Of Jenny and the Aliens

by Ryan Gebhart

  “It doesn’t sound stupid,” Mom says.

  “It sounds totally stupid,” I say.

  Dad says, “The world might very well end tomorrow, and when —”

  Yeah, I’m done with this. I walk out the door, the doctor calling out my name.

  “Give me a minute,” I say.

  I take a seat in the waiting room across from Avery, and it’s snowing outside. He’s sitting with his legs crossed, slouched into his lap, looking at his watch with his glasses slipping down his nose. He’s wearing wireless earbuds. He doesn’t even notice that I’m out here.

  “Avery.” I say this loud enough to knock him out of his trance. He takes out his earbuds and looks at me with a blank, almost stoned expression.

  I say, “Does Dad really think we’re all going to die in the war?”

  He doesn’t say anything. He turns his head to stare at the snow falling.

  I hope I didn’t say anything shitty to him last night.

  I get out my phone and ignore the seven missed messages from Adriana, because I also don’t know what I said to her last night and I don’t want to know. I read the birthday messages Grandma and Grandpa and my cousins Dean and Sadie sent me and respond to each with:

  Thanks! I had a great birthday. Love you too :)

  I go to Instagram and scour every corner of Jenny’s profile — pictures of her wearing sunglasses in her basement and doing the duck face with a blue snow cone dripping down her hand. She has pictures with Nikki, with Kaitlyn and Gabe, with boys who are friends or maybe past boyfriends or who the hell knows.

  She wrote “te amo” on my hand. She made me a shirt. She had sex with Mark Shugar and made out with Kyle Dorton. She’s never once taken a picture of me and her together.

  It’s not a chemical imbalance. It’s not the divorce. And it’s not the war, not really. It is girl troubles, but that’s such a simple way of describing the fact that Jenny’s heart felt so good. I haven’t felt normal since I was a kid in Texas, and I never thought I would again until I felt it with her. But with Jenny, it’s a different normal. We’re almost adults, we now know the world sucks ass, but we were enduring it together. I really could have gotten used to it.

  Will I ever feel anything like that again?

  Me and Avery sit there in the waiting room in silence for thirty minutes until Mom and Dad emerge from Dr. McDermott’s office.

  Mom says, “Avery, how would you feel about staying at our house while you’re here? We were thinking it might be a good experience if we all had Thanksgiving together.”

  It’s now snowing out — there’s a solid four inches on the ground — and I’ve been standing on Mom’s patio with Avery as he goes back and forth between varying intensities of crying. He’s sitting on a dirty plastic lawn chair next to the bird feeder with snow piling up in his hair. He wipes his hand beneath his nose, the runny snot smearing his glove like a snail trail, and he tells me how much he wants to go back to Austin, that he’d made all these plans with his friends for Thanksgiving vacation, and this is all so, so stupid.

  He says, “I’m supposed to be on a plane right now.”

  “What do you mean? Dad said that you two would be here all week.”

  “Yeah, and he told me we were only coming up for your birthday.”

  “Why did he change his mind?”

  “He didn’t change his mind. Dad bought our tickets two weeks ago.”

  “So he lied to you?”

  “Yuuup.”

  “And he just bailed on your mom? On Thanksgiving?” I lean on the side of the house with my arms crossed, trying to process why Dad would pull such dick moves on Abby and Avery. “Who’s she having dinner with?”

  “My grandparents in San Marcos. But that was also decided two weeks ago.”

  “Oh. So, like, are Dad and your mom having a fight?”

  He takes a moment. “Something like that.”

  I say, “Hey, look on the bright side: a week in Ohio’s not that bad. At least you don’t have to live here.”

  “You don’t understand. I have a date with Kayla Brisson this Sunday. I’ve had a crush on her since forever ago, and I finally got the balls to ask her out.”

  “Nice work, Little Dude.”

  “The name’s Avery.”

