The First Alexander: Part I of III

They were right about the eyes.

They were large black eyes with no lashes, no lids. I couldn’t tell if they were watching me. I couldn’t even tell if there was life behind them.

Then it moved. One of the beings lifted an arm and moved it to cover the cut across its midsection. It was such a human reaction. Cover the wound, put pressure on it and stop the bleeding.

My first instinct was to run, but for some reason I didn’t. Just like in the war, I took a deep breath and started dealing with the mess in front of me. I didn’t think much after that. I just did. I carried the one that moved back to the barn and dressed the wounds. Then I got some water for it to drink. As I got closer with the cup in my hand, I thought of all those movies I’d seen. Would the skin start boiling if I poured water on it? Did they even need to drink? What was it that crashed on my land?

I didn’t want to think about it, so I just set the cup next to the body and headed back out to the crash site.

When I got back, the other one was still not moving. The eyes already started to look different, like a grayish film was building up on them.

It reminded me of Tom.

His eyes had the same film when I found him. It must have been hours after the IED went off when I finally came to. My mouth was so dry I could hardly open it, let alone call out to anyone. I stood up and started to walk around the blast site, looking for anyone who was still alive. Anyone who could help me make sense of this. Anyone I could save and share my guilt with. But there was no one. Every neck was still, lifeless, without a pulse. I remember Tom the most. It’s been years since the war ended, and I still dream about him.

He was the only one whose eyes were still open. They had that film. That look that said there was nothing left behind them. I think that’s why I buried it, the one that never moved.

I don’t even want to be buried myself. I’ve got it in my will; I want to be cremated. I told my sons to take a hike out in the mountains and let my ashes fly with the wind. I’m hoping I’ll blow through a grove of aspens. After all these years they’re still my favorite. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a sucker for the ponderosa pines. Well, any of the conifers are special. They keep the forest alive through the winter, reminding me with their green needles that life will return to that cold, frozen ground.

But there’s something special about the aspens. Maybe because I know they’re not alone, just like I always hoped we weren’t alone.

Now I know we’re not.