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My eyes scanned the crowd in an attempt to find my friend…my very strange friend.

You see he’s…well, you’ll probably never believe me but…he’s an alien. No, not like an “alien” foreigner from another country with a Visa, but a bona fide alien. As in a different planet, language, technology, anatomical intricacies-the whole shebang!

“Jennifer!” a voice cries.

I turned to find the object of my search striding towards me. His solid unblinking eyes fixed assuredly upon my own.

Instead of a colored iris, he has completely black pupils. It was a little disconcerting to get used to the unyielding dark of his eyes but now it is second nature to me.

His dark hair was slightly windswept and tousled but it fell naturally about his face in a stylish fringe. I smiled as a swell of swell of pride flared in my chest. You see I was the one who dragged him into the barber shop for the hair cut. I must confess it looks rather…dashing.

“Hey stranger!” I smiled.

His name is Xenon. Well that’s the name he chose for himself when he came here. His true name is unpronounceable for humans. It just sounds like clicks, and gibberish to me.

Anyways back to Xenon. It means foreigner in Greek. When I was first introduced to him at the peace conference I laughed. “Foreigner” doesn’t even begin to cover the complexities of his nature.

He is absolutely fascinated by our world. Mere sunlight is enough to send his eyes sparkling with indescribable ecstasy. All the colors, shapes, figures and planes of our world are like candy to him. He drinks it all in and still craves for more. Everyday with my friend is an adventure. Seeing my own world through the eyes of Xenon has shown me just how fascinating and brilliant God’s creation truly is.

“Are you ready for the museum?” he asked. His skin caught the brilliant sunlight and I worried about the possibility of sunburn.

His skin is pale to the point of transparency. His people are night creatures. Things like photosynthesis don’t exist on their planet. They have something akin to our moon that acts as their “sun”. He tried to explain it to me once but I had to admit defeat.

“I’m always ready for a museum!” I declared enthusiastically. “Did you put sunscreen on like I told you?” I asked.

“You mean that vile smelling white cream you gave to me?” he sniffed disdainfully, like a petulant toddler refusing to eat his peas, “I think I would rather suffer the consequences.”

I frowned at him, stubbornly refusing to budge. “Your skin is far more delicate than ours, and even ours doesn’t block out most of the damaging rays. You can get cancer.” I admonished.

“Well it is a good thing I have this.” he replied, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small black box. It looked like a technological hybrid of an iPod and a pager.

My eyes lit up at the concept of new technology. Xenon always had some interesting piece up his sleeve and he enjoyed explaining them to me as much as I loved learning about them.

“What is it?” I grinned.

He smiled at my antics as he enlightened me.

“This equalizer acts as an invisible…bubble, if you will, much like a pair of sunglasses, to block out harmful UV rays.”

“Like a force field of some kind?” I questioned enthusiastically.

He cocked a pale eye brow. “What have I told you about your “science-fiction”? It pales in comparison to the real thing.”

I huffed in mock hurt.

“Well no need to be so superior about it.” I scolded, before returning to the object in his hand.

“What if I try to touch you?” I asked, “Does it disable the ‘bubble’ or anything?”

“Try it.” he challenged, a small smirk in the corner of his lips.

I narrowed my eyes conspiratorially, “I don’t touch things I don’t trust.”

His face changed, I couldn’t put my finger on exactly how…but I had a feeling that it was important.

“Trust me.” he said, his voice was soft and coaxing and I couldn’t help but be drawn by his request.

After a moment’s hesitation I did. I reached out and about an inch before his skin the air crackled around my hand and fingertips, stronger than static but milder than electricity.

I retracted my hand swiftly, my face burning.

“Interesting.” I said noncommittally.

He smiled and we both set our faces to the entrance of the museum.

At the courtyard beyond the gates we paused at the statue of The Thinker by Rodin.

“Tell me about this.” Xenon requested.

I was more than happy to oblige.

“It’s called The Thinker by Auguste Rodin. There are actually quiet a few of these around the world-”

Xenon interrupted me, “Why multiple copies? Are they not all different? I thought one-of-a-kind was the order of the day when it comes to your art.”

“Slow down there tiger, let me explain.” I soothed, “They actually are all slightly different. Rodin used a method of carving one and making a cast out of it so multiple copies may be produced from it of varying sizes. Some are in bronze like this one, others in marble and such. Yes one can’t have two Mona Lisa’s but in more modern days multiple copies allows the genius and the awe of art to be spread to the masses.”

