Thunderbird

I only said to Jeannie, "Yes, I liked it."

And now I was even more spooked. I had forgotten all about that little detail.

I saw the guy again. Just one time.

I was working at McDonald's, on a very busy lunch shift, and he came in with a group of his frat buddies and a girl on his arm. And he saw me, and stopped, and we exchanged a look. We didn't need to say anything. I knew his heart was pounding as hard as mine. I knew he had remembered every detail. I knew, from the look in his eyes, that it wasn't just me. Something had happened that night.

That was the look I had seen in Mr. Fisher's eyes.

+++

I kept these things to myself. I kept a lot to myself. The only person who maybe knew me better than most, besides my father, was Mr. Fisher, since he read my writing.

I had written a little story about that night—minus the blow job, of course. It was about a kiss, between strangers, who did not know they were gods until they met. I transformed frat dude into an ancient Sun God, and myself into the Mistress of the Moon. Mr. Fisher loved it. He encouraged me to keep writing, and so I did, but he was the only one who knew about it.

Jeannie was none the wiser as we headed into the family barbecue. She was giggling about what was going to happen between me and Billy later on. Maybe we'd "fuck!"

Perhaps we would, but the thought made my stomach roil with anxiety.

Aside from that one encounter on a moonlit night—which I sometimes wondered if I only dreamed up—my sexual experiences tended to be flat and uninspiring. There was no primitive mating, no spontaneous orgasms—for me, at least. The guy I was with always had a great time, but I would be left with nothing but a sense of emptiness. This was the other reason I didn't like to talk to my friends about it. They could no more relate to that than my other experience.

When I thought about Billy, I'm not sure which outcome I feared more.

As the day wore on the more nervous I got. Jeannie's questions hovered over my head in an invisible thought balloon as I chatted with my cousins and everyone was coming up to me congratulating me and saying how proud they were of me and what a great future I had.

Towards sunset, I escaped the crowd and stood on a deck we had at the far back of our property. It overlooked a kind of gulley which eventually turned into the trailing edges of the Chihuahuan Desert. The sky had clouded over, in long horizontal striations of black, white, and grey that I knew signaled a coming storm. From behind the clouds, the remaining rays of the sun illuminated the tops of a few towering banded rock formations in pale gold before they sunk down into darkness. We'd have to drive right through there to get to Jeannie's place.

I couldn't help but hear Sting's voice echoing as I looked out into that expanse.

The tick tock. The waiting. The sense that something's got to happen.

You see what I mean?

And there I was, thinking, alternating between dread and intense anticipation, when I saw something else, something new, down in the desert, below, where it was already inky black.

I squinted in the shrinking light at a flash of silver. It lasted only a second.

I suppose, anyone who was just driving by, anyone who wasn't me, would have thought it was heat lightening. But I knew it wasn't.

I saw it again, and again. Glints of silver, where the sun pierced the darkness, at the base of the largest rock tower.

I was looking at it, knowing I couldn't deny it, knowing it was real, thinking "Tin foil hat! Tin foil hat!" and picturing all those people I had to wait on in McDonald's, hoping for the alien apocalypse.

"Frannie?"

I jumped, and spun around at the voice, as if whoever it was could read my thoughts.

"Oh, hi." It was my father.

"What are you doing back here?"

"Just came to watch the sunset."

He came and stood next to me on the deck, bringing with him the smells of unfiltered Pall Malls and English Leather cologne. It made me smile.

My mother, Joyce, was a peppy, go-getter, cheery type of person. In fact she was an ex-cheerleader, which is how she met my father. He was the star quarterback for Roswell High School, back in the day. They'd met in high school and been married for 23 years.

I adored my father. I'd always been closer to him, in a quiet kind of way. If I ever needed to talk to someone, he was the one I went to, not my mother.

Physically, he reminded me a bit of Billy. He had the same blue eyes, fringed with long dark lashes. He was hulking and muscly and strong, too, though unlike Billy, he had a brilliant mind. He didn't flash it around, but I always knew he understood more than he ever said, particularly about me. Standing next to him I felt my little fears just melt away.

We stood in comfortable silence, looking at the desert.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said. "It's why I've never wanted to leave."

Our vacations had always been spent hiking and camping in or near Roswell. I remembered scaling the same formation we were looking at, and making a campfire and sleeping at the base of it.

"You were damn impressive up there today, Frannie. I could not have been more proud."

