The Next Naked Alien
She leaves laundry hanging, not like the neighbors, under wraps in the basement, but out on the line to wave at the crop circles in the cornfield. Each oversized T-shirt and patchwork skirt stays pinned up until she needs it so there's always something sure to fit the next naked alien to land in the backyard.
She isn't judging. She just figures her aliens are going to discover mosquitos right about the time mosquitos are discovering her aliens. It stands to reason late summer is the likeliest time, when the corn is high enough to hide a modest saucer. But it's entirely up to her aliens; no shirt, no skirt: no problem.
They will take what they came for -- an earthly delight, or a fuel source, or the winning item in an intergalactic scavenger hunt -- and she will become their prize specimen and the toast of the extraterrestrial talk-show circuit: a perfect example of a healthy human being. They're good people, her aliens. She's never been one to believe those crazy rumors about the probes and the pain.
Okay, so she's probably crazy herself to imagine naked aliens are ever going to have any use for her clothes. Because let's face it, if they're naked it's because they're nudists. And they never seem to stick around long enough to let a few mosquitos change their little green ways. The tumor-fueled engine is running.
She's prepared to go at any time. When it happens, they will find her, a human being healthy, relaxing her grip on a weathered dress to reach for those jeans that fit like a dream.
words: Shannon Anthony, Minneapolis (blog)
image: 'Gigante' - Michael Brandonisio, NYC (at Counterexample)
another extraterrestrial circuit: The Four O'Clock Café (#15)