“I see.” he replied.

“Rodin originally designed this for his work The Gates of Hell based on Dante’s epic poem The Inferno. It represents the intellectual activity of the mind and has become an icon in modern society…well some of modern society.”

“Why is he naked?” Xenon asked bluntly.

I almost laughed at his frankness but I held my tongue.

“It’s nude because Rodin wanted to depict man as a heroic figure like the tradition of the Renaissance. To represent not only cold intellect by poetic passion.”

Xenon frowned thoughtfully so I attempted to elaborate.

“During the Renaissance man was considered the measure of all things. The human figure was divine and sublime and should be portrayed as such.”

“And now? How is it now?” he asked. His thirst for truth was unquenchable.

I scoffed, “Well, I supposed that nowadays people are more interested in how skinny the human figure can possibly get. How ripped a set of abs can be or the muscle mass of a bicep.”

He turned to me, a keen look in his eyes.

“And you?” he asked gently, “What do you think?”

For a moment I sat stunned, unable to form a coherent thought to his sudden attention. Not when those unwavering onyx eyes bored into mine. His simple honest inquiry sent me reeling and I couldn’t for the life of me understand why.

“I-I don’t really believe either of them.” I stammered finally.

“Why?” he asked.

“Well…” I began hesitantly, “I believe that we are made in the image of God, but we are not god’s ourselves. There should be a kind of glory when it comes to our bodies, but we shouldn’t exploit them like modern society seems to want us to. Not everyone is going to have the perfect body, but God loves you just the way you are…so why should it matter?”

For a moment I thought he might comment. Something in his eyes flared with an anticipation that I couldn’t place, then in a flash it was gone.

Instead he simply nodded, turned on his heel and headed towards the entrance to the building.

I stood, confused at his antics for a moment, before trailing after him.

We walked through the halls for hours. Each room brought a new lesson, and though I couldn’t always explain every painting, sculpture and work of art, Xenon remained patient with a quiet enthusiasm that seemed to overcome his entire person.

However, he was completely dumbfounded when we stepped into the Impressionist and Modern Art exhibit.

“It is not finished.” he said, frowning at Monet’s Water Lilies.

I covered my mouth. Coughing to muffle what sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“That is precisely what the greater population of the world said during the Impressionist movement.” I began, “It looks unfinished because the artists during that period wished to paint a moment in time, to capture a realistic, fleeting image. Quick strokes of energy with vibrant colors blending and dancing across the canvas.”

I fell silent for a moment and simply looked at the painting.

Really looked.

My lips parted in a half smile as I shifted my body to a more relaxed position. I must have been staring for quiet some time because I didn’t stop until I felt a gentle pressure on my hand.

“You really love this…do you not?” he asked.

I turned to look at him, only to find him staring at me intently.

“Yes…” I replied quietly. “Very much.”

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. His hand remained holding mine, the soft warmth of his fingers pressing into my skin, his thumb tracing gentle circles against my-

Wait-circles?

I swiftly retracted my hand from his and turned away to hide my burning face.

“Let’s see the scrolls!” I suggested, praying my voice did not betray my confused emotions.

“Scrolls?” he asked.

“Yes the Dead Sea Scrolls.”

We walked into the small exhibit, our eyes adjusting to the dim lighting.

“What is this?” he asked.

“These scrolls are some of the only surviving copies of Biblical documents made before 100 AD.” I began, “This is an important part of my religious history. Thousands of years and this is where it started.”

“This is part of this…God you speak of?” Xenon asked carefully. He bent over the glass to examine the ancient scrolls.

“Well-part of it.” I replied. I leaned over and watched the soft lighting flicker on for a few moments, only to flick off again so it wouldn’t damage the parchment.

“It’s just so inspiring to be this close to such history.” I whispered.

“But it is just a scroll.” he said. His tone was flat, and careful. Too careful.

I turned to him, meeting his eyes. They held an unspoken challenge that I couldn’t fully understand.

Was he testing me?

“It might be “just a scroll” but it means a lot to me.” I finally replied.

“Why?” he pressed.

“Because this is part my history, my beliefs, my life…its part of me.”

Xenon nodded thoughtfully. The challenge disappeared only to be replaced by a strange kind of…satisfaction?

“Such devotion…” he whispered.

