Summer Girl

by Maxwell Coffie

breathing came out in rushes of vapor, as our rhythms synchronized, and jolts of electricity coursed through me. I could feel my hairs standing on end. Moonlight flooded the room, as the walls around us faded away, revealing that the pod had flown up into the sky. We were high up amongst the clouds, amongst the stars. Everything disappeared in that moment, every thought lost in that thirst—she loved me until we were lying next to each other, gasping for air.

  “That was…was…” I panted, exhilarated but too embarrassed to finish my sentence.

  She laughed, and stroked the edge of my chin with her fingers.

  After maybe ten minutes, when Mi-Yao’s body had cooled back down, I confessed, “My date wasn’t late.”

  Silence.

  “I know,” she said.

  I looked at her. She was looking up at me.

  “I’ve been on Earth for a while. I’ve been watching you,” she said.

  I tried to smile at that. “Stalk much?”

  “I came to rescue you,” she whispered.

  I thought about that for a moment. “Thanks,” I whispered back.

  She kissed me.

  We lay there, until I dozed off.

  When I woke up, it was to the buzz of my cell phone. I tried to sit up, but Mi-Yao coaxed me back down.

  “Do not answer that,” she said, planting her lips repeatedly along my neck. “You’re mine right now.”

  So, we went back to cuddling. But then, my phone rang again. And again. And then, again.

  “I have to take that,” I finally said. “It might be an emergency.”

  “Peter—“

  “It’ll just take a second,” I insisted, hopping out of bed and fishing my phone out of my pants. It was my mom calling. “Hello,” I answered.

  I listened for a bit, and as I did, I felt my heart sink into my stomach.

  “Are you sure?” I asked her first, and then, “When?” I was trembling by the time the conversation was over. “I’m on way.”

  “Who was that?” Mi-Yao asked, after I’d ended the call.

  I cleared my throat. “My mom. Apparently, Tiffany was involved in a car accident.”

  Mi-Yao was silent for a moment. “That is awful,” she said finally.

  I looked at her. There was no surprise on her face. No shock. No sadness.

  “You don’t look like you think it’s awful,” I said.

  “Well, I did not know Tiffany or her friends,” she said.

  “Mi-Yao,” I said, “I didn’t tell you that Tiffany was with her friends.”

  We stared at each other. She did not blink.

  “I need you to say it, Mi-Yao,” I said, closing in on her.

  “Say what, Peter?”

  “Say you had nothing to do with it.”

  “To do with what, Peter?” she said.

  “The accident!” I snapped. “Say you had nothing to do with the accident, Mi-Yao.”

  She cocked her head. “I’ve been with you all night, Peter.”

  I ran my hand over my face. “That’s not what I asked you.”

  There was silence between us, for what felt like the longest time. Then: “She abandoned you, Peter,” she uttered.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, as my world spun. I clutched at my hair. “Oh God, oh God, oh God—“

  “She will not die, Peter,” she said, sitting up. “She is only—“

  “You’re a psychopath,” I murmured, my voice quivering. “I have to get out of here. Put us down, Mi-Yao.”

  “Peter…”

  “Down, Mi-Yao. I can’t be in the same room with you.”

  “Peter—“

  “Did you take my father’s girlfriend too?” I demanded to know. “Was that you? Look me in the eye, and answer me.”

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

  I was losing my mind. “Why would you think that this is okay?” I cried. “How little do you think that human life is worth?”

  “Yours is the only life that is worth anything, Peter,” she shouted, rising out of the bed. “Your people might as well be cattle. You still haven’t cured the common cold, for blood’s sake. You still wage war over race and religion. You abide by archaic economic policies, and have less social equity than a tropical jungle. And yet, I have chosen to spend my holidays with you; to learn your language so I can communicate with you! What do I have to do for it to get through your thick primitive skull that I am in love with you?”

  She was panting by the time she was done, and I stared dumbfounded back at her.

  “I love you, Peter,” she whispered. “Your problem is that you’re always too busy feeling sorry for yourself to actually try to be happy.”

  I was angry now. “Well, your problem is that you’re too busy being a self-righteous narcissist to actually look into a mirror and see yourself for what you really are: a psychotic maniac off her meds and in serious need of professional help.”

  She looked taken aback. “I-I’m doing fine!”

