Until Death Do Us Part
By: Adam Alegria
Tags: Science Fiction, Short Story, Humor

My wife Sarah just told me that she is an Alien. “Okay,” I say to her. I then get up and immediately start packing a bag.

Let me explain: It’s not that I’m against being married to an Alien. No, why my first wife was an Alien. A Beeboobop, in fact. Which, as you know, only have an average life-span of 22. But I didn’t care. I knew that going in, accepting that our marriage would be short. And against all the odds, my Calagrah lived to a ripe 23. She was just above average in that way, and other ways too. I mean she was tall, slightly. God, did I love her.

So, no, that’s not why I start packing: I’m not anti-Alien. I start packing because it’s clear now that all those Compulsive Liars Anonymous meetings did nothing for Sarah! I mean, after ten years of marriage, how could she just lie to me like that? And about this of all things? Knowing of my deceased Alien first wife? It really crossed the line. The one I drew on the board demarcating the things she wasn’t to lie to me about. Being an Alien was the only one.

And so I pack.

“Did you even really go to the meetings?” I ask her, angrily stuffing my bag into a pair of my underwear. I then realize my mistake and have to undo it amidst my walkout. “Of course I went to the meetings!” she says, suddenly angry I would even suggest otherwise. “How could you say that?” It’s the classic liar technique: put it on the other person, act insulted, then start singing and dancing. This time she’s tap dancing, as if after ten years of marriage I wouldn’t be wise to this whole song and dance of hers? Whatever. You can stop the music, honey. I’m done. My bag’s packed. But when I look down I see I’ve put it in the underwear again. Goddammit.

I undo it and call a car to pick me up.

I decide to wait for the car outside to spare myself some of Sarah’s further attempts at manipulating me. Only she somehow talks me into letting her wait for it with me. I don’t know how. But, the whole time that she is out there with me on my arm, she is still trying to convince me that she is an Alien. She points out her alleged “home planet” amongst the stars. But when I squint to see it, it looks to be only a distant helicopter. “Yes, it is a helicopter,” I say. “You can tell because it is blinking and moving.” But she says no, that “the blinking I’m seeing is just an illusion caused by her moon’s extremely fast orbital speed as it passes in front of the planet along our line of sight.” She doesn’t explain the propeller.

But why? Why does she even keep going? I am literally on the sidewalk, bag in hand! I clearly don’t believe her! I know for certain she’s just a human! I mean, yes, okay, I do always like to keep an open mind about things and I try to never hold concrete beliefs about anything because I just think that that’s stupid. But about this, I’m reasonably sure. Still, she persists! She has to persist! It’s almost like it’s a compulsion for her to lie or something.

She then starts saying that the planet she is from is a dwarf planet called Sperduto, where the ground is covered in ashes, you know, since the lifespans are so short and cremation scatter is popular over traditional ground burial. Her imagination is quite impressive, I think. Probably has to be for the lies to work. Also, for her former job as a novelist. But weirdly apparently not for her new job as a Disney Imagineer?

She continues telling me about all the different kinds of crazy foods they like to eat on Sperduto. You know, stuff like Indian food and Haitian food, but obviously not Indian food or Haitian food since there are no Indians or Haitians on Sperduto; just food that’s like it. Thankfully, before she can tell me any more, my car arrives. I quickly climb into the back seat.

Inside, I see that my driver is a young Mandorian, a real Alien. Life expectancy of only 26 and still working hard, driving a car in the middle of the night, probably to support a family, and with death so close! Very admirable. Not like my Sarah.

“Goodbye,” I say to her as I prepare to close the door on her. “I love you, but-” I don’t finish the sentence, because the rest of that sentence is as long as a novel. You know, a novel that only had one sentence, but like a pretty long one, novel length, so you didn’t feel duped when you bought it. The kinds of novels Sarah used to write before she got that sellout Disney job.

“Wait,” she says, not letting me close the door. “Please, at least let me tell you what we drink on Sperduto!” I let her swing the door open. I give her one last chance to say it. To admit that she isn’t an Alien, that she crossed the line: to just tell the truth. But she just stares at me with pouty eyes. “You’re really leaving then?” she finally asks. “Yes,” I say solemnly. She nods. “Well, okay. In that case, we just drink like water and soda and stuff.” I close the door.

As the Mandorian and I begin to vanish down the block in his cab, I can feel Sarah staring a hole in the back of my head. Then I suddenly realize: hey, wait, only Aliens have heat vision! Oh god, I think, maybe she was telling the truth?! Maybe she really is an Alien?! Eh, whatever, I’m not looking back, I decide. I’m still too angry that she lied to me.

The rest of the drive over to the hotel I think back about my Calagrah. About how great our marriage was in comparison to mine and Sarah’s. I mean it was short, but it was great. Or maybe it was great because it was short. I don’t know. Maybe there was just no time for things to go wrong again and again and again. Until death do us part isn’t so long with an Alien. But it is long with a girl who says she’s an Alien…and has an average life-span of 75.

“That’s it,” I tell the young Mandorian driver. “No more human girls for me. Aliens only from here on out.” He laughs at that. I then tell him to never get married, that his life is too short. He laughs again and promises me that he won’t. I say good, then ask him to tell me about Mandorian women. However, he tells me that his kind, “Man-dorians”, are actually a species composed only of males, and that when they have sex they both get pregnant. “Ah,” I say. “Too bad. Or maybe that’s the way it should be, I don’t know. Maybe you Mandorians are onto something.” The driver raises two of his four eyebrows at that and tells me that if I really feel that way, then, you know, he is single. I swallow nervously. “Oh,” I say. And for a second, I debate just being honest and saying, “Well, I don’t really feel that way. Sorry.” But I don’t want to hurt his feelings. So instead, I agree to get drinks with him tomorrow. He becomes so happy then. He says my ride is free now that we’re dating, which I think is a bit presumptuous. But I just chuckle and say thank you. He drives the car all happily then. Turning the wheel back and forth all jollily.

Sigh. Okay.

After ten years, I think I finally understand why Sarah lied so much during our marriage. why she said that she was an Alien even though she wasn’t. She wasn’t doing it to hurt me. She was doing it to try and make me happy! Like me with the Mandorian Driver! Oh. How could I not see that before? Ugh. Why is that you always have to lose something before you can finally truly appreciate it? Is it because in order to appreciate it, you first need to completely misremember the thing with blind nostalgia? Yes…I bet that’s it.

Ah. Sarah. My love. What have I done?