tell the love of my life that this town is his, for as long as he wants it. To get to express that sense of belonging to one who was once unsure of his belonging, well I want to do it right away. But that is a selfish impulse. This day is not about me. It’s about Carlos. And, anyway, stopping at the grocery store so you’ll have something to make dinner with, isn’t that all just part of belonging to a town? Isn’t every life lived day to day, and isn’t every day lived moment to moment? Isn’t it? Really, if you know the answer, please call in. I don’t have a strong handle on how time works.

But speaking of time, it’s time to look at time as it applies to a person… ok, I said “time” too many, uh, times and this time the word has lost all meaning for me. So let’s just look at ten years of Steve Carlsburg. Ten years ago, I’d say things were pretty much like they are now. Steve has always been one of my favorite people. Our relationship has always been close and friendly. Yeah, not much to say there. Steve’s a big sweetie, and I’ve always thought so. Not like that Susan Willman, or Huntokar, or whatever she’s calling herself now. Ugh.

And now a word from our sponsors

I took a walk on the cool sand dunes, brittle grass overgrown, and above me, in the night sky, above me, I saw… My baser instincts tell me that I am merely basic needs, but on my good nights I am also grace and light. My alarm clock tells me that I am not enough, but my dreams tell me there is a sprawling within me. There is no end to what could be accomplished with eggs, if we really applied ourselves. My teeth taste like orange rinds. My tongue tastes like cherry lipstick. My breath smells like freshly hewn wood. I took a walk on the cool sand dunes, brittle grass overgrown, and above me, in the night sky above me, I saw.

This message brought to you by Coke Zero. It is almost as if we weren’t. [note: this is using “were” in the meaning “existing”, so it’s meaning is “It is almost as if we weren’t (in existence)”]

Oh! Oh! The door to the producer’s booth is opening. This must be Carlos. Hi Carlos, surprise!…oh! It’s my niece Janice. Right, right. She’s looking for ways to get some more credits at college, and she’s considering interning at the station. Janice, I told you this before, I do not recommend that. Why? I… uh… don’t know why. It’s just, not for you, ok?

Have you thought about interning at City Hall? The Hall of Public Records could probably use your advice on better security. In any case, have you seen your Uncle Carlos? He was outside the Ralphs? Caught in a conversation with Telly the Barber? Well, it’s nice that he has found it in his heart to forgive Telly for that vile haircut. My own heart remains void of that particular bit of forgiveness. But I do hope Carlos hurries. I just can’t wait. Now get out of this radio station, Janice. Intern literally anywhere else. Is the abandoned missile silo outside of town taking applications? It’s a hard internship to get, but highly prestigious.

We have time for one more retrospective, and who else could it be but Tamika Flynn? A decade ago, Tamika was eleven years old, can you believe that? She hadn’t yet gone through the summer reading program, hadn’t yet returned with the head of a librarian, hadn’t yet created her teen militia that helped save our town from Strexcorp and a Smiling God. No, she was merely an eleven year old who loved books and what can be done with books, like reading, collecting, and hurling at wrongdoers. Now she is a member of City Council, a responsible adult like any of us. She still loves collecting books, but she doesn’t hurl them at bad people as much anymore. She still totally does do that. Oh man, does she do it. Just not as much.

And what next for Tamika? Well, she’s 21. She doesn’t need to know what’s next. I don’t know what’s next, and I’m…whatever age I am. I have no idea.

Another look back: let’s talk about the house that doesn’t exist. You might remember that this house was in the old development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school. The house seemed like it existed. Like it was just right there when you looked at it, and it was between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to have been there than not. But the house simply wasn’t there. Also it served as the gateway into a desert otherworld where Carlos was stuck for a year because he wasn’t from Night Vale, and so the old oak door wouldn’t let him back through. That’s all basic science, and it was really difficult, but maybe it was good for us. The time apart strengthened our relationship. As they say: “if you can do long distance, ok great, but not having to do it is better.” Of course, that will never be a problem again, because now Carlos belongs to our town. I have the certificate to prove it. He should be here soon to pick it up.

Anyway, the house that doesn’t exist got torn down by the city last year. We’re trying to address the housing crisis with more high density buildings, and so now it is an apartment building that doesn’t exist. Like it’s just right there when you look at it, but the apartment building definitely isn’t there. This is much better for housing more people, more affordably. Also, it’s still a gateway to the Desert Otherworld, so please be careful.

