Only Last Tuesday

The body was covered in grime. It was bound in electrical tape and tied to an old Christmas wreath; I couldn’t believe she would throw her cat out like that.

“Hello, Mrs. Miller,” I said coming in through the hallway, pretending I hadn’t see her garbage. “How are you?” I kept moving past her and inserted my key into my lock.

“Fine, fine,” she said hastily closing her door. The apartment building is a bit claustrophobic in the halls. Once you’re inside your door, sure—you’re home. But it hasn’t really been home, not since last Tuesday.

The day I guess things changed for everybody.

The saucers hadn’t been all that threatening at first seeing them. I reflect back at how matter of fact everyone took it. Like we’d all seen one too many alien invasion films.

When I closed the door behind me, I turned on the television for company. It was the news, oh great—with an updated weather report. The saucers had been repairing the climate, putting the ice caps back. This left things just a little windy in Seattle. I mean, that’s what I need more of in my life because of saucers, more wind. But I’m stuck in Seattle. There’s a government moratorium on moving. Well—a government moratorium on a lot of things.

The saucers had come, they declared their intentions, and everybody went about his business. Business was good. Supposedly.

New technology. New jobs. New infrastructure. But prices were fixed; that was one condition. No inflation because of saucers in the sky. Also no rationing. Also a curfew and a no moving policy until all repairs were made, whatever they meant by that. All jobs were to be kept in effect unless otherwise notified, we were not under attack, the saucers were beneficial for “the entirety of mankind.“

Sure. Right.

But wars had stopped. Well, the one’s I’d heard about anyway. Civil un-rest in the Middle East ceased. Somebody put the hammer down is what I think. But hey, kids still play little league, the games are still on. I go to work, I come home, I watch the Seahawks. Life’s good.

Rumors. Sure—you want to ask me about rumors because I work in city planning. Like they tell me anything? I get a call from a guy. He says his boss says for me to do this. I sketch up some plans. They get sent somewhere, I don’t know. Who’s paying attention anymore? It’s like Christmas all the time. People selling T-shirts, people selling souvenirs. People watching the saucers on the web all the time. Nobody’s taken down their decorations except for Mrs. Miller. Our leaders, if you want to call them that, suggested we keep things festive to celebrate this new era. I hate Christmas.

I sketch plans, that’s it. Nobody tells me nothing.

If you want to know the truth, my life is a little dull.

I make plans for repairing bridges, buildings, stuff that actually needs doing. Thrills. Yeah, it’s my job—I was hoping to get a raise and get out of my apartment. But I guess I’ll have to wait, won’t I?

Now, how long were the saucers going to stay? Oh, that’s right.

The saucers aren’t going anywhere.

See, you talk to the old-timers, the ones down at the bars or in the coffee shops, and you find out maybe these saucer guys, they live a long time. So they just hoover around and wait for the next generation of kids to have never been without saucers. Then, the mind games begin. Sure, all the leaders say it’s benevolent; the sky people are here to help.

How come nobody’s seen anybody from the saucers?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Anyhow, nights would be dull without the Seahawks playing. I was going to get season tickets. Guess what else there’s a moratorium on? And peanut butter, and AstroTurf, and some of the iron that’s used in the bridges that aren’t getting repaired, the one’s that I’m sketching out, the ones needing fixing.

Yeah. So, another wasted day for me, basically. Shit.

Why sketch plans you can’t get done?

At least there’s still beer.

Things are getting done, they tell me.

Right. Sure.

They also tell me they’re bringing back “The Gong Show,” because for some reason the saucers picked it up on their way here, and Gene Barris is a genius. Uh-huh.

Damn, I forgot they cancelled the game tonight. Something about the lights.

Seems like things are changing. And just since last Tuesday.