• • • • •
When I open the front door and look into the living room, I find my dad watching TV on the new flat-screen he purchased. Never mind that the washing machine sucks or that the lawn mower hasn’t worked right in years. He saved up for a larger TV to replace a perfectly functioning one. I guess that really only bothers me because I am the one who has to deal with the laundry and the yard.
There are five empty beer cans on the coffee table next to his recliner. The living room is dark except for the blue light coming from the TV, which only slightly illuminates my dad. The light makes his vacant, glossy eyes and rigid body appear zombielike. He has been drinking more ever since my mom disappeared. I think he’s mad that the aliens wanted her more than he did.
“Hi, Dad,” I say as I enter the living room.
Without diverting his eyes away from the TV, he says, “You smell.” He’s referring to the grease smell that usually accompanies me home from a shift at Rod’s.
The funny thing is that my dad always smells like alcohol when he gets home. Really, I should be the one telling him that he smells. But I keep my mouth shut—always the safest bet, I’ve found, with anything. Keeping my mouth shut has been how I’ve managed to get this far.
“How was work?” he asks.
“Fine.” I say good night and trudge up the narrow stairway to the bathroom to shower.
After my shower, I’m tired, but I have to stand in front of my bedroom window and stare out into the Great Beyond. I don’t want to miss another opportunity. The aliens have to be coming back soon, right? And why not tonight?
But I grow tired of standing after twenty minutes, so I crawl into bed. I’m comforted by knowing that if a UFO arrives, it’ll wake me up with the loud noise and bright light. Right?
The world outside stays dark, and with my lamp now turned off, my room quickly settles back into its tomb-like feeling.