Circle Games

The moon looks like a giant yellow ball stuck up in the stars, Margie thought.  Sure makes me hot and sweaty stompin' around this field. She wiped perspiration off her brow with the hem of her Kansas State tee-shirt. She heard a rustling noise nearby as someone pushed through the barley stalks.

Brian stepped into her clearing. "Finished with your stomper board, Margie? Great. I'll carry it for you back to the truck."

Margie handed over the short plank and followed Brian back to the road.  Matt already waited next to the truck.  He handed each of them a beer from an ice chest.

"Dudes, that was hard work," said Matt.  "Never thought I'd be makin' crop circles half the night in old Smith's barley field."

"Keep your voices down," Brian hoarsely whispered. "His dogs might hear and start barking again. Smith's got a loaded shotgun under his bed.  Remember? We heard him tell the barber about his gun loaded with buckshot."

"Yeah, the barbershop, where me and Brian got the idea for this stunt," said Matt. "We were sitting there, just waitin' for our turn, while old Smith was in the chair, jabbering to the barber. You shoulda heard him, Margie, blabbing 'bout magical crop circles."

"Wish I'd been there," said Margie. "Did he sound crazy?

"Oh man.  He sounded so nutty. He thinks saucers come at night and make circles and U-turns over his fields.  He even called the KZZY Wichita TV station last year and told the disc jockey all about the E.T's visiting his farm every year. He sounded pitiful crazy. UFO's my ass! Someone's been spoofin' him.  Matt and me decided to get in on the joke. We knew you'd want to help."

"You got the symbol pattern on a web site, Matt?" asked Margie.

"Yeah, found it on some mystical symbols website. Some so-called UFO expert thinks this design attracts E.T's. HAH! Wait til Smith wakes up and finds those 'magic circles.' Get ready for the reporters!" He winked at Margie.

"Hopefully, Smith will call both the paper and the radio station. And then tomorrow I'll finally have a reason to stay awake during the news," said Brian, taking a swig of brew. "Nothin' important happens 'round here."

"Seriously," Margie agreed as she flicked barley bits off her clothes and shoes.

"I wish - JUST ONCE - Harrington, Kansas, my own boring hometown, had a some REAL excitement," said Brian. "Some new exciting stuff to write about on my blog. HEY! My scalp just prickled.  Did you feel that too?

 Yeah? Where's that spotlight comin' from? Damn! Must be the sheriff's helicopter.  We're busted!  HEY! HEY! Wait a minute!" 

Brian's beer can fell in the dust. His sneakers lifted off the highway's asphalt and he ascended into a golden shaft of light looking like an amazed denim clad angel.  Margie and Matt gaped as their friend's stiffened torso smoothly slid into the rectangular hatch of a half-acre wide saucer, like a coin slips into a jukebox.

The hatch closed. Red lights on the rim pulsed as the craft soundlessly rose into the humid Kansas evening, and then sped up toward the stars like a bright spinning Frisbee thrown by a giant.