Alien Murmuration - A Masking Story - Chapter 7

“His latest obsession.” That’s what my mum calls it. Always with that slight rolling of the eyes that hurts my heart. Mum says that I have to understand that she and dad have seen so many obsessions throughout my life. Some big and some small. This means they don’t know what makes this one more important. To be honest, I don’t either but I do know that it is. Now I sound like the girl on Home and Away trying to persuade her parents that this latest boyfriend is the one and of course they should get married even though they are only seventeen. “They just don’t understand me,” I think to myself. Speaking for both of us.

This is different though. This isn’t something that I escape to when I can’t survive the alien world any longer. I can tell the difference. It doesn’t have the intensity of my love of dinosaurs, shops or even the Beatles. This feels . . .  healthier. It feels less of an escape from something and more like an adventure into something. I have never been able to understand the draw of adventure. Adventures always sounded like horrible confusing things, scary things. You never know what will happen with an adventure. This is why I don’t like many films, so much uncertainty. That’s why I don’t mind films based on historical things... or biographies. You always know what is going to happen. When mum insisted on reading me The Hobbit, I couldn’t help but agree with the idea that adventures were horrible things that made you late for your tea. It really is a dangerous business stepping out of your front door. At least it always has been for me. I didn’t really listen to Bilbo much after that as I thought he was a hypocrite. I may have to re-evaluate that idea though.

When I pick up my guitar I can control the universe, and as has often proven more difficult for me I can control my emotions and feelings. If I am stressed, I can play something calming. If I am feeling flimsy, I can play something upbeat. As I play, I can fly off on melodies and build magnificent pictures in my mind. It makes me feel like I never felt before. It makes me forget all the stresses of life. It makes me forget my alien planet. In fact, it makes me forget everything. Just for a while.

Mum is also telling me that I am spending too much time playing but Aunty Caroline seems to be quite impressed that I can play most of the riffs and solos on The Stone Roses and Queen is Dead albums.

I don’t feel so much like an alien anymore.

Actually, that isn’t true. I still feel like an alien but now I am starting to understand some of the locals a bit better. Sometimes I even dare to think that some of them understand me too. It seems to me that some of the inhabitants of this planet have been given the responsibility of reporting on the others. Watching from the sidelines as the protagonists foolishly and confidently strut their way through life. Rolling with the punches and never questioning the paths they take. Others are searching for meaning as they cautiously creep along wondering what the hell it is all about.

Here I sit with the confused. Underneath my record player. Asking questions, testing theories and reporting back to the world. You see not so long ago I thought I was alone. I was an alien from another planet with no idea. Now though I have found people like me. Everything I need is in this room. My records. My lyrics book. My guitar and my amp.