Not Your Ordinary Alien Story

CHAPTER TWO

We pass a green sign that says Gasquet Population 551. That sign hasn't changed in a long time. We drive past rows of alders and Douglas firs, past She She's Cafe, a grey brick building with a slanted roof, pink trim and signs in the windows: Burgers Fries Shakes. Bears carved out of wood stand in front of the building next door where they sell burls and wood sculptures.

Mom slows down as we drive by the only market in town. It's a small market, like the Post Office next door to it. Mom has worked at that Post Office for almost twenty years. She's the only one who works there. I can't help but think as we drive by of the two hikers bringing a baby there. Not just any baby, a baby who was me.

We turn left onto Gasquet Flat Road then cross a bridge. A block past that, we pull into our driveway. The wildflowers and bulbs my grandmother, GranAna, plants every year are blooming. The way the flowers vibrate ever so slightly, it obscures the hard edges making the yard look like a brilliant blur of color.

Our house with ivy crawling up one side sits at the end of the gravel drive shaded by two tall trees. Just the three of us live there, Mom, GranAna, and me. My Granddad used to live there too but he died when I was only three. Mom never married. She doesn't like men. I mean, sure, she likes men, just not in that way. She's gay.

Mom had a partner for a while, Barb, who lived with us for about a year. Barb used to call me Golden Girl. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because in the bright sunlight, if you look really closely, you can see the tiniest pinpoints of metallic gold flecks on my skin, flecks that are smaller than pieces of glitter.

"I'll miss you Golden Girl," Barb told me when she left. "Take care of your mom."

                              **********

I'm sitting at our kitchen table with its yellow Formica top eating toast with peanut butter on it. It's so quiet I can hear the hum of our outdated refrigerator, the sound of our cat, Starkey, scratching at the back door, the click of the front door opening. 

GranAna walks into the room. She's an inch shorter than me and she doesn't weigh much but her energy always felt big and full, like I'm surrounded by a soft cotton quilt on a cool morning.

"Hey, GranAna," I say.

"Zoe," she drops her black cloth bag on the floor and turns toward me. Her long white hair is pulled back in a French twist. The bump in the middle of her nose makes her nose look larger than it is. Or maybe it's that her nose is the one thing on her face that breaks up her delicate features. Her head tilts questioningly, birdlike. "How was your day?"

"Okay." Starkey meows at the back door. I get up and let him in.

"Well, I hope it was better than mine."

I doubt it, I think. I cannot get the strange circumstances of my adoption out of my mind. I mean, people don't just find babies in the forest. The whole thing sounds preposterous. But I know Mom wouldn't make something like that up.

"Did something happen at the Visitors Center?" I ask GranAna. She volunteers there three times a week.

"Oh, not really." She sits down at the table. "Some folks came in this afternoon. Tourists." She shakes her head as though that one word explains everything. "They were rude as all get out demanding this and demanding that, acting like they own the place. But then I tell 'em all about how we have the largest bear population in California. I tell 'em how there's a dozen bear sightings a week in the springtime. Oh, and the mountain lions, I tell 'em about them too. Then old Mr. Fancy-pants gets in that fancy-shmancy car of theirs and drives the lot of them away mighty fast." GranAna chuckles. "I could tell right away they weren't from anywheres around here. I mean, the first thing they do is pronounce Gasquet like Gasket instead of Gaskee."