All sexual activity depicted is between characters 18 or older.
*****
On the day I graduated from high school, my father gave me the keys to his green Thunderbird.
There's a picture of me and my best friend Jeannie sitting in it, laughing, with our caps and gowns still on. You can see two tall, skinny girls with heavy eye make-up and frosty pink lipstick. I have a scrunchie in my hair, and I'm wearing giant silver hoop earrings. Jeannie has a vibrant orange Mohawk. In the background, there's a neon yellow and pink sky. It's so '80's.
I'll take out that picture and stare at it sometimes.
I haven't spoken to Jeannie in many years. When the summer ended, we went to separate colleges. We tried to stay in touch, but somehow things just faded away. I know it happens. We told ourselves it was work, husbands or kids making it hard to find time, but we knew we were lying.
And truth be told, when I look at that picture, I'm not looking at Jeannie. I'm looking at that Thunderbird, and the big open sky.
I haven't been to the desert since '92, when my parents moved. Now I live in the Pacific Northwest, in a place near the ocean where it rains all the time.
I miss it. I can see it and feel it, whenever I look at that picture, as if I'm right there. The heat, the dryness. The emptiness that goes on and on. Monuments worn down to the bone, and a stillness that is like being on the moon.
I like the desert because it is simple; an abstraction of life into a few basic, inescapable truths.
It was in the desert, one night in the summer of 1984, that I encountered the truths that would define the rest of my life. Whether blessing or curse, I cannot say. I only know it happened, and that I was never the same.
+++
Growing up in New Mexico, aliens are simply a part of life. Don't mistake me–I don't mean that little green men can be seen walking down Main Street, I mean that every other diner is called the "Alien Café." There'll be a sign, with a picture of a UFO on it, saying "Eat Here." There's a green alien with big buggy blue eyes on our town seal, for God's sake. The McDonald's where I had my first job is shaped like a hovercraft, and serves green shakes all year round. During the summer, at the height of tourist season, I had to wear tin foil antenna ears attached to my hat.
That was in 1982, when I turned 16, which also happened to be the year that
E.T.
came out. That movie made my life hell. I served so many shakes in big plastic "ET" cups I thought I was going to kill myself. All year long, our town was swamped with freaks looking at the locals like we were aliens.
E.T.
took everything to a new level. Before that, there was the legend, the summer visitors, the jokes, and a spattering of memorabilia. But afterwards, it was inescapable. Aliens were big business. Hotels popped up, restaurants, a new movie theater, and trashy souvenir shops on every corner. It was Niagara Falls all year round.
My friends and I got a big laugh watching the tourists.
You could get your picture taken with a big green man, or buy a plastic blow-up alien to take home with you.
There were alien toiletries, alien lollipops that glowed in the dark, alien shot glasses and key chains, mugs and magnets, even plastic alien poop.
After a while, however, it just becomes meaningless. It's like the mountains, or the sky; you stop noticing it. It even stops being funny.
Trust me when I tell you the very last people in the world who would ever believe in UFOs are the people in my town. That was for losers, the "crackpots" and "kooks," as my dad called them—or sometimes, if he ever caught me in my McDonald's uniform, the "tin foil hat brigade."
There wasn't even the possibility of it. Even if, by some miracle, you did happen to see some flickering lights in the sky, you would never breathe a word of it to anyone, not even your family or close friends.
My dad was an aeronautics engineer at the New Mexico Military Institute. The whole time I was growing up, he'd get people calling him at work about suspicious objects in the sky. And he'd bitch and grumble about the crackpots and kooks, and continue on with his life.
We lived in a nice neighborhood at the end of a cul-de-sac. Most of our neighbors were Institute folks, as well. And there I grew up, in a house that was as normal as could be. My mom taught second grade, I had two younger brothers, I listened to Blondie, I babysat.
You may have heard of me. If you're a fan of science fiction, you've definitely heard of me. I'm Francesca Schelling, contemporary author of note. But back then, I was just Frannie Smith, and on June 20th, 1984, I graduated from Roswell High.
+++
I remember that day, in vivid detail. I can see it all. I remember exactly what I was thinking and feeling. Yet it's difficult to tell it, because I can't help but see, in retrospect, all the signs.
For example, I was awoken, that day, by "King of Pain" coming from the plastic alarm clock at the side of my bed. Sting was crooning,
There's a little black spot on the sun today.
It was an eerie song. The slow, monotonous "tick tock" of the percussion conjured a mood. I used to think of a man, in tattered clothes, walking alone in the desert, looking into the sky thinking, "that's my soul up there."
Was it a coincidence—something I only later came to assign a certain significance to?
I can picture the typical bedroom of a normal 18 year old girl. I can see my McDonald's uniform, smelling of grease, tossed on the floor, the Blondie posters on my walls, a mess of books and clothes and cassette tapes, and my dress and shoes for the ceremony laid out. On the dressing table, I can see Jovan Musk, Aquanet, black bangles, and big chunky jewelry. I could hear, from my bed, the murmur of voices from the aunts, uncles and cousins who had arrived for my graduation party out in the kitchen.
I got up, stretched, and rested my arms on the windowsill. In the distance I could see towering rock formations in the desert from miles away. It was already 100 degrees.
