Aquarius

I did not cry as I sat on the dock. There was no sorrow. I skimmed my hands along the tops of the rough-hewn planks feeling the small circle of rubber bands around my wrist like a promise. Maggie and I had made those bracelets together, sitting on the floor of her sun-soaked library. Our hands, soft with childhood, had looped the multicolored bands together. These bands had been intended to straighten her teeth and her parent’s disapproval over our collection of them only fueled our enjoyment as the multicolored bracelets grew to encircle our wrists.

We had no concept of what it meant to be the transition generation. At ten, all we knew was that our planet was dying. We knew it as someone knows a country's capital; as a fact - distant and impersonal.

The water lapped at the dock’s supports churning up strings of dense green algae. The lake stretched out from where I sat to the base of the blue-green mountains half a mile away. Beyond the mountains, I imagined Maggie and her family waiting in the lines to board the ship. They were bound for TRAPPIST-1, a solar system 40 light-years from earth. I would follow in several years, as soon as another ship could be prepared for launch. We would see each other again once we reached our new home.

For the past three years, since we had received word that Maggie’s family would be on the first ship, our favorite game to play was imagining our future families meeting on the new earth. Our children would be best friends, of course, and we decided we would raise them together if we couldn’t find any boys who deserved to marry us.

The sun shone dimly from behind the graying clouds, like a lightbulb not quite bright enough for its decorative lampshade. I swung my legs in impatience feeling the pull of gravity trying to suck me into the lake.

From beyond the mountains came a distant rumble and the earth of the cliffs I was facing seemed to shudder in anticipation. Suddenly a light, like the first glow of sunrise, appeared over the mountains, and seconds later a loud crack echoed across the lake. I straightened on the dock and began to wave at the light in the distance. Then, without thinking, I jumped up and began to run back up the dock and along the shore. My sandals caught in the glistening pebbles but I struggled forward, running along the edge of the lake. Eventually, the slippery rocks won and I stumbled to my knees, catching myself with my hand which was still outstretched to wave.

---

My net bags hung heavy from the day’s work as I crouched amid fragments of plastic and strips of old tires. The sun glared down at me from the west as sweat continued to slide from behind my knees into my tall rubber boots. I shifted piles of rotting matter with thick gloves. There, next to an abandoned doll’s head, something glinted. Without hesitation, my gloved hand darted into the pile and grabbed the shining thing. Free of the putrid debris, the tin can sparkled in the fading sunlight.

Coca-Cola

Original Taste

I felt my mouth water as I imagined those letters covered in cool condensation. I tucked the can carefully into the net slung over my right shoulder and stood up. The shadows stretched long and dark from the mountains of discarded things. Among these shadows moved the slow procession of people ending their days and returning home. Some carried nets that rivaled mine, the cargo straining at the fraying ropes, others hadn’t been so lucky.

Suddenly, a body slammed into mine and I was pushed to the ground. For an instant, I glimpsed a dark and hungry face. My assailant lunged for one of my nets and dug his long fingernails into the ropes. With a prolonged look back, as if daring me to follow him, he skidded down the mound of filth with my bag and into the gathering dusk.

I sat up and for a moment I couldn’t bring myself to move. I looked at the sky darkening above the mountains to the east. I felt paralyzed with emotions so vast and deep within me that there seemed to be no way to release them. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be out there.

There had not been another ship. It was years before the public realized there were never any plans for one. The realization dawned slowly upon those remaining on earth. It oozed into public consciousness at a rate that allowed sparks of anger to cool into the dull embers of resentment without outright protest. Hot tears obscured my vision and spilled down my cheeks, etching lines into the dust that gathered there. Startled by my sadness, I looked around quickly to see if anyone else had noticed. No one had. Most people had reached the opening in the chain-link fence that surrounded the dump and were filing out.

Cursing quietly to myself, I stood up and brushed the filth from my pants. I picked up my two remaining nets and shuffled down the mound of broken objects to the exit.

As twilight gathered cooly around me, I carried my cans through the crumbling streets. A pack of stray dogs trailed me hopefully for several blocks until I turned to shout at them, my voice bouncing off weathered buildings back to me.

It was dark when I arrived at the can exchange. Two bags of cans and one broken toaster- $10.97. I pocketed the bills tenderly as the sagging face of the clerk peered out at me from behind a thick sheet of plastic. Her eyes, white with cataracts, seemed to mimic the moon.

Two more dusty blocks to the left and the wide lake with its dark rotting dock came into view. I ducked into a building that seemed to lean slightly towards the water. After five flights of wooden steps, I arrived at my door.

