God, Love and Starships

It was a warm summer day, and a brown haired youth in a black t-shirt and paint splattered jeans sat behind the wheel of a Silver Toyota Echo, flustered at how late it had become. He hadn't even combed down his bed head. His hair flew up everywhere.

A blue tackle box full of art supplies sat on the passenger seat. On the lid, a scrawl of silver marker read Matt Gannon.

The sun beat down on him through the car window. He drove to the crowded parking lot of his college, overpaid the meter, and hurried across campus to the small brick building where all the art classes were held.

Professor Fulton made fun of him for being late, but didn't grade on timeliness. Matt set up his drawing board on an easel and sketched the male model in the center of the room.

He heard sneakers tapping across the floor. A female figure walked through the doorway. He heard her and the teacher muttering something to each other. She walked to the corner of the room with her art supplies.

Matt's easel faced that corner. He stole glances at the girl while he sketched. She sat on top of a large desk, legs crossed, drawing palette flat on the table's surface, sketching with a piece of graphite. He paid more attention to her than to what he was drawing.

She had big rounded ears that gave her a mouse-like appearance. Her narrow face and large eyes added to the effect. She wore baggy black Tripp cargo pants and a black long sleeved turtleneck. Noticing her eyes, he pretended to be fleshing out the sketch on his paper. The corner of the girl's mouth lifted in a smirk. She returned to her sketching. He gave her another look. His eyes traveled to the logo on her turtleneck, a glaring Cyclops-like planetoid surrounded by the words Starship Legend, written in a bold, futuristic looking font.

Starship Legend. His favorite show. An obscure space western in the vein of Star Trek, with a small but dedicated cult following. And she knew about it. Their shared wavelength tugged at his heart like a Death Star tractor beam.

Amazing. We're both geeks! His eyes traveled upwards, to her youthful, delicate features. Her greenish silver eyes met his through a pair of wire frame spectacles. I think I'm in love!

Looks like a good start, Matt. I think you could improve it if you made Greg's chin less rounded and move the cheekbones. Matt noticed Fulton's bearded face looming over his shoulder. The man squinted at the drawing. You also forgot to draw the line of the floor Greg's standing on.

Matt looked closely at what he had just sketched. His picture of the model had mutated into sort of a quasi-feminine monstrosity. Ugh! He crumpled it up.

Tsk, tsk, said Fulton. You won't learn anything that way. He waddled back to his chair, sipping on a mug of iced tea.

Matt started on a new sheet, staring at the girl in between sketching. Their gaze met. It felt like the room had gotten very hot, and it wasn't because of the bad track lighting they were using on the model. He looked away, pretending to stare at the broken bed frame someone had dumped against the back wall. He turned his gaze back to her again, and found her looking in his eyes.

Matt bashfully raised his hand, giving her a little wave.

She smiled at him, revealing a pair of long central incisors. They hung from her uppers like bunny rabbit teeth. Matt grinned.

Fulton stood up and stretched. Thanks, Greg. The model stopped posing and relaxed. The professor nodded to the class. See all of you Friday. Remember, your outside drawing assignment is to draw a picture of your concept of heaven. Try to not make it fluffy clouds or a stereotypical postcard of Montana. Bring it in next class.

Matt put his things away, trying to decide what he could say to strike up a conversation with the girl. He became nervous and trembled just thinking about it. She probably has a boyfriend already, so I'll ask, then I'll look stupid when she tells me that she does. He took a deep breath. But...oh, it's just no use. I'm a coward.

He grabbed his things, walking to the door. He stopped. His legs felt wobbly, like they almost couldn't support him. He shuffled over to the girl, poking her shoulder. Uh, hey.

Hi! Her voice had a buoyant, elfin quality to it.

He looked down at her drawing. It was excellent. He couldn't help but feel a pinch of jealousy. That's a great picture...You're a good artist.

Thanks!

He grinned sheepishly. I...like your shirt.

Thanks! You like Starship Legend?

Yeah. It's my all time favorite. He smiled at her, saying nothing.

A lapine grin appeared on the girl's face.

His face began to redden. What do I say now? His heart beat too quickly for him to think straight.

