My First Flying Saucer

Contributor: John Laneri

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The first time I saw a flying saucer was the morning I arrived at my putt-putt in hopes of playing a few rounds of golf before the day got hot.

I called the place, Justin’s Fabulous Putt-Putt. And, it truly was a challenging, eighteen hole, miniature golf course that featured water falls, windmills and the only singing parrot in the community of Possum Hollow.

Naturally, my girlfriend Becky tagged along, nagging me as usual about getting married. She immediately spotted the saucer.

“A flying saucer,” she said excitedly, running to it – her shoes, flip-flopping ahead of me. She was a cute little thing with a nice smile and skinny legs.

At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The thing was just sitting in the middle of the sand trap on the eighth hole streaming whips of vapor from both sides.

Right off, I realized the experts were wrong. The shape was elliptical and not circular like popular concept. It featured a bright green paint job and looked to be about six feet wide by three feet high. And best of all, it was resting on skinny legs that were splayed at the bottom like chicken feet.

“Where’d the flying saucer come from?” I asked Gordon, my assistant, as I hurried toward him. By then, I was beginning to wonder how to incorporate it into the putt-putt.

At the time, he was poking around the bottom with a crowbar, trying to pry it apart.

“It must have landed here during the night,” he replied, as he moved to another site. “I’ve been trying to get it open all morning.”

“Woe-e,” Becky said. “Another flying saucer.” She walked over and kissed the side. “Today’s my lucky day.”

“Don't touch it,” I warned her. “You could be hurt.”

“No, I won’t,” she replied. “I’m familiar with flying saucers.”

She continued walking around the thing, her eyes aglow.

Finally, she glanced at me and smiled. “For your information, I rode in one a year ago. That was the day I almost got married. But... I decided to wait for you.”

Cringing at the thought, I watched her continue around it, her fingers skimming over the surface. Suddenly, the hiss of air startled me, and then to my surprise, a door popped opened on the top.

Gordon jumped to his feet, “What the ….”

“Don’t be scared,” Becky said. “That’s how we get inside.”

I backed away a step. “I’m not getting inside that thing – no way.”

“Why not?” she asked. “The Captain performs marriage ceremonies every hour on the hour Afterward, Elvis serenades the bride and groom with a vocal tribute.”

“I’m to young to be married,” I replied quickly.

She scrambled on board and scooted toward the opening, her excitement almost contagious.

Gordon followed her saying, “Let me see. I’ve always wanted to look inside a flying saucer.”

She extended a hand in my direction. “Come with me, honey. Gordon can be our best man.”

I watched him scurry to the hatch and drop inside without a second thought – possibly lost forever.

Becky swung her legs into the opening. “I’ll meet you at the alter. It’s on the promenade deck close to the honeymoon suites. This is going to be a dream come true.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” I replied, as I watched her drop away and disappear from sight.

Carefully, I edged close to the opening and ventured a look inside, seeing what appeared to be a smoky abyss overlaid with a faint smell of noxious gas.

I waited around for about thirty minutes, figuring that Gordon and Becky had lost track of time. Eventually, I gave up and headed over to the putt-putt office to begin preliminary sketches in hopes of making the thing my feature attraction. I knew it would draw crowds.

Later that morning, I returned to the eighth hole with my tape measure. I needed to get exact specifications, certain that my life was about to change. To my surprise though, the saucer was nowhere to be seen.

I walked around the area for some time, studying the site. Finally, I tossed my sketches aside, dropped a ball on the ground and launched a shot on the number seven – my most difficult hole. I carded a hole-in-one too, the ball doing a loop-d-loop before dropping into the cup. The shot was my very first ace on the seventh hole.

Like Becky, I was also having a lucky day.

About a year later, I read in the National Enquirer that the saucer driver had let Becky and Gordon out near Baton Rouge where they had moved into an apartment and were living as husband and wife.

To this day, I still miss Gordon. We shared a similar vision for exciting putt-putt golf courses. Losing Becky, I have to confess, was the best thing that ever happened to me because a few weeks later, I met Ronda Maples – a charming lady, who after five marriages, knew better.

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John is a native born Texan living near Houston. His writing focuses on short stories and flash. Publications to his credit can be found on the internet and in several print edition periodicals.
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