Walking Through My Past, I Ran Into Martians

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This past weekend, I drove the three to eight hours to New Jersey to see my mom and sister. I live in a major metropolitan area. Driving time varies.

There was a little of this (shopping), a little of that (dining), a lot of talking, and a solitary big loop tour on foot of my old adolescent haunts. I say “haunts” because it was the day after Halloween. The place was still haunted.

I started my loop tour under a big sky, as opposed to the tiny one where I live. I love you, trees. What a shock to the system — clouds stretching from one horizon to the other, an expanse of light blue I’d forgotten was up there. I was feeling good, feeling fine.

First, I walked a circuitous route around my mom’s house. I’d come to a cul-de-sac and look to see if there were any yards crammed with leftover ghouls and witches, spiders and mummies. If so, I’d turn and tour the street, laughing at the hilarity of some homeowners. I appreciated the huge effort of these soulmates of mine, not that I’d decorated my house, but to me, funny is top-dog. One thing was clear. There are many Halloween enthusiasts in New Jersey. 

Now it was time to head to the other side of the golf course, where many of my friends from my teens lived. I wanted a tour of my past to see how things had changed or stayed the same. I wanted to see how much of it I remembered or couldn’t quite access any longer — the former, nostalgic, the latter, disheartening.

Soon, I was at a collection of houses where a few of my good friends from middle and high school had lived. The houses sat around a paved area that once featured a busy basketball net. I stood there and took it in, sighed, reminisced, smiled, felt the peeling of years fall away.

Over in the house to the right, my friend had placed two ice cubes on my thirteen-year-old earlobe — one cube on the front, the other on the back. She held them there until my earlobe froze nearly to death. Then she took a needle and shoved it through my lobe, piercing it above the existing earring hole, giving me a double piercing that my mother had disallowed me to have. It was pure crime, and I sat there happy to be among the double-pierced sisterhood, but fearful of my mother’s response.

She wasn’t pleased and said I’d regret it. Damn, she was so right.

As I continued, I could hear in my memory the laughter of our friend group as we ran in crazy, erratic circles, playing Jailbreak on that paved area, a hide-and-seek type of game with teams. It was carefree, unfettered, and joyful. My life had happiness, and the memories are there to ensure this assessment. It’s easy to assess the opposite sometimes.

I continued my walk. The remnants of Halloween were strewn across yards, hanging off trees and houses, and littering the sidewalks.

Soon, I came upon a yard so chock-full of spooky décor, it was hard to imagine how long it must have taken to set up. There were multiple scenarios. Skeletons sat at a table, reading, with a big sign — Bones Library. Witches stood around a pot of homemade potion. Mummies were lying about with their bandages dragging, the unkempt things they are.

In the front, close to the sidewalk, stood a gaggle of Martians. They stared at me as I stood gawking, so impressed. They said nothing, emoted nothing, with facial expressions that indicated they cared not one iota about friendly connection.

Then I wondered.

Had they come from Costco, Target, or Walmart? Or were they the real deal, now blending in undercover because they’d landed on Earth on the most serendipitous of nights?

Imagine what a shock it must have been. There is no doubt: any interplanetary traveler who makes their way to Earth has gone through every possible shred of training, both physical and mental. Martians would be well-versed in our customs and biology. They would know, upon landing here, that they need to hide — pronto. Their obvious presence would be life-threatening.

But, if aliens land on Halloween night, what do you think happens the moment they step from their spaceship? Exactly. Nothing.

Instead, they meet smallish-sized aliens roaming in the dark, laughing, shrieking, and eating high-concentration sugar edibles with no care in the world for the presence of other aliens — or witches, goblins, or a bunch of princesses. Those edibles, the shrieking, and some intermittent sprinting are the sole focus of the small aliens.

There are larger-sized creatures, too, guiding the smaller ones. They either look like humans or like witches and ghosts. It’s a mixed bag.

This is when it becomes obvious to the interplanetary visitors that the curriculum for their classes on the psychological underpinnings of human war was terribly lacking. What about the psychological underpinnings of Halloween? On this night, nobody is in conflict. People are accepted and have a place among the group, including mummies. The humans are having a fantastic time, especially those with blood dripping down their faces from the hatchets sunk into their skulls. Could they have gotten homo sapiens all wrong?

The aliens now gingerly merge into the roaming crowds and observe, listening keenly, as they’d gone through extensive training in human language. They hear jokes bandied about and laughter at every street corner and front porch. The humans don’t appear ruthless. All they want to do is party — with each other, with aliens, vampires, monsters. Doesn’t matter.

The travelers from Mars will send messages back to the mother ship: No imminent danger. We are fine. Marty is eating candy. He says it is very good.

Soon, the extraterrestrial group will write their report for Ground Control back at home. Their observations will state that, while war is certainly known to exist on Earth — and presently does — in other places, especially at night, or on one particular night, everyone seems to be joined as a festive unit. The question for further investigation would ask whether candy has anything to do with it, or is it the big lawn parties, or is it this one particular night?

It is clear to the aliens that the night is carefree, unfettered joy. The scene ensures this assessment. All this time, they assumed humans were the opposite.

A couple of days later, I drove the three to eight hours back home in deep thought. We are funny creatures. We can create joy and humor at the snap of our fingers. We can create the opposite just as fast. Any alien who lands here discovers this — as long as they land on a specific night.

I wonder if they’re selling candy on Mars now.

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Have a wonderful week, all!