Alienated

The hotel       

For the last weekend of July my parents wanted to stay in a hotel room to gain clarity on what life felt like when there weren’t shining lights and whiny, entitled human beings shoved down their throats. They would lay in bed at the end of the day swishing around the only taste on their tongues which was the pure disgust of living.

The hotel wasn’t special and I wasn’t expecting it to be. I didn’t have to clean up after myself and that was enough. I flop myself on to the bed across the way from my parents like a dying fish and relive the outrageous tragedy of a scene I was forced to be a part of on the way up to our rooms. A man and a woman who were an unseemly couple carried a stuffed husky dog onto the elevator. The woman held it under her armpit, bending in her elbow so it was supported. They noted to us that it was their dog that just died. “We got it stuffed. We bring her everywhere because we couldn’t handle not having her with us”. Okay, didn’t ask. Dad and I got off the elevator, turned the corner, and immediately turned to each other and said simultaneously “that was kinda weird”. Mom shushed, lifting her finger halfway up to her mouth and then letting it fall to her side before completing the action. She realized that controlling other’s actions can become tedious. People shouldn’t have to do that on vacation.

A song from my earbuds rips me out of my recent memory. Phoebe Bridgers sings in the way that she does, her voice reminding you that you are sad even though you may have forgotten, “I want to live at the Holiday Inn where somebody else makes the bed”. I sigh and stare up at the ceiling watching the reflection of the TV toss around an array of lights up there. “We’ll watch TV while the lights on the street put all the stars to death”.

My parents sit as far apart as possible while still being able to claim they are sitting together. I leave my parents to their misery and alleviate mine in the hotel’s hot bubbler. I dip my toes in first and then emerge myself, full body and face into the petri dish of bacteria and the leftovers from men who become too excited alone with their girlfriends. Nothing surprises me anymore, especially not the filth left behind by other people. I often leave behind my own filth without realizing it. I bob my head back up and see a pool attendant looking over at me with great concern. It is their job to make sure that I come back up after all. I give him a thumbs-up. The ulcers in my bladder, however, have told me to release myself into the hot water, so I do.

Under the water, I see orby eyes staring back at me. What the f—

It must be an alien. I could complain and get a free room.

The Human Body: Part I

When we get back to our house in August, I decide to reply to my boyfriend’s texts. He has become insistent on talking to me all of a sudden. I see his last text was him asking me for a dirty picture. I can’t send pictures like that right now because I’m see-through and a little tired. Our conversation went a little like this:

Ryan: Excuse me, wait, your see through??

Me: *you’re

Me: and a little tired

Ryan: The f—?

My skin has been fading a little every day after I saw the alien. I told Ryan I was exaggerating, you can’t see all the way through me, but you can’t not either. I am halfway between being invisible and being fully visible.  He doesn’t understand and I call him a philistine, but send a mirror pic of my body anyway, even though I look part ghost.

 Ryan: Damn. Dat flesh doe.

Me: please delete. Not my best work.

 Meanwhile the alien has stolen the lights out of all the street-lamps on my street. Just sucked em’ right out. I sleep better in complete darkness anyway. In the morning, things hardly get better. My mother slowly creaked open the door to her bedroom and looked me dead in the eye. Her eyes were sunken in like in the cartoons, except this time it wasn’t funny. Daddy took the van again. When he comes back, it often reeks of marijuana and carob powder. This bothers her and he knows it. I don’t see what her issue with carob is.

“Oh, sorry honey, didn’t realize you were up.” The bow to her sleep-robe is slowly unraveling and she reaches to pull the loops tighter before the entirety of her is exposed.

“whoa-ho there. Nobody wants to see your wrinkly ass.”

My legs carry me out to the living room; it’s like walking, but without a purpose and I pick up a memoir from a woman who carried the weight of one-hundred pounds of darkness for 27 years. It is called “Tear Trough Hollows”. The woman who wrote it reminds me of my mother. I would never tell her this of course. Underneath the book is more eyes.

 Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes

 They stare at me for quite a long time and I stare at them back. We are in a staring contest now, but I blink first. The second time I blink is when I look up. In that second between when my eyes are opened and closed, my mother’s sunken eyes turn black and the coffee pot slips out of her hand and crashes onto the hardwood floor with a thud and sprits of boiling coffee spill down her bony carcass. I try to gut her out, but she shoos me off.

“Really everything’s fine honey, sorry for making such a mess. I’ll go get some rags to clean it up.”

“Are you ok--?

“Yes, I’m fine. Are you fine?” Dad peeks his head out of the corner room and gawks at mom for a minute and then retreats. Mom stumbles around trying to make her way into the kitchen while surviving third degree burns. She bumps into the table, knocks off my book, hey, I was reading that!, and finally reaches the kitchen, patting the counter down like it’s being searched.

“Where are the god-damn towels!! Sorry sweetie, mommy’s a little disoriented.” I think she’s gone blind.