I smiled. Of course I knew it, but I loved hearing him say it, more than anyone else.

"I'm going to miss you."

It was the first time that day I felt even a twinge of sadness.

"You'll see me, all the time."

"I know, but . . . ah! Look at that!"

He gestured to an enormous black bird, silhouetted against the clouds. We were near enough to Bitter Lake that we often saw giant ones like that.

"What is it, an eagle?"

"Yes, I think so. Look at it soar. Beautiful."

From the distance, I heard a low rumble of thunder.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, reaching into his pocket.

"These are for you. Happy graduation."

He handed me a set of silver keys.

"What's this?"

But I knew what they were.

"You're giving me the Thunderbird?" It was a 1977 giant gas guzzling, forest green Ford Thunderbird with cushioned velvet seats, and I knew he loved it.

"Yes, I am."

"Are you sure?"

"It's yours. You'll need it, to get to classes. And it's my present. You deserve it."

I turned and hugged him, inhaling the smell of his cologne. "Thank you. Can I use it tonight?"

"Of course."

I felt his arms tighten around me, and he hugged me back.

"I love you, Frannie. Go have fun with your friends."

+++

An hour later, after we'd taken some pictures, Jeannie and I were whizzing along in the Thunderbird, singing to "Whisper to a Scream." The radio in the car didn't work, so I brought along a huge stash of cassette tapes. It was an Eighties music extravaganza.

God that car was ugly—from the outside at least. Whoever designed it was clearly catering to males. It was built like a penis, tight in the back and projecting forward about a mile more than was necessary. I almost felt like I had one, driving it. It was sensitive to the lightest touch, and had a massive, powerful thrust. When I gunned the motor, the giant front hood cut through space like a rocket. Jeannie and I couldn't stop laughing.

But it drove like a dream, and the inside made the ugliness on the outside worth it. It was so roomy you could pitch a tent in there, and so soft and plush it made us both moan when we sunk back into the emerald green seats.

We had to drive about five miles along a two lane highway through the desert, to get to civilization on the other side. By that time the clouds had blown away, and the sky was full of stars.

Jeannie could be kind of shallow, but that had its advantages. She was fun and absolutely fearless. I never would have met frat guy if it wasn't for her. We laughed our asses off reminiscing about all the adventures she'd dragged me into.

At one point, she rummaged through the glove compartment and let out a "Whoop" of triumph when she found an old pack of my Dad's Pall Malls. She lit one up, kicked off her shoes, and stuck her bare feet out the open window.

"Ok, give me one," I said.

"You sure? They're pretty strong."

"Just one puff."

"Suit yourself."

"Oh, fuck that is strong!" I coughed. But God it felt good. I felt an instant nicotine rush.

We sat and smoked in silence for a while, sailing through the starry night.

"Alright," I said. "I have something I want to tell you."

Jeannie perked up, assuming it was going to be about sex.

"Oooh, what?"

"OK, you have to promise me you won't laugh. Or tell me I'm crazy."

"Tell me."

"You swear?!"

"Yes! What is it?"

"Ok. Well. Have you ever wondered, just for one second, if all the stories are true?"

"What stories?"

"The stories, idiot. Roswell."

"No," she said immediately. Her voice was matter of fact and flat, but at least she wasn't laughing.

"Never, not once?"

"No. I just don't think about it. Why?"

As soon as I brought it up, I felt it, outside, in the desert, to my left. Just a sudden creepy sensation, like I was being overheard.

"No, forget it."

"Tell me. Come on. I won't judge, I swear."

"Alright. Sometimes, I, um, get the feeling there's something in the desert. And I . . . see things," I mumbled, down into my chest.

"Hmm. What things?"

God this was torture!

"Things, like . . . you know . . . objects. In the sky."

"What kind of objects?"

"Oh . . . shadows. Dark shadows. And, sometimes, I think I'm seeing a huge bird."

"A bird. Are you sure?"

"No, I just think so."

"Well Frannie, don't be so weird about it! What if it's true? What's the big deal?"

"You wouldn't think I'm crazy?"

"No! You're being paranoid!"

"Really?"

"Yes. Now, wait, you're seeing a bird? Are you sure?"

"No, not at all. It just seems like it. And it couldn't be, anyway. It's too big."

"Well maybe it's a Thunderbird."

"What?"

"You know, a Thunderbird."

"Jeannie, we are sitting in a Thunderbird. What are you talking about?!"

