Part 3: An unfatherly chain-smoker
In 1978, when he was sixteen years old, John was given a job to paint
the fence of one of his next door neighbor's. He was told by his uncle
that Mr. Spender would pay him to do it. John didn't like Mr. Spender,
but he figured that painting his fence was worth it for the money.
Mr. Spender was often rude and cruel, and didn't like strangers on his
property. John could always tell that he kept secrets. He hoped that he
wouldn't have to spend much time talking to Mr. Spender, or smell the
constant odor of cigarettes. Mr. Spender was a chain-smoker.
John was sweating bullets painting the fence out in the hot sun. However, as always he was determined to get the job done, and he did. As he packed up his materials in Mr. Spender's back yard, he heard a voice over his shoulder.
"Who are you?" the voice asked.
It was evident that the voice belonged to that of a young girl. The
beautiful, soothing sound of it didn't startle him.
John turned around and saw the girl standing behind him. She herself was
beautiful, with a darling smile and long, black hair. John blushed at
the sight of her and tried to hide it. He knew she saw.
"I'm John," he replied to her. "Are you... are you Mr. Spender's daughter?"
"No," she said.
Suddenly her excited mood seemed to drop. That caught John's attention.
She seemed deeply tormented, like something was more than wrong. He
wanted to help. He already liked her, even though she was considerably
younger.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nu-Nothing," she stuttered. "I don't like Mr. Spender. He keeps me
here. I'm not his daughter. He barely lets me outside. I was hoping you
could keep me company... I never get to talk to anyone."
"Sure," he told her. "But if you're not Mr. Spender's daughter, who are
you?"
"I don't even know," she said. "He took me here a long time ago. The
military wants me. They stole my memories. I don't even remember my
last name and I just want a friend."
John smiled. He wanted to help this poor, lovely girl. She was an immediate mystery to him. He had never seen her before.
John wanted to find out what Mr. Spender and all his secrets were responsible for. Was the military even more corrupt than the United States government, the same government that covered up Roswell? Was his uncle involved in this?
"I'm finished my work," he exclaimed. "Let's go on a walk then."
The two walked together down the street, on a pathway where they could
not be seen. John was attracted to her, there was no lying to himself
about that. Maybe that's how she got his attention, or maybe he also
wanted to find out her story.
As they walked, Samantha told him that Mr. Spender was using her for
some kind of test. She said that she had memories of a life with her
real family and being taken from them by aliens. She said that they
returned her to Mr. Spender, who ordered the tests on her.
John didn't know how to make sense of any of this. Could he believe her?
She seemed so sincere and honest, but also scared and possibly confused.
She was definitely out of place. But her stories nearly jerked tears in
his eyes. He cared for her. Her recollections spoke to him with intense
feeling.
"You kind of remind me of someone that I remember from my past," she
told him. "My brother. I don't remember his name, only his face. Your brown
hair looks like his."
"What all did that Cigarette-Smoking bastard do to you?" he asked as
they walked along.
"They do tests on me," she began. "Tests all over my body. They leave
scars on me and sometimes I feel ugly."
John stopped walking. She stopped also. John got up the guts to tell her
what he thought of her.
"You're beautiful," he declared. "You could never be ugly. I don't see
no scars."
The two both continued to stand there, staring into each other's eyes.
This time they both blushed, both trying to think up a way to cut the
tension.
"You look like a rat," she teased. "A cute one."
She smiled at him. He smiled back.
"I know some Russian," he began. "That's where my parents came from.
Over there, we call a rat a 'Krycek'."
"What an idiotic thing to say," John thought to himself. "Trying to
impress this girl with another language." But Samantha liked his sense
of humor, and they continued to walk. They were both interested in
each other.
The two of them came to a tree on the outskirts of the base, and they
sat down under it. Both of them finally had someone to discuss life
with.
"I like you," Samantha proclaimed to John.
"How old are you?" John responded.
"I'm thirteen," she said.
"Well, I'm sixteen," he professed. "I like you a lot too, but we should
probably just be friends. I'm too much older than you."
There was a pause. Both of them knew why they were there, together. They had so much in common, but John was afraid of Mr. Spender.
"I like you too," stated John. "I won't lie to you. But I don't think Mr. Spender would ever allow it."
"Please don't let me be alone anymore!" she begged. "I just wanna have someone to care about my emotions and wants. Nobody cares. Nobody!"
Then she started crying. She broke down there, in front of John. What he wanted to tell her, what he HAD to tell her, was that he understands her.
Right there under the tree, John put his hands on Samantha's face and dried her tears. His tears came out as well.
"Alright, Alright," he said, calming her.
Samantha hugged John tightly. He held her back. They sat there under the tree, watching the sun go down. After something like forever seemed to have passed, he walked her back home. John agreed to see her again tomorrow. She gave him a kiss on the lips, and they said goodnight.