The Alien On My Ceiling

I imagine you could see anything in cottage-cheese ceilings. We grew up with them in every room of the house — the uneven granular surface, like the surface of some unknown planet. I never knew what I’d see, or where. Generally images appeared in my bedroom. I guess that’s because that’s where I was generally looking up. I’d see things even when I wasn’t lying in bed. Once, upon entering, the white bust of an old president appeared suddenly, completely and indelibly. I must have been less than twelve; old presidents weren’t exactly on my mind. But there he was, complete with stately chin and moustache. I didn’t know which president he was, but as I lay down on the carpet to better appreciate his features, I felt sure he was a President.

I didn’t question why this president would appear to me, and I didn’t tell anyone about it. These things just happened to me, and someday I’d know the reason.

I never much thought of aliens until the night they woke me up. I was sleeping when a huge halo of light that enveloped the house, and disappeared as quickly to a point in the canyon out back, below my view. For some reason, I got out of bed and walked across the house to the dining room, where I looked through the window at the backyard. My parents had recently added the dining room, and covered the floor with dark swirly marble that felt cold on my feet. The house was dark, except for the ambient light from the moon, gently illuminating the backyard lawn and the redwood picket fence that stretched across the back, protecting Mom’s roses from the deer in the canyon.

Something compelled me to stand there. Suddenly, one by one, brightly-glowing, owl-shaped beings popped over the fence, one by one, and remained perched in air, watching me. They resembled the fuzzy, Eskimo-faced figures in arcades, the ones all lined up next to each other, that you try to knock down with softballs. They glowed yellow and I couldn’t really make out their features.

Part of me wanted to run to wake up Mom and Dad, but another part knew they might disappear and then I’d miss it. I’d stood there, staring as they stared back at me. I pinched my arm to make sure I wasn’t sleepwalking. I had had some problems with sleepwalking; but now I could feel the sensation as I squeezed my forearm, giving myself one-half of an Indian burn. And I could still feel the cold of the marble on my feet. I wondered if maybe Mom and Dad were awake already, looking out from their bedroom window, petrified. I had to tell them, to make sure. Maybe we should alert the neighbors; but soon everyone would know.

Just then, as quickly as they had come, they popped back over, one by one, disappearing into the darkness beyond the fence. Another immense light flashed up from the canyon over the house, then disappeared. They were gone.

Rather than going to my parents’ bedroom, I went back to bed. I felt so sleepy, and we’d talk about it in the morning. Of course, in the morning, neither had seen the things I had seen.

A couple of years later, in a new room by the new pool, I looked up from my bed and saw the head of an alien on my ceiling. It wasn’t directly above my head, but up and to the right. The head had a gaunt bone structure with large eye cavities, an ultra-petite nose, a small mouth and virtually no ears. I studied the head, and saw it nightly before sleep. Its presence often comforted me and I’d scan the ceiling until I saw it, smile and drift off. After a time, I didn’t want to see it anymore. I resented its intrusion into my field of view. I’d try to ignore it; but if I happened to glance into its quadrant, it would be there, looking impassively in a three-quarter view off into the distance.

Once, after some weeks of successfully ignoring the alien, I decided to see if I could find it again. I couldn’t find it. It had disappeared in the cosmos of cottage cheese. And then the next morning it reappeared; and I was so relieved, I decided to draw the head, for posterity, so that when the aliens did come, everyone would see the drawing (which I made sure to date), and know that they had contacted me first.