Page 23 of Love at First Sighting
“I…” I begin. “Right before we were in the accident, I swore I saw something just like it again, but…my memoryof that night isn’t reliable. I hit my head pretty hard, so who knows.”
A jolt of pain radiates up my arm and to my temple, and I wince. It’s psychosomatic at this point. Remembering too hard hurts. El’s gaze traces around the scar on the side of my head. I’m handing her puzzle pieces. I know she’s bright enough to put them in the right places.
“I tried to mention it, but…I didn’t get very far.”
“No one believed you, either.” She sighs.
“No…” The word whooshes out of me. “No one believed me, either.”
As I put the phone away, my finger slips and the camera roll slides to the next picture—one of the ones I took of El during my goose chase the other night. Holy shit.
“What is that? Is thatme?” El gasps, grabbing my phone from me.
“Look, I was going to delete them, I swear. I was trying to get pictures for reference so I could find you, not to be weird.”
“It’s still weird.”
“I know.”
She brings my phone closer. “These aregood.”
Well, I didn’t expectthat.El holds up a photo I took last night of her driving with the windows down. It’s an action shot and she looks like a model—as always—but there’s a candidness to it that I think flatters her a lot. The photo quality is good, composition strong. She flips to the next one: El at our near miss at the stoplight, looking over her shoulder. Just a split second before she saw me, yelled “fuck,” and sped off.
“They are?”
She nods. “Yeah. You’re a great photographer. I know what you were doing was creepy, but you took some good candids.I struggle so hard to get those. I always look fake. These look real.”
“Thank…you?”
“Can you send me these when we have service again?”
I furrow my brows. She’s not joking.
“Sure.” Well, this is deeply weird, so we return to silence. Until…“Wait…”
El freezes and her eyes dart to the sky. I press a finger to my lips. The air vibrates with a staticky hum, the one that scores all my nightmares. El grasps my jacket sleeve and crawls toward a large rock for cover. I follow her and conclude with finality that this suit has to go to the cleaners.
We press ourselves to the rock and peer over the edge of it. Her pinkie grazes the back of my thumb and sends chills all over my body. Touches from El set off a chain reaction that make it so hard to not do more, tiny jolts of electricity zapping me back to the present.
“Look,” she demands. So, I do.
Fear churns in my stomach as a glimmering anomaly floats through the sky. It’s larger than the one I saw when I was a kid and far better at hiding. It casts a glowing ripple in the sky as the leaves around us shake. Years and years of therapy go down the toilet as my eyes follow the craft. I remember the shutter of the camera, the quiet hum of crickets in the air, and the sharp intake of breath from my dad when he set eyes on what I saw. The brief glint of his reflection in the split second before the car crash.
Knowing what I know from my time at PIS, I can confirm this isnota UFO. Not an alien one, at least. UFO sightings and close encounters often come with side effects like missing time or physical illnesses and sensations, which neither of ushave experienced. There is no doubt in my mind that whatever we’re dealing with is completely terrestrial.
I realize I’ve stopped breathing when El rests her hand on my jacket sleeve.
“Carter,” she whispers. “Are you okay?”
I don’t answer her. I have so many questions Ishouldbe asking, but all my brain is doing is running me through a traumatic slideshow of memories: my dad coming to my kindergarten Thanksgiving play (I was the turkey), him cheering in the stands at a Little League game (even though I was terrible), birthday parties, family trips. Cruel reminders of things I won’t get to have again.
“Carter!” she hisses louder.
This time, I snap back to her as the craft floats seamlessly through the sky with a quiet whir and nearly imperceptible cloak of invisibility.
“That’s it,” I say.
She nods. “Yeah, it is.”