Before I could ask what he meant, one of the guards came over to tell me to stop leaning on the glass.

We made a quick exit.

We explored a little further before wandering over to the visiting exhibits. I found a Van Gogh.

“This is amazing!” Xenon cried, grinning like a child. “Such energy-like an animal thrashing about…it’s untamable.”

I smiled, “I’m glad you like it.”

He turned to me, “What do you mean? Do others not enjoy it?”

“Well nowadays Van Gogh is considered a master. One-of-a-kind. But that was long after he was dead. He only sold one painting his entire life.”

Xenon frowned but continued to listen.

“He was a rather intense man. He cut off his own ear…” Xenon’s eyes widened and I elaborated quickly, “Apparently it was causing him a lot of pain.

“He was a passionate man, but far too unstable. He did some of his greatest work while he was institutionalized in a mental hospital. Driven insane by his own genius.”

Xenon stared at the painting completely floored by this information.

“Why?!” he demanded.

I snapped to attention at the venom in his voice. Never had I heard him so…infuriated before.

“One painting! One! I would have been driven mad as well had I not been acknowledge for my talent! How dare they!?”

At first I didn’t know what to do. Then my hand, of its own accord, reached out and grasped his forearm gently.

He started abruptly, obviously unaware that he had been ranting out loud.

“You must understand.” I pleaded softly, “Humans can be very self-serving at times. When we get comfortable with something, and it is disrupted, we lash out in anger or fear or any number of different things.”

I paused for a moment and briefly collected my thoughts.

“Sometimes artists are too ahead of their time and are treated with scorn…mocked for their genius.”

I shook my head briefly, “Why do you think that people give us strange looks when they see us together? You are different, foreign and that can be a scary thing. Humans, no matter what they tell you, are terrified of change. Fifty years ago you’d-”

I stuttered to a halt, wondering briefly if I should continue with such a disgusting thought.

“Yes?” he pressed.

I took a deep breath. “Not here…there’s something you should see first…”

We escaped the confines of the museum and snagged two of the last spots on the transporter. Our bodies shimmered and disappeared only to reappear on the doorstep to my apartment. I murmured my name and the voice recognition allowed my entrance.

Neither of us had spoken.

I softly requested that Surface bring up all historical references to “aliens and/or extra terrestrials”. Movies, literature, music, comic books, photos…all of it.

I gestured for Xenon to take a seat. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

We didn’t speak for hours. Page after page flew by his lightening fast gaze. Xenon would frequently chuckle at a particularly warped theory or ‘eye-witness account’ that played across the screen. But as I watched, the laughter slowly escaped from Xenon’s eyes. All I could do was stand there and witnessed the light leave his face with every passing scene.

His keen eyesight (signature of his race) took in movies in fast-forward, trailers, books upon books, comic strips and pictures of ‘bon a fide UFOs!’ , traumatized “interviews” from alleged UFO kidnapping victims…he saw every last one of them.

I recognized scenes from Star Trek, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, ET. They all held fond memories for me…but my esteem for them was suddenly transformed. The laughter turned to ashes in my mouth.

I felt horribly sick.

The screaming of the characters in the films fell upon Xenon’s shoulders like flogs of a whip. The barren landscapes and bloodied bodies assaulted his gaze and remained seared into his memory. The lewd and sometimes grotesque images ran passed his stare and he embraced them without comment. The only clue I had was his right hand.

His hand was in a tight fist, his knuckles white. It shook imperceptibly.

I had never stopped to think about what these images would look like to an actual…“alien” (for lack of a better term).

I suddenly realized that I didn’t think I wanted to know.

All these years of stereotypes, clichés and typecasts…we didn’t even realize what we were doing. We were, what’s the word?...racists.

The taste of it was foul on my tongue.

I had only ever read about the horrors and cruelty of slavery, anti-Semitism and things like the civil rights movement…no such thing had ever been a problem in my lifetime. The human race had come a long way…or so I thought…

This xenophobia had been ingrained in me from the beginning and I hadn’t even recognized it…I was suddenly grateful I had never found much enjoyment in such things…as soon as I was old enough to read, I decided that books were far more entertaining than any kind of amusement that Surface could portray for me.

Thank God for that…or I might never have met the amazing person in front of me.

I could only imagine what was going on in his head at this moment. The disgust he felt, the agonizing sense of misunderstanding, the utter idiocy of most of the nonsense being portrayed, the tragic feeling of loss and disappointed hopes.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Computer cancel program.”

