TW for Period Typical Transphobia

You know that feeling, when you cross someone's path, someone who's a stranger, and you just know something's up? That's how I felt about this... Lady? Tries to pass it off as such anyways. I could tell something was off about her from the moment she walked into Steak-Shak (the grimy roadside diner where I work) looking almost too put together, like she'd walked straight out of a film reel. Lady, you're not fooling anyone.

I bet somehow she's escaped, I think, while I'm pouring her coffee and sending her order of bacon to the cook in the back. Escaped from that 'mental institution' down the road, that they call a 'state-of-the-art facility' but I don't believe 'em for a second. My boyfriend says it's where they send the people that they can't even send to normal prisons, because I guess people are too nice nowadays. Driving past that place gives me the creeps, like driving past a graveyard. Like there's souls that are trapped in that place, in need of escaping. The worst part about it is it don't even look that unassuming from the outside. You look at it out front and it's got a nice pretty front gate, It's not made of wrought iron but out of wood and stone, and the building itself is an old mission building, so it's still got all those pretty colors on it from the Spanish priests that used to live there. It reminds me of the... person, sitting in front of me. Desperately pretending to be something you're not. Putting on all that pretty makeup, when on the inside you're just chock-fulla crazy.

I'm thinking far out into space again, like I'm on one of those space shows on television. That's what happens when everyone who comes into this place is either a creeper or creepy, if you get what I mean? I might be fifteen but I know darn well what I'm talking about, a lady does when she's a pretty little blonde thing like me. My daddy says I'm a regular Marilyn Monroe, but I've always thought I was more of a Janet Leigh. You've gotta ignore all the garbage around you. I'm safe behind my counter, but if I let any of those freaks get behind my brain wall, I'm hopeless. That's how they get you. They trick you into the conventions of polite society, and then boom, you're all pieces in the back of a car trunk. No thank you, I'd much rather think about it in vivid detail. It's easy to space out here anyways, what with the outdoor landscape looking like the set of that fun new Star Trek show, or that Twilight Zone, and the stupid radio only spitting out static, and the newspapers crying UFO crash every Tuesday morning.

The only reprise I have from the crazies is this lovely couple sitting in a booth across from me. I think they're planning a road trip, since they're looking over a map together. They must be French, or Swiss, or Spanish or something, because they keep switching between broken english and a language I can't quite understand. They've been here all morning, but at least they've continued to order food, four cups of coffee for the both of them, a plate of pancakes, an omelette, a steak (rare), a side of grilled onions, and a strawberry milkshake. Frankly, I don't care if they're communist spies, their communists that tip. I had half a mind to ask Person No-Fool to leave this god fearing establishment, but I'm scared of it. I bet that thing could strangle me, take all the air out of me, with my bare hands, If he wanted to. Psycho. Sends a shiver down my spine.

A bell rings behind me, and I jump, just a little, I promise, remembering that the 'patron' in front of me had ordered something. So I turn around and grab the plate of bacon to serve, feeling eyes on the back of my neck. Turning back to the person in front of me, I smile my best customer service smile and say:

"Here's your food, m'amn. Can I do anything else for you?"

The creature smiles and says, with it's off-puttingly feminine voice "Nah. I'm all good, thanks."

Most cars on the highway don't scare me anymore, even though they go dangerously close to the diner, and the walls aren't exactly thick. In fact, they're about as thin as pig spit. But when what seems like about a million cop cars go screaming past, I'm on edge. That's not just a car accident, or some speed demon getting chased. That's gotta be someone escaped from the asylum. Or worse. Everyone in the diner sits in complete shocked silence for a second. Even old Creepy Coot Billy, our marvelous cook, who sits in the corner and stares at me all day. I don't think he's ever been interested in anything besides women or cooking.

He stares at the window, on the edge of his seat.

