Universal Language
I fumbled with a translucent sheet of rice paper, the ritual a familiar comfort as tobacco always left me with a headache, and regular papers burned like hot sand in my throat. That night, peace came swaddled in the gentle embrace of rice. As I sparked up, the flame obscured my first glimpse of a shooting star streaking across the darkening sky. But it grew and grew, a blazing disc roaring before splashing into the pond with a hiss. Through a hazy curtain of swirling fog and steam, I saw an arch of blinking lights, a fallen star with a metallic sheen.
My phone flickered on with a shake, the flashlight slicing a path through the gloom. I stepped down creaky steps, anticipation knotting my stomach as I approached. The fog parted slightly, revealing a spacecraft, a real-deal flying saucer, dipped nose-first into the pond like a half-eaten Oreo. The lights had gone dark, replaced by an insular stillness.
Ripples radiated around a tall figure emerging from the water, wearing a sleek suit that didn’t reflect the light quite right. I squinted; it was almost as if the material was out of focus, like I could see if I just put on a pair of glasses. They tore off their helmet, gasping for breath, their face a visage of otherworldliness—a praying mantis’ triangular skull stretched taut with what might be crimson-colored human skin. Bulbous, multifaceted eyes, pools of liquid silver, narrowed with fear. Their low, wide mouth, with full, fleshy lips moved in a way that defied comprehension, opening and closing soundlessly when they noticed me standing at the shore. Large tympanic membranes quivered as they gestured toward me, then to my phone, a series of clicks and hisses erupting from their throat.
The phone rang, a jarring intrusion. The alien recoiled, flinching at the sound. It was my husband, his voice a balm from a world away. Just checking in since I was alone that night. Relief washed over the alien’s face, a flutter of understanding replacing fear. I didn’t mention the alien and cut the call short. As I hung up, the alien patted their belt then imitated the phone gesture, tracing circles in the air, staring longingly at the stars. They needed a way to speak.
With the dying light from my phone, a glint of metal sparkled in the murky depths. I kicked off my shoes, the cool breeze spreading goosebumps across my bare limbs. The black water, thick with the scent of moss, sucked at my ankles as I waded in. A jolt shot up my arm when my fingers broke the surface, forcing me to drop my phone. It sank with a depressing gurgle, the light winking out just as I snatched both devices from the muck. My heart pounded as I returned from the water. I felt a sense of ease, but as I examined the alien device, a smooth, metallic teardrop, my chest stopped. It appeared to be dead. It remained lifeless in the alien’s hands, too. They mimed drying it with a towel, then tucked it into their belt. A barely perceptible tremor shook their slender frame. A sheen of moisture coated their huge eyes, blurring the expanse reflected within.
“Here,” I said, my voice soft in the heavy silence. I beckoned them up to my porch, the light casting a warm glow on the door. Inside, I spread out a feast—leftover sushi, a rainbow of vegetables, and deli meats. I grabbed some rice packets, passing a silent explanation between us. I demonstrated burying my phone in the bag while they watched, wide-eyed. The alien, hesitant at first, mimicked the action with their own.
They pointed a spindly finger at the sushi, a delicate sliver of pink shrimp nestled in sticky white rice, encircled by a thin band of dark seaweed. With delicate grace, they brought a piece to their mouth, their slitted nostrils twitching cautiously. It disappeared whole, followed by a look of surprise.
“Mmmm… good?” I said, gesturing circles on my belly, offering a tentative smile. The corners of their broad mouth stretched, crinkling the skin around their forehead in what seemed like mirth. They motioned to the food and back to me.
I chuckled. “Sure, why not?” I popped a piece in my mouth, savoring the familiar salty-sweet combination.
A series of clicks poured from the alien—a melodious purr like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. They tried a little of everything on the plate and peeked around my shoulder toward the kitchen where I had gathered the meal. I saw what else I could find: cheese cubes, grapes, toast. They held up a green grape, inspecting it like a miniature emerald planet before taking a playful bite.
We settled onto porch chairs with hot chocolate, the drone of crickets a weighted blanket in the night air. I relit my joint and checked out the communicator nestled in the rice. The metallic casing was cool to the touch, but beneath my fingers, a faint vibration started to build. It was almost imperceptible to begin, but a hum spread through my body, shaking my bones, a pressure building in my chest that made me take a sudden breath. I felt it deep in my marrow, as if the resonance was rewiring something fundamental inside me. The alien’s attention snapped toward me. A strange dizziness spilled over my shoulders. Their reflective, multifaceted gaze filled with a mix of hope and fear as our eyes locked and I saw myself over and over and over. Their expression softened into something else: recognition, maybe even gratitude.
The communicator crackled to life, and the alien clutched it with trembling hands. They let out a series of rapid clicks, a burst of sound so dissonant and beautiful it made my hackles rise. Suddenly, they plucked the joint from my hand, and took a tentative inhale, holding the smoke within their elongated chest before exhaling with a slow, raspy sigh. For a time, we simply sat together in the shared haze, two beings from disparate worlds bound by a fleeting ritual.
Then, the hum in my heart faded to an empty stillness. The alien pressed a hand to their center, as if to signify the change. They inclined their head, and I copied the movement. All I could see were stars. They didn’t need words; the communicator, now glowing softly, was the sole solution to their problem.
With a final nod, they stepped off the creaky porch, striding to the water. They waded in, the illusory reflections of their suit blending into moonlit ripples. The communicator glowed brighter, flashing in sync with the night. The alien turned back, raising a hand in a gesture that felt like a farewell. I waved in return, leaning against the railing. Then, in a shimmer of light, both the alien and craft disappeared, leaving only the quiet of the pond and the lingering scent of moss and weed.
I slumped down into my chair, the mostly-burnt joint still smoldering in my fingers. Taking one last puff, the afterimage of the alien floated over my vision. When I finally put my phone on charge, it buzzed—missed calls and messages from my husband and others popping up. I stared at the screen, the weight of reality a hollow ache, a reminder of the bond I’d just made and lost. Of the wonder I’d briefly brushed against. Of slipping back into the ordinary. For a moment, I had been connected to something bigger, only to be left with the familiar pulse of push alerts. I breathed out into the darkness, the taste of smoke mingling with the memory of the hum.
Maudie Bryant is an artist living in Louisiana. Her writing often explores the depths of human experience, surveying the disquiet lurking beneath the surface.Maudie’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Literally Stories, Anodyne, and Susurrus.