Deborah 1

I'm sitting in the living room, immersed in an article in the local Jewish weekly, someone's account of a year of study and travel in Israel. Very compelling, much better written than most such.
My husband Stanley is again still playing one of those wacky computer games where you shoot Aliens, obvious electronic addiction.
There have been words of late. Since he recently graduated with his Master's, in my view he spends entirely too much time fun surfing and not sufficient on job search.
I know all the sounds well on those games, so a different whirr causes me to look up.
There are six Aliens, little green men, all carrying blasters.
Two face me, but in non-threatening manner, message is stand clear, not your concern.
The other four, pointing blasters at Stanley, lead him out the door, down the stairs to the old clunker he has parked in the apartment building parking lot.
As they drive away, I'm choking with laughter. Of course it's not real; that's his computer geek buddies sending holograms to spirit him away for a party.
A few days or a week later, he'll return with some ridiculous story. After all, Aliens don't exist, right? And it's hardly the first time his buds pulled a practical joke.
As days float by, I just imagine it's a mega-bender to celebrate end of academic year.
The police phone, demanding to know why I didn't report the car as stolen. I politely reply that my husband looks after it, it's often missing for days.
"Well ma'am, it's in a farmer's field, wierd crop circles burned. Whoever parked it didn't walk away, no footprints in the heavy mud. You still there ma'am?"
"Oh yes."
"You have to view the car. I'm guessing you won't want it back, repair would cost more than its book value."
I accompany two officers to the site, then sign a statement giving up the car as Crown evidence, no return expected.
Arriving home, the phone rings. Stanley's former Department Head at the university berates me for not being in touch, "that job he applied for, teaching at the Community College out in Vancouver, came through. They have his cell number and e mail address, not his home number, so they tried calling me."
"Sir, perhaps if you stalled a bit? You know how he is when he drinks, could return an hour from now or a week."
"I'll do my best. But I'd guess if we don't produce his live voice in three days, it'll go to Number Two on their list."
"Sorry Sir, it's hardly like I have any control over him."
"I'm sorry, coming on like a storm trooper. It's just I like Stanley, don't want him to miss out."
Next it's the b**** goddess on the line. Stanley had promised her to take a look at the concluding chapter of her thesis. My guess, that's not all she's looking for. Still, if she's calling asking, means she hasn't seen him either.
But come on, there are no Aliens, got to be some logical explanation.