Would I lie about an alien abduction? Choosing to run an ad-free, sponsor-free blog leaves me blissfully unfettered when it comes to posting, but even I wouldn’t neglect my precious for 2 months.
So yeah, alien abduction. Just a few days after the turn of the New Year I laid myself out on the sun warmed concrete after failing to convince E that he wanted to help me weave a wreath from the grapevines I pulled off a gasping crepe myrtle. I watched my youngest child stack chairs to climb the tree and contemplated the symbolic meaning of circles.
Heavy stuff, circles.
A gust of wind whooshed my hair off my neck in time with Elliot’s gasp, and I felt the chill of a retreating sun even before noticing the increasing creep of a large shadow. Grabbing a stick, I stood and turned, readying to attack whatever crazed mountain bear threatened my baby. On the street, parked like a dutifully registered motor vehicle, hovered the shiny metal spaceship of my Spielberg/Lucas/Roddenberry childhood. I scooted to Elliot and pulled him out of his tree perch, whispering for him run and hide in the closet.
Straightening, I watched the door slide open; a warrior mom prepared to protect her progeny from what would surely be a warp speed attack from Reese’s Pieces gone to the Dark Side. But no amount of preparation could prevent the choking cough of reality.
It had attempted to mimic the most innocuous of humanity; a sweater, a blazer, casual pants. The uniformed clothing of one meaning to soothe and reassure.
It could have worn an apron while delivering cookies to me in the street without achieving a reassuring visage. Its face as dominated by a mouth flapped open in a rictus of forced cheer, its skin mottled and discolored like that of a person with lots of access to toxins and no access to healthcare. It was terrifying even before it spoke– moreso after.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I might have lost a little tinkle from my bladder. But its voice, gratingly mocking, delivered words of such jumbled insanity that I feared it spoke in a cipher whose decoding would determine my survival.
It skulked closer to me continuing to speak with increasing volume as its ire raised with my obvious confusion. I finally blurted out that I knew of the words it spoke--concepts and strategy and theory and also facts— but that none of my university-acquired critical thinking and inference abilities could apply a sensible meaning to its statement.
Y’all, it became enraged; shrieking so loud that every dog in the neighborhood howled in answer. One bony hand reached toward me, waving in my face and demanding I show something that sounded like “identification”, but surely meant something else in its language-that-sounded-like-mine-but-wasn’t. I dragged my feet against the concrete wanting to slow its pull on my person, finally pushing away my fear to yell, “Dammit, I have rights”. Then it stopped, turning its dead eyes to my house muttering insensibly again; because what sense can be found in vaginal motorcycle education charters?
However the mention of education reminded me of my children thus I choose to enter its ship despite my fear of an unwanted probe. As the doors closed behind me, it suddenly freed of its grip and disappeared. I stood, peacefully trying to assemble myself back to right when an intense vertical lurch had my loud exclamation of FRACK echoing off the ship’s granite walls.
My time as its prisoner was fraught with confused ambiguity. Its friends came over for fancy parties, sometimes staying after as part of the ship staff. And while I rarely understood their conversations, I knew I was not part of the inner circle, that my relative comfort existed only on their whim. One night they all giggled as one of its friend dropped a bag of knitting supplies on my lap. I never got the joke because I don’t knit, but they all laughed for hours.
When I was finally returned to earth, I was shocked to learn that what had felt like 4 never-ending years had really only been a few months. But my experiences had forever altered my perspective; never again would I laze in the sun without fearing being taken hostage by one more powerful than I.
North Carolina, a riddle: How do you know your state policy making has gone insane? When a blogger can write an alien abduction story from the key outcomes.