The alien on the counter looks offended that he was searched by mom. She apparently didn’t find anything on him though. He winks at me and I am disgusted by it, but I indulge myself and wink back. Dirty dog. He looks like a tiny devil with spiky ears and a tail, but he is glowing white and wears a resting smirk. I get out of there before things start getting weird.

The Van

We have an old Volkswagen van that is parked in front of our house when dad is home. On the inside, there are plastic soldier action figures that my dad keeps in a box. Sometimes I look in the box. I enter the van through the back and sit against the cold slab of metal. Since my mom is now blind she won’t be able to know I’m in here. There is a sharp rattle on the door. I peek through the curtains and see Ryan standing outside with a bouquet of glass shards—some are spilling out of his hands and splattering on the ground. He’s gonna give the van a flat tire. The soldiers aren’t gonna like this.

“Babe, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Blood is flowing down his hands and dripping on his ugly cargo pants. I’ve told him a million times he can’t pull off cargo, especially now with the stains. He remains holding the glass shard bouquet with both of his hands, and uses the side of his right hand to wipe the snot coming out of his nose. At this very moment, I recall why I am attracted to him. heart eyes.

“You always tell me I never bring you flowers, so I wanted to surprise you, cutie! I would spank your ass if I had another hand!” so Fucking romantic. He pushes them toward me and I grab it and put them up to my nose. They smell so fresh and look so beautiful.

“I broke my door frame last night. Even though my mom said she would fry my balls when I got home, I took some pieces on the way out to see you.” Sometimes I think him and I are the only two in this world who really, really get it. You know, it. The life thing. I kiss him and try to dodge the blood and boogers, unsuccessfully.

“Ryan, look, it’s that couple I was telling you about.” I drop all the shards to point at the stuffed dog couple. They’ve got him on a leash now and are dragging him down the street. “Jeesh, I hope we never become that kinda weird, babe.”

“That kinda weird is a whole notha’ kinda weird. Oop, what’s that in your hair?” He pulls out the tiny shit alien from my jet-black hair and it has left gloopy streaks of lightness throughout. It’s like a very different version of having a bird poop on your head.

“I don’t think I like you as a blonde.” Okay, didn’t ask. Turns out it doesn’t come out when I shower either.

The Human Body: Part II

The doctor prescribed me a bottle of pills for god knows what. I open the cap, pull a pill out and read the words “Please take me, you crazy bitch” on the capsule. Another one says, “I will inflame your body until you pop like a balloon.” They are so mean. I pour them down the kitchen sink because they will destroy my body if I don’t. The alien whispered in my ear a few days ago not to trust doctors and I think I believe him. The color in my body wanes and waxes: sometimes I’m a full moon, sometimes I become eclipsed by the blackness of the night sky. Nobody notices except for the alien who says I am looking healthy these days.

Daddy’s Dream

That night I astral project out of my dream and walk in to my dad’s. Mom doesn’t tuck him into bed anymore so he is left to fend for himself. I find him lying in the record room with some vinyl records snuggling up next to him. Like a cat, they purr when you spin them. He finds them comforting and likes to smoke pot to the soothing sounds of The Sex Pistols. There is a dream bubble coming out of his head and I step inside of it. Suddenly, I become very aware this is not a dream I want to be a part of anymore. A woman much younger than mom with beautiful green eyes unties the bow to her sleep-robe and… no let’s get out of here. I jump out of the dream bubble as fast as possible and wander around the house until morning. He won’t touch mom anymore. You can imagine what the plastic soldiers would see in his van if he opened the lid to the box.

Ryan & Me

Ryan and I are high-school dropouts. We like to listen to The Smiths even though Ryan says Morrissey sounds like a Muppet. He’s kinda right. We wanted to run away, but we can’t afford it. Ryan works at a convenience store. We don’t think it’s very convenient. He gets mugged outside when he’s locking up during the full moons. I think he looks hot when he’s worked up. He howls and I howl back. We are in sync that way. He’s kinda like Oz from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Except Ryan’s not in a band which makes him less cool. Our date nights are him picking me up on his Razor scooter and getting a beer and pouring it out on the sidewalk for the alien to lick up. The alien gets wild when he’s intoxicated. Sometimes the little shit will hang on to the handle of the scooter and sing with us. He sings soprano and we dig it. I am growing quite fond of him even though he’s kind of a pervert sometimes. And Ryan and me, we love holidays.

Christmas

There used to be lights on our street, street-lamps, car headlights, even the moon is looking duller than he usually does. When I look up at him, all I see are eyes and a smirk. There are also occasionally Christmas lights, usually around Christmas, but you never know when someone will feel festive. This year there are just bulbs. It is Black Friday and I’ve never seen it so black. The shopping humans turned into carcasses and walked into the mannequins, ripped off their heads, and tried to eat their Styrofoam brains out.

