Alien

“What’s your planet like?” the little alien asked wistfully. 

The alien was two feet tall, with a tiny blue curl on the top of his head. By the time the alien was an adult, the curl would be about eight feet tall, sticking straight up like a bright blue mohawk. The rest of him would be only four feet tall, and I wasn’t sure whether the aliens counted the curl as part of their height or not. This species was either really short or really, really tall.

“It’s beautiful,” I responded, thinking longingly of home, “When I was little, everything was green and there were all these animals in our backyard. There was a gopher that lived in a hole in the rocks that my dad named Pierre. He always ate my sisters garden. And at night, there were so many… so many stars. There was a lullaby my mom used to sing about the stars. I haven’t heard it in so long. I’ve almost forgotten the words.” I hummed the tune under my breath for a moment, “But Earth… Earth’s not quite as beautiful as it once was.”

“What happened?” the young alien tilted his head, curious.

“Humanity happened. We were told we were destroying the planet but no one would listen and when we did it was never enough. Overpopulation, pollution, hunger, poverty, global warming… Those all started before I was born and by the time I was old enough to do anything, it was too late. It was already irreversible. The people my age tried to at least slow it down, but no one would listen to us. Our only hope was to find another planet, like scavengers destroying everything they touch. We destroyed our home. Maybe if we had all worked together, refused to ignore the signs, things would be different, but we didn’t and they’re not.”

“Is that why you left?”

“Yes.” I turned away from the alien, lost in thought.

Here I was, a human, lightyears away from my home. I couldn’t even see the sun from here. I had failed in my mission.

Sure, I had found alien life on other planets, but I had lost my crewmates and my home. My memories of how I got there were still foggy. 

I remembered my crew and how we had been the first humans to reach the Kuiper Belt. We’d felt like heroes. Then one of the asteroids had crashed into our ship. 

I had been the only one to escape the wreckage. 

The aliens found me. 

Next thing I knew, I was in their spaceship with no idea where I was.

“Do you miss it?” the young alien asked.

“Hmm?” I turned back to him.

“Don’t you miss Earth?”

“Every day.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually talking to a human. A real, live human! My grandmama says she went to Mars once. It’s the closest she ever got - the closest any of us ever got - to Earth. There was this weird thing that my mama calls a-” he said something in a different language “-but I don’t think there’s a word for it in Human, so the translator might not work for it. It was made of panels and metal with a human word written on the side in big block letters. The first letter looked like a wide mouth getting ready to eat you, grandmama says.”

I tilted my head, trying to imagine what he meant. “An ‘O’?”

“What’s an ‘O’?”

“The letter. It looks like this,” I traced my finger through dust on the small table between us.

The alien child shrugged, “Maybe. I wasn’t there. Grandmama says you could see Earth from where she was and it was all greens and blues and browns and whites and when it wasn’t facing the star, the land glowed. It even had a tiny metal moon orbiting it!” The little alien boy put his hands on my knees to pull himself into a standing position.

“Earth only has one moon and that’s made of rock, but your grandmama may have seen a satellite. And the land wasn’t glowing, silly.” I chuckled, flicking the little curl on the top of their head that seemed to be the defining factor of their species, “That was the lights in the cities and houses.”

“Why would you need lights? You have a star right there in your solar system!”

“The lights are for at night, when the sun goes down.”

“What’s a sun?”

“It’s what we call our star,” I explained.

The alien’s eyes grew wide, “Your star moves?”

“No.” I said flatly, “When Earth rotates, it looks like the sun is moving across the sky. Thousands of years ago, people thought it was moving. They thought that Earth was the center of the universe.”

The alien snorted, “That’s kind of self-absorbed.”

“Yeah,” I laughed, “but science proved them wrong. When the part of the Earth that we are standing on turns away from the sun and it goes dark, we say the sun goes down. We call that time night. That’s when we can see the moon and the stars up in the sky. Do you have that on your planet?” 

“No. There’s two stars, one on either side of my birth planet, so it’s always not-night.”

“Day. The word you’re looking for is day.”

“Wow. Humans name everything, huh. What do you call your moon?”

“Well, technically the moon’s name is Luna, but there’s only one, so we just call it the moon most of the time.”

“Cool!” He exclaimed, “We don’t have a sky. Mama says the atmosphere’s too weak for us to have a pretty sky like the one on Earth.”

“Light pollution blocks most of the sky nowadays, so don’t be disappointed if you ever see it.”

“Mama and Grandmama have always wanted to go to Earth. They were so excited when you got to the end of your solar system. We’ve been watching you progress for a while. Mama said humans were resilient and stubborn and would never give up, but Papa thought you were going to give up because you kept finding rocks and that was it.”

“They were cool rocks,” I nudged him, “Space rocks.”

The alien clapped two of his arms together, which I was quickly learning was how this species showed delight.

I hated to burst the alien’s bubble of innocence and wonder but…

“Do you know the worst thing about Earth and living there?”

The child’s face dropped and the spiky arm-like appendages fell to their side.

I continued, “The worst part about living on Earth, or at least in my country, isn’t the pollution, poverty, hunger, or even abuse. It’s the tension. The fear that we’ve entrusted the keys of mass destruction to a lunatic or a villain. The constant worry that one day you’ll turn on the tv and hear that a war has broken out in our country and a nuclear bomb has been dropped. In my country, we are always at war, but it is always pushed under the rug and ignored. For stuff like that to be shown on the news, it would have to be on our own soil. Either a civil war or a world war. It would destroy anything. No one would survive, and if they did… that fate might be even worse.”

“So… you don’t want to go back to Earth?”

I shrugged helplessly, “Humanity destroyed Earth. Maybe when your grandmama saw it, Earth was more beautiful, more loving, more kind, but more likely is that the effects of humanity’s cruelty were only just starting to show on Earth’s surface and it wasn’t as noticeable yet. To truly see Earth, you have to get up close, beneath the clouds, into the cities. Still… I do want to go home. I want to rebuild and restore Earth to its former glory, if it ever had any when humanity lived on the Earth. I want to see the animals, healthy and thriving, not on the brink of extinction, and to see the moon surrounded by stars, and see the milky way hovering in the sky like it did when my grandparents were little. I want to go home.”

“Can I help?”

“I don’t think so, little friend. It’s not fair to pull you into our mess.”

“So? I want to see Earth too! I want to help the humanities.”

I smiled sadly and patted the alien’s baby curl. “Let’s just get me home first. Just imagine being the first of your species to reach Earth’s surface. Your mama will be so proud.”

I looked out the small window at the wide expanse of nothing, with stars twinkling in the distance, almost too far away to see.

“Let’s go home.”