1.5 Aliens and Tea

It was still bright outside, though the sun had already begun its slow descent into the night. I followed her past the line of scented lemon trees and over a wall. I told myself not to panic and just follow the axe murderer to her secret location.

Now in my head various thoughts were forming which was probably not uncommon for an 'over-thinker'. One was do you sleep with the girl the first time and secondly do I hear voices? Now sleeping with the girl the first time you were introduced to her had resulted in problems the girl after partaking in the act of sex would probably figure that I was only interested in sex. This was true in some situations, anyone could admit that there were times that they just needed a good lay and admitting this was not shallow but truthful. Menstruation hindered sex, I knew this, clever boy. I was thinking about sex due largely to her bottom that was swaying two feet in front of me, hypnotising me saying, “Come to me you know you want it!” Now that brings me to the notion of hearing voices. I didn’t know, though I did know I made up voices in my head, which was ultimately my voice but I gave them accents, a speech impediment at times humoured me.

Did aliens exist? The whole question went way over my head; I followed the great pair of legs, over another crumbling wall down a little worn path with bits of dirt and gravel. I looked at a pair of footprints that lay off to the side in the mud. Aliens, I suggested to myself. I kept on walking, following further down the path, a few trees led off to the side, more footprints. I was never a tracker before, not even in my previous life, but I had instinct, I knew that if I would follow those footprints they would lead me to a UFO crash site, aliens would be arguing over how to fix the ship so they could get back to their planet. I shook my head, it would lead me to no spaceship, I would probably discover a student crashed out down some alleyway slumped on the floor stoned out of his mind.

Did aliens have passports? I watched my feet walking out in front of me, as I continued to follow lovely legs.

“Samantha,” I said. No reply.

“Samantha!” I shouted this time.

“Yes,” she spun around. “You don’t have to shout.”

“Sorry, I just had a question, do aliens have passports and do they have a previous life?”

She giggled, “You do come up with some silly questions.”

I frowned; I could’ve dropped to the ground then and there and laughed about her story and how she had dedicated her life to studying aliens. My questions were not silly, they were highly logical.

I had to explain myself. “Well for example an alien can’t just go wherever the hell it wants to without a pass or permission to travel to such a place.”

“And who told you this?” she smirked.

“No one, it’s just logical that you can’t go wherever you like without the proper documentation, maybe some places do not treat aliens very nicely.”

She smiled, the both of us standing on the worn out path, I had never been in such a place before. And that brought me to the question of the previous life.

“Was an alien someone else before they were conceived, do they have to be conceptually conceived to live?”

She looked puzzled, her eyes widened.

“Say, I think I was an alien in my previous life. Could an alien have been a human in his previous life?”

“Ha-ha,” She was laughing at me now, I had never laughed at her notions. “Doctor Bates, you tell me!”

I smiled, “Well if I was an alien in my previous life, couldn’t I somehow unlock that bit of information and somehow retrieve such information?”

It was a thought, a stroke of genius on my part.

She didn’t seem too sure, perhaps she thought I was just playing along with her and I really thought she was insane and I thought it was my duty to mankind to take her on as a charity case.

“Come on,” she spun around, “there’s no point standing here. Let’s go back to my place and we can continue the conversation.”

The building was tall, it sat on a green hill, a number of other buildings surrounded it. I swore upon seeing the grey building cluttered with windows that it was some sort of modern leaning tower of Pisa. A few people were hanging around on the green; it was well kept for a student place. The lift was broken, which was typical. The ground floor was cluttered with rusty bicycles and empty bottles that would never make it to the bottle bank. My eyes followed Samantha up the old wooden staircase that probably had all sorts of bugs boring holes in the woodwork.

I moaned, the walk had been long enough and now stairs. “Don’t worry,” she said skipping up the stairs, “we’re nearly there.”

Twenty flights later we were there.

The room was small, one large couch took up the room, a TV sat on a table at the corner of the room, a large window let in the light and a scene below. I could see a lot of the city from here, the stadium wasn’t too far away, government buildings were a collection of toys. Samantha was making a lot of noise in the kitchen, probably getting the mugs together for tea; I could hear the kettle loudly boiling.

“Do you take sugar?” She shouted out.

“No!”

“Milk?”

“Yes.”

Everything went dead quiet. No sound was heard coming from the kitchen.

“Umm, Samantha?” I called out.

“Yes,” she replied opening up the door to her room. She was holding a tray with two mugs, a teapot and a plate of chocolate biscuits. Spoons were also included. She sat the tray down on the coffee table and then jumped wildly on to the bed.

“So,” she said. “Let’s talk about aliens, you know you’re the first person I meet that's actually interested in what I do, and I might even get you interested in coming back to college. Some of the things you talk about are quite interesting, maybe you could research it.”

I sensed a hint of sarcasm there, but I wouldn’t say anything to it.

“Belief in extraterrestrial life,” I said, “when were they first mentioned in our history?” A little quiz for her.

“The first important Western thinkers to argue systematically for a universe full of other planets and, therefore, possible extraterrestrial, possible extraterrestrial life were the ancient Greek writers Thales and his student Anaximander in the 7th and 6th centuries B.C.E. The atomists of Greece took up the idea, arguing that an infinite universe ought to have an infinity of populated worlds. Ancient Greek cosmology worked against the idea of extraterrestrial life in one critical respect, however: the geocentric universe, championed by Aristotle and codified by Ptolemy, privileged the Earth and Earth-life (Aristotle denied there could be a plurality of worlds) and seemingly rendered extraterrestrial life impossible. The Egyptians may have suggested a belief in extraterrestrial life, though the supernatural and the notion of aliens is difficult to distinguish from that of gods, deities, and such."