The girl rolled her eyes.

I am such an idiot! He just stared.

She began putting her things away.

Uh, what's your name?

She stopped and blinked.

Mine's...Matt...Gannon. Matt Gannon, I mean.

She giggled softly.

What's yours? I mean, what's your name?

Sarah Morris.

He stood there in dumb silence.

Sarah stood up. I gotta leave. See you Friday.

Yeah, he stammered. See you then.

And she walked out the door.

Stupid! You could have kept her longer! He stood there for several minutes, obsessing about what he could have done differently. He sighed. It's too late now. Unless...He looked outside the door. She had already disappeared.

Matt had been dully aware of Fulton standing there, and the sipping sounds he'd been making as he drank from his mug, but had been blocking it out.

Fulton let out a deep chortle. Got a hot date Friday night?

The flush of embarrassment, which had almost gone from Matt's cheeks, now flooded back in full force. Uh, no.

Gee, I'm sorry to hear that. Fulton took a swig of his tea. Can't win `em all.

The Starship Legend hovered over the smoky red planet Fazamax, its large gray thrusters pointing down at it from the corner of the TV screen. Ambient symphony music played in the background as the camera cut to the bridge, a bright, sterile room containing a small group of car seats and a long plastic rail which curved around the room. The colors of the room consisted primarily of gray and beige, like the inside of a Japanese car. Computer monitors and flashing button panels lined the walls, serving no apparent purpose. The ship hissed as it cut its way through the depths of space, blatantly disregarding the laws of acoustics.

The turbo-lift doors slid open with a cheesy whooshing sound, and out stepped a clean shaven young man with a standard issue red uniform, looking across the bridge with awe.

A green skinned alien woman sat in front of the port side computer, her long stemmed neck leaves twitching as she wiggled root fingers around inside the mechanism. Across from her, a bumpy faced gnome hovered in the air near the starboard computer, clicking buttons with his tail. Blue Face, of course, sat in a car seat in the center of the room, stroking his pet ferret, gazing over the shoulders of a centaur and an amorphous blob seated at desks in front of the giant movie screen covering the back wall.

Ensign Matt Gannon reporting for duty, sir.

The throne in the center of the bridge spun around, and Matt found himself staring at the black trilobite tattoo on the captain's forehead.

Welcome, Mr. Gannon, Zygon said in his monotone Conehead voice. Fresh from Wormhole Academy, I take it?

Yes, sir, but I'm always learning. I know that my training at the academy is pretty well worthless compared to real world training on board the Legend!

Well said! Zygon beamed. I believe you will be a nice addition to this crew.

Thank you, sir. He stood at-ease, absorbing the dramatic moment. He glanced across the room and saw Sarah smiling at him. He waved.

Ensign Gannon? said the captain.

Awaiting your orders, sir.

Zygon removed a stack of stapled papers from a clipboard on the side of his chair, handing them to him. This is a test over the materials we went over last week. You have fifteen minutes to complete it. You may not use the textbook. You may begin once you have received it.

What? Matt blinked, shaking himself out of his daydream. He stared at the Logic paper for a minute, then took out a pencil, writing down his best guess. Not knowing how to answer the questions, he erased it.

He stared at the clock, wishing he could slow time down or make it stop so he could sneak out and get the answers. The red Venetian blinds had been pulled down over the windows, preventing him from looking outside. Professor Pratt, a fat old man, snored behind a wobbly table in one end of the tiny, cramped classroom. Only half his head poked out from under it. Matt squinted at the marker board, trying to decode secret answers from the half erased squiggles, then gave up, focusing instead on the tiny holes in the concrete blocks that composed the walls.

A bony, sallow faced girl with horn-rimmed glasses hunched over a desk across from him, furiously scribbling answers on her exam. I bet she could do half as much and still get an A.

Matt glared at the test paper. He would have preferred to work around it and not deal with it at all. The best he could do was guess really hard. He stared at his muddled answers until time ran out. Frustrated, he turned the paper in.

