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Childhood sighting and persisting intrigue brought me to Roswell, N.M., UFO capital of the world Date published: 5/7/2005 By KRISTIN DAVIS MILL AROUND MY BEDROOM, sorting books and clothes for the next school day. I haven't bothered to turn on the lights--a glow comes from the nearby laundry room. But even without it, I know this space. At 13, I spend most of my time hiding out here. I look outside, through the room's only window, into a clear spring night. The view never changes: a dark cow pasture straight ahead and to the right, a sliver of highway to the left that's quiet now. Above, a thousand constellations speckle a smear of black. There is little light pollution in this rural section of Goldsboro, N.C. Tonight, though, something moves at the edge of the field. I step toward the window. A football field away, a dark sphere circled in red lights creeps amid the tree line. It must be the size of a helicopter landing pad. Like a Frisbee in slow motion, it rotates silently toward the highway. I stand breathless and still, eyes transfixed. I know what I'm witnessing. Nothing of the Earth looks or moves this way. Then the spaceship--of course it is a spaceship!--lands. Just short of the highway, it descends into a small clearing among the trees. Out of sight. I rush to the living room and shout my news. "I saw a UFO! I saw a UFO!" My stepfather shakes his head and laughs. At school the next day, I share my news with anyone who will listen. My audience is skeptical. But I don't care. I know what I saw, and I'll search the night sky until my eyes hurt. Devour countless books and movies about flying saucers and little men with slanted, oversized eyes. I read about abductions and experiments. Hunters sucked into ships and returned days later with bizarre markings on their bodies. Drivers whose car radios crackled and went dead just before a glowing saucer descended in front of them. And fictional (I hope) accounts of women birthing half-alien babies that were snatched away in the night. I grow sleepless and haunted, a camper on my mother's bedroom floor. A month later, I'm home alone, and have gone outside after dark to feed dinner leftovers to Angel, our border collie mix. Some 50 feet from the back door, I empty the casserole dish in her bowl. Something tells me to turn around.
1. Be respectful. No personal attacks.
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