Intergalactic

When teenagers start getting taken over by intergalactic space travelers, one mother tries to come to terms with the impending loss.

“There’s no way you won’t know,” said Darlene. She took a sip of her latte and stared out the window of the coffee shop at the crowded parking lot. A frazzled mother wrestled a squirming toddler into his car seat, receiving a fistful of Cheerios in the face as reward. Darlene sighed.

For a moment, I felt bad even mentioning the abductions. Her son was taken only a month ago so she was still adjusting to the visitor in his place. A visitor who slept in his bed, wore his clothes, and ate up all the food in the house.

But I considered her my best authority on the matter, seeing as she was my only friend with firsthand experience, so I kept going. “Is it true what they say about their speech? Is it...“ I didn’t know the right word. The teenagers, sorry, *visitors*, got so upset if you didn’t use the right terminology for this new normal.

“Gibberish?” she whispered, glancing from side to side for any sight of them. “Yeah. I can’t understand a word he says. And he has that glow.”

I read about the glow in Science Daily for The Rest of Us. Apparently, whenever a teen gets taken, the husk of their body glows, lit from within. Scientists were still puzzling out the specifics.

“One evening you tuck them in, the next morning, gone.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis. “It’s really a shame. Dylan won’t stay on the college track at this rate. He’ll have to be *remediated*.” She shook her head and blew wafts of latte steam in my direction.

I couldn’t believe her biggest concern was her son’s college prospects when, at this very moment, his soul or mind or whatever it was, was living many light years away on a planet astronomers still couldn’t find with their deep space telescopes. It’s cold comfort that the aliens have been studying us for centuries and claim no ill will towards the children or the planet. “Intergalactic vacation” is the term they use. I wanted no part of it.

“Do you think I can stop it? I know they don’t take everyone so maybe...” She cut me off.

“My best advice? Get used to the idea before it happens. I can’t believe I already paid for all that extra tutoring...” She scampered down a verbal rabbit hole about her son’s college prospects and I tuned her out.

I looked out the window to check on the mother and toddler. He was strapped in but I could hear his cries through the glass window while his mother hurried to stuff groceries in the back of the SUV; she wore the mask of a smile but her eyes told the truth. His screaming was the perfect soundtrack for my frantic mind.

How was I supposed to accept this? How could this be the new normal?

From the moment that second line appeared on the pregnancy test, Mia was my everything. My first memory of her: tiny fingers curled up like fiddleheads. I couldn’t imagine something so small, so delicate, surviving this perilous world. But survive she did. Thrived, in fact. And now she, more likely than not, would soon be whisked across the galaxy to some distant planet of brain stealing aliens. I hated all of it.

Darlene was saying something about the SATs when I interrupted. “So I’m just supposed to give up? Act like this is normal?” Tears burned the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill out any second. “I don’t think I can do that.” The waterworks started.

Darlene stopped stirring and looked at me. She handed me a napkin.

“Yeah, pretty much,” she said. “Or go crazy trying to stop it.”



The smell of acetone assaulted my nose before I opened Mia’s bedroom door. “You need to turn the fan on,” I reminded her as I moved her laptop and sat down on the bed. I felt lightheaded, from the fumes or my planned conversation, I wasn’t sure.

Mia hit pause on the video she was watching and contorted herself into a winning Twister move to turn on the fan without smudging her fresh polish. “Did you want something?”

It felt like just yesterday she was still eager to spend time with me. It wasn’t long ago, I knew that much. “I just wanted to talk about a few things.”

She made a sound between a groan and a growl before rolling her eyes and returning to her manicure.

Don’t talk about the tough stuff first, I thought. I wanted to find just the right balance between breezy and serious. “What’s that design you’re painting?”

Usually, Mia preferred pink polish. She had lots of different bottles that all looked the same to me but she promised were different shades. “It’s called galactic.” She stretched out her left arm and wiggled the fingers in front of me. Each nail was painted a different color: apricot pink, French lavender, sea foam green, cobalt, and on her thumb, a deep indigo. “All the glow-shades of the visitors. They really like it.”

