NOW:
She sank into a seat in the waiting room. Her body ached and her head throbbed and her eyes begged to close, but she refused to let exhaustion overtake her in fear that she may never again wake. Chief had been bewildered by her insistence on an immediate debriefing.
“I’ve gotten your report; that’s good enough for now. You need time to rehabilitate yourself. Go home to your family, and come back in a few days,” he’d told her. She said that she didn’t have a family anymore.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He looked uncomfortable, but apologetic when he said, “Well, in that case, I hate to tell you that you can’t stay here. Your stuff was moved into a locker in the basement, I think. I can get you your bunk back, but it’ll take a couple of weeks for the request to process. You’ll have to find a place to stay until then.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go, sir.”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to figure something out.”
“Yes, sir.”
His eyes were glazed with pity. “Tell you what. I can squeeze you in for a debrief before I clock out, but you’ll have to wait a bit. After that, I’ll take you to storage myself.”
“That’s unnecessary, sir.”
“If you say so.” Then he waved her out, unceremoniously ending their conversation. She lingered for a moment longer before acknowledging the dismissal.
She slumped in her seat and let her head fall in her hands. After everything that had happened in the past couple years, she was beyond tired. She wanted to go home, a place she wasn’t sure existed for her anymore.
The door opened suddenly, drawing her attention. A short, older woman hobbled through the waiting room and into the chief’s office with a cane in one hand and a large, red purse in the other. The lobby was quiet for a few minutes, with only the low hums of conversation wafting through the door. But then the woman reemerged bearing tear stained cheeks. She dug through her bag for a handkerchief as the door slammed behind her. The chief pushed it open again, following her out. He placed a thin leather book next to her, making a feeble attempt to placate her with stuttered apologies. The woman was unconsolable, though, and he ended up retreating to his office. The silence that followed became more unbearable with every second that passed.
Finally, she glanced at the woman. “Are you okay?”
The cane shook in her grasp as the woman looked up, startled. “I will be. I just– I need a moment. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be… melodramatic.”
THEN:
The cassette player felt strange in her hands; almost foreign and definitely awkward. She was never one for vintage technology, what with the constant influx of new gadgets being poured in her lap. When one worked for the most advanced space program in current existence, they were expected to stay in the proverbial technological loop. Still, she felt the smallest hint of embarrassment for her unfamiliarity with the operation of such a primitive device.
She slipped her Melodrama cassette into the walkman and stuffed the headphones in her ears. The rest of her team was fast asleep. She should have been, too, but she needed time alone. Cranking the volume to the highest setting, she meandered through the space station until she found herself in the main control room. She dropped on the floor by a large window that offered impressive views of their given location. They were passing another moon rather closely. It looked dauntingly large from the ship, but she found comfort in the familiar surface. She studied the rises and valleys of the craters, so similar to that of Earth’s own moon. She could almost pretend it was her moon.
“Stella?” came a voice, followed by a low groan. “Don’t tell me you’re an insomniac, too.”
Her gaze snapped to a rumpled Keith. In one hand rested a cup, and the other was shoved in his pocket. A worn, brown leather journal was wedged under his arm. His hair was mussed and his eyes were circumscribed by shadows. He leaned against the wall like he couldn’t be bothered to carry himself. But he wasn’t exhausted enough to let his glare slip.
“Only in space.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, okay.”
She pushed off the floor, stumbling slightly. His eyes flickered to her suspiciously, but he didn’t say anything else. She started walking out the way she came, hoping to find better luck at solitude elsewhere, but stopped when she found herself in front of him. Her curiosity outlasted her sense.
“What’re you drinking?” she asked.
“Tea.”
“Tea?”
“Yeah, tea. I do have some dignity.” He swirled his drink as though he were contemplating the validity of the statement.
Her mouth smiled of its own accord. “I never said you didn’t. I just… what kind?”
“What?” His voice tilted at the end, like he was caught off guard with the question.
“What kind of tea?”
He hesitated. “Green tea.”
“Hmm.” She took the cup from his hand. He didn’t stop her. “Does it help?”
“With the stress, yeah. Not the sleep.”
“Can I take it?”
He raised a brow. “You already did.”
She took a long sip that turned out to be much hotter than she anticipated. It burned its way across her tongue and down her throat. He watched her suffer amusedly as he stepped around her and sat in the corner against the window, right next to the spot she previously occupied. “Come on, then,” he said when she didn’t move. She debated ignoring the invitation but found herself settling beside him and handing his drink back before she could stop herself.
They didn’t speak again for a while. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was alone. He hardly moved– only the quietest rustle when he took a sip of his tea. Her music mostly drained him out.
“That’s smart,” he finally said. She opened her eyes and waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t for a minute. “The walkman.”
“Oh. My friend gave it to me.”
“Smart,” he repeated faintly.
She pulled out a headphone and handed it to him. He stared at it wearily for a moment before taking it. His expression eased when he put it in. He closed his eyes and sighed as his shoulders relaxed and his head fell against the window with a soft thud. She watched him listen to her music. “You know Guardians of the Galaxy?”
“Yeah.”
