Michael's Thoughts
He thought I hadn't seen him. Just the idea is ridiculous; even if I was blind I would've still felt his presence. Maybe it's an alien thing or maybe it's because he's the closest thing to a brother I could ever get, I've known him my whole life, and before that too it seems. What I don't understand is why didn't he come and talk to me? It's been so long….too long I think.
He looked different, sadder…older…haunted. Did I do that to him? Was it me that brought those early wrinkles to his forehead? That grey slightly appearing in his hair? Was it me that made him a darker person? That brought those circles to his eyes? I suddenly felt that nauseous churning feeling of guilt, and of course that ever constant pain of being home-sick was still present, only much stronger now. For 8 years I have managed to ignore that feeling, it's like a tearing in my chest, missing my home, missing my family…
The friends I was hanging out with are fellow art students. That's right; I finally found something I'm good at, apart from screwing things up or blowing them to pieces. For the past 8 years, I have wandered; trying to find out who I am and what I'm going to do with my life. Heh, who would have thought Michael Guerin screw up extraordinaire would go all philosophical on his life? Or even consider he had one on this godforsaken planet?
God the hurt I felt for the first few years, I saw Maria everywhere…every blonde girl, every nicely legged woman…I had to keep reminding myself that I had left her behind. Left her back Home. Funny how I only started thinking of Roswell as home the minute I left it. I did odd jobs here and there to get by; one of the perks about being alien is that you only really need about 3-4 hours sleep.
How I got started into Art College? Well, I saw a competition for a painting; the first prize was $1000. I remembered my teacher thought I had talent for art when I went through that phase of painting that geodesic dome. My first vision. First of all I didn't want to enter; just painting a bowl of fruit was so lame, but I really needed the money. So instead of painting a boring still life, I made a sort of Picasso effect and swapped certain parts of fruit with other parts. It was actually quite good, well they must have thought so anyway because I won first prize.
After some urging from my flatmate Rory, I applied to Art College. They accepted me after seeing a few pieces and even gave me a scholarship. I was speechless when they told me how much talent they thought I had. It was all so new and overwhelming….all of this praise. Praise directed at me! And now I practically get an A for every piece I do. I can control my powers now after much practice; I guess I was just too highly-strung, too erratic to be able to control them. Now I'm just as good as Isabel was. Isabel. Wow I haven't thought about her in ages. Is she a model now? A mother? Married?
I have this reputation in Art College now, because of my talent I have all of the girls throwing themselves at me…but none of them are Maria. She's ruined me for most other girls. Sure, I've dated. I've tried 'getting back out there' as Rory puts it. But it will never be what I want; she will never be who I want. Ex-girlfriends now tell other girls how there's no point trying with me, that I'm a 'Stone Wall;' no-one can get past these guards. I guess that's true in retrospect. The only person I'm fairly close to now is Rory, and only recently have I really been opening up to him.
The rest…those friends Max saw me with, all superficial. I smile, I nod, but none of it is real. None of it touches.
Oh god, this home-sick pain is really hurting now. Seeing Max made me remember something I had almost managed to make myself forget. My home. You know that thing, Out of Sight: Out of Mind? Well it works, to some degree. I want to see them now; I want to see them all, Isabel, Alex, Kyle, Liz, Tess, Max….Maria.
Maria! I need to hear her voice. I looked down and my hands were shaking, a painful longing overwhelmed me, I need her. I need to to talk to her. I quickly rushed to the phone booth that was in the corner of the bar. I still remember her phone number, even after all these years. Fumbling, I dialled her number and heard it begin to ring.
"Hello?" Her voice was like a sucker-punch, pulling me down from my homesick hysteria. "Hello? Anyone there?" I couldn't speak - so many feelings, so many thoughts. I felt winded. Fire flooded her voice; she hadn't changed, not at all. "Look if this is a stupid prank then I swear if I find out who is doing this I will cut off your balls and - "
"Maria." I choked out. It was all I could say. She gasped.
"Michael?" Hearing my name once again fall from her lips after so long …it killed me. I panicked and slammed down the phone. I needed air! I stumbled out of the bar and took deep gulps of cold air, trying to calm down my pounding heart. Should I stay here or should I go? Every inch of my being screamed I should go back. Not indefinitely…just for a while.
Just for a short while.