With a soft click and a gentle beep, Surface shut down.

Xenon didn’t move.

I settled in beside him and raised my hand to his shoulder.

He made no acknowledgment of my presence.

His hair had fallen into his face. I brushed it back, silently praying that he would look at me…yet dreading what I might find in the depths of his eyes.

“Fifty years ago,” I spoke softly, “If you arrived with the treaty, as you did now, you’d have probably been shot out of the sky and destroyed. Thirty years ago, you might have been subjected to brutal torture and scientific testing. Twenty you’d have been greeted with suspicion and distrust…”

My voice nearly shook. I cleared my throat and kept talking.

“Extraterrestrials were the object of many fictional manipulations throughout time in literature, music, and films. Usually in a negative light…‘They’ve come to take over the world!’ etc. But not all of them…never all. Star Trek was actually pretty popular.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. My relief almost choked me. Still I continued.

“Throughout history you can see how often humans are prone to misunderstanding. We are quick to judge, slow to admit to wrong doing and down right stubborn at the best of times…but we always pull through in the end…”

I squeezed his arm gently, praying that he would look at me.

He didn’t.

“Some humans react to change and new things with fear, others with fascination…that’s just how it is sometimes.” I explained. He made no move to respond.

“You have to know…” I whispered, “There have been so many people just waiting for you to arrive. They didn’t know when or how it would happen. But they hoped…prayed that there was someone else out there…it’s nice to know you’re not alone.”

He didn’t move. His gaze was fixed to a spot on the opposite wall.

The silence hurt my ears.

We were quiet for a long moment before he finally spoke.

“That-” he spat, his gaze riveted to the dark screen of Surface, “…is not how it should be.”

“No…” I agreed, “It’s not.”

Finally his eyes broke with the computer and he turned to me. I met his eyes without flinching…though I wanted desperately to run away from the shame.

His eyes probed mine, searching desperately for something…maliciousness? Perverse humor? Or maybe satisfaction?...I pray I never find out.

I didn’t know what he did find…but I must have satisfied him. Because his face broke into one of the gentlest and most breathtaking smiles I have ever witnessed in my life.

“You humans shall never cease to surprise me…” he commented.

I shrugged sheepishly. “We aim to please.”

He laughed and the last shred of anxiety was thus banished from me.

He took a deep breath, as if cleaning the last few hours of disappointment from his body.

He presented his arm to me. “Shall we take dinner?” he asked.

I slipped my arm through his.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

We left my building and walked out into the warm sunshine.

There was a lovely park across the street and we decided on a picnic spot after much debate. He wished to try the new sandwich place downtown. I insisted I made a better sandwich than any creature this side of the equator.

Finally, he consented.

After an amiable and enjoyable lunch I decided to lie out on the soft grass; stretching my tired muscles under the deliciously warm sun light. The sun sliced through the tree branches above me to play across my closed eye lids.

After nearly dozing off twice I finally opened my eyes only to find a pair of onyx ones staring back at me.

“Jesus Xenon!” I cried, nearly jumping out of my skin, “You really know how to wake a girl.”

“Woman.” he replied.

I stopped.

“What?”

“I said you are a woman.” he repeated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I could feel his eyes trace my face as if he were physically caressing it.

“You are incredible.” he whispered. “You are not afraid of change, of foreigners…of me. You have complete and utter devotion to those you hold dear…including God.”

What is going on? What’s gotten into him?

Wait…

He didn’t say “your God”.

My heart leapt to my throat and I scarcely dared to breathe.

“You are far more enchanting than any painting I have ever seen.” he reached out and ran his fingertips along my cheek. “So intriguing…so intelligent…so beautiful.

“I must be as mad as your Van Gogh…but I cannot be silent.” he bowed his head and was quiet for a long moment.

My body trembled as I finally realized what he was doing…he was praying. My God…Xenon my beloved friend and confidant…he was praying.

He finally raised his eyes to mine and I dared to hope.

“I believe here you have a bonding ceremony…Marriage?...Will you do me the honor of accepting me in this request of…matrimony?”

My eyes searched his face as I tried vainly to discover any malicious thoughts, a joke, a smirk…anything.

I opened my mouth to voice my protests when I realized…

I had none.

There was nothing stopping me…us.

Just my answer.