A Study of Love by an Anonymous Alien — Amanda He
Mont Claire told me that they were in love.
If they were in love, why did they argue every time they saw each other?
“Well,” said Mont Claire, “their love is being strained under the pressure of their turbulent lives. See the boy? His father’s sick in the hospital, so the boy spends most of his time in the hospital looking after him. And the girl—she’s left disheartened every day by the long list of rejections from casting directors. Her parents call, ‘Have you gotten a callback from that one director down the block? No? Oh, well, that’s such a shame.’ And the two, at the end of the day, cannot find it in themselves to greet each other with smiles on their faces. Eventually, with his father dead and her career ultimately failed, they, naturally, break apart.”
In the dead of the night, Mont Claire and I discussed the intricacies of human romance; though, it was mainly Mont Claire who rattled on about “chick-lits” and tragedies like an avid preacher while I scribbled everything I possibly could for future analysis.
“Humans seem to make everything about love. In fact, it’s huge on this thing called “social media,” which is where you post and watch moving pictures. I’d be scrolling, watching a video of a cat one second and then a ‘SWIPE RIGHT TO SEE WHAT INITIAL YOUR FUTURE BOYFRIEND WILL BE’ and a ‘HERE’S HOW TO GET A GIRL’ the next. I don't really know if those are plausible, though. Who can really tell? But nonetheless, it is so entertaining to watch. I don’t understand a word of romantic pop songs, nor do I understand if romance books are truly based on real life, but I happily absorb it all. You should listen, or read something of the sort sometime. I have plenty of recommendations to give.”
She truly had plenty. On my next round about the town, I walked into a bookstore with a long, trailing list of books that she had eagerly pressed into my hands. The first story Mont Claire told me to read was: 101 Wonders of the World. Its jacket boasted a critically acclaimed, powerful love story.
“Big city meets quiet country—it’s the heartfelt story of Janis Kim and Leo Martinez. After a devastating breakup, Janis swears off of love. But after an embarrassing incident in her office, she begrudgingly finds herself under the help of Leo Martinez, her happy-go-lucky assistant manager, who has a dark past of his own. Together, they jump head-first into a steamy, passionate romance as they learn how to love again.”
Surely Mont Claire had recited that same storyline before, many times. Just as I lowered it into my basket, an employee tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Oh—not that one. It’s way too raunchy. Not my thing.”
I whipped around, surprised. I searched my vocabulary. “Was there too much sex?”
He gave me a puzzled look. “Yeah. Anyway, the book just wasn’t for me. I didn’t really like the characters either.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. Awkwardly, I put the book back and slipped out of the store.
Later that night, I told Mont Claire about my day.
“He said it ‘wasn’t really realistic’ and had ‘too much sex,’” I reported, stirring a spoonful of sugar into my tea. Mont Claire, sipping her own, nodded sagely.
“Well, that is interesting. That prospect had never occurred to me.”
“What prospect?” I asked.
She locked eyes with me, eyes ablaze. “See, romance media—or much of it, anyway—has this sort of artificial taste. It is romance, but not quite emulating real-life romance. It always feels off—a dash too much exaggeration and flamboyance. And usually, it feels as if something’s missing. This bookstore human confirmed this idea; there is something about love that I have yet to discover and understand. So after mastering the Art of Romance Media, I think I am ready to analyze True Human Romance.”
“And how, may I ask, do you plan on doing that?” I raised a brow. “Are you simply thinking of walking down the streets and finding it?”
“Well, funny you say that,” she said, a scheming smile spreading on her bright red lips. “While exploring this city, I stumbled upon a small flier. ‘Homecoming Dance!’ it said. And an idea dawned on me: a dance has two people slowly swaying together in a musical, sparkling atmosphere—I’ve seen adolescent humans going to these events all the time in the romance movies.” Mont Claire started rummaging fervently through our closet.
“You want to go to this dance?”
She pulled out two white satin dresses, smiling wildly. “Of course! And we’d better hurry—it starts in thirty minutes.”
…
I drank red punch in the corner of the gymnasium as Mont Claire chatted away with a teenage couple. Love songs blasted from the speakers and the laughter of people echoed all around me. Couples swayed and danced under the light, forming a sea of drifting dresses. I merely stood in my little corner, slowly getting overwhelmed by the flickering party lights of red… blue… purple… and the thick condensation of sweat made my dress stick to my body.
Suddenly, I felt very small as I realized that I was the only one standing alone in the room, the only one sipping an overly sweet cup of punch without the companionship of somebody else. The realization was staggering and frightening; before long, my breathing started to quicken, and a profound frown etched into my face. The noise of loud chatter and blaring music pressed against me; in all my years of living among humans, I had never felt more alien.
