The Museum of Intangible Things Read Online Free PDF Page B

we will probably never see a being from another planet . . . because other solar systems are
so
far away? No one can even really fathom the size of space. One light-year is six trillion miles, and the closest star is four-point-four light-years away. And if beings from another planet
could
get to us, they wouldn’t have any
need
to get to us. That’s the paradox. If they had the enormous amount of energy resources to travel twenty-five trillion miles, they would not need to exploit our planet for energy because they had already figured that out. And if they figured out the energy problem, it follows they could probably solve the water problem and food problem. There’s really no reason for them to look for us.”
    “What about slavery? Would they need us as slaves? Or pets?”
    “We’re here,” Zoe says as we pull into the sloping bar parking lot right in front of the Dumpster. A requisite rat scurries underneath it.
    “Oh. Pets,” I hear Noah considering. He’s still talking as I climb out of the car.
    The wind slams the door shut. It’s an ominous wind. The kind that turns over the leaves of the trees, exposing their backsides and threatening a storm. I turn up the collar of Zoe’s mom’s trench coat and step into the bar, making sure that my cleavage is exposed. I walk into the packaged goods side of the building, where Mickey himself stands at the cash register reading the paper.
    The place smells of metal beer kegs and mildew—the yeasty, stale smell of beer, cigarettes, and middle-aged bad breath. The air tastes like a dirty penny. It is decorated with the free promotional neon signs from beer companies and one very large buck’s head above the center of the bar, which is directly behind me as I ask for a case of Corona in my raspy, mysterious starlet voice.
    “Right away, dear,” Mickey says, and I like him because he doesn’t bother to strike up conversation. He signals to his slow nephew bar-back to grab the case from the walk-in refrigerator and put it in the car, and I pay him in cash. As I’m paying, though, I can feel myself being watched.
    My father’s eyes are blue. Not a blank clear aqueous blue, but a flickering and infinitely faceted blue like the fake gems in class rings. His stare penetrates the collar of my trench coat and burns in two icy hot spots on my neck. I know he is there before I turn around.
    Seeing him drunk again is my greatest fear. For two years I’ve been treading lightly around him, tolerating his biting insults, catering to his loneliness and neediness, earning my own money for college with his wacko scheme, just so I wouldn’t have to witness what I know is happening right behind me at this very moment.
    It’s like being dropped into a black hole. A vacuum of existence. When I turn around, I will be instantly orphaned because I’ll know no one can hack it. And no one is in charge. But it’s worse than being orphaned because at the same time I am tethered to his failure. His problems are tied around my heart. I will never get away. I am afraid. But I turn around.
    He holds my gaze for a second. His eyes and pinkening face look swollen. His thick fingers are clumsy as they stir the melting ice in his emptied rocks glass. He opens his mouth to say something to me across the room, but then his eyes burn in anger. He can so easily turn this into my fault. If I hadn’t witnessed it, it could easily have been denied and forgotten. But since I am here, I am witness, and he is defeat. He lets his head drop to the bar for dramatic effect.
    And I learn that facing your greatest fear is liberating. You no longer have to worry about it, because it has already happened. And you have survived. I want to face some more fears, it feels so freaking liberating. I want to just jump off the freaking Brooklyn Bridge.
    I also want to cry. But I have to wait till I get into the car.
    “What about breeding?” Noah says as I climb back into the passenger seat. He hadn’t stopped