I Want to Believe

We were on Interstate 40. I knew this by the little roadside red and blue shields the headlights picked out every so often. We’d left Albuquerque airport with no trouble. A high-speed chase between a motorhome and half a dozen police cars might have been fun, but it wasn’t to be, not tonight. And, anyway, that sort of thing is probably more enjoyable to watch than be part of.

Jennifer chatted as I took in the RV’s strange interior. There was a huge poster occupying most of the wall directly in front of us. A flying saucer hovered over trees and the phrase ‘I want to believe’. There were half a dozen copies of a magazine called Fortean Times on a small table.

You might think I felt creeped out, threatened even, by the driver and his two friends. But it would take something special to be more threatening than the Cowboy, with his manner, moustache and matiness with local law enforcement.

‘Why were you in Albuquerque?’ asked Jennifer.

It was an innocent, simple question. All three answered at once, though, and quickly.

‘Sightseeing,’ said John.

‘Business,’ said Richard.

‘Big … fishing?’ said Mary, not convincing even herself.

I know Jennifer wanted to catch my glance in order to roll her eyes, but I pretended I was lost in thought, doing some deep contemplation like a proper adult. I was soooo tired, sitting strapped into the sofa, my arm stretched across the top of its cushioned back, away from Jennifer. I stared vacantly through the thick plastic window, a bubble from the side of the vehicle. Was it desert outside? That darkness past the dull glow of the road? It wasn’t hot, but maybe this was down to the air conditioner being set to freezing. I missed my stolen coat. The flimsy clown shirt was as effective as tissue paper in keeping me warm.

(Our wigs sat abandoned like dead pets on the motorhome’s thin carpet. We were now only two-thirds clown.)

I tried to zone out, to clear my mind and exist in the moment, like the YouTube clips in wellbeing lessons say to do. At moments like this, when me and Jennifer weren’t rushing about, it was difficult to escape a feeling of creeping dread like I was slowly being covered by a blanket of PANIC. A PANIC blanket.

‘Have you heard of Area fifty-one?’ asked John, the driver. It’s hard to feel mindful when forced to listen to conspiracy theories. ‘It’s an air force facility in Nevada. They store, examine and reverse-engineer technologies rescued from crashed extra-terrestrial spacecraft. Roswell, for instance.’

‘Ros-what?’ asked Jennifer.

‘Roswell, New Mexico. The first documented crash landing of an alien craft. Bodies were recovered.’

‘Okaaaaay,’ said Jennifer.

I made a mental note to tell her later about the dad of a kid in the year below who’d fallen off his bike and had woken up believing the world to be flat.

‘Kevlar, the heat-resistant material. Fibre optics, night vision, laser cutting, the integrated chip: all “discovered” after Roswell.’

Richard sighed theatrically.

‘What?’ said John.

‘You’re talking too much.’

‘And the problem is? You think Bozo and her friend are with “them”? They’re clowns! No offence.’

‘Trust nobody,’ said Richard. He had a nasal voice and I was coming to the decision that I didn’t like him. ‘And especially when they’re dressed as clowns.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Mary.

Jennifer puffed out her cheeks. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the lift, anyway. I never knew conspiracy theorists could be so nice.’

The RV screeched to a halt, throwing me into Jennifer. The furniture shifted with a noise that sounded like a groan. It was a good job there wasn’t anyone directly behind us or we’d have been in a pile-up.

The three up front turned their bodies and craned their necks to face us. It didn’t look very comfortable. Their mouths were zigzags of anger.

‘We’re no conspiracy theorists,’ said John from under his cap, in a voice like a puppy growling.

‘We prefer the nomenclature “ufologists”,’ said Richard. He pronounced it ‘u-follow-jists’.

‘And we are nice,’ said Mary. ‘So nice.’

‘Too nice,’ said Richard. ‘I’m always saying. Aren’t I always?’

‘Sorry,’ said Jennifer, obviously worried that we were about to get thrown out. ‘I didn’t realise.’

The three turned back to the windscreen.

‘No problem,’ said John, shifting the gear into drive, voice light and carefree. ‘It’s one of those things.’

The RV shuddered back into motion. Jennifer wide-eyed me, motioning with her good hand like I should say something. I cleared my throat.

‘I saw some weird lights in the sky once.’

Now Jennifer side-eyed me. Could I do anything right?

‘Tell us,’ said Richard, turning again, like I’d said I had a bucket of KFC going free.

‘Do you mind if I record you?’ said Mary, her phone already raised. ‘For documentary purposes.’