"I'm not talking about the car, idiot. I'm talking about the story. Don't tell me you've never heard it!"

I shrugged.

"No. What is it?"

She put on a fake-sounding accent. "'Old Indian legend.'"

"Stop it," I laughed.

She kept it up, like she was a wise man sitting around a fire passing a peace pipe.

"'Thunderbird powerful. Thunderbird big. Bring thunder and lightning. Do not mess with the big bird.'"

I punched her in the shoulder. "Cut it out."

"What? It's a true story."

"This is crazy."

"God, don't worry about it, Frannie. Even if you are 'seeing things,' so what?"

"Because I'm the only one," I said, quietly. "I mean, Jeannie, seriously, can't you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

I sighed. "Just forget it."

"Look, Frannie, I don't see what the big deal is. You meet an alien, invite him out! Maybe he'll have a big green—"

"Dick," I said, finishing her thought.

I couldn't help but laugh. I should have predicted she would say that.

+++

I got ready for the party with the rest of the gang at Jeannie's house. And aside from a lingering sense of creepiness, I had a blast.

Looking back, it seems so innocent. Roswell was in some sort of time warp, like it was the 1950s. There was actually some "school spirit," and aside from a few exceptions, there were no assholes or stuck-up people or bullies. Everyone pretty much got along. All types would be there—the jocks and the nerds and the brains and even the stoners and druggies would make an appearance. Partly, we were in the desert, so there was nothing else to do. But partly, I only came to realize later, it was the mind set of Roswell itself. When you grow up in the UFO capital of the world, there is a sense, whether you admit it or not, that the "aliens" are out there, somewhere else, and so there is less of a need to find them in each other.

Aside from everything I was thinking, and everything that had happened during the day, it was just one of those nights. A night you knew you would never forget. We were young and as of that day, free. We had three months of having no responsibilities ahead of us, before we would all go our separate ways. But we didn't want to think about that. This night was only about the moment, and it was beautiful.

It was hot, but a breeze blew in from the desert, bringing both relief and a sense of excitement. Someone had cranked up "Dirty Laundry." Those synthesizers were in every song; it was our sound, fresh and new and otherworldly, with just a hint of menace.

I think of twinkling lights as far as the eye can see, thick lip gloss, and the scent of Jovan musk. I think of my friend Marie lying on the floor desperately trying to squeeze into the tightest pair of Jordache jeans imaginable. She had to break out a pair of needle nosed pliers just to pull up the fly. We got dressed in hot pink, chartreuse and electric blue, troweled on the liquid eyeliner, and stepped into towering Candie's shoes. We were gorgeous.

I looked into the mirror, hardly recognizing myself. I looked a bit like Deborah Harry, my idol, only with dark brown hair I mussed up into an artful mess. I loved her look. She was sexy without being in your face, and pretty in a mysterious kind of way. She was the kind of girl you wanted to talk to in a dark corner. The kind of girl you fell in love with. She was just the height of cool—so beautiful she seemed like she came from another planet, but when she opened her mouth, chills went down your spine at that golden voice. Who didn't want to be her?

Billy's parents' house was a spreading, hacienda type of place of dark wood nestled at the base of hills, high up and overlooking the valley. When we got there, and walked towards it, I murmured, "Oh my god."

There was a huge fake flying saucer on the roof, illuminated with green spotlights, and at the end of the driveway, there was an alien air dancer. Someone had rigged it up so Depeche Mode sang "the grabbing hands, grab all the can" while the long arms flapped crazily in the breeze.

Dance music blasted from the house, which was pulsing inside with multi-colored strobe lights.

We were greeted outside by a stoner guy wearing green swimming goggles and a tin foil hat. He was standing next to a homemade sign that said:

WELCOME

CLASS OF 1984

TO THE

ALIEN APOCALYPSE

+++

Well, like I said, it was a night—and a party—to remember. It was the kind of party you still laughed about and got excited about 30 years later. Everyone was beautiful. Everyone had fun.

The insanity started right at the door, where we could choose from Jello vodka shots (lime green, of course) or Melon Balls. The guys in green goggles were handing out tin foil hats for anyone who wanted one, which of course everyone did. Jeannie cut hers in two and stuck the ends on either side of her Mohawk. Everyone got green glow in the dark bracelets and necklaces, which looked amazing in the strobe lights. Alien crap was everywhere.