Pratt called an end to the test. Students rose from their seats, zipping up backpacks and stuffing away books and papers, making a mass exodus out the door. Matt stared at the herd, feeling ashamed of himself for daydreaming. I guess it wouldn't have mattered anyway. This material is too difficult. I guess I might as well see if I can do something to make this up. Matt went up to the teacher's desk.

Do you need something?

Is there some way I can make up for my grade if I failed this test?

Pratt wheezed. I don't have much in the way of extra credit. Just try harder on the next ones. It might be a good idea to get with other students and compare notes next time.

Matt shook his head. I tried that. I felt like a kindergartner who barely knows the alphabet trying to study for a Brit Lit test. Never mind. Matt sighed. Forget it. I guess I can audit if it gets worse. It's too bad I was broke last week, or I could have bought that textbook and saved some trouble. Might as well buy it now. Even though it probably won't help. He left the classroom.

The Gilland College bookstore stood in the back corner of the cafeteria in the campus center. One part art supply store, one part bookstore, they rarely carried more than the amount on the attendance roster, they overcharged for everything, and the selection of non-curricular materials on the main floor went well with the bland gray carpets and walls. Matt picked up his course material, walking to the checkout area, wondering if he could afford all the books.

At the front of the store, he found two lanes open. One with a line, the other with no customers and a very bored looking clerk. Matt stepped towards the open register, but stopped when he saw Sarah at the other one. He walked over there instead.

I can help you over here, sir, the other clerk said in a loud voice.

Pretending not to hear, he watched as a few people in front of him walked away from Sarah's register to get rung up over there. He moved up behind a fat business student in a green shirt, sneaking glances around his shoulder. At the counter, he saw Sarah scanning the books of a girl in a hijab. Sarah didn't seem to notice him staring. Once or twice, her eyes flashed his way, but he didn't notice any reaction.

With impatience, he watched her scan bag and process the customer's payment with agonizing slowness. Matt smiled at Sarah, but she still didn't notice. The girl in the hijab took her purchase and left.

After enduring the next person's long transaction, Matt found himself nervously approaching the counter.

Sarah smiled. You know, it would have been easier if you had gone to the other lane!

I know. But it was worth it. I didn't want to wait until next class to see you again.

Aww! That's so sweet!

He gave a bashful grin, forgetting why he came in the store.

She pointed to the stack of books. Are you ready to buy those?

Huh? His face turned red. Oh? These? he stammered. Y-yes! Of course!

She picked up a logic book, scanning the bar code.

Should I ask for her number? Maybe that's too sudden. He noticed she had a book on Isaiah lying on the other side of the desk. And a Christian to boot? It's too good to be true! Knowing my luck, she must have a boyfriend or something. Guess it won't hurt to ask. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Maybe I should break the ice first. "Is that your book?"

She glanced at the computer. Two hundred and...what?

He blinked. Two hundred. What a rip-off. But I really need these books. I said, is that your book?

Oh? She picked it up. This? I was just studying it. $219.95, please.

Seeing a line starting up behind him, Matt opened his checkbook, filling in the numbers. So, what religion are you?

She paused in thought, her chisel shaped teeth hanging over her lower lip. Gigatorn Shada, I think.

Matt rolled his eyes. No offense, but that's like saying your religion is Jedi Knight. What religion are you really?

I don't know, but it's sort of like what they have on Starship Legend. She ran Matt's check through the auto-endorser.

The show has a lot of new age spiritualistic stuff. Is that what you believe in?

Sarah furrowed her brow. Actually, it's not anything like that at all. I have...my own religion.

What do you mean by that? Are you talking about a personal philosophy, or is this some kind of cult thing?

No, it's...just...me. It's just what I personally believe.

You do believe in God, though, right?

Yeah. And he's not me.

Do you believe in Jesus?

A troubled look crossed her face. I'm not sure.

You know who he is, right?

I'm familiar with the name. I know a few things.

Like what?

She looked like she were on a game show, racking her brain for the correct answer. She stapled three identical advertisements to his receipt, out of distraction. His...name is often used for an exclamation of surprise, his birthday is December 25, he's a role model...uh...

Matt frowned. Typical American, he thought. He's more than that. Listen, do you understand what you're reading?