Oh! Oh! Carlos is here! Ok, I’m going to hide the certificate. And, here he is. Hi honey!

CARLOS: Hey pumpkin. What’s up? I was in the middle of an experiment. I had heated up a green colored chemical until it was bubbling, and then I pointed an orange laser at it, and wrote a bunch of numbers on a chalkboard. I’m expecting some really groundbreaking results.

CECIL: I’m sure. And, you will do your hometown proud.

CARLOS: My hometown?

CECIL: Of Night Vale! Here’s a certificate. After ten years, you are officially a member of this community. Night Vale’s weirdness is finally your weirdness. You are threatened by, and protected by, this town as much as any of us.

Listeners, Carlos is overcome. He is looking at the certificate. Did you know I designed that certificate myself?

CARLOS: Oh, I knew that, sweetie. You sure love Comic Sans. But…

CECIL: Carlos…Carlos what’s wrong. Why are you crying? I….listeners, please hold on, I’m going to take you to the weather.

[WEATHER: “Ten Years Later” by Joseph Fink https://josephfink.bandcamp.com/ ]

CARLOS:

I am once again thinking about the series of ongoing actions that we perceive as the present. And the amassing of memories that we treat as the past. And the hopes and dreams and worries and fears that we project as the future. I am thinking about time and how it’s so finite and also so infinite, but not infinite enough. Never quite infinite enough, not really.

And I am thinking about space, which is merely a concept applied by humans to all that is not human around them. We believe our subjective to be the universe’s objective, but we are mistaken. Space is what we fill with it. Ideas, other people, walls and windows, a sun, a moon, sand between our toes. We add it up to whatever is meaningful to us.

And I am thinking about a town, which is just a collection of objects and people, no more meaningful than any other. Any arrangement of objects and people could be a household or a town or a city or a state or a country. An entire world. Arbitrary lines, drawing arbitrary boundaries. But this one we call Night Vale, and it has been my home for ten years.

When I was not able to go back through the old oak doors because I was not from Night Vale, it hurt. It called into question my standing among the people I loved, and so I did not hurry home. Cecil doesn’t know how long that time apart was from my perspective, and he never will. Time is a funny thing. A joke with a sad punchline.

It is nice, I suppose, this piece of paper. The idea that I belong. But I did not need a piece of paper. I did not need to be told I belong to this town. Because this town belongs to me. It is an artificial set of boundaries around an arbitrary collection of objects and people, and I am one of those people. I help set those boundaries. I started contributing to the definition of this town the moment I set foot in it.

My son was born here. My husband too. But all of us live here. I love my son, and my husband, and I love Night Vale too. I don’t need any piece of paper to tell me that Night Vale loves me back. Here’s to ten, twenty, a lifetime more of years in this desert town. Time, both finite and infinite, but never infinite enough.

Still, this certificate is very cute and it was nice of Cecil to make it. I’ll hang it up in my lab, next to the photo of Hidetaka Miyazaki at his Nobel Prize ceremony. [pronounced: hee·day·TAA·kuh mee·uh·ZAA·kee]

Here’s to Night Vale forever. However long forever ends up lasting.

CECIL: Ok, sorry about that. I had to pop into the bathroom to feed the kittens and…oh, Carlos is gone. But he took the certificate. Did he seem excited? I bet he was. So excited. I’ll listen back later.

Ten years. Not that long in the grand scheme of things, I guess. But we don’t live in The Grand Scheme do we? No, our personal schemes are much more modest. And ten years is a lot to me.

Thank you all for listening, and I hope you’ll keep listening. I’ll still be here, the voice of your community, coming to you wherever you listen. This all mattered to me, every minute of it. I hope it mattered to you too.

Stay tuned next for a woman’s voice listing a bunch of names for some reason and then saying a proverb.

And from my Night Vale, to yours.

Good night, Night Vale, good night.

Post credits:

DR LUBELLE: Hi, this is Dr. Janet Lubelle with the University of What It Is. A Kareem Nazari got in touch with us and explained about your weird little desert town, and it sounds simply fascinating. A scientifically rich hotspot We are sending a team right away. We cannot wait to figure out why every part of your town is the way it is. We’re going to find an explanation for every little thing, don’t worry. We’ll be there soon. Hopefully the next time we speak, it’ll be in person.

Bye bye now.