I shrugged. ‘Well …’

Should I make something up? My story wasn’t great. It didn’t deserve to be recorded.

‘It was a dark and stormy night. My phone had stopped working. But it had probably run out of charge. There was an eerie electric feel to the air.’

‘Classic signs,’ said Mary.

Richard shushed her.

‘And I looked out of my bedroom window and I saw this crazy triangle of lights in the sky, kind of moving in and out of the clouds.’

I made the mistake of catching Jennifer’s eye. Her lips wobbled in a kind of foreshock before the main laughter earthquake.

‘Carry on,’ said Richard.

‘Lovin’ it,’ said John.

I spoke quietly. ‘It turned out to be an EasyJet flight to Malaga. Mum has this app where you—’

Laughter exploded from Jennifer like a geyser. Instantly she covered her mouth with her good hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

Richard spoke like he hadn’t heard her.

‘It’s not unknown for crafts of extra-terrestrial origin to disguise themselves as commercial aircraft,’ said Richard. ‘For your information.’

This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to get trapped in, so I tried changing topic.

‘How far from California are we?’ I asked, turning to Jennifer, dismissing all thoughts of aliens and mindfulness. She frowned. ‘A distance, right?’

My insides danced with painful energy. They knew the answer already.

‘Like a loooong way,’ said Jennifer. ‘Like seeeeeven hundred miles.’ Then she realised why I’d asked: my scene was shooting at noon. Today. ‘Oh.’ She leant across, putting an arm round my shoulder. I shook my head, looked to my lap. If we’d taken a train, we’d have maybe made it. If we’d flown, we’d have got there in the morning. Now that we were driving … ‘But we can still do it.’ She called to John. ‘How long to Vegas?’

‘Nine hours,’ he said. ‘Eight, maybe.’

‘And how far’s Hollywood from there?’

‘A distance. Maybe four hours if you’re driving. Now, if you had a craft propelled by gravity control, you’re talking minutes.’

Richard and Mary grunted agreement.

(It was about two in the morning. Eight plus four is twelve. Minus the time difference that meant one in the afternoon arrival time. And that’s if everything went smoothly, which wasn’t my experience of America. We’d arrive late, but close enough to make missing the scene all the more needlingly painful.)

‘Oh,’ said Jennifer in a very un-Jennifer way. ‘And they definitely said midday?’

She wasn’t even persuading herself. Because there’s no cheating the ticking of time. Clocks won’t do you favours.

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s only a stupid film. It would’ve been lame anyway. Like Doctor Bong or someone.’

(Doctor Bong is a superhero with a bell for a head. He can make things happen by bonging. He’s not great.)

‘Is everything okay?’ asked John, glancing in the rear-view mirror.

‘Did someone say bong?’ asked Mary.

Jennifer rubbed my back as I leant forward, head in hands, but otherwise taking it like a legend.

‘Jay was meant to be in a movie,’ she said. ‘Today.’

‘Was it a clown movie?’ asked John, grinning like an idiot. ‘At the clown expo?’

‘Superhero,’ I said. ‘A superhero movie.’

‘Sorry, hon, even with the time difference, you’re not going to make it.’

I’d failed. I wasn’t getting to Hollywood on time. People talk about dreams coming true all the time. And they mean stupid stuff like a takeaway pizza or their football team scoring. I’d won a competition to appear in a superhero movie. And I never win anything. It was literally a dream come true, a once-in-a-lifetime event.

But, you know what, catching a lift across Arizona with UFO nuts, being pursued by a US marshal (retired) and doing it all alongside the most kick-ass person I’d ever met (and one with a plastic bag full of tens of thousands of dollars), I was kind of enjoying myself in a way I never really had before.

‘It sucks,’ said Jennifer. ‘Really. But, y’know, it’s not over till it’s over. Road trips never work out the way you think they will. That’s their second rule.’

‘What’s the first?’

‘You don’t talk about what happened on them.’

‘Right.’

We laughed. A connection. That diamond sparkle of her eyes. Maybe I should move to the States? Like permanently. People do. I could tour Hollywood when I was older. I could become a world-famous actor and star in superhero films then too. I’d have a Hollywood house with a swimming pool, one of those ones where the water level matches the horizon. It was fiiiine. In America anything is possible.

(And child actors always get messed up and never make it big, anyway, so—)

Doctor Bong, Doctor Bong, I kept thinking. Only Doctor Bong.

How I was going to break all this to my parents I had no idea.