A little. It has a commentary. But how can I understand it, unless someone guides me? She handed him the bag. Matt glanced at her hands. She was not the vain type that spent hours painting her fingernails. He liked that.

A tall African guy in a polo shirt shoved his way in, dumping his books on the counter. Ignoring him, Matt pointed to Sarah's turtleneck. Isn't that hot? The shirt, I mean?

Yeah.

Then why not wear something with shorter sleeves?

I have a tattoo.

He noticed her ears were bare. A tattoo, but no earrings. Maybe she's allergic to nickel? Right. Dress code. I understand. Can I see your tattoo?

It's new. It's still healing.

If you have bandages on, you can wear a t-shirt, right?

I guess you're right. I didn't think of it before.

How could you not think of it?...No matter. What's the tattoo of?

An Alderberran Shadow Beast.

He recalled the creature only appeared for five seconds in the very first episode of the program before being buried under a rock slide. He whistled. Wow! Sounds like you're a die-hard fan! Maybe too die-hard? I don't know. He grinned at her. I'd love to help you study Isaiah. Can we meet later?

Why not now?

She pointed to the back corner of the store. Wait over there in the lounge. I go on break in a few minutes.

And so he wandered into a little recess in between shelves of high priced books, seating himself in a cushioned yellow chair.

It turned out to be more than a few minutes. He could see that the lines were long at the register, and so it was not until he had completed an entire reading assignment and halfway through another when she finally occupied the seat adjacent to his.

He smiled at her.

With a slight smirk, she opened her book on a little cylindrical table in front of him, pointing to a passage circled in red and covered with highlighter. Isaiah 53.

So, who is this passage referring to? she said. It has some notes about Israel, but they don't make much sense in the overall context of the passage. It's too confusing.

I’d love to help. Matt read through the passage in great detail, explaining everything he understood.

She became lost in thought.

How much do you know about Christianity?

She shrugged. Some.

I'm a Christian. Would you like to become a Christian?

I don't know. I don't know if your, ah, Jesus will accept me. I'm too different.

Nonsense. Jesus accepts anyone who bows the knee to him.

What if that part is impossible? What if you can't bow the knee?

Nothing is impossible with God.

Yes, but...this Jesus guy...did he die for aliens, too?

Matt stared at the planet on her shirt. Depends on what you consider an alien. I mean, the word `alien' basically means `foreigner'...

Space aliens.

Heh, heh. I thought that's what you meant. He took a deep breath. I'm sorry. You might as well ask if he died for leprechauns.

You...don't believe in aliens?

He shook his head. As much as I'd like to, atheists like to argue for the existence of extraterrestrials because it allows them to say that the existence of intelligent life is not unique, so as to support their idea that humans came into being by chance events.

But why does it have to mean that? Who says that it has to mean that there is no creator? Couldn't God create life on other planets if he wanted to?

I suppose. But why would God create something that challenges our faith like that?

Why would God allow dinosaur fossils to exist?

I don't know. Matt rubbed his chin. "The problem I see with the idea is that it presupposes evolution or New Age religious beliefs. We really have no proof that they exist anyway. He pointed to the turtleneck. It's awesome that you like that show, by the way. I've seen just about every episode."

Thanks. But what if God made people on other planets? What then?

Would man be truly a unique creature, then? And would the alien reflect the image of God? And if so, how? Also, would aliens have sin?

So, the image of God is inferred by looking upon his unique intelligent creation, then?

More or less. He did take the form of a dove and other stuff, but you've got to be careful not to read too much into that.

What if the aliens are not made in God's image? Certainly, if would be flattering if they were, and it would be a standard of beauty, for sure, but cannot other creations, like the swan or the peacock or the horse also be beautiful?

Interesting point. I always imagined that the people of most religions would prefer if their god looked like them. I guess, really, if an alien can accept a God that looks different than they, maybe aliens can have a place in theology.

You think a space alien need Jesus, that is, if space aliens existed?

Depends on if they sin or not. That has little relation to you, and your situation, I mean, because I know you're human.

But what if I'm not?...I mean, what if I...weren't human?

Matt shook his head in frustration. He was certain she was playing some kind of game, insinuating that she was a space alien and all, and he didn't want to play anymore.

