You sit
alone staring into the night sky. It’s a ritual now. Something you have to do
every night. Waiting for the spaceship to come back and take you away. Like you
were promised so many years ago. You wait until you hear the world coming to
and then you pack up your lawn chair and a thermos of coffee and the remnants of
the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
You yawn
and rub your eyes.
You check
your watch. There’s not much time left before work. Maybe enough time for a
nap. Or shower. Not both.
Nap.
Sleep is as
elusive as the spaceship you watch for, but you’re used to it.
You’re up
immediately when the alarm goes off. You usually lay there, stuck in some state
somewhere between asleep and awake until the last minute. You’ve got to see Dr.
Santos today and you don’t want her to know you’ve been up all night again.
You pull
your hood up. Wild hair sticks out, ready to face the world.
“Jonathon,”
the receptionist says. “Dr. Santos will see you now.”
You tell
her thanks quietly and politely and get up and walk down the hall that leads to
Dr. Santos’ office.
She says
hello as you enter. You return the courtesy.
“How are
you doing?” She always jumps right in. Something you have grown to appreciate.
“I’m
actually doing well.”
“Are you
doing okay without your medication? I’m still not convinced that was the best
route.”
“I’m doing
fine.”
“Are you
doing your cognitive therapy workbook?”
“Yes,” you
lie. Flipping through the pages every now and then and half-assing a couple of
exercises count as “doing the workbook,” right?
“And the
exercises are helping?”
You shrug.
“They're not hurting.”
She watches
you for a moment. Looking for a tell.
“Have you
been sleeping?” Always her second question.
“No, not
really.”
“Are you
staying up all night watching for spaceships?”
“No.”
Defensively. Did you slip up and clue her in? Did she catch a tell? “Work has
been a bit stressful, it’s been keeping me up a little late.” You wait silently
as she looks you over, you are still unsure if she is not you or not. “I put in
for that promotion like we talked about.” You mime throwing a hat.
“That’s
good, Jonathon.” She seems genuinely excited for you.
“Yeah, I’m
hoping I get it, but you know. If I don’t it’s not the end of the world.” The spaceship is coming to get me anytime
now, anyway so what does it matter, you think.
“You have
to put yourself out there.”
You nod. “I
got invited to go bowling with some folks from work.”
You see a
visible change in the doctor’s face. “Are you going?”
You don’t
answer right away.
“You should
go.” She says.
“I don’t
know,” you say. “I don’t know those guys really well.”
“Well then
go. Get to know them.”
You nod
slightly. It would interfere with your other plans.
You’ve
watched the skies for a long time now. Since you were 12. When you first met
him. The one who promised to come back for you. To take you away. To a place
where you belong.
No one,
your parents, teachers, friends, believed you when you told them an alien had
come to visit you. He said you won’t understand why they have chosen you, you can’t understand it now, but when he
comes back for you, the purpose will become clear and it will all make sense.
They tried
to silence you, the ones who didn’t understand. Your parents. Teachers.
Friends. Tell you not to talk about the secret knowledge that you’ve gained
from your communications with higher beings.
Your
parents put you on medication shortly after you met the being from the Pleiades
stars. The medication blocked the Pleiadeans from being able to contact you.
The alien hasn’t contacted you in years.
But you
remembered the promise they made. To pick you up and take you away from here.
Away from war. Hate. Bigotry. Simple mindedness.
You enter
and bowling alley and begin to look around. “Jonathon.” Todd says and waves you
over.
You look
around the bowling alley and feel like you’ve immediately made a mistake.
Anxiety begins to build. Your feet feel heavy, it’s those damn ridiculous shoes
they make you wear. Your pace feels sluggish and it feels like you’re lifting
your feet too high when you’re walking.
“Let me
introduce you real quick.”
You’re
introduced to Megan and Thomas.
You check
your watch.
“I can’t
stay long,” you say. “I got somewhere I gotta be.”
“Nonsense,”
Thomas says. “Let me get you a beer.”
