by Plur4Ever

Created on: July 12, 2008

Alien Invasion

A photograph of me when I was a boy: A skinny, pale, corky kid with huge, wire-frame, coke-bottle glasses.
Along with Transformer t-shirts and an out-of-control imagination, I made my way through childhood one dinosaur attack at-a-time. My brother Steve, who was four years older and therefore obligated to mess with me, was the exact opposite. While he was blowing up bullfrogs or building a raft to take Huck Finn adventures down the creek by our house, I was a spy in Star Wars or a jet pilot on a top-secret mission to infiltrate my house. These distinctions often led to conflicts I seldom won, and once they led to the scariest moment of my life.

In the springtime of 1991, Steve had his best friend Tommie sleep over our house. As a one-time honor never to be repeated, I was invited to watch Aliens with them, probably not a good flick for a five-year old. I should have known something was wrong. I don't remember the movie exactly, but I do recall brushing my teeth and making my way down the hallway to my room. My pajamas dragged on the cold tile floor as I walked, catching our cat's attention who immediately pounced on the loose flannel cloth like a ninja assassin. I kept walking fast, the cat hanging on for dear life, a ten-foot ride on the tile floor until he lost interest and left to find another victim to attack.
Once inside my bedroom, the lush wall-to-wall carpet gave my bare feet a warm welcome, a pleasant contrast to the cold tile floor. I laid my coke-bottle glasses on the red cedar dresser, a beautiful wood finish long ago desecrated by GI JOE stickers and other childhood paraphernalia. The acrobatic climb up to the top bunk executed with skill and timing, I settled in for the night at last. This is when Steve and his friend Tommie went to work.
Armed with a kitchen broom, a mop handle, dish-washing gloves, one of my dad's old cowboy hats, and a can of glow-in-the-dark spray paint leftover from Halloween, their masterpiece of terror was complete.
I drifted off to sleep. My head rested comfortably on a Teenage Mutant Ninja pillow, my body on a thick Bart Simpson comforter. The combination of the two shielded me from the crisp cold air of fall that seeped in through an improperly weatherproofed window. I was awakened suddenly by my brother Steve as he shook my body back into consciousness; hushed gasps of fear escaped his frightened shaky lips.
"Whatever you do, don't move," Steve moaned in a hushed whisper. I could actually feel fine strands

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