Eighteen

We’ve been in Aztec, New Mexico, for over three weeks. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far, everything’s been calm. It’s serene here. It’s hot during the day but you seem to be managing the heat well. It’s nice and cool in the evenings. We probably should have gone farther. We probably should have kept driving. Maybe L.A., maybe farther. Maybe Mexico would have been safer. I don’t know. But here we are, still in Aztec. I think you’ve decided that you want to stay here. I don’t think we’ll leave unless someone chases us away. That could happen at any minute. We’re ready. I think we’re more ready than last time. But for now, this place seems like home.

It was a lot easier to find work here than in Charleston. I knew a trade now. At least I knew enough to lie about how much I knew. Frank was a good teacher. I like the guys that I work with here. My boss is Mexican. His son works with us too. He was born in New Mexico. I’m the gringo. They like that. They like that the white guy is the low man on the totem pole.

We found a place to live. Jumping from place to place didn’t help us any before, so we decided that staying in one place might be less conspicuous. We’re renting a small house out in the desert. We pay weekly, up-front, in cash. There’s no one else around us. When you look out the back windows, you can see for miles. Most importantly, we got you in to see a doctor. He wants to see you regularly from now through the birth. I told him that there was only so much we could afford. He didn’t want to hear it. “Just come in every two weeks,” he said. Maybe someday we can repay him somehow. Our son is doing well. We’re not out of the woods yet, but he’s still growing, still developing. There haven’t been any complications since we’ve been here. Still, on the doctor’s advice, you stay off your feet as much as possible, lying in bed, reading books I buy for you from the convenience store in town. Your stomach gets bigger every day, your body changing shape for our son.

We never planned on staying, not in Aztec. When we got here, you needed to eat. You’d slept for almost twelve hours straight and were starving. We pulled into a small place for breakfast and sat at the counter. You began talking to the woman behind the counter who was serving us. She’d lived in Aztec her whole life. You started asking questions. She told us where we could find a place to stay if we wanted one. When I told her I was a carpenter, she mentioned a couple places where I might be able to find work. She didn’t ask us questions. She didn’t ask where we’d come from. She didn’t seem to care. People pass through Aztec. That’s just the type of place it is. I wonder how many people who pass through here are running from something.

After breakfast, we decided to take a little walk before getting back into the car to stretch our legs. It was a bright and sunny day. A few other people were out on the street, just enough to drive out the silence but no more than that. The little street was lined with shops. We seemed to pass a church every few blocks. You looked into the windows of the stores as we passed. I just kept looking at the faces of the other people on the street, looking to see if I would recognize one from that night in Charleston. We were walking slowly, worn out, and in no rush to get back into the car, since we didn’t have a destination anyway. We were tired, tired of running and just plain tired.

One of the shops we passed advertised itself as a UFO museum, though it was a bit of a stretch to call it a museum. As soon as you saw it, though, you asked me if we could go inside. I couldn’t see why not. The place didn’t seem any less safe than any other place. We stepped inside, walking down a long aisle full of movies and books about UFOs that were for sale. There wasn’t really much to look at except some old photos. You seemed to find it all fascinating. You walked toward the back of the museum, running your fingers over the old VHS tapes. Each one claimed to show, beyond a shadow of a doubt, evidence of alien visitations. While I didn’t have an opinion on the matter, I didn’t doubt that something like that could be covered up. The old man behind the counter looked up from his book for only a second, eyeing you as you perused his collection of memorabilia. He smiled at you and then went on with his reading. You walked to the back wall to look at some pictures. They were pictures taken at festivals celebrating the UFOs. You placed your hands behind your back and leaned forward, peering at the faces of the people in the pictures. You walked past more books, more videotapes. I stood near the door, trying not to forget that we still had to be careful. You pulled one of the VHS tapes off the wall, looked at the cover, and smiled. It was good to see you smile.

You put the videotape back and walked over to the front counter. I just watched you. You walked over to a large fishbowl that was on the counter, full of tiny plastic aliens. You picked one up out of the bowl and held it in your hand. It was a little green man with large eyes and a silver space suit. There was a sign on the fishbowl that said, “Adopt an Alien.” It claimed that for one dollar you could adopt an alien and all donations would go toward UFO research. You lifted the little green man to show it to me. “Look, Joe,” you said. “They love him.” Your faced beamed, you looked happier than I’d seen you since the first week we spent together.

I adopted you an alien. We haven’t thought about leaving since.

It’s been over three weeks since that day. I’m sitting in a foldout chair behind our home writing this to you while you nap inside. I’ve started running again. Every day your belly gets bigger and you seem happier. Your skin is darker now, tanned by southern sun. You look vibrant. I look forward every morning to watching you climb out of bed and get dressed. You get up at the first light of dawn so you can cook breakfast for me before I go to work. Every morning I watch you in the dim blue light as you climb out of bed, pull off the T-shirt you were sleeping in, and get dressed. I know that you can feel me watching you. You don’t seem to mind.