I don't know, he sighed. What if?

She nodded. So what then? Would I need Jesus then?...If I were an alien?

He frowned. This is hopeless, he thought. She's just toying with me, if she isn't insane. I should quit here, while I'm ahead. But his heart disagreed. Why does she have to be so cute?

Look, I really want to help you, but I can't if you keep telling me you're a space alien.

Sarah sighed. I guess you're right. But I'll need some time to think about this. She paused. What happens to...humans who don't accept Jesus?

Matt told her about hell.

It hardly seems fair.

It's not my fault things are set up that way. But God is good, and allows sinners time to repent and turn to him.

What if I die when I'm trying to decide?

You can hardly live your life without either moving away or towards God. I can only hope you can get a little more serious about it so you don't end up drifting away.

I will definitely give this some more thought.

Sarah breathed on the back of her hand, then pressed it against his cheek.

What was that?

A gesture of thanks.

Matt made a face. From what culture?

Aldocloprian.

He laughed. Which episode was that on? I must have missed it.

Flower World Zekledon.

I definitely missed that one. When did it come on?

Oh, some time ago.

And when was that?

Yesterday. On Canadian television.

Wow! Canadian? Really? You've got a satellite?

She nodded.

Then you've definitely got to tape some episodes for me!

Uh...

What? You don't have a VCR?

She shook her head.

Tivo? A DVD recorder? Anything?

No.

I could get you one. It would be worth it.

It's not...that.

Is it illegal?

She nodded. Copyrighted.

Bummer. Then can I go to your house to watch it? Matt sighed. He had a wild imagination, and feared he'd be unable to resist certain fleshly temptations if they spent time alone in her house. So when will your tattoo be healed?

Oh? Probably a month from now. Why?

Just wondering.

Silence.

Do you have a boyfriend?

No, she smiled.

Good. Neither do I.

She laughed.

I'd like that. In fact, there's a small Legend convention this Friday. You wanna go to it?

Really? I didn't know they had one here. He paused. I've never been to a convention before. I know it's pathetic, since I have a monstrous collection of Legend stuff, but I haven't. I'm afraid of what kind of weirdos I'd meet there. I'm also shy and... He frowned. I don't know.

She smiled. They're quirky people, but they're not dangerous. You should at least give it a try.

Matt stared at her. I guess if they're weird like you... All right.

Let me give you my phone number. She scribbled it down on a store advertisement, handing it to him. Call me Friday.

Thanks. I will. He looked at his watch. This sucks, but I gotta get to work.

Where do you work?

Farm Fresh. It's in Westport. Four nights a week, Monday to Thursday. `Do you want paper or plastic?'

Supermarket? Really? How do you pay for school?

I took out a loan. My folks help out some. He got up.

Bring some blue paint to the meeting.

Matt laughed. I don't know if I want to go that crazy, but I'll think about it. He walked a few steps, then turned around. Think about what I told you. Think about who you are.

She nodded. See you at the convention, unless we meet before then.

All right then. I'll be praying for you.

Sarah raised her hand, making the Jewish peace sign. May the Blue Star shine upon you. Live long and prosper.

Matt grinned, mirroring the gesture. Shalom.

Farm Fresh stood in the middle of an outdoor shopping complex, a spreading one story glass and brick building with green as the primary color scheme for its signs, logos and employee aprons.

Once he had clocked in, Matt deliberately avoided the manager, going about his normal routine. He stocked the bread, the beer, the sale items. At break time, he bought a chicken dinner at the deli, planning to take it to the break room, but as he walked that way, he got stopped by a red faced man with short cropped blonde hair. The badge on his shirt read Jeff Slemp, Manager. What are you doing?

Taking my break.

You can't take a break! You just took one an hour ago!

No I didn't.

Yes you did. I saw you.

Jeff had seen Matt walking to the restroom.

But-!

B-b-but! I don't wanna hear it. Get back to work and eat that food when you get home.

Matt sighed, throwing his dinner in the garbage can. I hate this stupid job.

Once finished with other duties, Matt drew back the giant latch on the door of the dairy cooler in the back of the store, stepping in to a cold, dimly lit room.

