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In the summer of 1982, getting my hair cut became a terrifying experience.
In fact, I had the best and coolest barber you could ever imagine: my fathers youngest sister.
20th Century Fox/Everett Collection
In August 1982, Aunt Barbara sawAlien.
Needless to say, I had not.
Scary to me was Darth Vader cutting off Lukes hand.
Both are possible, and it really doesnt matter.
In my 9-year-old head, the downed UFO resembled the one that took E.T.
home or landed behind Devils Tower at the end ofClose Encounters of the Third Kind.
Would the aliens emerge and welcome them with music?
My haircut was finished.
As far as I knew, the story was over.
Then the alien burst out of his chest.
That was how the story ended that day:the alien burst out of his chest.
What in hell did that mean?
The notion of such an injury was so far beyond what my sheltered imagination could fathom.
I couldnt stop thinking: What did the alien look like?
Did it eat the astronaut from the inside?
I had to wait a month to find out.
She stopped cutting my bangs and smiled.
But how does she know [the alien is really gone]?
I remember asking, a quiver of mistrust in my voice.
I didnt watchAlienuntil I reached college.
I avoided it like the plague for as long as I could.
Burst out of his chest.
The alien looked different than I imagined, but the humans I recognized too well.
Those actors make the scene real in a way that reminds everyone of the scared 9-year-old inside.
But her take on the firstAlienadventure was my own personal Orson WellessWar of the Worlds.
