A Speck in the Universe
It was the third night of skimming through newspaper calls, dialing and answering the phone, and reheating cups of coffee. The Lone Gunmen were trying to find everything and anything that they could write about, something that anyone would listen to.
The boys had run into a lot of disappointment in their quest for the truth. Byers had cried at least once when a lead proved to be a dead end.
“There are a lot more crackpots in this town than I thought.” That was saying something, considering the state of Federal since it was established as a UFO hotspot.
Langly’s idea had at first seemed like a good one -- tape posters around the town advertising the paper, and maybe someone would have something to say that hadn’t already been published.
After just the first three days, the boys were exhausted. The amount of crazed ramblings they’d heard was unfathomable, let alone the amount people who had obviously lost brain cells to smoking too much weed and were just convinced they’d seen Jesus in a monster truck. Which, while admittedly was funny, was as unhelpful as the last ten calls.
Frohike groaned. “I want a waffle and a steaming hot cup of quality conspiracy.”
“Are we ever going to get anywhere with this?” Byers asked.
“It’s seems like all we’ve gotten is a pile of bullshit.” Mulder said, handing a cup of coffee to Frohike.
“Maybe this town isn’t getting any action these days.”
“We’ve got to keep going.” Langly said. Admittedly, it was weak encouragement for the quartet. All-nighte weren’t going to make UFOs appear in the sky, or put the town back on it’s feet.
Of course, there were small things. Someone north of them had seen lights in the sky, and someone to the south had seen something crash land in the woods. But there was nothing to write about from that-- the stories sounded like regurgitated horror movies or famous stories.
With every passing moment, and every answered phone call, hope drained from the group. They were tired, and their motivation was little. They wanted to succeed the way their parents had; by believing endlessly and not letting anyone tell them anything different.
But it seemed that as time passed, the world had become less naive. Fewer people would believe without proof and “skeptic until proof is undeniable” seemed to be the new mentality.
It made Mulder tired. He was raised to believe, and the rest of the world was raised to question him. Every morning he woke up and faced a brick wall of cynicism between him and the truth.
He felt like his parents had it easier when they’d moved to Federal -- everyone wanted to believe, and everyone was willing to accept that maybe they didn’t know everything.
“Start again tomorrow?” He suggested, and the others sighed. It was a tedious task, and every newspaper and corny website they went through seemed to sprout ten others.
Rides and drivers were being assigned (“Frohike, can you drop me off? Mom won’t let me have the car after ten.”) when Mulder got a phone call. There was silence and crackling on the other side of the phone, the sound of breathing distant.
“Hello?” He said. Once, and then two times.
The caller took a gasping breath. It sounded like someone was crying in the background.
There are moments before shattering news in which the world seems to slow, in which the conversation or phone call goes from just a phone call into a cemented memory of he moment when everything was still normal. Everything was still normal, in the moment before Fox Mulder heard his father’s words. He was just a senior with a work-in-progress newspaper and kind of idiot friends, and his life was simpler.
Mulder never knew that with every story of an abduction or a UFO sighting, there was also tragedy that came with it. There was a family that lost a member, or a man that lost his mind. There were two sides to the coin of belief.
“Fox.” It was the voice of Bill Mulder. “Samantha’s missing.”
----------------------
It was almost too hot for the pool. This summer was proving to be like most Arizona summers: dry and relentless. But Scully still donned her one-piece and put zinc on her cheeks, lamenting the heat on the drive over to Monica’s house.
Monica was waiting for her, messy bun and sunglasses as all. She’d already been in and her hair was still wet, falling in loose strands around her face. Scully took a breath, feeling like a crushing freshman all over again. Monica smiled.
“They said this summer is gonna be the hottest one yet.”
“The weathermen always say that.”
“But doesn’t it feel different? Like there’s something in the air?”
Scully snorted. It sounded like Monica’s mom would say, at one of those conventions they had annually.
“Sounds like something a crackpot who lives in a trailer would say.” She said, laughing.
“Sounds like something a scientist who runs a debunking blog would say.”
Monica was right -- Margaret Scully did run a debunking blog, and that is exactly something she would say.
The couple laid back on their poolside chairs, soaking in the sun. “Technically, its our last day of summer, Dana.”
Tomorrow, they would go back to work selling NASA baseball caps and Apollo 11 pins and patches, and worst of all, every single article of alien-themed merchandise one could imagine. Shirts with cheesy slogans and puns, temporary tattoos, shot glasses and bumper stickers.
All obvious relics of the town’s better days, when the economy was fueled by skeptics and believers both. For Scully, it was embarrassing to endorse that culture-- but she was hoping to get promoted by the end of the summer. At least it would be one good thing to come out of it.
Scully had loved the stars since she was young, fascinated by the stories of her hometown and the the smattering of them across the Arizona night sky. She’d started working at the Federal Observatory because she wanted to study everything beyond Earth, even if it meant she could find true possibility of lifeforms different than her.
Margaret used to drive out on weekends to the middle of the desert with her daughters, packing a telescope and a picnic lunch. She would tell them stories about their father, and college, and the long drive to Federal from Washington. It made those nights magical, captivating, and their childhoods astronomical.
Margaret wasn’t fond of the idea of her daughter wanting to become an astronomer, especially an open-minded one. The thing about those types of scientists was that they had a tendency to admit that the universe was bigger than humans believed.
She was absorbed in thought when she heard a splashing sound: Monica had jumped right back into the pool, and was floating on her back, eyes closed.
“Jump in!” She shouted, smiling. Scully pinched her nose and jumped in after her. It was freezing cold, and she shrieked.
Monica swam over and wrapped her arms around Scully’s shoulders. She felt hot in a whole different way then the sun was. Scully closed her eyes as Monica pressed her lips to hers, and the summer felt almost normal again.