"Aliens Among Us" by Maya R. Hirschman

She wasn’t quite gaping at him, though she stared.

     “They’re aliens,” he repeated.

     She was almost relieved as a wry smile played
over his alert, boyish face, deeply lined by much laughter.  The sigh
of relief caught in her throat as she read the underlying honesty in his
expression.  Instead of laughing, she pulled the round, sepia-lensed
glasses from her face and leveled a questioning stare at him.

     They were standing in the dark foyer of the
large uptown branch of the public library.  It was a modern building,
angular and of brown bricks and tinted glass - though not at all unpleasant
or ill-fitting in the old, treed, residential neighbourhood.  The
smooth brown of the bricks only seemed to deepen the dark colour of Rebecca’s
eyes as she looked back into the dancing blue’s of Kieran’s.

     “Are all old people aliens?”  Rebecca
could hardly believe she’d just asked the question with such an air of
normalcy as if this were a normal conversation.  Well, for these two,
at least, it was approaching normal.  It had been triggered by a wide,
gentle-looking elderly woman - the sort you expect to find walking seriously
in parks, or reading large volumes of Margaret Lawrence - as she stopped
in the foyer to put on a pair of large sunglasses.  The sort of glasses
favoured by those with cataracts or sensitive eyes, the sort that could
be put on around normal reading glasses.  She’d smiled at the young
couple before pushing through the great, glass doors onto the sunny walkway
outside.

     “You see that?” Kieran has asked, gesturing
to the old woman after the doors had swung shut.  Rebecca had turned
to watch the figure receding down the sidewalk.  “She’s one.”

     At first, Rebecca had thought to let the bizarre
remark pass, and now, with no end to the discussion in sight, she rather
wished she had.  Foolishly, though, she’d quirked an eyebrow to peek
above the gold frame of her glasses.  "She’s one what?”

     Kieran had grinned widely as he answered,
“An alien.  They think they’re hiding it, but you can usually tell.”

     Perhaps at this point, Rebecca was persuading
herself that her boyfriend was only kidding her.  She had, after all,
fallen for him for his strange, sometimes fey, sense of humour.  Or
at least that was part of the attraction.  She turned again to look
out into the sunny afternoon, but the woman had long turned a corner, out
of sight, but certainly not out of mind.  That was when she had felt
her jaw go slack.  She heard herself asking him if all old people
were, briefly considering a larger question about humanity as a whole before
letting that one drop.  “It’s in the sunglasses,” Kieran stated, still
grinning, a fire dancing in his summer-sky eyes.

     With a profound sigh, Rebecca allowed herself
to rise to the bait: “Sunglasses?  What are you talking about?” 
Now they were having a normal conversation.  Both of them, and the
vast majority of their circle of friends, might be politely termed as eccentric,
though more commonly their ultra-ordinary peers called them ‘freaks’, for
lack of a more creative insult.

    And they were weird, no question.  When Kieran
and Rebecca finally admitted their mutual interest, a close friend took
them each aside in the art hall at school and, with a pleading expression
on her face said, “Please, do not breed.”  They’d laughed then, and
they had since, but now watching her boyfriend become more animated, even
frantic, Rebecca silently promised her friend.

*  *  *

LOCATION: Public library.

COUPLE, class H: young-adult, Caucasian male; young-adult, Caucasian
female.

FEMALE, class D: brown hair, eyes; height/weight above average.

MALE, class C: blond hair, blue eyes; height/weight average.

OBSERVATIONS: Female dressed in black leather jacket, black ‘jeans’,
purple boots, green canvas backpack.  Male dressed in button-down
shirt - over solid blue shirt, blue ‘jeans’, black shoes, black backpack. 
Both in conversation.  Smiling, laughing.

VERDICT: Likely students; mostly harmless.

*  *  *

    “That’s how you can tell.”  Kieran fell silent
as a stern-looking Oriental woman pushed through the inner doors, glancing
sharply at the young couple before pushing out into the sunlight. 
Rebecca blinked as the light flashed painfully from the swinging door. 
“Come on,” grinned Kieran as he took her by the arm and dragged her almost
blindly into the library.

 They found a place to sit in the Children’s section, Rebecca
still rubbing at her eyes.  “Couldn’t the sunglasses just be to protect,
you know, their eyes?” she asked, holding up her own pair for emphasis.