Visitors. The word offended me; it made them sound like relatives staying over on holiday. I strained to keep my voice calm.

“How do you know they like it?” I pretended I was asking about the latest fashions and not alien invaders.

Mia cocked her head to the side, pausing her manicure. “I don’t really know, exactly. Layla says she can talk to them but I think she’s lying.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“But it’s pretty easy to tell when they’re happy because they smile a lot and cycle through all these colors really fast. It’s like a rainbow.”

“Mmhmmm,” was all I could manage. If I kept my mouth closed she’d keep talking. If I let my thoughts slip out, she’d stop. I nodded and picked up the Indigo bottle like I was considering it for myself.

“I know you think it’s all stupid, but I like them. School’s a lot more interesting these days.”

I sighed. “I actually do believe that.”

The visitors took schools by surprise. While they could afford it, some parents sent them to “camps.” High school enrollment decreased. Conservatives argued the aliens were doing everyone a favor by lowering student/teacher ratios without additional funding.

But sending them away became impossible after a few months. There were too many galactic tourists and not enough camps. The aliens gave no indication of their numbers, but it was understood that most American teenagers could count on spending at least a year of their teendom *abroad*. “One of the few upsides,” Darlene mentioned, “is that now I don’t need to send him on one of those volunteer vacations. You’re at a disadvantage on college applications if you haven’t traveled.”

So the aliens went to school with the teens who remained and returned. Nonplussed teachers soon saw the benefit of having quiet, curious visitors interspersed with disinterested learners. “They just seem so happy to be here,” reported Ms. Pleasant of Hampton High to the evening news.

And now, Mia was happy about it too. “Seriously, mom. They’re not bad or anything. Entertaining is more like it.”

She turned her laptop to face me and hit play. At first, I wasn’t sure what I was watching - it looked like a typical high school hallway between classes. Then I noticed one of the teenagers, a pretty girl with copper skin and pony tailed hair, fall to the ground. She writhed like a snake in retreat. A cycling rainbow of colors radiated through her white crop top and the other students formed a circle around her. “Glow, glow, glow,” they chanted, until the girl finally stilled, smiled, and continued down the hallway.

“Why do you like watching that stuff?” All I could think about was how easy my parents had it. Wearing too much black and a couple skipped classes were the greatest offenses I committed in high school. This was light years more difficult.

She shrugged. “You just don’t get it. I can wear my headphones if you want.”

I touched her knee. “That’s not what I want.” I wanted to hug her and protect her and have her listen for once.

“I actually came up here to talk to you about all this.” I gestured toward my daughter and the computer. Mia shifted her attention back to her nails and opened the bottle of cobalt blue. She wore invisible headphones.

“I’m just...concerned. Do you feel ready for all this?” Such a small word for such a big experience. “A moment ago you sounded excited and I think it’s such an awful thing, what’s happening.”

“Mommmm.” Another groan.

“I feel like you’re not taking this seriously, Mia. There’s so many unknowns. So many things we haven’t talked about.”

Now it was her turn to sigh. “It’s not such a big deal,” she said, blowing on her outstretched fingers. “Just feed my visitor, don’t let them mess up my clothes or anything, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

She was full of confidence and ignorance in equal amounts; I remembered myself at 15. I wanted to scream back through the years and say “listen, you really don’t know everything!” But, stealing one of Mia’s lines, I knew she just wouldn’t get it. Then a realization hit me: I didn’t get it either, like my mother before me and my grandmother before her. We were never prepared, never got it, and the world still turned.

“Well,” I struggled for the right words and to push down the lump in my throat. “If you feel ready, I guess there’s nothing left for me to say.”

But that was a lie.

“Trust me, mom.” Her eyes met mine and she smiled.

I squeezed her shoulder and kissed her forehead before standing to leave. I stopped in the doorway and all the unsaid words hung in the air.

Will you be safe?

I closed the door like she was always asking me to.

Do you still need me?

I turned off the light she left on in the bathroom.

I love you more than life itself.