Alien Thoughts

An alien sits like aliens often do –exactly the way humans do because humans know everything exists pseudonym to themselves. As alien as he (it?) is he too likes to think himself human. In the quieter, stiller moments of his life he avoids humans while embracing them whole and envying them completely. He touches their soul from a distance. He enjoys the connection, or at least the thought of it. He cannot understand why. These people are not even his people. They fascinate him. They must no t know that he is an alien. They don’t think it strange at an arm’s distance that they feel no heat from him. They don’t think he’s made the decision for them. The distance, they believe, is their choice.

His head is bulbous and his legs long. Most just think him strange. All view him with the trepidation spared and collected for the daunting –for the terrible. He is a rollercoaster that no one has survived. He is an adventure for thrill seekers and for those looking for something else to blame for suicide.

Periodically he asks them in his best “this is hypothetical” voice, “have you ever felt like an alien”? He searches their replies for the answers he wants to hear. He searches for the answers he hopes he doesn’t already have. He wants to build a bridge; he wants to pseudonym the world the way they do.

I don’t know if I’ve ever been able to speak to him in a voice he recognizes. I imagine that he just listens to me not responding to the words he’s actually saying. He must know I cannot hear his deepest thoughts and concerns. The way I respond must be strange to him. I assume he knows. But he listens anyway. He responds and tells what I assume are stories anyway. We meet here at this coffee shop every Saturday afternoon. I talk. He makes notes that pitch in a pattern that sounds like a band with a single player and thousand instruments.

I think there might be a connection here. I think he enjoys his space rubbing up against my space. We sit in the afterbirth of invisible boundaries begging to be broken. I wonder if he ever thinks about what it’s like to be a human. He must. Right? Maybe he’s just studying me. Maybe he doesn’t want to connect. Maybe we are meant to be strangers.

Hmm. I wonder…

You are awesome

“You are awesome!”

A man reminds himself of what it means to be as he stands face only in the bathroom mirror. His morning ritual has been the same since he was 16. Wake, edify, clean, edify, eat, brush, edify. It’s his secret to success and sanity. Every night he returns home a city in need new defenses and lobbyist to bolster the levee fund. Every night he drafts new proposals to keep the citizens happy and functioning –whatever it takes to prevent any sort of revolt. 

He’s got a date tonight, but he’s prepared. He’s been saving his special brick and mortar just for such an occasion and since masons don’t typically work on weekends he’s been giving himself extra confidence boosters throughout the day. On his calendar he’s had 4 extra meetings this week with very important clients away from the office. On Monday his meeting consisted of creamy beige leather seating, a fully reclining front seat, the mid-afternoon sun and a motivational speaker in all 10 surround sound speakers. Tuesday was a rendezvous with Rhonda, an old grad school classmate that just loves his writing and the single dimple that sits just below the perfect curvature of his left cheekbone. Wednesday he throws in an extra “You’re ok today” as he gets out of his car to walk into the office, but Wednesday is busting at the seams with real meetings, real clients and even more pretense. Thursday is an 11am call to his 3 most important people, his mom, his brother and his best friend. Each remembering the story they were assigned to tell him as he had ordered. They didn’t waste time with smalltalk; they knew he was on a tight schedule and just needed the nostalgia to be administered and the needle discarded as quickly as possible. 

Friday, the day of, was 30 extra crunches, push-ups after reps and a set of suicides in the gym downstairs. He didn’t usually like to use the gym because of the risk of co-workers and afternoon traffic, but he was strategic and a little lucky. 2pm is usually spent recovering from lunch (a meal he skipped today) so he was in and out within an hour and reeling from the overdose of self-love and appreciation that he was sure he’d need on reserve for this date.

He dresses himself quickly, but spends lots of time in the mirror. The little details matter. There are no such things as big details. The drive is too short, but sufficient enough for his nerves to match up well with the image of a man who actually wants to impress his date and not just “skip to the good stuff”.

He adjust his belt, checks his collar, rings the doorbell, he whispers… 

“You’re awesome!”