I ran into Billy briefly, early on, hauling a keg up the back steps and dripping with sweat. He put his hand on my waist and gave me a quick kiss.

"Hey, Frannie, I'm sorry, I'm gonna have to play the host for a while, do you mind?" he shouted, over the music.

"Of course not!" I roared back.

"Alright. But . . . I'll catch you later, right?"

"Yes," I said, giving him a big smile. "Great party!"

All kinds of people, most I didn't even know, came up to me to say how amazing I was and good luck. Guys kept coming up to me to tell me, nervously, how great I looked. Everyone hugged and said we'd never forget growing up in Roswell, we could laugh about it for the rest of our lives.

I didn't get drunk, but I drank enough to let my friends drag me out onto the makeshift dance floor when "White Lines" came on, and then it really got fun.

I remember it all. It was right around the time Madonna got big, but everyone booed when they played her, so they switched to "Gone Daddy Gone" and when they sang

Beautiful girl, love your dress

High school smiles, OH YES

a cheer went up along with a wave of fluorescent green bracelets. We danced to "99 Luftballoons" and "Dance Hall Days" and "Shout," and waved our green bracelets to "Purple Rain." I was hoping for a Blondie song but Blondie was considered passe by then, which really pissed me off. But it didn't matter. The night just kept getting better, and my friends got drunker and drunker.

Someone had brought a big plastic blow-up alien doll and posed it on a couch, wearing green goggles. Jeannie pretended to make out with it. I think I may still have a picture of that.

At one point, there was a group of us primping in the bathroom when Marie came tearing in, bursting with excitement, and quickly shut the door.

"Oh my god you won't believe who's here!"

"Who?!" a crowd of voices yelled back at her.

"Mr. Fisher!"

"No!" said Jeannie.

"Oh yes!" said Marie. "Oh my god how do I look?"

I stood frozen in front of the mirror, while my friends got hysterical.

"Jesus," I finally said. "Calm down. What's the big deal?"

"Only the hottest man on the planet."

"He's a god," said Jeannie.

I gaped at her. "You have a boyfriend!"

"So?" Jeannie said. "He's not here."

This was another one of those examples of how I couldn't relate to my friends about certain things.

I knew the way he'd looked at me, but I hadn't said anything. I thought they were acting like fools.

"I'm going to go find Billy."

I finally located him out in the back yard laughing with a bunch of guys. He saw me coming and came to meet me.

"God, I'm so sorry. It's been crazy."

"It's ok."

"You having fun?"

"Of course. "

"I haven't had a chance to tell you how awesome you look."

He reached out and played with one of my dangly silver earrings, making me laugh nervously.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing," I said. "This really is an amazing party. I can't believe you did all this."

"Well, I can't take credit for it. It was mostly his doing," he said, gesturing to the person walking up behind me.

I turned around, and there was Mr. Fisher.

"Him?"

"Yeah, it was all his idea."

"Billy. Frannie," he said, nodding to both of us. "Having fun?"

I couldn't help it. I blurted out "What are you doing here?" before I even realized it.

"Relax, Frannie. I asked him to come. He lives right down the street. He's been helping me set all this up."

"Oh."

"You're not wearing a tin foil hat," I mumbled.

"Yo, Billy! Get down here!"

Billy shrugged, and gave me a look like, "Do you mind?"

"Go. It's ok."

"Alright, but stay. You promise?"

"Yes. I'll be here."

I stood there awkwardly for a moment. There was a lull in the music and it was suddenly very quiet. But it didn't seem to bother Mr. Fisher. He had his hands in his pockets and seemed quite relaxed as he looked at me.

Purple strobe lights flashed on and off behind him, making his pale eyes shine.

"Come on, Frannie. Walk with me."

I had to smile to myself. My friends would be shitting their pants if they knew I was out there talking to him.

Billy's backyard was more like a steep cliff, staggered with dry brush and cacti leading straight down to the desert. A huge full moon hung in the sky. We stood there looking at it.

"It's been a long day for you, hasn't it?" he asked.

"Actually, yes."

"So, have you given any more thought to what we talked about, Frannie?"

All year, he had been encouraging me to go into a special program for Creative Writing. He bugged me about it constantly.

"I don't know . . . um, not really . . ."

Actually, I had thought about it. But it seemed so unbelievably pretentious. What did I have to say about anything, really?

"So this party was your idea?" I asked him, changing the subject.

"Yes."

"The Alien Apocalypse. Very clever."