Shivering, he put on his sweater, staring at the untouched stacks of milk crates and boxes of dairy creamer and cream cheese. He tried to hurry the job and get out as quickly as possible, but kept finding reasons to go back in and freeze. The yogurt wouldn't rotate correctly. It took too long to rotate the cottage cheese from the front. Etcetera. The only thing that kept him warm and moving was thinking about Sarah.

He wanted to be close to her. He felt that they had something together, and if he could just get through to her, they could both...share the same faith, and date, and maybe even marry each other. These thoughts helped him. Some.

When this duty ended, he was given the task of straightening the aisles, concluding his work day with returning carts to the building, emptying a rack of ice cream into a cold case, and standing behind a cash register until he thought his legs would fall off. He was glad when the lights were shut off for the night and he could finally go home.

His apartment had a split personality. On one side, the walls were plastered with posters for various science fiction shows, including a five foot glossy photograph of a blue man holding up his hands in front of his chest in a Nebrian salute.

The poster read `Captain Zygon, S.S. Legend.' His likeness also appeared on a number of collectible bobble heads, action figures, coffee mugs and other memorabilia scattered among sets of model spaceships, stacks of videos, novelizations, and toys based on the show.

A crucifix and a poster for The Passion of the Christ stood in sharp contrast with the otherwise fantastic environment.

Images of sports celebrities and team logos began to take over other side of the apartment. Religious and political books were stacked in tall, neat piles all around there.

That evening, Keith, the owner of this portion of the dwelling, sat in an easy chair, idly staring at a football game on TV.

He was a big guy with the bulk of a football player, minus the muscles. Fat face, wide arms, blonde hair in a crew cut. His oversized t-shirt had a big Steeler's helmet on it.

He pushed a button on a remote, looking up at Matt. Um, Matt? Brenda called again. He pushed the play button on the answering machine.

Hello, Ringo? said the recording. "It's me, your mother. Your real mother." Matt’s roommate pushed the button again and he heard her singing an old Jewish hymn. Badly. Off key. He could tell that she was crying.

Matt sighed. She's been trying to get me to go to synagogue again.

Keith crossed his arms. I thought you told her you were a Christian and you didn't agree with her rabbi.

Do you think that actually accomplished anything? She's not going to stop until I convert. He shook his head. She means well, but she's blind to the truth.

You want me to pray for her again? Keith offered.

Um... He paused, then nodded. Yeah.

Matt had Sociology the next morning. Students filled every desk in the small, cramped classroom, listening to a tall blonde woman in a long green dress lecturing on cultural expectations in society. Matt stared at her long sleeves, chin high collar and black boots, wondering how she could stand to wear the outfit in such a temperature. But Professor Wedgewood was always a little bit strange.

After this, he had speech class, but it was easy because nobody asked him to do a speech that day, and he didn't volunteer.

When he returned to his apartment, he did some studying, then tried to call Sarah, but she didn't answer the phone.

Work that night was nothing of interest, consisting mainly of him doing busy work and watching the sunset out the plate glass windows as he waited for tiny amounts of customers to come up to the register.

On Friday, he arrived at Drawing class early, but Sarah wasn't there. The Heaven assignments had been arranged in rows, ranging from the uninspired to the ambitious, reflecting a variety of religions and temperaments. A black and white city with a wall around it. A big question mark. A color picture of two people standing in Disneyland with Mickey Mouse and other Disney characters, and an 18X24 fantasy landscape full of colorful creatures and buildings done in intricate detail. Matt had drawn a theme park full of spaceships and castles and people in outfits that were a cross between Legend uniforms and robes.

Fulton started off his critique by commenting on the question mark and the cartoony cloud city. About halfway through the spiel Sarah walked in, dressed in a red turtleneck and the usual Tripp pants. Fulton made a joke about her lateness, then resumed the critique. Matt waved at her and smiled.

After listening to him sharing some witty observations about the walled city, the Enchanted Kingdom, and a few others, the man stopped in front of Matt's drawing, giving it an equal amount of attention.

Spaceships, and people in Starfleet uniforms. So...heaven is like an endless Trekkie convention! Fulton gave a Spock-like eyebrow wiggle and laughed. Fascinating.