     “That’s what they want you to think.” 
Kieran had dug a book of faery stories from the shelf and responded in
a low voice as he flipped through the pages, examining the pictures within. 
He stopped at one and considered it before turning the book so that Rebecca
could see it too.  He had to tap the page in order to call her interest. 
There was a watery image of a beaming brownie or some such faery creature
and Rebecca shook her head.  “Too cute,” she stated flatly, “No dignity.” 
Kieran nodded his agreement and flipped again through the book.

     Rebecca attempted to bring the conversation
back to the aliens, but stopped as a small, fat boy in a “Welcome to Jamaica”
tee-shirt wandered over to look at Kieran’s book.  “I seen one of
these,” he said, pressing a pudgy brown finger to a picture of a hobgoblin,
“At gramma’s house.”  They did not return to the subject of aliens
again that day.

*  *  *

    If anyone had been paying attention when the subway
pulled in at the main transfer point, they would have seen one car at the
end of the train empty out its entire load of commuters.  This was
not, in itself, strange.  Rush hour could empty almost an entire train
before packing in even more people inside to continue on to the next stations. 
What was strange about this train car was that everyone getting off were
seniors.  It was like a dam had broken releasing a small sea of pastel-coloured
waves.  But no one was paying attention, so the seniors spread out,
diffusing into the larger throng of people, disappearing into the roiling
crowds.

     If people had been paying attention, they
would have seen some of the seniors stopping to pay close attention to
the Latin-American buskers, or head to the snack stand to buy and examine
carefully various sorts of potato chips and chocolate bars.  As quickly
as they entered, most of the seniors left, flooding through the turnstiles
and up the escalators into the department store and streets above.

     If someone had been paying attention, they
would have seen the whole lot of them put on large, dark over-glasses before
going out into the sunny day above.  But no one cared, and no one
saw.

*  *  *

    It was about a week later when the subject of aliens
came up again.  Rebecca and Kieran were walking along a green, tree-lined
street, heading toward the city’s main drag.  The trees opened up
revealing the small parking lots behind the trendy boutiques that were
slowly replacing the old mom-and-pop stores that had once ruled this area
of the city.  An elderly couple rounded the corner off the bustling
sidewalk and strolled casually, hand in hand, toward them.

     The elderly couple smiled at their youthful
reflection as they passed, and it took a moment to register in Rebecca’s
mind that they had both been wearing those large, bulky sunglasses. 
She blinked behind her own small, stylish sepia lenses and mulled it over. 
Her hand tightened on Kieran’s and she stopped to look back at the couple,
now quite a bit into the next block.  “Were they aliens?” she asked,
half expecting her boyfriend to laugh at her, or even not to remember his
previous flight of fancy.

     Instead he smiled, saying, “More than likely.”

     Rebecca nodded her acceptance as they rounded
out onto the busy sidewalk flanking a rather grid-locked Orton street. 
They began a southward saunter, getting in the way of rushing yuppies and
getting stuck in jams of younger girls, all talking at the same time, loudly
about relatively nothing.  They climbed a set of stairs and looked
in at the display of action figures and scenery behind their favourite
comics store window.  They went in and made their way to the back
where Rebecca could scrutinize the roleplaying books and Kieran could idly
flip through the racks of obscure alternative comics.

     “Okay,” began Rebecca, sliding her glasses
up onto the slicked top of her head, her hair pulled tightly into a ponytail
that hung most of the way down her back like a copper waterfall. 
“Why are they aliens, and how do the big glasses distinguish them?” 
Kieran lost himself for a moment looking at the dramatic figure his girlfriend
cut.  He cleared his throat and glanced around the empty store, the
clerk pouring over a hobby magazine at the front counter.

     The grin had come back to his face, the manic
gleam lighting his eyes once more.  He passed a hand through his unruly
blond hair and answered, “They’re studying us.”  Not a demanding concept
to grasp, really.  “They pose as senior citizens in order to blend
in.”  Rebecca gave him the look that said, ‘oh please, do tell’, and
he continued.  “Well, who pays that much attention to old people,
right?  See?”  She inclined her head, a little guilty as she
conceded the point.

     “As seniors they can walk around, go places
and talk to people.  And people talk to them, you know, humour them,
right?  They can get a great feel for humans and few people will even
wonder about them because…” he trailed off looking hopeful.

     “Cause they’re old?” answered Rebecca. 
She considered the way in which old people spent their time.  Not
all of them, of course, just a certain type.  The same type that wear
sturdy footwear and avoid the television except to beat the contestants
on “Jeopardy”.  She wondered whether she had actually voiced these
thoughts aloud, because Kieran was nodding his had vigourously.

     “Alright,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “Explain
the glasses.”