The apartment was small but alive with the glow of candles and the hum of conversation. My mom leaped up from an armchair in the corner as soon as I entered.

“Ame! You will never guess what came for you today!” she said, the wrinkles around her eyes creasing deeply as she smiled.

“Oh really?” I asked as my mouth inadvertently twitched upward. “Something came for me?”

“It did!” she said, thrusting the family phone into my grubby hands. “Go on outside and hit play!”

Still confused, I navigated through the crowded room and slid open the glass door leading to the small concrete balcony overlooking the lake. Closing the door behind me, I looked again at the phone in my hand.

(1) unread SATMSG

My hands shook as I hit the play icon.

“Ame! Hi! I just got to use the phone for the first time. It’s felt like forrreeevvverrrr since we got to hang out even though it’s only been, like, a couple weeks. The ship is pretty cool. Lots of kids our age to play with but I miss our games because they were the best you know?

Anyway, school here is super hard but recess is really awesome because there is this whole room where we can, like, fly around. I learned how to do a backflip but it was really slow so I asked this kid Jaden to give me a push but he pushed me too hard and made me hit a wall. I got a bloody nose and then he wrote me an apology letter. Now he keeps giving me drawings of his favorite fish.

Anyway, I don’t have long because my parents said sending messages is “expensive, honey.” and now they are giving me “the look.” Anwayyyy, can’t wait to see you! Byeeee!”

The voice, simultaneously distant and familiar, rose from the phone in my hand. It had been six years since Maggie left but here she was, my best friend, only a couple of weeks older. I felt a lump rise in my throat. Sliding the phone into my pocket, I felt the small loop of rubber bands rub familiarly against my wrist.

---

My bones dug into the heavy blankets padding the chair by the bedroom window. Every part of me ached with a weariness that encompassed all 85 years of my life. Out the window, and far below, the blue-green surface of our destination grew ever closer. Within the hour, we would make our first contact with the surface.

“Maggie?” Jaden called from the living room. “Do you want to come watch the landing from the observation deck? Ame is there with David and the grandkids.”

“You go ahead, honey,” I called back. “I’ll meet you down there.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jaden’s words drifted faintly back to me as he slid out the door leading from our apartment.

Slowly, I pulled myself out of the chair. A blanket fell to the floor but I didn’t bother stooping to pick it up. My slippers made a shushing sound across the tiled floor as I shuffled to the bookcase by the bed. Ignoring my body’s protests, I got to my knees and shifted a mass of art supplies from the lid of a dusty box on the bottom shelf. It had been years since I had opened it. I picked up the flimsy container and creaked back to standing. For 75 years this ship had been home. It was hard to believe I was, at that moment, speeding past my last stars. My journey, my purpose for so long, was coming to an end.

Step by step, I moved my way back to the chair. Sitting down again, I set the box in my lap. On the cover was a faded collage. At the center was a cutout from a Coca-Cola advertisement - a woman with dark fluffy hair in a sleek red swimsuit. She held a bottle of dark bubbly liquid in one hand as the other rested casually on her thigh. She looked at me as if daring me to remember what it felt like to go swimming. I thought vaguely that swimming in that lake all those years ago must have felt something like the antigravity chamber.

With the sound of paper on paper, I pulled the lid off. Inside, tucked next to a few shiny rocks and a small bracelet made of rubber bands was a black phone that routed calls through the ship's messaging center to our old planet. I picked up the phone and selected who I wanted to contact from the automated menu. Then I began my message.

“Hi, Ame. It’s me, Maggie. It’s destination day. I honestly can’t believe I made it. I know you won’t get this. I’m actually not sure if you got any of my calls. But I like to call every couple of years regardless. My daughter, the one named after you, is pregnant again with her third. It’s funny to think how that child will grow up outside the ship- on our new planet. It’s looking like the baby will be an Aquarius- or at least she would be if she was born on earth. That was your sign, wasn’t it? Anyway, I’m going to go down and join them soon. I think this will be my last call, Ame. In a few weeks, the shelters will be up and Jaden and I will move off the ships and I think I’ll be leaving the phone behind. I want to feel like I am home where I am. But thank you, whoever you may be, for listening to me all these years.”

With a click, I ended the call and tucked the phone back inside the cardboard box. Shutting the lid, I set it on the floor and once again coaxed myself into a standing position. Sliding my feet across the cool polish of the floor, I stepped out of the apartment to join my family in the levels below.