I was happy, and looking forward to the day. After graduation, there'd be a cookout at my house, with my family, and then, much more exciting, a "private" shindig at Billy Marks's house. His parents were out of town and he'd invited me, specifically. I knew exactly what I was going to wear. I looked over at the hot pink dress I'd picked out and a thrill of excitement went through me.
It was only June but I already had a deep tan, and I knew I was going to look gorgeous in that dress. Billy was very popular and very cute. I knew him because he was a star wrestler, and I used to see him when I was at swim practice. I'd liked him for a long time, but was always too shy to do anything. Only the week before, he came up to me in one of the gym hallways.
"Hey Frannie."
"Oh, hi," I said, trying to be casual.
"You looked really nice the other day."
I knew he'd seen me, in my new mini-skirt, at a party at Jeannie's house. I'd walked out of the kitchen holding a Coke, and run smack into him, just staring at me. He looked dumbstruck, but I was used to that. Guys had been looking that way at me ever since the end of Junior year when I lost twenty pounds and got rid of my braces. Before that, I had been a pudgy, slightly athletic nerd. When I suddenly got "hot," guys who had never given me the time of day were all over me, all the time.
I didn't complain when he noticed me, though. He was the only one I wanted to notice. He'd always been nice to me, even when I was a nerd.
I sat for a while, looking into that vast space. Billy was waiting. The pink dress and the party were waiting. College was waiting. I ignored my family and stayed there, in a tank top and underwear, savoring the moment, enjoying knowing today was the day things were going to change.
And that's when I saw a kind of shadow, passing over the sun. It was so quick. Just a little dark spot. It flared up for a second, and was gone.
I shook my head, sure I was being ridiculous. I told myself it was that song making me see things.
I picked up my things and headed out the door to the beautiful sunny day.
+++
The ceremony was nice. Jeannie and I shook with silent laughter during the "Invocation." I knew if I caught her eye I'd lose it, so I kept my face down as the pastor intoned a solemn prayer. But then she nudged my foot, and from then on it was torture. I bit my knuckles but couldn't stop a little snort from coming out.
It was a typical graduation. For the most part, Roswell was like any other town, anywhere in the U.S.A. The only thing that was perhaps a little unique was how many times I had to go up to the podium.
It was ridiculous. I don't remember all of the awards. National Placement this, National Honor that. I am sure people got sick of hearing "Frannie Smith!" ring out. On top of that, one of the teachers at my school had devised some sort of special "English Student" Award for me. Mr. Fisher was young and enthusiastic and raved about me all the time. When I went up to the stage, he popped up out of his chair to shake my hand.
I was going to New Mexico State on a full scholarship, in part thanks to him. People had high hopes for me. I was going to "leave a mark." I was going to make people realize there was more to our town than little green men and UFOs.
I didn't know about that. All the attention made me uncomfortable.
Afterwards, there were endless pictures and fake hugs and saying goodbye to people you didn't really know or care about. A lot of teachers came up to me to solemnly shake my hand and wish me well. Jeannie and I had our little clique, and we spent most of our time talking about the party and which guys would be there.
I'd pretty much forgotten about my strange morning, when I saw it again. I was standing there, getting my picture taken with my brothers. My dad said, "Smile!" and at that moment, I saw, or thought I saw, a very large, slow-moving shadow creep across the crowd. I glanced upwards, and saw just the faintest trace of something dark, moving away, high up in the sky. I looked around, but no one else seemed to have seen it.
"Frannie, would you look at the camera!"
I smiled, automatically, but the trace of shadow settled in my brain. I wondered what the hell was going on.
Just then, I caught the eye of Mr. Fisher in the crowd, and he saw me and came over.
He was quite young, probably only 30, tall and extremely thin. He had his blond hair cut in a kind of sleek New Wave style, and always wore silk shirts in bright, solid colors and impeccably pleated pants. He was very striking, in a strange, androgynous kind of way. Every once in a while, I could see he wore a trace of liquid eyeliner and a hint of lip gloss. It was so 1980s. I know the rest of the teachers were scandalized.
By far his most distinctive features were his intense, pale green eyes. That day they matched the silk shirt he was wearing.
My clique of girlfriends talked about him constantly. I thought he was weird; they thought he was an absolute god.
He'd only joined the faculty that year, but I'd come to know him quite well. He was a mentor of sorts—which is why I never obsessed over him like my friends did, but it was impossible not to be affected by his strange beauty. It made me so nervous.
"Congratulations, Frannie." His voice was deep, soft and soothing.
"Thank you. And, um, thanks for all your help this year."
"It was my pleasure. Students like you . . . you're the reason I went into teaching. You're going to do very well."
"Um—. . ." He was holding my hand. His silk shirt was unbuttoned and I could see a smooth, tanned chest.
His skin was so warm, and there was a light in his eyes as he looked intently at me. Perhaps it was my mood, but I thought I saw something flare up in them, just for a second. It was enough to make my stomach kind of lurch and my skin prickle with goose pimples in the heat. This was not the look of a dumbstruck teenager, but it was a look I knew, and had seen only once before. I opened my mouth, more from shock than anything else, but before I could speak, Billy appeared, to my right.
"Oh, ok, um, I have to go," I mumbled, and turned away from him, my face flushed bright red.
"Hey."
"Hi."
"Wow, you were really impressive up there today."
I shrugged. "It's not a big deal. They just want to make it a big deal, because it's Roswell."