Ryan, the alien, and I grab the strings of lightless bulbs off trees, houses, and wired reindeer that move their heads back and forth in creepy motions. Then we wrap it around ourselves and laugh. As we lay there wrapped in a blanket of bulbs, dust of human skin snows down in flakes and the alien offers to teach us how to steal the light from the world. Ryan thought about it and then said no. I instantly said no because I already know how to do that and don’t know if I fully enjoy it to the extent that the alien does. We giggle. It’s going to be a white Christmas.

Shrine Time

Eventually Ryan and I have come to the point where we worship the alien. We built him a shrine in Ryan’s basement. Ryan admits to me that night that he still loves me even though we spend most of our time with the alien now. I am almost completely invisible and intangible now, but I don’t notice until the alien jumps right through me. I suppose the gradual disappearance felt natural to me. I often think the alien targeted me that night in the hot-tub because he is as obsessed with me as I am with him. Ryan is just the bonus friend he received after the alien met me. There is no way the alien could love Ryan the way that he loves me and I see it in his eyes.

I listen to “Sleepdriving” by The Grand Archives and fall into a lustful sleep, lustful for the darkness of sleep, not for the alien of course. In my dreams, I am sleep-driving, along a road with no lights. There is no direction and I don’t need there to be any. I wake up frightened that I may actually be sleep-driving the van. I am not.

Mommy

Today is the first day that my mom has talked in weeks. She asked me how school was going. She must have forgotten. Mommy is a little disoriented. Although, she has learned quickly how to get around the house without her eyesight. I bought her a walking stick and the alien kisses her on the cheek sometimes because he often feels guilty, even though he knows what he did is ultimately the best thing for her. She thinks it’s me kissing her, and I let her think that. Sad that she can’t tell an alien’s lips between her daughter’s. Maybe the alien’s lips and mine are morphing into one set of lips. The thought intrigues me a little, yet disturbs me a lot and I settle on the feeling of uneasiness.

I miss her a lot. She used to be the sun and moon and the stars to both my father and me. Now she is a blind lady who doesn’t make love to my father anymore because he won’t let her. Now she is a blind lady who most of the time doesn’t bump into things, but occasionally does and it’s embarrassing. Being blind hasn’t changed her though. Life has. She easily accepted going blind like it was a gift from god (However, we all know it was a gift from the alien). She quit her job, lays in bed all day, and prays. I shut the door to her room because it is hard to see her. It was probably hard for her to see me as well before the incident. Mom is a boarded-up house.

Meteor Shower

The number of times I use the restroom during the night grows exponentially and I can’t even turn the lights on so I stumble around, feeling up the walls till I reach the frame of the bathroom door. Hallelujah. So, this is what my mom goes through. I cry on the toilet and the feelings never go away. And the pressure on my bladder never goes away. I text Ryan for comfort.

 Me: I can’t sleep. It hurts so bad.

Ryan: That sux. Sorry.

 It’s awful, but sometimes I wish he could feel it too. The alien would understand these complicated feelings. He knows me better than anyone now. I’ve made him friendship bracelets, but he won’t wear them because it “emasculates him”. I didn’t know aliens cared about gender norms, but apparently they do. He does what society tells him to, so I follow along in his footsteps. He tells me to swallow the supplements, so I swallow the supplements. He points out sites on the internet of how people have “cured” themselves. I don’t really believe there is a cure, but I do what he tells me to. I watch the videos, I read the books, I avoid this food, eat that food, I put my head under the water in the bathtub for a little too long. Nothing helps, but I do it anyway. The alien rides shotgun for the rest of this short life.

Ryan and I stare up at the sky tonight. The alien is sitting on my shoulder playing patty-cake on the back of my neck. I taught him that one. We leave out lawn-chairs and open the weather app every once-in-a-while. I turn up “Pink Moon” by Nick Drake. Now that guy knew what he was doing. The alien whispers in my ear, Are you ready? You’ll never have to read the labels again”. Everything and everyone has a label. The side effects, the GMOs, artificial colors, pesticides. And the news says there is gonna be a meteor shower tonight. We hold hands and kiss under the beautiful stars. Then when I give the alien the nod and he nods back, we watch as the alien sucks the light from every star in the galaxy; it was bound to happen. My mother told me she was glad she was blind in a whispery secret last night because she didn’t want to see the world die. I told my mother if we haven’t died yet, we never will. I’m just tired of my insides being covered in acid. The stars have become crippled and in their defeat, they rain down shards of glass on the world. This is the moment Ryan and I have been waiting for. I get down on my knees, lift my hands up, and we start speaking in tongues. Turns out the alien only took away lights that were bound to go out sooner or later anyway. Amen. Hallelujah. The rainy shards cut us apart and the world goes dark.

Elizabeth Grace Williams resides in central Nebraska and is pursuing her Bachelor of Arts in English at the University of Nebraska at Kearney. She received the Outstanding Poetry Award at the Student Language and Literature Conference and her work has appeared in The Carillon. She enjoys listening to “Bluegrass Indie” music and cooking plant-based recipes in her free time.