  “That’s pretty impressive for a thirteen-year-old. Where were you going to take her? Out for pizza?”

  “Dude. Shut up.”

  “That’s where I went on my first date.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Uh . . . seventeen. Like, two Wednesdays ago.”

  He sniffles, then looks at me with a smirk. “Actually yes, I was going to take her out for pizza. We were supposed to watch the Saints game together.”

  My face scrunches. “The Saints? You hate the Saints. You’re a Texans fan.”

  “I’m a bigger fan of Kayla than I am of the Texans.”

  The sliding-glass door opens, and Mom peeks her head out. “You boys bonding out here?”

  “Go away, Debbie,” Avery says bitterly.

  “As long as you’re not talking trash about me,” she says sarcastically, putting on her horrible Texas accent. No one speaks with that much drawl. “What do you think of the new clothes your grandparents got you? I tell you, they know a thing or two about style.”

  I nod. “I’ll do my best not to vomit all over them.”

  She laughs, and my head cocks back. That wasn’t the reaction from her I was expecting.

  She says, “Your father and I are headed to The Andersons to pick up the turkey. You want to come with?”

  “No,” Avery and I say in unison.

  “Any special requests for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  Neither of us speak.

  “Pumpkin pie? Candied yams? Going once. Going twice . . .” We’re still not saying anything, so she raises her hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. “It’s cold out. Why don’t you boys play with Derek’s new video game system?”

  We head into the garage, and the Switch is still in the box on the table. I turn on the GameCube and hand Avery a remote, and he’s sitting on the couch, not on a shopping cart chair. Everyone always picks a shopping cart chair.

  Through the garage door, I hear Mom and Dad gabbing like kids, car doors shutting, and then them driving away.

  “Let’s play Switch,” Avery says. “When did you get this system? When you were three?”

  “Little Dude, you need to cool it with the attitude.”

  “The name’s Avery.” He rips open the seal on the box for the Switch like it’s his own present. From behind the TV he says, “This doesn’t even have all the proper outputs.”

  “Let’s play Double Dash.”

  “I don’t know how to play Double Dash.”

  “I’ll show you.” I pick my least favorite combo — Waluigi and Yoshi — to give Avery an advantage, and we start with 50cc Mushroom Cup. He’s moving the controller as if it could steer the cart like the Wiimote. I beat him in the first two races, but he’s catching on, and by the third race he gets second place.

  He says, “God, this sucks.”

  “We can probably hook up the Switch in the living room.”

  “No, not that.”

  “Hey, I get it. About Tayla.”

  “Kayla. And no, you don’t. She was dating my friend Jack since February until one of her friends caught him making out with Emily Chiang. When the whole thing with the aliens started, he begged Kayla to give him a second chance, that he wanted to die in her arms.”

  Man. I don’t remember being that dramatic when I was in eighth grade. But maybe I was.

  We’re on Dry Dry Desert and he perfectly aims his green shell at me and I go spinning into the quicksand.

  He says, “And now I lost my chance because I’m stuck all week in this frozen hellhole. She’s getting back together with Jack, I just know it. I wanna do Special Cup next.”

  “Don’t you want to try Flower Cup first?”

  “No. Special Cup.�
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  We’re on the final lap of Bowser’s Castle when Avery says, “You know Dad and your mom want to get back together, right?”

  I fall into the lava. Avery lands in first place. I crawl into third. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Didn’t you see your mom on the car ride from the therapist’s this morning? She couldn’t take her eyes off of him.”

  “I’m sure you’re just imagining it.” But he’s got a point. I haven’t seen Mom act this way since before the move — all smiles and sarcastic comments — and it’s uncomfortable because the only thing that’s changed is that Dad is staying with us.

  What were they talking about after I left the therapist’s office?

  Avery says, “Then explain why Dad ended it with my mom two weeks ago.”

  I’m baffled, my mind stuck in neutral, revving up to think of anything to say. That must’ve been some intense fight.

