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It is the human that is the alien, They say actions speak louder than words. You would believe that, wouldn’t you? It was your actions that first drew me to you. Before the shooting, before Max healed you, I knew precisely what you thought of me, which is to say, nothing at all. I don’t blame you for that- it’s what I wanted, after all. The only thing I believed myself capable of inspiring in people was fear. Max and Isabel, they blended. It was their goal, to be as utterly human as possible, as though their appearances meant that they could deny what they really were inside, which was alien- in every sense of the word. But I learned years ago that appearances were worth shit, and that who I was, who I was beyond the human exterior, was all I had for survival. You never noticed me, but I noticed you. How could I not? I was always with Max and Max was always thinking about you, had been for as long as I’ve known him. If it wasn’t Liz said hi to me today or Liz is so good at biology or Liz- she’s so incredible, isn’t she? then it was Michael, let’s go to the Crashdown... I, uh, really like the food there. Right, Max. Right. My response was always sure, whatever, I guess, if you say so. I let him think that I didn’t care. I let myself believe that too. To admit the truth would be to admit that I was more human than I could let myself be. You always said hi to me. In fifty years, if I remember nothing else, I think I’ll remember that. No one else in the world gave a damn about me, except Max and Izzy, and if they’d really been the humans they wished they were, I think they might not have cared either. But you- I’d come into the Crashdown sometimes without Max, for coffee, because it was open late and it was better than going home. You were always working, and you always said hi. You always smiled. It’s the way you are, to give that small piece of kindness to everyone you come in contact with. I was so starved for that sort of kindness, that entirely selfless kindness, that I found myself coming more and more often, needing that hello and that smile in the way an addict needs a fix. When you were shot that day it was all I could do to reach out my arm to try to stop Max. It was what the alien Michael would do; it was what was expected of me. But I didn’t argue too much. He told me to let go of him and I did. He rushed over to you and I watched with some emotion I can’t name, doing my best to hold the other people back. I stopped going to the Crashdown for awhile, except when Max or Isabel dragged me along. I got mad at Max like I was supposed to, supported Izzy when she called him an idiot and stormed off into the dry desert like the good alien that I was. But that part of me, that alien part that I’d always relied on to keep me distanced from everything in my life that I couldn’t control, it was crumbling and dying. Soon, I knew, all that would be left would be my humanity, and that part of me was so weak and atrophied that I didn’t know how I’d survive. It was a long walk home from that desert road. It gave me a lot of time to think. I thought about you, about those smiles, those hellos. I thought about how I’d never have them again. I was too revealed now, too vulnerable. If I came in for a cup of coffee, you wouldn’t walk over and give me the same piece of kindness that you gave everyone you met. You’d give me kindness but it would be mixed with something else, something like obligation. We were tied together in the same way that Max and Isabel and I were tied together, and that wasn’t what I wanted. I thought about Max, who loved you so much that he was willing to sacrifice not only his life, but mine and Isabel’s- all for you. I thought about what was happening to me, and decided it was your fault. It was easier that way. It was something that alien Michael did and approved of, that displaced blame, that hardening. I flailed about for the last shreds of alien I had left in me, and to those shreds I clung, desperately, drowning in my own fear and needing that side of me to stay afloat. For while, it was enough.
You spoke my language so well that sometimes I would almost lose my resolve and let humanity slip into what I said in my other language, my learned language. You spoke in actions, in movements, in the small gestures and thoughts that made more sense to me than the words I was forced to communicate with. I tested you. That night we almost left, I put on my best mask, the one that made Maria take a step back and behind you, and I waited for you to back away as well. But you didn’t. The fierceness in your eyes matched my own, and I swallowed. I had to push, but they were only words, and you didn’t back away from words, you never did. Guilty of what? Saving your life? I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. Every moment with you is marked with regret, for the things I’ve said and the things I haven’t.
It’s true, I do. But not for the reasons I once thought. When I was younger, I wanted Max’s life. I wanted his home and his parents and the safety of those things. My home was a rusty trailer and my family was me. Do you think I like the way that I am, all rough edges and battered emotion? I thought that if I’d had Max’s life I’d be more like Max, and there was a time when that’s what I wanted more than anything else. But I’m older now, and one thing that my life has taught me is that there’s no room for regret, and no time for the might-have-been’s. I’m not Max and I never can be, never could. If I’d been found that day in the desert I might be a different sort of Michael, but I’m not sure how and I’m not sure I want to know. What I do know is that I haven’t messed up too badly as me, and maybe that’s the best we can ask of ourselves. I still envy Max, because Max understands things more than I do. He knows how he feels about you; his love for you has always been clearly defined. He knows what he wants, and what he wants is you. I envy that assurance. I don’t understand love. It’s a word, and words mean so much less to me than the things they’re supposed to represent. If I told you I’d loved you, would you believe me? Would it be true? I know how I feel, but does that make it love? I don’t even know what love means. But Maria- I think I loved her. I think I still do. And there, again, what does that mean? If I can love two people for entirely different reasons, but one no more or less than the other- what does that say about me? Max never had this problem.
Some nights I walk the dark streets of Roswell and find myself across from Maria’s house, and I’ll look in her window and watch the shadow of her. That’s all I have left now- shadows and memories, air and dust. I eat and breathe and sleep and I exist. These are the things that I have left. The alien is gone; only Michael remains. Only Michael who knows nothing, never did. But I know this: destiny’s just another word. It’s no more substantial than love or the air I breathe. Destiny does not understand my language. My language is your smile. It’s the way Maria feels when I’m holding her in the dark. It’s the way Max always seemed taller than me, even though I knew realistically that I had several inches more in height. It’s the way Isabel knows just when to take my hand, and when to let me walk away. It’s knowing that I was wrong, and knowing how to accept that. I wanted to deny my humanity because it made me weaker. But the alien had no language, and I understand that now. Weakness is imperfection. Imperfection is human. I am human. I think I’ve always known it. It’s what lets me see the smile, and feel Maria when I hold her in the dark. It’s what creates the illusion of Max’s stature, and it’s what tells Isabel when to hold my hand and when to walk away. Without the alien I am weak. But without the human- I am nothing.
I only scaled your roof the one time, when I stole your journal. To climb up when you were there seemed the ultimate trespass. It was Max’s route to you, and not mine. Max knew the words to say, although I don’t think you loved him for his words. I think you loved him because. Just because. I think about that, and it makes me smile. Just because. I understand it now. I understand love and I know that I can love Maria and still love you. Maria’s who I hold in the dark, but it’s you who led me to her. It’s you who opened my eyes. I’ve stood below your window on countless nights, wanting to go up to you, wanting to tell you the things that I felt. I never did. I want to thank you, for your smile, for what those smiles gave me. For helping me to see. I want to tell you what you meant to me, and why I could never explain it before. I want you to know that I did love you, that I still do, and that I probably always will. That I’m no longer afraid. I want you to understand why I have to leave, to know that it’s only for a little while. I know the words. I finally know them, and I finally understand that I don’t need to say them. For you’ve heard them, you’ve always heard them. You hear them now. These words, unspoken. THE END |