The weatherman said it was going to be a cloudy night with a slight chance of rain. The Farmer's Almanac said the annual meteor shower was next month. Neither said anything about UFOs falling from the sky. The family was seated around the kitchen table with heads bowed in prayer. Susie Mae, buying more time before the inevitable eating of vegetables, carefully blessed each item of food and drink on the table. She was mid-prayer for the gravy when the craft touched down. When something falls out of the sky and crashes on a farm, you'd expect pictures to rattle off the wall, the dishes to vibrate out of their cabinets, and the house to generally end up a mess. The only thing that spilt was Bobby Joe's milk. He tipped it while sneaking a piece of chicken when they heard the crash. If you can imagine the amplified noise a three-sectioned, aluminum foil sofa makes when it hits a sand castle, you'd approach the sound that interrupted their dinner prayer. "What the hell was that?!" Bobby Joe said. Whack! "Ow! What'd you hit me for?" Bobby Joe said, nursing the knuckles of his thieving hand. "For your language, and for sneakin' food during Susie's blessin'," Ma said, shaking the wooden spoon at her son. "The boy's right though. Don't know what the heck made that noise," Pa said. Bobby Joe gave his Ma a smug, told-you-so look. She was busy shaking the spoon at Pa for his border-line use of the word "heck". Pa pushed back his chair and stood up. "What do you think you're doin'?" Ma asked. "Corn don't make a noise like that. I'm headin' outside to look around." "Can I finish my blessin'?" Susie Mae asked. "Yes," Ma said, waving her free hand toward the child. "…And thank you for the mashed taters, and the lem'nade…" continued Susie Mae. "Where do you think you're goin'?" she asked him. "I told ya: 'Outside!' That's where the noise came from, didn't it?" Pa said. "Supper'll get cold," Ma said, "And, where do you think you're going?" "Goin' to help Pa," Bobby Joe said, pulling on his shoes. Ma gave up. Bobby Joe could be as stubborn as her husband. She and Susie Mae would eat supper while it was warm. Pa and Bobby Joe could go to heck. Susie Mae finished her blessing, saving the roast chicken for last. Ma thanked her daughter for the wonderful prayer, kissed her forehead, and began serving the two plates. Pa and Bobby Joe stood at the edge of the corn field and stared at the wreckage. "Wreckage" is an over statement. Some of the corn stalks, which stood barely a foot tall at this time of the season, were bent over and broken in a wide line behind the craft. The ground beneath the craft hardly made a dent in the soil. It was surprising the crash made any sound at all. The craft looked shiny and new as if it was recently flown off the lot. It was sleek and metallic like a straightened, silver pickle. The plinks of cooling engine parts whispered from somewhere inside. "What do ya s'pose it is?" Bobby Joe asked. "Maybe one of them satellites like your cousin Jake talks about. He works with them folk down at NASA," Pa guessed. "Maybe it's a UFO! We c'n get our picture in the paper for this!" Bobby Joe said. His pulse raced at the thought of showing off to his friends, especially impressing Ema Jean, his steady. Bobby Joe started back toward the house for his camera when Pa stopped him. "Now hold on. We ain't doin' none of that. First thing we're gonna do is call the government, and have them clean up this mess. More'n likely, it ain't no UFO, but some flyboy's plane. C'mon. Our dinners are gettin' cold." Pa put his arm around his son's shoulder, and the two headed back to the house. After dinner, Ma listened to her oldies while she cross-stitched a quilt for the church bazaar, Susie Mae played with her dolls, Bobby Joe cleared the dishes, and Pa phoned up the "government". Pa knew not to phone the police department. That would mean a sure ticket in the upcoming weeks for interrupting their weekly poker night. Instead, he dialed the information desk for Fort Plunket, the local military academy. A recording informed him the Fort Plunket information desk was presently closed, and would be available the next day between 9 AM and 5 PM. He dialed a "2" which forwarded him to the guardhouse for emergencies. "Fort Plunket guard house. Private O'Brien speaking," barked the young sounding soldier over the phone line. "Howdy. This is Joe Davis. I'd like to report a crash on my farm." "One moment, sir, while I transfer you to Public Relations," barked Private O'Brien. Pa rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath. Bobby Joe had dried the last of the dishes and snuck off to the other room to eaves drop from the other phone. Captain Reese curtly answered the phone. "Yes, this is Joe Davis. I'd like to report a crash on my farm," Joe repeated for Captain Reese, the PR representative. "What kind of crash would you like to report, sir?" Captain Reese sighed in a manner suggesting anything other than this phone call was more important. More than likely, Private O'Brien would do extra pushes in the morning. "Well… We were sittin' down to dinner. Susie Mae was sayin' the prayer wh--" Pa started explaining before the Captain interrupted him. "What kind of crash, sir?" the Captain asked, boredom in the conversation increasing. "I think it might be a satellite, but my boy thinks a UFO crashed in my cornfield," Pa said. "First of all, sir, there are no satellites scheduled for A.R.D." "What's A.R.D.?" Joe asked. "Atmospheric Re-entry Demolition. The government pays millions to put satellites in orbit, but disposal is completely free. Unless it hits a civilian. The object you're reporting didn't hit anyone, did it?" "No sir. Unless you count corn as people," Joe said. The Captain cleared his throat and continued with his second point. "Second, sir, the government denies any existence of UFOs. There are no such thing as flying saucers. Good night," the Captain abruptly hung up the phone. After the initial shock of rudeness, Pa cussed up a streak longer than the one across his corn field. Ma shielded Susie Mae from the onslaught of curses by shooing her off to her room. Ma tried to calm Pa down. Calming him down is a feat similar to taming a bull after it has been snapped by a wet towel. Bobby Joe entered the room. "Hey, Pa. If the government don't want that ship, can I have it?" he asked. "Don't you go near that thing!" Pa said, stomping around the living room. "Aw, Pa!" Bobby Joe protested. "Go to your room!" Pa ordered, face turning redder than the sunset out the window. |
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