A group of friends were dancing freely next to me. One girl, dancing wildly, bumped into me, causing my punch to splash all over my gown.
In another wave, the pitiful feeling washed over me again, and I didn’t know what to do, since I did not fully comprehend what the feeling was exactly. My frown deepened, which might’ve scared the girl, who quickly apologized and scurried away.
I stewed in this feeling for a short moment before Mont Claire approached my desolate little corner with the aforementioned couple.
“We’re going to the Field. Do you want to come with us?” she asked, gesturing to the gymnasium’s back doors.
The couple, standing alongside Mont Claire, smiled at me. They held welcoming smiles, extending an invitation to come with them.
I shrugged in agreement. “Okay.”
The Field—a large plain of gnarled weeds and gopher holes—was a place of free spirits.
The couple laughed as they ran wild in the Field, youthful, as Mont Claire and I stood together, awkward and significantly less excited than the couple. Their hands were knit together tenderly, an action that was only recently made familiar after months of awkward blushes and sweaty palms.
Her sparkling blue dress glittered as it caught the wind, billowing gracefully as his business-casual coat flapped rhythmically with their steps. As they reached the end of the Field, they kissed, all metal braces and wet lips. At that moment, the stars shone just for them.
As I watched them frolic, I thought about how I don’t fully understand how a relationship like this forms. Does love at first sight exist like it does in fairy tales? Are they influenced by their lifetime of romance media? I reflected back to that feeling of loneliness; did their relationship blossom because they felt the same way I did? Because they recognized each other’s solitude?
Mont Claire, walking alongside me, snapped me out of my thoughts. “They’re so sweet together. So youthful.” Her eyes glittered.
“What’s gotten into you?” I asked.
When she spoke, her eyes remained fixated on the pair, who were now far into the distance. “How do I learn to love like that? I’ve read every romance under the sun, trying so hard to emulate a real person. But it seems so natural for a human, I think, how romance just…is. Those books, the movies—they make it sound so easy. Just like someone. Such a beautiful, seamless, and easy thing. That’s what it seems like to me.”
I tried to respond, but the roof of my mouth was glued to my tongue, and I was struggling to breathe. She was echoing my exact thoughts. Finally, I managed: “Let’s go somewhere else, Mont Claire.” So we did.
We walked far beyond the Field and into a nook in the suburban neighborhood. We walked until we stopped randomly in front of a small house, warm light glowing through the open windows.
Inside was a family of four, crowded around the dinner table. The youngest daughter laughed as she smeared a wad of potatoes on her sister’s arm, and laughed harder when her sister shoved her in retaliation; the dad sighed, indifferent, as the mom, irritated, ordered them to stop fussing about. This love revealed something that I had never seen before, nothing in the movies or books that Mont Claire overbearingly bestowed on me. This love was soft, tender, and full of minute yet intricate ways of displaying affection. Humans would call it profoundly “authentic”.
The glow of the house cast a shadow behind me as I stared in awe at the intimate bond of family. To my right, Mont Claire’s eyes were twinkling.
“That’s love too, right? They show this in the movies too. I can see the resemblance,” she said, eyes bright with longing. I nodded hesitantly, because she’s the expert, not me. But then, after a short reflection, I guessed she isn’t really; while she’s a master of love stories, she is not a master of True Human Romance—not yet, at least.
We began the journey home, away from the warmly-lit and humble house. We first passed the Field, where a fresh young love was being illuminated. We walked past the school, an intimidating place full of strange love and lonely corners. Then, we made it past the bookstore, where Mont Claire had spent hours studying and mastering the Art of Romance Media. And finally, we reached our abode. It—in of itself—is quite romantic. There is forest-green ivy curling up the walls and perfectly cut roses framing the doorway, with yellow light warming the windows.
There was loneliness and love in the air, with heartbreak and happiness enveloping the streets.
“I think,” Mont Claire began, “unraveling the complexities of True Human Romance is an endeavor that will set us up for infinite circumstances for which we can learn about the human race.”
“I think,” I said, “that love is so complex and varied that even humans don’t fully comprehend it. It is an impossible feat to try, Mont Claire.”
From inside, the smell of warm tea beckoned us in, clear and inviting against the crisp autumn air. We would talk over some tea and sugar.
Amanda He is a junior at Valley Christian High School in California. She spends her days watching cartoons, playing indie platformer games, and contemplating relationships. She wants to write a book one day.