  After a minute without a response, he adds, “It sucks when you find out your parents aren’t in love.”

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  “I’m sure you are. Your parents are getting back together.”

  “Having Thanksgiving together isn’t the same thing.” But the words are just sounds leaving my mouth. I know the kind of effect Dad has on Mom. He makes her unpredictable. He makes her clinically depressed. He makes her happy.

  Man. Maybe I have more in common with Mom than I thought.

  No matter how many times she’s denied it, Mom really wants to forgive Dad and go on with their relationship as if Abby never happened. I remember that one time not even two months ago she had her bedroom door open and I walked in. The lights were off. She was on her computer with her back to me looking at her wedding photos. When I said, “Hey,” she turned to me and tears were falling from her eyes.

  And the first thing Mom said to me on our drive in the U-Haul after leaving Austin was just outside the Arkansas side of Texarkana. She was filling up the tank, and I was coming back from the mart with a pack of Starburst FaveREDs.

  “You know I still love your father,” she said, looking off at something in the distance even though there wasn’t anything in the distance. “I still think he loves me too. I just didn’t think love would be this complicated.”

  I nodded understandingly while chewing on a strawberry Starburst, but what she was saying made no sense to me. As a kid, I had always figured love was this thing between two people, and if it ended, you simply moved on to find someone else. How could she say that she still loved Dad? I mean, he broke her heart.

  I say to Avery, “Whatever happens, promise me you won’t take up drinking.”

  “Who said anything about drinking?”

  “You’re just . . . you’re too young. Don’t do it.”

  “Not after the way you acted.” He’s giving the TV a confused look, his face all rearranged. “My whole life went to hell the day that alien said hello.”

  “Huh?”

  “Kayla’s getting back with Jack. My parents split so Dad could get back with your mom. Everyone’s out professing their true love, and it’s ruining my life.”

  “Oh, come on. Dad’s not one of those people who think the Centaurians are going to invade.”

  He shakes his head. “On the flight up, he told me they’re days away from a full-on assault, and once the major cities are taken down, they’ll begin picking off the survivors.”

  I bust up, falling onto the back of the shopping cart chair, making it skid back. That’s basically the plot to Independence Day.

  He says, “It’s really not that funny.”

  “You’re right.” I choke back the laughs as they pile up in my lungs, and I’ve got to think of something else or it will start up all over again. I take a few deep breaths and focus on the TV. It’s only funny for me, I know. But damn.

  I say, “But he’s the most practical person. Him and Abby bought the house in Westlake Hills with cash, and he still drives his Kia even though he makes, like, a quarter mil a year because ‘it’s paid off and it drives just fine.’”

  “He’s practical, except when he’s not.”

  The first thing to pop into my head is Abby showing up at the apartment with Avery in tow. Except for his shaggy black hair and glasses, it scared me just how much we looked alike. Even though Dad wasn’t there that day, I got to see a side of him I never knew existed. He had an affair. He made so many promises to Mom, and he broke them all. And Dad Promises, as he always reminded me, I could take to the bank.

  I say, “Where did he hear that the Centaurians are going to invade? There’s absolutely zero evidence.”

  “He saw it on TV. Somewhere. I don’t know.”

  “He didn’t mention any of this at the therapist’s.”

  Avery shrugs. “That’s why we’re here. Aliens. And your mom.”

  I wonder how many times these scenarios have been playing out across the globe since the discovery of intelligent life on Pud 5. How many people like Dad and Avery’s friend Jack are out there professing their true love, preparing to hunker down their last days with the ones they really want to be with.

  These are things that aren’t being talked about on the news.

  He says, “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Promise me you won’t tell Dad I told you.”

  “What is it? I promise.”

  “Dad called Ajuno and put in his resignation before we flew up here.”

  “He quit his job? Jesus. He’s completely lost his mind.”

  “Since he thinks the world’s about to end, he didn’t think it mattered.”

  “The hell is his problem?”

