The Aliens Have Landed

by Steve Lazarowitz

As promised, this issue of Sahara Ice is not being written in New York City. Unfortunately, it is not being written in Alabama either. I suppose I should not be surprised to find myself anywhere and I am not. Astounded is a better word.

I currently, temporarily reside in East Peoria, Illinois. I'm about halfway to my intended destination, but have stopped at friends and will be here another week or so. I believe everything happens for a reason, thus there is a reason for this visit. Until yesterday, I wasn't certain what it was.

My friend Al, after recently receiving a digital camera for his birthday, foolishly promised to help a friend out, by taking pictures of their country line dancing competition. I, on the other hand, foolishly agreed to accompany him on this venture. We were only there about an hour and a half and during that time, I learned two important things.

First, while the occasional country song can be sort of nice, repetitive country music gives me a migraine. And second, I have about as much in common with the folks that are into country line dancing, as I might have with an Australian aborigine, perhaps less.

East Peoria is middle America in a big away. Family values are big. There are more churchgoers than rabble rousers. There are more rednecks than intellectuals. There are more cars than people. To say I am experiencing culture shock is an understatement.

You see, as I stood there, watching the waltz, the two step and other ritualized sets of movements, I realized that for all practical purposes, these people are alien to me. They come from a different world and have different values and thoughts than I could ever have. Perhaps they are biologically similar to me, but in every other way, they are distant relationship on the tree of life. Not to imply better or worse, just different, as if we'd evolved from some common ancestor, but no longer are the same species.

For a while, as I watched, I thought of the movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers and wondered if some alien form might have actually taken them over and if I might be next. I tried to picture myself dressed in a gaudy, shiny fringed outfit, wearing a cowboy hat and leather boots. Even tried saying howdy and ya'll. The words rolled unconvincingly off my tongue, causing more than an occasional smirk or blank stare.

The aliens have landed, but they are not necessarily from outer space. They are here among us, sharing the planet. Humans so different they might as well be another species. We write sitcoms about them, but we never suspect the reality.

If you live in middle America, the characters on Seinfeld or All in the Family might seem impossible, where people that live in large metropolitan areas know that people like the characters in those shows really do exist. If you live in an urban area, you might think The Beverly Hillbillies or Andy Griffith are too hokey to be real, but the truth can be stranger than fiction.

In all honesty, I'm not as shocked as I could be, having visited here before and having traveled enough to take the edge off my incredulity. Perhaps also, as a fiction writer, years of trying to put myself in the shoes of others has given me a perspective tolerance I might otherwise not have.

And yet, standing there, watching middle America compete in a line dancing competition left me feeling more than a little alien myself. I find myself wondering how one of those friendly folk would feel at Wall Street bar in New York City, or a Greenwhich Village Pub on Saturday night.

It took an hour of listening to rock music and Broadway show tunes to drive the country music from my head, but I can still feel it there, lurking in the background. I wonder as my adventure continues, if my stories will start to veer away from the urban setting, as my points of reference change and become more familiar. I wonder if, at some point when I visit New York City, I will find that it feels different to me. That somehow I will have changed enough to feel just a little alien there myself.

I wonder if even now, as I sit here typing this, the alien spores have already infected me and are currently working their poison into my system, driving me further and further from the world I had once loved. Then I smile and realize, it's all just a fantasy and I remain the same self I've always been.

As long as my intellect and voice remain unaffected, I will continue to be the same old me, writing the same old (though amazingly interesting and entertaining) column. So no worries, they haven't got me yet.

See ya'll next month. Ya'll come back now, y'hear?

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