• • • • •
Things have largely settled down for me. It’s funny how so many things can change and yet so many things stay the same. I’m in my familiar room in the same darkened house, but I’m staring out the window, and I sense an awkwardness to searching the Great Beyond for life, to something that used to feel so normal. Ever since school started and my grandma died, I haven’t been searching for the UFOs outside my house. I’ve been focused on chasing the UFOs in my heart. You know, my dreams.
It’s Friday night, and Seth is on his way over. I finally agreed to let him see my room. I look around at the piles of dirty clothes, the dishes scattered with crumbs, the mess of Charlie Dickens, and I decide not to clean any of it. And not just because I’m lazy, but because this is me. This is how I am.
There’s a knock on the front door, and I hear my dad yell, “Charlie!” He’s still largely confined to a chair and a bed. He’s watching TV in his bed, so the blue light is now relegated to his bedroom and not the entire house. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Though, there’s been one great thing to come out of the accident: I haven’t seen my dad drink a beer since. He’s actually, in a weird way, regaining the life he had before Mom left, as he heals from his fall. He’s healing.
Seth is smiling as I open the door. “Here’s dinner.” He holds a large pizza.
“Yum.”
Up the stairs. My heart beats with every step I take.
My bedroom door is closed. My heart thrums. Hands sweaty. Seth stands behind me in the hallway. Not sure what I’m thinking, but I worry he might not like me after he sees my room. Well, I used to worry about that kind of stuff. Now I think that Seth likes me because of me, which is why I finally agreed to let him come over.
“Charlie,” he says, “open the door. The box is burning my hands.”
The door swings open, and I wait for his first words.
“Hot.” He tosses the box of pizza on the bed and blows air on his hand. He looks around at the four walls that so often confine me. “So this is the great Charlie Dickens’s bedroom.”
I close the door. “Shut up.”
“It’s nice. I mean, it’s a mess, but it’s nice.”
“Let’s just eat. I’m starving.”
“Oh. Is that . . .” Seth walks toward the picture that has been freshly hung above my desk.
“It’s more beautiful now. I hated your taking it at the time, but I’m so glad you did.” I took it home the day she boarded that rocket.
We sit on my bed, and Seth opens the pizza box. “What’s the movie tonight?” he asks.
Seth and I recently started watching sci-fi movies and are making our way down the list of the “Greatest Sci-Fi Films of All Time” (at least according to some website).
“It’s called The Day the Earth Stood Still. It was made in 1951.”
“An old one. You know,” Seth says, “I’m really turning into a sci-fi fan.”
We eat slice after slice of pizza as the movie plays on my laptop. But halfway through this old black-and-white movie, I notice the Montana UFO Sightings book on my bookshelf. I can’t stop thinking about the sticky note at the back. It’s keeping me from enjoying the movie.
Seth notices that I’m distracted while the search is going on for the spaceman. “Something the matter?”
I can’t stop thinking about the number. But I can’t say anything.
Seth puts down his pizza and pauses the movie. “Charlie, what is it? You can talk to me.”
I take a deep breath. “It’s—my dad. He told me recently that my mom . . .” I lose my words again; I can’t speak. I can’t say anything. It feels like my entire world is a lie, and I don’t want whatever rocky foundation I’ve built to come crumbling down. I don’t want this fragile house to bury me and Seth when it does come crashing down. I don’t want him to decide that I’m too much work, that I’m too messed up.
I look at his eyes, which are pleading for answers. He looks concerned.
“Why hasn’t she called? Or fucking emailed? Or even sent a stupid letter? Why did she let me think that she was taken?”
My body feels like a taught string and if pulled any tighter, I’ll snap apart. Done.
“Who? What are you . . . Oh.” Seth’s eyes flash with understanding.
“What did I do to make her hate me? I thought she was the only one who didn’t.” I have to stand up because the pain of sitting here, the pressure of the moment, is too great.
“Charlie,” says Seth, “you know that’s not why. Maybe she’s ashamed? Maybe she thought she had let you down and she couldn’t handle the guilt? She thought your life would be better without her?”
“He gave me her new phone number. Told me to call her.”
“So why don’t you?”
“I can’t. I couldn’t. What would I say?”
“I don’t know. Start with ‘hi’ and go from there.”
I feel tears building in my chest and flowing up to my eyes. But I can’t sob. I can’t cry in front of Seth. I can’t . . .
I can’t hold the tears back anymore. I slide down the side of my desk to the floor.
Seth comes over, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he reaches out his hands, encouraging me. I put out my hands, and he pulls me up. I’m barely standing before Seth wraps his arms around me.
I feel my foundation crumbling. But he’s not letting it bury me. Or him. Or our friendship. I see the picture out of the corner of my eye. We’ll help each other up. That’s what best friends do.
Later that night, after saying good-bye to Seth, I notice the blue light coming from my dad’s room. Nervously I walk in. I’m not sure what I want to say to him.
“Hey, Charlie. Did I hear crying in your room earlier? I wasn’t sure.”
I clear my throat. “Ah. Yeah.”
“Was it—Did you call your mother?” I see in my father’s eyes his genuine interest. His genuine love for me. I feel loved in a way that I haven’t felt from him in a long time. But maybe I’m also growing up. Maybe I’ve lived more experiences and can see that he’s loved me all along. Even when it appeared otherwise.
“Not yet,” I say. “But—someday.”
“Someday is the perfect time.” He smiles. Then he says, “And, Charlie, I’m here if you need me. You know that, right? I’ll be . . . around more.” His eyes fill with tears.
I look at the man in front of me. A man who looks tired, who looks weak, who looks broken. I hate seeing that, so I bend over and hug him as best I can, given that he’s in bed.
He chuckles. With a voice full of tears, he asks, “What’s this for?”
But I just keep hugging him, and I feel his arms come around me. Then I say, “Thank you, Dad.” Thank you for doing your best. For trying to help me—even if you don’t always know how.
“You’re welcome, Charlie.”
“Dad?” I say into his chest. “I love you.”
He holds me tighter.
The earth stands still.