Hudson was just a few days old when a rock fell from the sky and almost killed him in the crib. I was still bleeding, asleep like the devil, as the roof caved in. It was Ma who heard and found the big chunk beside him. She picked up my screaming baby, dusted him off and shook me awake. Figured it was Mike, that idiot, finally showing up. He used to throw gravel at my window in the night. But there were the stars twinkling in through the roof, the wood splinters on my bed. It wasn’t Mike wanted to get my attention.

There’s not much to see in Desperate, Ohio. People in small towns all say that, but this postcard is proof. There’re only two postcards you can buy in Desperate. One of the “Welcome to Desperate” billboard outside of town, and this one here. The one of the two FBI agents standing guard on our front lawn.

In the morning, Pa turned the rock over in his hands. It was deep black, and his fingers got all smutty. He said it was a burned-up piece of an airplane. But there was a sparkle in it, like it brought down some of those stars. I was going to keep it as a souvenir. To remember Hudson by.

Ma heard on the radio about the meteorite, and the number to call if any more pieces were found. We weren’t even supposed to touch it.

“See if the Ruskies are blasting at us,” figured Pa.

Once we phoned the FBI, we weren’t allowed to leave the house. It was Joe from the General Store took the picture of the agents standing on our lawn. Waiting for the Governor to come and get the rock.

Mike Hudson’s timing is bad. When he does something stupid, like robbing the Watson’s place or stealing Guthro’s car, he always gets caught. His bad timing is why I got pregnant. We had a big fight about naming the baby.

“I’m not giving him some Hollywood name,” I said. “But Hudson I like.”

Only for a week or so, till he got adopted out.

Course Mike showed up right after the FBI. He didn’t phone. Pa would’ve told him not to show his dirty face. He just parked on the curb like he owned the place. Didn’t even bring flowers.

“What the hell?” he asked Joe, who spat on the sidewalk and turned away. No one in Desperate likes Mike. His feet weren’t even to the steps, Ma said, when the agents grabbed him. She saw them lift Mike clear off the ground, saw his legs kick like Hudson’s when he cries.

“Let me see Rock,” he yelled. “Rock!”

It would’ve made a more interesting postcard, Mike being carted away by those men. But I’m glad for Hudson—or whoever he is called now—that Joe didn’t take it. Imagine seeing your dad flailing like an idiot on a Desperate postcard.