"Have ya heard about the UFO sighting that happened two nights ago? They're sayin' it was a genuine flyin' saucer, complete with little green aliens and everything. There's even a picture in the paper!" Billy whispers, looking around like any of us could unzip our skins to reveal ourselves to be a floating green alien underneath.

"Yeah, maybe that's the national guard, after the little green men." Mr confusion crossed his arms. "You know all those photos are hoaxes, right?"

"Oh, No! No hoaxes!" the lady of the foreign couple shook her head

"We're here for UFO." The husband picked up "Foreign Tourists, from France."

I blinked, for a few seconds. Sure, there were plenty of 'sightings' around here. But not more than any other patch of dirt this side of the Mississippi. They must either be lost, investors, or weirdos. Well, I guess what I said earlier stands corrected. They aren't a reprise from the crazies.

"Well," I said, trying my best to point them in the right direction, "If you're looking for the 'crash site' I'm sure Billy will be glad to show you where it is, won't you, billy?" I look at Billy, trying my best at a menacing glare. I can handle the diner while he points out whatever new meteor crater has burned a hole in the earth.

Apparently it worked, because at minimal begging and pleading from the tourists, Billy agrees, and now, bonus, I have him out of my diner. Minus, It is now me and... whatever this is. We stare at each other for a tense second. The hot dry air sits in-between us, sweat beading on both of our upper-lips. Nothing seems to be happening outside, and it is gut-churningly quiet.

It opens its mouth to speak "You think we should-"

A shrill scream sirens from the dirt parking lot out back. That raises all kinds of alarms. For all kinds of reasons. I'm not a detective though, so I guess he'll have to figure it out later. I'm not going out there now. I might have, when it was just creepy Billy and the foreigners, but now there's probably some poor girl torn up out there too, and I'm suspecting I'm next. Well, at least I know it's not Mix-Up-Minnie. Speaking of, It stands up, pulls a revolver out of... somewhere, and turns towards the door.

"Well. Come on." The Thing gestures towards me, and then the door, then me, then the door again. I'm too scared to say no. I grab a butter knife on the way out.

We're rounding the corner of the diner now, and nobody is anywhere to be seen. Which is super strange since the foreigner's car is still here. It's a nice car, a red convertible, one of those fancy things with a radio built in and cup holders for your drinks. I can hear the static from here. The closer we get to the back parking lot, the slower my pace gets. I get gooseberries on the back of my neck, like I'm being watched, like this isn't where I'm supposed to go. The quiet is unsettling, and all of a sudden sounds that I've lived with my whole life are frightening. The stranger in front of me is suddenly comforting, and I'm thinking, yeah, she'd probably protect me from the crazy rapist murderer, or the probing alien, or the whatever. Or maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she can smell fear, and she can't forgive me for my sins.

Honestly, at this point, we'll probably both die together, so muster up the guts to look into her pale blue eyes and ask "D'you think we're both gonna die out here together?"

She looks back at me "Oh, honey, we ain't gonna die. Us two pretty ladies? We're too godlike to die." she smiles, and winks, and tosses her platinum-blonde hair back with the tip of the revolver

The thorny pit of tar forming in my stomach resolves itself just a bit at those words. I stand up a little straighter. "We should go help that girl who gone and screamed then, huh? What if she was pretty?"

She looked as though she had smelled something strange "Hm, I hadn't thought of that. By the way, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Charline." she held out her hand

I returned the handshake "Stacy Jane, M'amn."

"Now. Let's go save the day." she turned around the corner, guns blazing.

Oh.

I hadn't seen a dead body before that day. I've seen plenty since, but as they say, the first leaves an impact. And oh boy, what a privilege I had, if you'd call it that.

I don't think anyone on earth had seen anything like that before, and maybe I'm just special like that. You could almost call it pretty, if it weren't so greasy and covered in flies on account of the heat.

At least he put up a fight. Those bright green tentacles everywhere are evidence enough of that, even if they disintegrate.

As they say, I'm in a better place now.