I see a lot of aliens every time I go to the spaceport. And I've been to the spaceport a lot over these past few days, ever since I fell in love with that alien girl standing there in front of the bakery. She's an interesting looking creature, all six arms and beautiful purple skin, but that's not the shocking part. The shocking part is how much I want her.
"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you," I say, joining her in front of the bakery. It's an odd location to be when you live on the planet Harverster.
"Pull up a pew and I'll tell you what I was doing," she says instead of kissing me like I'm hoping she will.
"You know, besides waiting for you," I say. She laughs at that and tugs on my hand. We sit down on the yellow bricks that surround the large sandstone picnic tables. It feels good to be near her, close enough to see every corner of her five-foot eight body, but not too near. I continue to fidget and gawk at her. I think I've got my chronic starstruck thing going on.
"My name's Finlee. Nice to meet you, Fin?" she says. Her words jumble somewhat when she says it, but I get the image of a woman raising a glass of swill with her many arms.
"Nice to meet you, Fin, I'm… "
"Tralos," she says with a smile.
"Yup, Tralos," I say. "And you're obviously an alien."
"Obviously," she repeats. "But I'd prefer it to be obvious how I'm an alien."
"Of course," I say. "That's a thing you people do, right? To be more obvious than you actually are?"
"It's quite a revelation for us," she says.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm not really an alien myself. Though I did read a little bit about it on my way here, so I might as well get used to it."
"Yeah," she says. "I know that it's hard to believe, especially for a non-alien."
"I don't mind if you're an alien," I say with a shrug.
"That's a relief," she says with a smile. I'm a tad bit relieved…
"I'm sorry if that's not your race," I say, "but obviously you can see me… you know… whatever you have to do to get a sense of my body."
"I'm going to go with that," she says. "I know that I can see other aliens, but I've never seen an actual human before."
"Let me guess," I say with a sigh. "You don't know what a human is."
"I don't mean that," says Fin. "More like I don't know that they exist. Everything else I know, I know from the various travel logs from outside Earth."
"But you believe they exist," I say.
"I know they exist," she says. Her lips form a smile when she says it. "What I don't understand is how they could interact with us. I mean, there's aliens like us, too."
"Well, you don't have to understand that we exist," I explain with a shrug. "I believe that we exist because you're here, and you believe that we exist even though there's nothing in this universe to prove it."
"I don't understand what you mean, exactly," she says. "I've got to go to work. Would you like to grab a drink later on? Tomorrow? Inside The Wilder Shuffle?"
"The Wilder Shuffle?" I ask, thrown off by her name.
"It's a bar," she says.
"I know," I say.
"Nice meeting you," Fin says.
"Nice seeing you," I say. She leaves with a smile and we're off to do our own separate thing. I make my way back to my apartment in order to distract myself from thinking about the what-if of it all… there's nothing to prove it. Just like something like the Earth's position in the galaxy, there's nothing to say it exists, but it does.
I return to my apartment and watch some television not really absorbing it. I'll wait until I have something to drink and start the whole alien excitement again. As I wait, there's a knock on my door.
"What?" I ask, with a frown. I'm tired and a bit drunk, and for some reason the answer always sounds the same.
"I'm a delivery," he says. I open the door and find a large, strong man in his late thirties. Out of all the people I'd expected to see, it's not a delivery.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"You, my friend," he says.
"I don't think we have a relationship," I say, "and I don't want one."
"Good," he says. "I want you to look at my face."
"What for?"
"Since I can't see it, I thought I'd have to ask you to look," he says. I sigh and look at him. It's like a burnout of manliness, a messed up, absolutely disfigured mess of a man.
"Why?" I ask.
"So I can see who my little moneymaker is," he says. His words sound funny, like he's from Mir-3-D4, but his figure looks human. His face looks like a basketball shoved in a frying pan.
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," I say.
"I know that, Tralos," he says. "I know you're trying to claim that you're some innocent civilian there, but I've heard about you and how you've been shoving your money into a little box underneath the floorboards."
"It's a fake fireplace," I say, taking a step forward. "I never shucked my money out there."
"You most certainly have," he says. "I know what you own. You've got a little money tucked away there. I want it, and I'm not a man who likes to hear no."
"You're hurting my hand," I say, pulling it away from his grip. "Listen, I'll give you all my money, but you have to go away and leave me alone now, or I'll call the cops."
"Is that a threat, my friend," his voice booms. "Because I've got your little box and I'm happy with it. I don't mind you and I watching me open it up. And I don't mind you putting yourself in jail. I won't be the one to bust you out, so I suggest you cooperate with me. I've got a word for you."
I hold up my hands and take a step back. There's something watching me with a kind of malicious grin, but I can't see what it is. It's hard to put my finger on it.
"I've got little kids who come to my door every day, Tralos. I don't want to tell them that their loving mommy is in a jail cell."
He's lying to me. He's clearly lying.
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