The 1968 UFO never showed up, although I waited from 10:00 to 11:30 when it was time to help Mom fix dinner. Sadly no aliens zoomed in to pick me up.
Oh, sure. BUT the next week a dull green fighter jet zipped over my house, clipping the leaves from the top of the maple tree near the house (on the north side!). I saw it, heard it, and felt the sound.
This had never before happened: a fighter jet in our own skies, from an air base two hundred miles south of St. Louis. The pilot rotated, dipped over the nearby creek, and disappeared. What was he chasing??
The same girl who had shared the last headline from the National Enquirer sneaked another copy of this respected newspaper, on which the header said “UFOs Seen over Corn Fields”. We all gasped, knowing darn well that each of us had waited at 10 AM last week, on the north side of our houses.
Were we getting a second chance? Were the Aliens giving us second look-over before making their decisions? What next? What next?