Maybe the Aliens Were Right

When I was 25, I went to my neighborly HEB to do some grocery shopping. From the car to the store, I noticed a little girl and her mother walking out. The little girl was in a purple shirt, a purple sparkly skirt, and purple light-up shoes that no longer lit up. She was tugging on her mother’s arm, digging her heels into the pavement. My Spanish was no good then, but I knew it had something to do with the girl wanting something in the store.

It reminded me of a time my mother and I went to Office Max. I wanted a computer game where the user could hunt dinosaurs. I used to be so fascinated with dinosaurs. But Mom said no, and I made a fit that disturbed everyone’s peace. I screamed and hollered, but it made no difference; my mother was not going to budge. You best believe I heard it from my dad that night.

In the HEB parking lot, I felt for the little Hispanic girl in purple. I’m not saying she was in the right, but I knew how she felt. So I entered the store with a pep in my step and a fire in my heart.

Across the street from the HEB was a strip of grass on the edge of a strip mall. Occupants of the grass were presumed to be strung out on drugs and ill fate. I decided to hand out 15 paper-wrapped sandwiches, just purchased from HEB, because of what I had seen with the girl. Maybe I could give some folks something they wanted but couldn't afford. I tried to talk to some, a man in a wheelchair with no leg chatted at me through pink gums. It was pretty unintelligible, lots of gum smacking.

All that lay in my hands after the mayhem was one lone sandwich. I smiled to myself that I would get to keep one for myself. I could already taste the salami and provolone. As I turned to walk back to my car in the HEB parking lot, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

A small, feeble Black man wearing a Vietnam vet’s hat.

“May I have that last sandwich, sir?” he asked. I looked down at it, my heart tugging in two opposite directions.

“Sure,” I said, caving. “But you gotta answer a question for me.”

“Sure,” he said matter-of-factly. His eyes were old, if eyes can be. Gray hair poked out from under the cap. His hands were as wrinkly as could be. He began to rip into the white paper.

“Are you insane?” I asked him.

He paused, then continued unwrapping the sandwich, now feverishly. “No, I’m not insane. Just had some bad luck, is all.” He went on to tell me that his name was Graham. I noticed his hat again and spent more time than I care to admit thanking him for his service. I felt obliged to because my grandpa had also served in Vietnam. After I was done emptying my lungs to him, he graciously let me know he had purchased the cap from the Goodwill outlet mall, and he actually never served in the military.

As he was finishing up his sandwich, I got things back on topic. “So if you’re not insane, what kind of bad luck have you had?”

“All sorts. All sorts…” He began to drift, but then he looked at me with a fire in his old eyes. “My life used to be great, man! Damn good! A family, a job, a house.” There was a piece of lettuce in the corner of his mouth. He was very animated with his hands at this point, and it made me wonder if he had thought about this stuff often and whether he was going to get that piece of lettuce. He continued, “But it all slipped through my fingers. My Gloria, thick, black, and beautiful, she was. Decided to leave me and go with my best friend to Elverson, Pennsylvania. The fuck is in Elverson?” He slurped up the lettuce.

Then he looked at me. “Do you believe in aliens?”

Now we’re getting somewhere, I thought. “Eh, I’m not sure. I believe it’s possible they’re real,” I said.

He grabbed me by the shoulders. The feeble old man suddenly had an iron grip. I was calm on the outside, but on the inside, I wanted to scream for help. He looked at me and I looked at him. “Well, you should believe. Because they may just come for you someday, and you need to be ready. I wasn’t ready! And that’s how I lost everything.”

“I thought you said your best friend took your wife. It was the aliens?”

“No, no,” he put a disappointed hand on my shoulder and shook his head at the grass below our feet. He then went on to explain how, after the aliens showed up at his house, abducted him, and dropped him back into the forest, all the bad luck started. It was a very compelling story, but of course, I didn’t believe a word because Graham was clearly insane. No insane person actually thinks they are insane. I’m sure his wife left because of this stupid story about aliens.

That’s what I believed when I was 25. But that was ten years ago, and my experiences have changed me, so to speak. Yesterday, I was taking out the trash, Molly and the kids still in the house, watching a movie. A gray sphere floated above the city street. Green lights rotated much the way Graham had described ten years prior. Next thing I knew, I was inside. These glowing beings were speaking to me through my thoughts, and they were telling me about Graham, how he died, and that he wanted to speak with me.

I naturally had a panic attack. They said that Graham was a prophet who was meant to lead Earth to a new future. That he was the beginning of a new world order, but that Earth’s constraints limited him. I said they were insane, and so was Graham. They seemed tired and annoyed with me, and they spit me out into my front yard.

So here I am writing this all down while on my back porch, and I am wondering two things. Maybe Graham wasn’t insane. And secondly, as I hear a glass break inside, I wonder: is my bad luck coming for me?