  “He’s got, like, three million in the bank. We’ll be fine.”

  “Man, he must be watching way too many movies where the aliens are always dicks. The Centaurians would bring peace, not violence.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I dunno. I just . . . imagine having Thanksgiving with them. How cool would that be? We’d be drinking Coors Light and something from Pud Five, and they’d share with us things we didn’t know about the universe. Afterward, we’d grab the pigskin and teach them how to play football.”

  “So you think it will be like when the Pilgrims had Thanksgiving with the Native Americans?” Avery says condescendingly, like he’s setting me up.

  “In a way. Yeah.”

  “Then the Pilgrims slaughtered them all?”

  I get tripped up and I stutter out some stuff. Is that how it happened?

  I come up with, “This is different. They’re not like us. Listen, Little Dude —”

  “Quit calling me that. I’m taller than you are.”

  “— all I’m saying is: if the Centaurians come to our planet, it will stop the Rayan War.”

  “Yeah. By starting a war with them instead.”

  A chill zigzags across my body. He really means that. There are no words, not in my mouth, not in my head, for about three minutes.

  We start up Rainbow Road, and they keep giving me blue shells and lightning bolts as my weapons, but I can’t get out of last place.

  He says, “I thought you said you were good at this game.”

  What Avery’s saying about aliens, it’s just like what Jenny said about them, and Stephen Hawking, and Carl Sagan: how there’s no chance that they’d come in peace. There’s not a single person in my life who can envision something as extraordinary as aliens without inventing all these doomsday prophecies to go along with them.

  But they’ve brought us together. If all of what Avery said is true, Dad’s so convinced that the Centaurians are out for blood that he gave up his fifteen-year relationship with Abby, his twenty-year career with Ajuno, and flew to Ohio to profess his true love for Mom.

  I get this surge of adrenaline or something being dumped into my veins. I put my hand to my chest. My heart is pounding so hard it’s like it’s trying to bust out of my rib cage.

  Avery hits pause. “What’s wrong?”

&
nbsp; All these thoughts are coming at me so fast, I can’t process them all. I’m remembering Kaitlyn telling us about that pledge to form a united global army. I’m remembering this dream I had where there was a nuclear missile on the back of a military truck, pointing up at a flying saucer. The missile was draped with a flag, one that I’d never seen before — a blue-and-green circle in the middle of a black rectangle.

  Earth. It was a flag representing all of humanity. We were united, every country across the planet.

  Why were we united?

  What were we united against?

  I look over at Avery. He’s sneaking his finger into his nose, our eyes meet, and he quickly pulls it out.

  I say, “You’re right. We’re never going to see the Centaurians as, like, friends to us. And it doesn’t even matter what we are to them — it matters what they are to us. Humans are going to view them as an enemy so big that Raya will unite their weapons with the United States. We’ll forget about our differences and instead of pointing our weapons at each other, we’ll be pointing them up at the sky. That’s the answer to world peace.”

  “What is?”

  “An interstellar war.”

  Avery doesn’t say anything. He just casually wipes a booger on his jeans.

  I say, “It would work. It’s how it’s always worked. We allied with the Russians during World War Two to take down Nazi Germany because we couldn’t defeat them on our own. We hated the Russians. Yeah, you know, I’m positive that if there were spaceships in the sky, there wouldn’t be a single human trying to kill another human.”

  Avery says, “If they invade, we wouldn’t stand a chance, even if we had the entire planet on our side. That is, if they have the technology to travel here.”

  “They can travel here whenever they want.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I talked to a Centaurian for, like, ten minutes, but then he went back to Pud Five for dinner.”

  He shakes his head and laughs a little. “You smoke way too much weed.”

  “I’m serious. I have proof. My —” I pause. What do I call Jenny? She isn’t my girlfriend, nor are we friends in the normal sense of the word. It saddens me when I simply say, “— this girl I know, Jenny, she took a picture of him with her phone.”