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Sarah Matusek
Running in the Nevada desert, where night is black as ink, I saw a pair of eyes glow white. A mouse, I hoped, or something else small. This was the Extraterrestrial Highway, after all.
Early Sunday morning in the rural town of Rachel, I joined the Extraterrestrial Full Moon Midnight Half-Marathon 鈥撀爓ith some 400 other earthlings running 5K-to-51K races. Headlamps were required, as were reflective vests. Neon bracelets shone from wrists. People arrived at the start in silver shorts and bobbling antennas, near the roadside bar and lodging called the Little A鈥橪e鈥橧nn.聽
When safe to do so, look up, founder Joyce Forier had told me in an email. Runners here, she wrote, 鈥渞eport seeing lots of shooting stars.鈥�
We ran near Area 51 鈥� a hush-hush military site, two hours north of Las Vegas, long linked to claims of UFO activity. Those early 鈥渟ightings鈥� seemed to coincide with secret test flights of American aircraft during the Cold War, Time, but that hasn鈥檛 stopped the lore. I would鈥檝e welcomed an abduction right around Mile 9.
I鈥檓 not too interested in what Americans think about aliens, though. More so, what aliens might think about us.
What would they make of Americans鈥� distrust of one another? I wondered on the run. Our 鈥渃ancel culture鈥� and red/blue divide? (Notwithstanding last month鈥檚 congressional hearing on UFOs, of all things. There鈥檚 bipartisan interest in government transparency.)
Then again, what if otherworldly watchers saw us differently, as the Monitor strives to do? Americans as agents of respect and trust and hope?
Maybe, seen from above on Sunday, we looked like glow-in-the-dark invaders. Yet maybe our cheers of encouragement, shared by strangers in the dark, reached the heavens, too.
鈥淕ood job!鈥� we called out to each other.
鈥淣ice work!鈥�
鈥淵ou, too!鈥�
