The President nods nervously, like a drug snitch being fingered.
“That’s okay,” I say, as that simple question told me something important. He’s being honest, but not forthcoming. I find that curiously interesting.
“What do you want from us?” The President asks, wiping sweat from his forehead. The poor guy probably thinks he’s been dragged here to negotiate the peaceful surrender of humanity to an alien invasion force. Too many goddamn awful movies, that’s our problem. No one stops to think aliens might be peaceful.
“Nothing,” I say. I’m pretty sure that’s accurate. “We don’t want your water, or your gold, or your women, or anything crazy like that.”
Again, I let my words sink in. He looks relieved.
“We want you to emerge into your own. We want you to leave the past behind. Our only interest is in seeing you mature as a peaceful star-faring species.”
“And you can help us?” he asks.
“Not in the way you think.”
“So no beads for blankets, huh?”
“No.”
Again, the silence around us is deafening. I keep waiting for him to say something, but he seems distracted. Maybe he’s overawed by the occasion. If only he knew he was talking to a spoiled brat from Queens.
“We can guide you,” I say, which is kind of true, and kind of a lie. It was true. It’s not any more. “We’re not going to give you, or any other nation, any kind of alien tech. You have to earn your own keep.”
He nods.
I’m racking my brains trying to figure out what Sharon would say if she were here. She’s not, which eats away at my heart, but I’m determined to do her proud. I’ve got to try to fill that void. I’ve got to keep us moving in the right direction. Equality. Sharon was big on equality.
“Look at this,” I say, leading the President over to the other side of the floor. There’s an exhibit on the Revolutionary War. A copy of the Declaration of Independence has been set behind a glass frame in an ornate wooden display case. Spotlights highlight the fine cursive writing on the aging parchment.
I point to the second paragraph, saying. “Look at how this journey began.”
The President reads aloud. Normally, a vast room like this would be a cacophony of noise with its marble floor and high, lofty ceiling, but today the museum is solemn, silent and empty, allowing the President’s voice to echo with gravitas.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal—”
“Don’t you see?” I say, cutting him off. I’m excited, remembering the passion with which Sharon talked to me in the cemetery. “This is what America stands for. Equality. It’s right here, at the very foundation of the nation. And yet even as Jefferson penned these words, he kept slaves in his home. Jefferson spoke of equality, but only for men—white men.
“As a nation, you have spent over two hundred years trying to live up to the heart and intent of these few words. You’ve spent two hundred years trying to get equality right.”
The president rubs his hand over his face, lost in the words before him. I seize the moment to drive my point home.
“Do you want to know what it takes to reach the stars? It doesn’t take rocket ships and ray guns. It doesn’t take astronauts and robots. It takes equality here on Earth. Think about what equality means and you’ll find yourself among the stars.”
He wrings his hands together, saying, “They briefed me on what to expect when I walked in here—NASA, SETI, DARPA, the National Security Council. They had me memorize dozens of points that were likely to come up. But, you know what? They were wrong. All of them.”
I nod, seeing he gets it.
“They thought First Contact would be about you, but it’s not, is it? It’s about us.”
I smile.
“I’m supposed to ask you lots of questions, like where you’re from, how you got here, who else is out there, but you’re not going to answer any of those questions, are you?”
I shake my head, not that I could answer any of them anyway.
The President taps the glass, resting his fingers over those few words as he says, “This was supposed to be our turning point.”
“Yes.”
“We started on this path a long time ago, but we’re not there yet, are we?”
“No.”
He breathes deeply, exhaling and sighing at that realization.
“So what happens next?” he asks.
“Keep growing as a species, not just a nation. Keep changing for the better. Reason must prevail over instinct. Honesty must prevail over ideology.”
“And you?” he asks. “Will I ever see you again?”
“No,” I say. “Not unless something goes horribly wrong.”
Although, when I say, horribly wrong, I mean as in me being caught out as a con man impersonating someone from another planet. Dear God, that would be embarrassing. Yes, Mr. President. I lied… April Fools? I’m sure I’d cringe and grin like a clown, shackled in chains, but for now, I keep a solemn face.
I offer him my hand in friendship. He accepts. His fingers are shaking. He’s going to be so pissed if he ever figures out what really happened here today.
“Have a good day, Mr. President.”
“You too, Joe. And thanks.”
I nod and take my leave, walking slowly away from him. The Secret Service agents eye me with suspicion, mumbling into tiny microphones, saying something about being on the move, but they let me pass.
My heart pounds in my throat. I have got to get the hell out of Dodge, and I have to cover my tracks. That means withdrawing bucket loads of cash and taking a variety of different types of transport going in different directions, all the while watching my tail. I’m thinking—Bus to Baltimore. Backtrack to Philadelphia. Grab a rental and drive to Harrisburg. Switch rental companies and drive down to Atlanta. Fly to Nashville. Grab another rental car and head to Florida. From there, I’ll try to get passage on a boat to Cuba, by way of the Bahamas. Gee, fun!
I’m so busy planning my escape, I barely recognize the woman standing at the bottom of the stairs outside. She has tears in her eyes.
“Sharon?” I’m thunderstruck. “But I thought?”
Sharon throws her arms around me, holding me tight and kissing me on the cheek. She’s sobbing.
“I don’t understand,” I say, watching as she wipes her tears away.
A heavily modified black Cadillac pulls out of the lane beside the museum with motorcycle cops riding along on either side. Several black SUVs form a convoy around the president as he races away.
“You,” she says, stepping back and looking at me, still holding both of my hands.
“Me?” I say only because I don’t have anything else to say, and I’m not sure what’s going on. “I thought you left. I mean, the planet. I thought you were going to go back to, you know, to that star above the building.”
She laughs at my awkward description of her home.
“We were preparing to depart, but then we heard you.”
“You heard me?” I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the banana. “On this?”
“Yes,” she says, laughing and resting her hand affectionately on my chest.
“And you stayed,” I say, losing myself in her beautiful brown eyes.
She nods, saying, “You’re not bad for an Earthling.”
“Well, you’re not bad for an alien. I mean, I haven’t met very many aliens, but you all seem quite nice.”
She laughs, saying, “Walk with me.”
Sharon slips her hand in the crook of my arm as I zip up my jacket against the cold.
“Where are we going?” I ask, wondering if we’re about to assault more police officers. I don’t know that I could handle that today.
“Trust,” she says, as we make our way along the icy sidewalk, crossing the road at the lights.