     Kieran slid the comic he’d been holding back
into its rack and they left the store.  He took the flight of stairs
in a single bound leaving her smiling as she walked down in a more sedate
fashion.  She pulled her glasses down over her eyes and caught up
to him as he stared through a record store window.  “So?  The
glasses?” she prompted again, stifling a yelp as an elderly gentleman in
a mauve polo-shirt and walking shorts strolled by, smiling, enormous glasses
enshrouding his eyes.

     “See, on the planet where they’re from,” Kieran
began, catching Rebecca’s hand in his, “They live on a planet with a much
dimmer sun, but it’s still pretty warm cause of an extreme greenhouse effect
holding in the heat.  So, like, their eyes aren’t used to the ultra-violet
and they have to protect them.”

     “And here I thought you were going to tell
me they had weird, yellow or pink eyes, or something,” giggled Rebecca
as they worked their way toward the shopping centre and subway at the Orton-Ellington
intersection.

     “No, their disguise is perfect.  In low
lighting you can’t tell them from grandparents.  Except for the glasses. 
Once you notice, you can’t stop noticing.”  They passed two street
kids sitting with their backs to the building wall.  One looked more
like he needed money to get back out to the suburbs to have dinner with
Mom, than he did homeless.  The other had the feral eyes and quick
grin of a seasoned veteran, his hair in bent, green spikes.  Rebecca
rooted out some coins for the urchin, but after sizing up Joe Suburb’s
hundred-dollar shoes she pulled Kieran onward.

*  *  *

    Aliens were the last thing on their minds as they
lay naked side by side on Rebecca’s small bed.  Her hair spilled from
the pillow nearly to touch the floor as she stared at the ceiling. 
Kieran traced idle patterns over her near-white stomach.  There were
pale green glow-in-the-dark stars covering the ceiling and as she connected
one after another creating and destroying constellations, the thought of
other worlds - out there, somewhere -  and other life forms, began
to seep back into her consciousness.

     “I’m going to ask one, flat out,” she said
quite suddenly, breaking the late afternoon stillness in her house. 
Her boyfriend made a confused snort and raised his head, blinking away
his blissful sleepiness.

     “The aliens.  I’m going to talk to one. 
And I’m going to tell them that we know what they are.”  She didn’t
look at him, but he could tell from her tone of voice that she meant it,
and that, he also knew, meant she would do it.  Kieran sat up abruptly
and stared at her.

     “You’re what?”

     “I said, I’m going to talk to one of the aliens.” 
She smiled at him, her face brightening, utterly disarming him and he couldn’t
help but smile too.  She was just teasing him.  For a long minute
they stayed like that, gazing into the other’s face, smiling, and he was
just about to bend down for a kiss, when she said, “You know, from this
angle, I can see right up your nose.”

*  *  *

    The breeze was delightfully warm as it blew past,
caressing her skin and ruffling her hair.  It was so much like home. 
Well, not entirely.  It smelled better, for a start.  The summer
sun was shining brightly making the pavement hot beneath her tennis shoes,
and even behind the dark plastic shield that encased her eyes, the sun
burned.  She made her way to a partially shaded park bench where she
could watch the children playing on the jungle gym and swing set. 
It wouldn’t be too long now, before she had to return home, her eyes needing
repair after so much exposure.  That would be sad, she knew, having
to return to her own acrid, hazy planet, leaving one so lovely and green
behind.  But, she reminded herself, eyes could be healed and future
missions would arise.

     She smiled pleasantly as a striking young
woman crossed the green lawn toward the same bench.  She thought this
woman must be hot, wearing all black, her hair so long, as she carried
her artist’s portfolio in the blazing sun.  The young woman sat down
with a similar smile and opened her portfolio, pulling out a sketchbook
and pencil case.  An artist! She thrilled quietly to herself, they
were always so much fun to probe.  Amazing that a person can be so
oblivious and yet so observant at the same time.

     She couldn’t resist her curiosity, “My dear,
don’t you use the reverse side of the pages to draw?”  Then she gestured
with gnarled fingers to the perfectly white page hanging unused over the
side of the artist’s lap.  The artist looked down at the page and
considered for a moment.

     “I don’t really sketch that much.  I
usually do complete, or really detailed illustrations, and I don’t want
two drawings smudging against each other.”

 Interesting.  FEMALE: Artist, sub-class 02. 
She watched the young woman outline the form of a unicorn.  She watched
as the unicorn took on mass and detail, then as armoured barding was added. 
She tore her eyes from the harsh white page and decided to count blue cars
for a while.  SPORTSCAR: driver male.  STATION WAGON: driver
female; 2 children passengers.  PICKUP TRUCK-

     “From here, then?”

