• • • • •
The sun has set on the horizon, the big sky etching into darkness. I lie in my bed, staring at the white popcorn ceiling, trying to discern faces or animals. The room grows darker and darker until the house sits quietly in the darkness of the world. But I have an idea.
The stairs creak as I walk down to the living room. The same blue light emits from the TV, silhouetting my dad as he sits reclined in his chair. The volume on the TV is so low that I almost don’t think he can be watching.
My dad, without turning around, says, “Where are you going, Charlie?”
I freeze. “How do you know I’m going anywhere?”
“Because I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Just going out.”
“What does that mean?” My dad has yet to look at me.
“Going to go take a walk.”
“It’s pitch-black out.”
“I just want to get some fresh air. My room is stuffy.”
He finally turns around to face me on the stairs. “You’re not searching for some UFO thing, right? You know they don’t exist. Not only is it a waste of your time, but you know what would happen to us if the town thought you were anything like your crazy mother.”
I just stand there. I don’t believe him. She wasn’t crazy, and aliens do exist. They have to.
“Huh?” he asks more loudly.
“No.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “When are you going to let it go? It’s been years. Why don’t you come have a seat on the couch. We can watch something.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Now. You never want to chill with your old man anymore.”
I put my backpack by the stairs and go sit on the couch with my jacket on. We both sit in the blue glow and the hushed sounds of the TV. Neither one of us speaks.
He watches reruns of something called The Red Green Show on PBS. He takes sips from a can of beer.
I twiddle my thumbs.
Good family time, Dad.
“See, isn’t this fun?”
I yawn. “I think I’m going to go to bed.” I stand up.
“Why don’t you come bowling with me and the guys this week?”
“Uh.” I stand there wondering why I am being invited.
“What do you say?” He seems genuinely excited about having me join him. I’m confused by that. I always figured bowling was his attempt to get away.
“Uhhh . . . Yeah?”
I grab my backpack and walk up the creaky stairs to my bedroom. I sit on my bed and let out a sigh.
Why does he care if I look for UFOs? It’s not like I’m going to shout that fact out to the world.
* * *
It happened as I sat crouched by the window in my room during fifth grade, and he walked in. I was holding binoculars, and he said, “What are you trying to see in the dark?”
I looked at him, back to the window, and back to him. “Uh . . .”
“Don’t tell me your mother has gotten to you?” He walked up to me and kneeled. “Aliens aren’t real, Charlie. And whatever she says is false.”
“But Mom says—”
“I don’t give a damn what your mother says. Stop this nonsense. Here’s some money for a basketball.” Money was particularly tight for us. Mom wasn’t working.
At that time, I was only periodically looking for UFOs. It was a hobby at best.
But now it’s so much more. Because now she’s with them.
* * *
I’m getting pissed that he never believed her and now thinks I’m crazy too. I look out my window and decide that he’s not going to keep me inside. I grab my backpack and open the window. I maneuver onto the roof below and then the tree that’s to the left of my room.
Soon I’m walking the cracked sidewalk, wondering if I should get Tickles. But Geoffrey’s house is dark. I look back at the tiny blue light coming from our front room window.
The woods that lie so close to my house have a quiet maliciousness at night. But I’ve grown up next to them, so I am aware of what lies beyond. I enter the forest of pine trees and wander through until I start my climb up to the top of a hill. I have a flashlight with me, as even a full moon’s light can’t fully penetrate through the trees to the bouncy, needle-thick ground.
When I reach the top of the hill, I find what I was looking for: a barren patch of land with two massive, flat-top rocks. I climb one of the rocks, lie on my back, and put the backpack behind my head. I observe the crystal clear sky and watch the stars. I scan the darkness for fragments of light. Moving light is really what I want to catch, but just because the light moves doesn’t mean it’s a UFO, and just because the light doesn’t move doesn’t mean it’s not a UFO. UFOs can be tricky—especially when they don’t want to be seen.
If I don’t see a UFO, I at least hope to see a shooting star. I’ve seen dozens in my life, and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing them. Every time I see one shoot across the sky, I watch in awe like it’s the first time.
Flashes of Jennifer Bennett rescuing me earlier today flood my mind. I’d like to thank her just so I could have a reason to talk to her, but now I’m super embarrassed because she saved me from getting my ass kicked. How can I ever come back from the humiliation that I can’t stick up for myself? How could a girl ever like a guy like that?
I will never get a chance with her, and I am sick of thinking that someday everything will be different. Nothing ever really changes in my life or around Whitehall. It’s frustrating because it feels like everyone is always trying to keep me down.
I stand up and look straight up to the sky. I put my arms out and I shout, “I’m here! Come get me!”
I’m ready to be taken. I’m ready for a new life. One where I am not so awkward. One without all the responsibilities. One with a whole new set of possibilities. One where I can be with my mom.
“Please! Come get me! I’m ready!”
My gaze doesn’t leave the sky, but nothing happens. I drop my arms and then lie back down on the rock.
Still watching the sky, my back on the cool rock, I manage to fall asleep.