By Thomas Broderick

In the quiet coastal town of Iduhno, on a pleasant day at the end of the short tourist season, a seven-year-old girl followed an alien as he walked along the narrow beach. 

The alien did not have green skin, big eyes, or any other strange features. He was a man, somewhat older than the girl’s father, but much younger than her beloved grandfather. He wore a long and puffy coat too warm for the comfortable weather. Every few feet, he stopped to inspect a smooth stone or pebble, many of which he had already slipped into one of his coat’s deep pockets.

“What do you need all those rocks for, Mr. Alien?” The girl had a slight tan from playing outside the entirety of Iduhno’s all-too-brief summer. 

“I’m a geologist,” the alien explained in a cool, detached voice. He described the rock he was holding using words the girl did not understand. The way he spoke convinced her more and more that he was from another world. “These will be very useful.”

“But why Iduhno? There’s gotta be rocks in better places. Last week, I saw this whole thing on television…”

“This is as far as I could go,” the alien interrupted. He paused to look into the town, with its minor train station marking the end of the line. “I wanted to travel as far as I could before returning home.” He put another rock in his pocket, and continued on. The girl followed. 

“What’s your planet like?” The girl paused to dig into the rough sand with her bare feet. In her left hand were a pair of well-worn blue sandals. 

The alien paused, too, and looked out over the ocean. In the far distance, wind turbines spun as lazily as the day. 

“It’s very busy, much busier than here. People moving about too quickly, barely noticing what they’re doing or what’s really important.”

“Do aliens have families?”

The alien nodded but did not turn to meet the girl’s gaze. “I have a wife and daughter. She’s about your age.”

“You’re an old daddy,” the girl teased. Unlike the alien, her father didn’t have any gray hair or wrinkles. 

“Time works differently between the worlds. When I see them again, we’ll all be the same age as when th…as when I left.” 

“Oh.” They started walking again, albeit slower than before. “How are you going to get home? Our train can’t go to space. Sometimes, I wish it could. That’d be fun.” 

The alien motioned to a nearby fishing pier that extended well into the placid bay. “I’ll just walk out there, to the end, and a portal will open. I’ll be with them again.”

The girl perked up. “That sounds neat. Can I watch?”

The alien shook his head. “I promised not to show any humans my planet’s advanced technology. You’ll need to go home soon.”

The pier was only a minute’s walk away. The girl looked at the small row of shops across the street. Only one had not yet been shuttered for the coming winter.

“Hey, before you go, want some ice cream?”

“Ice cream?” The alien stammered.

“Yeah, everyone who visits Iduhno eats the ice cream. If you took the train here, you probably saw all the cows, right? People love the ice cream the cows make.”

The alien didn’t have time to respond before the girl took his hand and pulled him along. The rocks’ weight almost made him lose his balance. 

“Just wait here, Mr. Alien,” the girl said, pointing to a wooden bench outside the store. She went inside and returned shortly with two single-scoop ice creams atop fresh, hand-rolled waffle cones. 

“I don’t know what flavors aliens like, but people like vanilla,” she explained while handing him a paper-wrapped cone. She sat next to him on the bench and began licking hers. 

The alien remained still for many seconds, only reacting when the first dribble of melt crossed onto his fingers. He instinctively raised his hand to lick it away before eating in earnest. “It’s very good,” he said. 

“Isn’t it?” Smiling, the girl swung her legs back and forth. She did not notice the alien’s lips trembling, nor his eyes shimmering like the late afternoon sea. 

They finished their ice cream at the same time. Frowning slightly, the girl looked down at her lap.

“Should I go now?”

The alien did not speak as he stood up and led her back onto the beach, but in the direction opposite from the pier. On a flat patch of sand, he kneeled and hastily removed the rocks from his pockets. They made a pile that came up almost to the girl’s knees. 

“I…I don’t think I’m ready to go home yet.”

The girl pouted. “Why not? Don’t you want to?”

The alien wiped his eyes. “I do. I really do. But now’s not the right time. Would you walk me to the train station? Make sure I get there safely?”

“Sure!” The girl took his hand once again and led him to the platform, where the second and final train of the day was about to leave. From his window seat, he smiled and waved at her. The train pulled away, and the girl walked home.  

The next morning, the girl took her mother to see the pile of rocks on the beach and told her all about the silly alien who didn’t go home. The story left the woman speechless. Her age granted her the wisdom to understand that there had been no alien, only a man and his grief, a grief heavier than the rocks he had carried, a grief deeper than the dark water below the pier where he had planned to take his final step. 

The woman kneeled and hugged her daughter with all her might. Hot tears fell on the girl’s cheek.  

“Mommy, did I do something bad?”  

“No,” the mother replied. “No.”