“I think she was going for the same thing. Dancing on alien planets and the like.”
He scoffed again, but this time it sounded less mocking. “We’re not superheroes, though.”
“Yeah, well, she probably also figured I wouldn’t have access to Spotify in the far corners of the universe.”
“Hm. Sounds nice.”
“She is.” Estelle smiled at the memory. “I miss her.”
His eyes opened slightly, judging her. “You?”
“What'd you mean?”
“You love it out here. I didn’t take you for the homesick type.”
“Well, sure. But that doesn’t make me, like, soulless.”
Keith turned away, tracing his fingers down the battered cover of his journal. Sitting so close to him, Estelle could see the thin red ribbon marking a page and matching red pen stuck carelessly in the spine. “Yeah, I guess not,” he said, possibly to himself. He placed the empty cup on the floor beside him. “I miss mine too. My grandma, I mean. She’s my only family.” He glanced at her quickly, like he regretted confessing it aloud. She suddenly realized she didn’t want to let the conversation lose its easy flow, so she asked about the journal.
“What’s that?”
“A journal.”
“No kidding. What do you write, diary entries?”
“Yeah.”
She almost laughed at the thought of him pouring his soul into a diary. But before she could joke, he said, “I don’t want to forget anything, so I can tell my grandma when I go home. She likes stuff like that.”
She found his sentimentality at odds with his offish front. Then it dawned on her that she had never really known him at all.
His expression closed off again and he stiffened suddenly. “You know, we might never go home. And if we do, it’ll be years from now, yeah?” He shook his head. “Either I’ll never get a chance to see her again… or she won’t be there. When I get back.”
They were silent after that, each too timid to seek comfort in the other.
The moon glowed steadily, Lorde sang consistently, and they sat beside each other completely still. And yet, their situation felt anything but steady, consistent, or still. It felt uncertain, and they both hated to admit they couldn’t bear the uncertainty.
“You’re not as bad as they say,” she finally said.
“Yeah? And what do they say?”
“You probably don’t want to hear it.”
Keith offered her half a smile. “Well, then, neither are you.”
“They talk about me?”
“They talk about everyone.”
She yawned. “They do, don’t they? I honestly can’t imagine how anyone expects us to return in one piece– they’ll probably kill themselves first. Our entire crew hates each other.”
“If it’s any consolation, I don’t hate you. As much.”
“Thanks.”
They both fell asleep there, headphones still in.
NOW:
“I’m sorry, I just… he just…” the woman shuddered, tears threatening to spill over again.
Estelle stood out of her seat and moved to the one next to her. “What happened?”
“My grandson. He passed away.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Your grandson?”
“He was on a mission for years. There was an accident. He didn’t make it home.”
“Keith?” she whispered.
The woman stared at her. “Yes, did you know him?”
“We were on the same assignment.”
“Were you there when he… ” she seemed to have to force the word out. “Died?”
“I was. I’m sorry. I was there, but I couldn’t do anything. The explosion was too fast, and we didn’t realize anything was wrong until he was gone. If I could’ve saved him, I would’ve. I swear.”
“Were you close?” the woman asked. Estelle almost laughed at the question.
“Pretty close, yeah. I mean, we got to know each other. It’s not like we had anyone
else.”
“Are you Estelle?”
She faltered. “How’d you know?”
“He spoke of you. In his video messages, and his… his journal. They recovered it for
me.”
Estelle’s eyes flickered to the painfully familiar brown book. She tried to find a way to express how intimately she knew the journal’s worn cover from all the nights spent studying its every crease and scratch, too afraid to violate his privacy and so settling to commit every external detail to memory. But all she could manage was, “Oh.”
“He cared for you, Estelle. Deeply. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
She pulled the Melodrama cassette from her coat pocket, which she hadn’t left out of sight nor found the courage to use since he died. “Here.”
“Is it… his?”
“No, it’s mine. He and I, um, listened to it. Together.” She inhaled slowly, forcing herself to continue for his sake. “The first time we really met, I guess. And then after that, we’d listen to it sometimes. I mean, not cause he liked it or anything. Just cause it was nice to have a consistency like that. It’s not like I had all that many tapes anyway, you know. Sometimes we’d– well, it sounds ridiculous now, but we’d dance. When you’re out there, it’s kinda lonely. It’s cold, and empty. Cause you don’t know if you’ll come home, if you’ll ever even see your family again. And so, you know, we kind of found comfort in each other. We’d reached a point where if the unthinkable happened, as long as we’d have each other, we’d still… I guess we’d still have the will to live, you know? If not for home, not for family, then for each other.” The tears didn’t come. They never did. “It’s honestly not that important. It just reminds me of him.”
The woman was crying again, albeit more composedly this time. “I’m so sorry.”
Estelle pressed the tape into her hands. “You should take it. I can’t really listen to it anymore.”
“I couldn’t. This means much more to you than it ever could for me.”
“Just– please.”
The woman pressed her lips together tightly, nodding once. She slipped the cassette into her purse. “Thank you.”
Estelle tried to smile, but it didn’t come. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You’re welcome.”
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