  “No, you’re not Mi-Yao,” I said. “You have extreme and unexpected mood swings, you overreact. You repeatedly brag about being royalty, and talk about all the other amazing planetary wonders you could be visiting instead of ours, and yet you keep coming back here. Clearly, you believe we’re beneath you, and yet, you still stalk me—a supposed lesser being—committing acts of cruelty on my behalf. And now you’re confessing your love for me? Maybe you’re the one with self-worth issues.”

  Mi-Yao’s bottom lip trembled. “You would reduce what I feel for you to a case of self-depreciation? Is that what you really think our relationship is?”

  I pursed my lips and looked away. “There is no relationship, Mi-Yao,” I said, softly. “Not anymore.”

  Silence.

  Mi-Yao bit her bottom lip, and then nodded.

  I dressed up, and the pod descended, opening up a door for me.

  “I’m sorry, Mi-Yao,” I said, over my shoulder. “But I never want to see you again.”

  I stepped out of the pod, and the door closed behind me. I watched as the inky-black sphere lit up with neon lights, floated a few feet into the air, and then, streaked into the heavens. It was gone before I could blink twice.

  I sat on the cold cement floor of the basketball court, and buried my head in my hands.

  The night was engulfed in silence.

  X.

  Mi-Yao had told the truth about one thing: Tiffany lived. Other than a few cuts above her eye, a dislocated shoulder and a broken leg, she was fine. The rest of the occupants in the limo survived as well. The only real casualty was the limo itself, which was completely totaled after its collision with the empty semi-truck. The limo driver swore that the truck had appeared out of nowhere. Nobody believed him. Nobody but me.

  Afterwards, Tiffany wanted to start over with me. We made our relationship official, and the following year, we moved to Canterville to study at the state university. I read Psychology, and she read Law. For the first time in my life, I made friends in school.

  During senior year, Tiffany hinted at it pretty heavily and so, I asked her to marry me. She said yes, and just like that, we were engaged. We told our parents, and we scheduled our wedding for the week right after graduation. All our friends were excited for us.

  Our last night on campus, we were packing our things, preparing to leave the dormitory we had shared for four years, when there was a knock at the door.

  “Babe, I’m tied up. Could you answer the door please?” Tiffany yelled from the bedroom.

  “Sure thing,” I answered, and put down the dishes I’d been packing. I went to the door, and opened it.

  I froze. “Come on,” I murmured.

  Mi-Yao was in the corridor, dressed in a short black dress with a plunging neckline, and a pair of ridiculous heels. The fabric hugged her bust together so tightly that I wondered how she could breathe in it. With her were six other persons. Two I recognized as her chaperones, Mu and Bhark; they were in suits and dark glasses, like a pair of bodyguards
. The other four appeared to be a posse of friends: two girls dressed exactly like Mi-Yao, but with red hair and purple hair respectively, and two bald guys in tight shirts and jeans, with tattoos on their scalps. They all had little cusps sticking out of their foreheads.

  “Hello Peter,” Mi-Yao purred, before leaping forward and throwing her arms around me.

  I could smell alcohol. There was a strong, unpleasant odor on her—a smell I had grown to recognize after going to the occasional frat party. She’d been smoking something illegal. She was high.

  She sighed into my neck. “You smell just how I remembered.”

  “That’s funny,” I said. “You smell nothing like I remember.”

  “Who is it, Peter?” Tiffany called.

  “Nobody,” I yelled back.

  “Nobody?” Mi-Yao repeated, pouting and dancing her fingers down from my nose to my lips. “Peter, you’re hurting my feelings.”

  I heard Tiffany’s footsteps behind me, and Mi-Yao pulled back and smiled over my shoulder.

  “Hello,” she cooed.

  “Peter,” Tiffany said, sounding aghast. “You didn’t tell me your cousin was coming by.”

  “Cousin?” Mi-Yao whispered, throwing me an amused look before saying, “You must be Tiffany. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Tiffany laughed, and then came over to shake her hand. “All good things I hope.”

  “No. Not really.”

  And then they laughed, because Tiffany thought she was joking.

  “I’m so sorry,” Tiffany said. “I just realized that he never told me your name.”

  “Mi-Yao,” Mi-Yao told her. “And no, it’s not Chinese.”

  Tiffany laughed again. “Hey, do you and your friends want to come in for a drink?” she asked, only just really noticing the group in the corridor.

  “Actually, we’re here to invite you out,” Mi-Yao