I coughed on my tea. A lot of information there. "Here’s the thing and just off the top of my head, why am I not an alien?”

“Because you are from this world are you not?”

“Yes.” I tried to remember where I was before I was born, couldn’t. “I think I am.”

“Your mother gave birth to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you're not an alien but of this world.” Her language sounded very archaic.

“But I am an alien to other life forms, if life does exist outside of our world.”

“What are you getting at?”

I raised the cup of tea to my mouth it burnt my hands; she was already digging into the biscuits that looked like they were reserved for guests.

I replied, “I don’t know trying to sound educated I guess.”

“You’re not doing a good job of it,” she laughed.

“No?”

“No.”

“Do aliens have souls?”

“Souls…?” She stopped munching on her biscuit. Any more questions from me and she would be choking in my arms.

“And do they have brains?”

“What do they wear when they go out for the night?”

“Do they enjoy sex?”

She took a sip of tea smiled and then said. “Do you want to find out?”

“What are you an alien?”

“Yes,” she giggled. “Born on planet Ziqar and was sent to repopulate the earth.”

“Hmm.” I laughed I knew where this was heading; she started to bounce on the bed, yet she remained seated. I should have played along but I said, “What accents do your voices have?” Perfect opportunity destroyed.

“Eh?” She wanted it to go somewhere.

Stupid me, I realised it at once though there was no back tracking at least not in my mind.

“They’re just like ordinary voices,” She shrugged her shoulders and shoved another biscuit into her mouth the crumbs falling on the bed.

Do aliens have souls?

Do buildings have souls?

I slapped my head with my hand. Stupid me thinking stupid thoughts, think about the girl sitting on the bed, think, think, think.

Why are aliens green?

Why are vegetables green?

Do souls have a brain?

I think I was coming to something. In western civilisation people believed that they had a soul, the soul needed a body to survive, however what happened when the body died? The soul would have no brain therefore what good is a conscience if it has no brain? The relation dawned on me suddenly that humans needed the body to be joined with their soul after death thus resulting in perhaps the soul taking over the bodily functions and somehow charging the brain. If this was true then bodies would still be useful, but would it be morally acceptable. What if aliens stole our souls, what then? Would life cease to exist or would it be a form of mind control? I shook my head, really gave it a good rattle, but still no sense could be seen.

Over-thinking.

Why does a duck take to water? Why does it like the water? Why couldn’t I do what a duck did, why couldn’t I float endlessly on? It was strange, I imagined myself sitting on the bed a giant duck, sipping it’s tea and dreaming of setting sail like a boat out on the ocean. I looked at Samantha, she was a green bug eyed alien, clucking, and hitting her tongue off the roof of her mouth, making strange and unusual sounds.

Where was God in all this peculiarity, why did I continue to exist? Why did I develop an over imaginative brain. Perhaps I had always had such an imagination I thought of the time when I was small and my hair was beach blonde and being taken to the zoo for the first time. The penguins terrified me. They looked like soldiers dressed in tuxedos - soldiers in a battlefield dressed like they were ready to go to a ball. The monkeys made me shake and the lions seemed to whisper that if I came any closer to the bars they would have as a starter before their main course. The main course turned out to be the warden.

Now in my mind God could have been anything, a sheep for all I mattered he held no real image in my mind. Why did pictures always portray God as an old bearding man, and why did he always stay old? Was he ever young? And did anyone ever manage to get a picture of him? If someone was able to take a portraiture shot of God they would be rich. Somewhere a tabloid photographer was chasing up the sighting of God, he was probably somewhere in Himalayas.

“God…?”

“Yes,” he replied somewhere inside my brain. “Are you an alien?”

Samantha just sat there sipping her tea, embracing the silence.

“Why are biscuits that are made with chocolate pieces called chocolate chips?”

“Umm, you tell me?”

“Eh? Do you want more tea?” It was Samantha, interrupting me.

“Ok,” I replied, holding out my cup.

“You are strange,” she blurted out. She watched my eyes as she poured the tea. “What made you decide to be an analyst?”

“My father made me decide said it was the best option for me. I agreed with him at the time. Though come to think of it I could have been a baker or a janitor and he would have thought it was a good career opportunity.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a janitor.” The cup was filling up; if she didn’t stop pouring it would be burning a hole through my pants.

“When!” I said. “When!” The tea was getting dangerously close to scolding my balls.

“Huh?”

“WHEN…?!!” I shouted desperately.

She looked down at the cup of tea, grunted nervously and said, “Oh!” The pouring stopped; I brought the cup to my mouth and started to sip.

There was nothing in the room to say that Samantha had a fascination for aliens, not even a plastic alien on the windowsill. I was skeptical, like she was having me on so I feigned silence, until it was time to go. I only said the word, “Goodbye!”

She reached over to a pen on her bedside table, tore out a scrap of paper and quickly scribbled something on it. Then she slipped it in my pocket. I left through the front door without a word down the steps and through the little path I had followed her.