You
remember what the Pleiadeans said about drinking alcohol, that it interferes
with their ability to contact you.
“No thanks.
I don’t drink.”
You are
forced to make small talk, but you avert you’re eyes and speak in low mumbles.
Your skin feels like it’s crawling away. You try to force a smile, but it feels
unnatural, so you stop. You can fill your breath shudder. The anxiety hits your
diaphragm. You ball a fist quickly. You shake your hands quickly to unclench
them.
You throw
the ball down the lane when your turn comes up. You pay no real attention to
the outcome. You guess that is was okay based on the group’s reaction.
It seems
like forever for the ball to return.
You throw
the ball again, this time failing to knock over any pins.
Thomas
gives you high-five and then wraps his arm around you. A smile, this time
natural slowly creeps and you nod.
“Great
throw.” Thomas says.
“Thanks.”
The words don’t feel forced this time. It’s almost like they came out all on
their own and you let your guard down a little.
“I think
maybe I will have a beer.” You say after you’ve sat at the small, uncomfortable
bench.
“Right on.
What do you want to drink?” Todd asks.
“I don’t
know. I’ve never had a beer before.”
“Alright.”
Todd says and curls his bottom lip. “Probably just start you off with like a
Bud Light or something.”
“Yeah,
sounds good. I’ll be right back.” You excuse yourself and slink away to buy a
beer.
“Just in
time.” Todd says when you return and points to the electronic board above the
ball return showing your name.
You sip the
beer and mess up your face. You scrape your tongue across your teeth. You don’t
like the beer and set the bottle down, content to let it sit on the table for
the rest of the night.
You step up
and throw the ball. Watching as it rolls down the aisle.
What if they come for you right now?
You shake the feeling away and throw another
ball, this time not waiting for the ball return to send yours back.
They don’t know where to find you. They’re
looking for you and they don’t know where to find you.
“Hey, that was my ball.” Megan
says.
“I’m
sorry.” Eyes down and speaking softly.
You excuse
yourself and rush to the restroom. You splash water on your face and
hyperventilate.
“What are
you doing here? You don’t belong here.”
The words
are disembodied. They don’t sound like your voice. Your vision tightens. The
edges blur and all you can think about, all you can focus on is what the
Pleiadean told you all those years again.
“We’ll come
back for you and then you’ll understand.”
Todd walks toward the bathroom as
you exit.
“Are you okay, man?” He asks.
You don’t answer, you just try to
go around him, but he steps and blocks your path. You shove him hard enough
that he ends up on the floor.
“Get the fuck out of the way.” Spittle
flecks spray as you retch the words in livid gasps, menacing and full stinging
venom.
You don’t see Megan or Thomas. You
just leave. They wouldn’t understand the importance anyway.
You sit in
your car for a moment, collecting yourself. You breathe out hasty short bursts,
trying to expel the anxiety. A trick Dr. Santos told you. You reach over and grab
the workbook sitting in the passenger seat. You had the forethought to bring it
with you.
You dig
through the pages until you find something familiar.
The book
tells you to cover one nostril with your thumb and breath in slowly through the
other, holding each breath for about a second and then exhaling, alternating
which nostril gets the thumb.
At first,
the breaths are rapid and shallow. You are unable to hold them in for a second.
You breathe in and release it with explosive force.
Soon, you find
your breathing has returned to something close to normal. You still feel jumpy,
and your heart rate is still fast, but at least the breathing is better. That’s
a start.
You drive
home. You have to pull your foot off the gas pedal. It wants to press down,
press the pedal all the way to floor. Blow past lights and stop signs and any
other hindrance that might be out on the road tonight.
When you
get home, you start the coffee. You make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and
cut it in half. You pour the coffee into your thermos, grab your camping chair,
and head to the roof.
You sit
down and finally can relax. You feel the tension slowly leaving your body. A
long sigh escapes and you close your eyes and gently breathe deep into your
belly.
You look up
and watch the skies. Waiting for the spaceship to come back and take you away.