     It took her a moment to realise the artist
had asked her a question.  A personal question.  She smiled and
nodded.

     “City’s changed a lot, I would imagine, eh?”
The artist was looking straight at her now, pencil frozen in her hand. 
For some strange reason, she began to feel awkward with this young woman
staring directly into her glasses.

     The alien responded with her practiced reply,
though the smile felt forced, “Oh yes, very different.  So many more
people and things rush so much.  Takes no time for a smile, you know.”

     The artist smiled back.  Then she closed
her sketchbook and slid it into the portfolio.  She was leaving! 
“Are we interesting?”  Apparently, the artist was not leaving. 
A tremor came into the gnarled hands as the alien suddenly felt cornered. 
Not having gotten an answer, the artist went on again, “I don’t know, it
must be quite interesting to study another culture - I’m planning on going
into anthropology when I go to university for that very reason.  Of
course, it must be entirely different to study another sentient life form,
on, you know, another planet.”

 “I - I don’t know what you mean.”  The palsy in her hand
had started up again, the alien wanted to explain, but the trembling shook
her whole body.  She watched in horror as the artist moved closer
on the bench.

     “I know what you are.”  The artist’s
voice was hushed, gentle as she continued, “I know there are lots of you
wandering around this city.  Too many, actually.  The glasses. 
Tipped us off, you know?”  Somehow it wasn’t surprising that an artist
knew.  Artists saw things no one else did.  A gnarled hand pointed
toward the sun, the trembling having subsided a bit.  The artist nodded,
“My boyfriend figured it hurt you.  I guess he was right.  Well,
he also bet you people are here purely for innocent research.”  A
dumb nod in response from the alien and the artist went on, “If we figured
this out, the people who actually get paid to do this stuff are going to
figure it out, too.”

     The alien nodded and nervously smoothed her
pink alligator shirt over her slight frame.  “A warning?”  She
blinked dry, stinging eyes behind the safety of their dark shield.

     “Yeah, a warning.  I don’t know, maybe
figure out another way to shield your eyes?  Like those broad-brimmed
hats that old women come back from cruises with, with maybe a normal pair
of glasses?  Mix it up a little, you know?”  The artist zipped
the portfolio closed and rose up from the bench, a smile; then she turned
and wandered out of the shade.

     The alien stood up a moment later, thoughts
of artist sub-classes and blue cars long gone, as she picked the seat of
her white pants from between her buttocks.  It was imperative that
she communicate this warning to her superiors.

*  *  *

    Autumn air blew chilly across front campus, stirring
up the first fallen leaves and other debris, whipping them high into the
air, then letting them fall back to the earth in new places.  The
sun was bright without being warming, as Rebecca pulled her sepia glasses
out of the breast pocket of her black leather jacket.  She could see
Kieran waiting outside the English department, watching the leaves dance
above and around him.  Their relationship had been strained of late,
but her mood was bright and she called out a loud hello as she bounced
down the stairs to meet him.

     Kieran was now watching a tour bus inch its
way around the sports field, but at her voice he turned to hug his girlfriend. 
“Wearing the bowler today, huh?  Not afraid it will blow away?” 
He tapped her hat, much to her dismay.  They turned to watch about
thirty senior citizens pile out of the bus, for what was yet another short
walking tour of the university.  From where they stood it seemed only
one old man was wearing big glasses.  “Hardly any aliens anymore,
have you noticed?” Kieran noted as the tour began to wend its way along
Queen’s College Circle.

     “Maybe they went home.”

     They held hands as they headed for Rebecca’s
residence, glancing at the polaroid-snapping group of seniors.  “Looks
like cruise hats are in this season,” said Kieran, pointing out a woman
wearing a pink jacket, tweed pants and tennis shoes.  On her head
was a hat, something like a baseball cap, with an extremely wide brim. 
The old woman stopped and looked back at them.  She grinned broadly
and called out to the single man wearing the big glasses.  He turned
and grinned, too, as she pointed the couple out.  He raised his camera
up, snapping a picture of them, then both he and the hatted old woman waved.

     “That was weird.”  Kieran stared after
the receding tour group as it filed into a vine-covered college building. 
Rebecca only nodded.  “And, damn, that cruise hat could probably save
her from solar flares.”

     Rebecca glanced over her shoulder, laughing,
but silently she agreed, I bet that’s the point.