A few reviews later, he came to the painting.

Dang!...It's...a bunch of hairy creatures, monkeys, perhaps, and...they're flying around in trees...with people...and in the negative space, it looks like they're...fondling each other, or hugging...Who did this?

Me. Sarah grimaced. And they're hugging, not fondling.

Right. And what is this we're looking at? Obviously, it's heaven, but would you care to explain?

I hope that when we get to heaven, humans and angels won't be the only intelligent lifeforms there.

So they're space aliens, Fulton laughed. Maybe they'll go over to Matt's drawing and hang out with all the people in Star Trek uniforms!

Matt's face reddened.

My only complaint is that this is a painting and this is a drawing class. But still, it's marvelous. Fulton sipped his tea. See all of you again Monday.

As his classmates gathered their belongings and hurried to the door, Matt tapped Sarah on the shoulder. Hey...I really liked your painting. I don't know if aliens would really exist in heaven, but it's a neat idea.

Thanks! Yours was nice, too.

You know what happens to people in red shirts, don't you?

She laughed.

Do you own a cat?

Why?

You got cat hair or something stuck to your shirt.

I do? she blinked, picking at her sleeve. Oh, right. That's from my dog, Smurfette. No outfit is complete without dog hair.

What kind of dog is it?

A Pomeranian. And no, it's not blue.

That's cool. You think you could bring it to school sometime?

She shook her head. I live very far away. Smurfette would make a mess in the car.

Oh well.

She let out a heavy sigh.

What? Did I offend you?

No.

What is it?

Um... She made a phlegmy hissing sound, gesturing at the corner of the room with a peace sign, then the three fingered Scout sign.

He pointed that way. Go there?

She nodded.

He walked to the corner with her. Everyone else left the room. Now, what's the matter?

Do you think he's right? About the aliens going over to your, I mean, being in heaven?

Heaven is supposed to be an awesome place. I think, for it to be really great, He'd have to put in all sorts of fantastic creatures in it. After all, God can make anything He wants.

That doesn't mean he'll make everything you or I want.

I know, but...what if He makes an exception? It's supposed to be a place of great happiness and fulfillment. I don't think I'd be as happy if we go there and just see more of the same stuff that humans see every day, even though the endless joy and fulfillment is a big plus.

But couldn't God make you happy with what's there, and what He already created? Even if there were no aliens up there?

I suppose you're right. The Bible teaches us to be content in all circumstances. Maybe that also extends to heaven. But it would be disappointing if you went to heaven and found that, what, with all the billion stars and planets out there, ours is the only one that contains life.

She bit her buckteeth down on her lip, looking like she were fighting down a grin.

I mean, sure, maybe the life could be angelic, or maybe God's body is that big, or maybe heaven is literally `the heavens,' so when we die we go hang out on other planets, but...you think there'd be ample room for aliens up there.

Fulton stepped in the doorway. Having a theological debate over there?

Um... Matt stammered.

Well, sorta.

Fulton snorted and laughed. That's okay. I don't want to know. He walked back out.

Sarah smiled. I hope you're right about the aliens.

Matt stepped away from her. I guess I need to get to class pretty soon.

Wait. Sarah handed him her painting. Here. This is for you.

He stared at her in surprise. You made this for me?

Uh, sorta. Anyways, you can have it.

Wow! Thanks! I'll put it on my wall or something. He pointed to the board. You want mine?

She smiled and took it.

Well, I gotta get to class. Matt bumped into an easel as he backed away from her. He turned, bashfully staring at her nose. I'll call you when I get home.

Okay, she giggled. Call me around four.

Matt rushed to Logic with the painting in his hands, slipping into one of the desks.

Wow! Did you paint that? said a girl across from him.

No, a friend did.

It's really nice.

Yeah, she did a good job.

Mr. Pratt hobbled his way in, easing into his chair like a man twice his age. He opened his briefcase, handing a pile of papers to the brown nosing student with the horn-rims, who distributed them as he wrote the grading scale and the class grading statistics on the marker board. The man sat back down, looking like he'd been running a marathon instead