The Man from Xenoglorp 5

A father questions the depths of his daughter's love.

My five-year-old daughter, Tina, swung her legs back-and-forth as she sat next to me on the park bench. She combed the hair of her doll, Baby, whispered into its ear and gently placed it between us. For the past two years our Friday morning routine never changed. Mommy rested with a book and a nap, and Tina and I walked to the park with Baby to watch people and use our imaginations.

Tina started school in one week. It meant Fridays no longer held a place of honor, destined to mediocrity among the other less desirable days — Monday through Thursday. The change upset me more than my daughter, a fact that prolonged the torture, but which humored my wife. She knew I harbored a petty jealousy over shopping for new clothes, gaining new friends and meeting a lovable teacher. The competition for Tina’s attention burrowed under my skin and chewed through my heart.

“Daddy, that woman. Is her dog an alien, too?” Tina asked.

“Oh yes, and on their planet the dog is the owner, and that woman is the pet,” I said.

“What’s the planet’s name?”

“Tooblesnark 6. It’s quite nice. Mommy and I go all the time.”

Tina looked up at me, squinted her eyes and leaned in to examine my face. She detected a little white lie and tried to suppress a grin. I doubted her teacher would appreciate the razor sharp wit that Tina inherited from me. If my daughter learned to use it wisely, she could soften the hardest hearts, just like I had with her mother.

“Daddy, the man and woman on that bench. Are they aliens?” Tina asked.

“They are the king and queen of Quarkle 10. A lovely couple. Mommy and I eat dinner with them sometimes in their royal palace. The food on their planet is terrible, though,” I said.

“How come I don’t go with you?”

“You’re at Papa and Grandma’s house, silly.”

Nearby an older gentleman carried a picnic basket under the shade of a large oak tree. He removed a blanket, spread it out close to the trunk and then pulled out several small plastic containers of food and finally a book. His Friday routine resembled our own and the familiarity allowed me to concoct an absurd series of tales.

“Tina,” I whispered. “It’s Mr. Applebaum.”

Tina looked over to where I pointed and recognized the man immediately. With a soft motherly disposition, she placed her arm over the doll and said, “Shh, Baby, don’t be scared. You’re safe.”

“Daddy, your phone,” Tina said.

I pulled out my phone and handed it to Tina. She already knew how to login, navigate the swipe actions and take photos. She understood the privilege of holding Daddy’s phone and enjoyed the responsibility of documenting the comings and goings of Mr. Applebaum, also known as the man from Xenoglorp 5.

“Now remember, don’t look suspicious,” I said.

“I don’t know what ‘supisious’ is, Daddy,” she said.

“It means Mr. Applebaum will know we’re spying. Take pictures of everything in the park,” I said.

Tina snapped photos of birds, trees, the large marble fountain and then she scanned the horizon. Mr. Applebaum entered the viewfinder, and she touched the shutter button several times with her tiny thumb. The off center photos depicted the man eating a sandwich, drinking from a thermos and reading a book. In the final photo, he looked directly at the camera and smiled. Tina squeaked with surprise, as if she’d been caught stealing an extra cookie for dessert.

A young boy, our neighbor Peter, came running over to the bench. I waved to his mother, who waved back and adjusted Peter’s sister in a stroller.

“Hi, Tina, do you want to play on the swings?” Peter asked.

A ripple of guilt and anticipation washed over Tina. I knew she wanted to play with her friend but didn’t want to hurt my feelings. She needed to experience independence. A big change lingered around the corner and freedom encouraged confidence. 

“Sure, go ahead, honey. I’ll be right here the whole time watching,” I said.

“Baby, you stay here with Grandpa and be a good listener. We don’t want any more timeouts,” she said to the doll, and then placed it in my lap. The two children held hands and walked over to the swings.

Mr. Applebaum packed up his belongings and walked over in my direction. He sat down and let out a deep sigh.

“Captain, do you think she suspects anything?” he asked.

“No, but you’re going to have some explaining to do. I’ve worked up quite a story this past year about you and Xenoglorp 5,” I said.

“Xenoglorp 5?”

“Also known as our home planet, Paxion.”

“Tina’s a great kid. School will be different than she expected, but she’ll do fine. We managed when our parents revealed the truth. There’s a universe out there waiting and with her imagination she can touch the stars.”

“That’s what I fear most. No father can compare to the infinite possibilities in our solar system and beyond.”

“Her eyes tell a different story.”

“You better finish preparations. Our people have waited long enough for our return — we don’t want to be late.”

My second in command left me to consider the truth. Tina knew Earth as her only home, and understood little of what it offered, yet it paled in comparison to the thousands of inhabitable worlds and lifeforms ready to steal her affection. Where did I fit into all of that?

My daughter ran over, hair disheveled, exhausted from the morning’s activities. She picked up Baby and gave her a big hug, yawned, then said, “I’m hungry, Daddy. Can we eat lunch?”

“You bet, kiddo. Daughter’s choice, today,” I said.

“No, you pick,” she said, then, “Peter’s fun, but you’re more fun.”

I walked with her hand-in-hand to a diner down the street, perfectly satisfied to be more fun, if only for one more day and only on this planet.