Dilation

According to Einstein’s Theory of Special Relativity, an observer traveling with great velocity will experience less time passage than an observer traveling with little or no velocity. This phenomenon is called time dilation, and is famously exemplified by the “twin paradox.” The thought experiment sends a young astronaut into space at near light speed while his twin brother stays on Earth. When the first twin returns, he has barely aged at all; he is astonished to find that his brother, who has not experienced time dilation due to great speed, is very old. To travel through interstellar space would be to outlive everyone you know. It would also be, quite possibly, not to live at all.

Speed. Nothing could have prepared me for the nature of this speed.

Time dilation. Twin paradox. Those were my first thoughts after I took off. Not all the details of what I just described, so much as an abstract image that encompassed the idea. How much would my friends and family experience while I was up here? As I concentrate on keeping my vessel from crashing and burning, would my cousin experience the entirety of college? Marriage? Children? Would my parents still be alive when I returned? A sudden rush of guilt and regret, similar to what people refer to as “buyer’s remorse,” swept over me, my organs all seeming to compress and solidify at my pelvis.

Or maybe that’s just from the force of the launch.

Either way, for all the planning that had gone into this endeavor, questions and feelings never before considered were now rushing through me. Why? Why had I done this? Adventure? Excitement? A Jedi craves not these things. But I was no Jedi. I had been all too excited to embark upon this adventure, and no fictional space monks could have convinced me otherwise. Not after everything. Only the cold, harsh reality—the newly appreciated permanence of my decision—could do that. Because this was permanent. Even upon my return, I still would have left. I would be forever changed. In effect, everyone who knew and loved me would also have been changed.

I stare ahead, into the heavens, seeing nothing. The wheel of images and feelings within me suddenly skids to a halt on one face, chief of their number, the person this was really all about. Chloe.

My twin sister.

The atmosphere’s resistance sends a shudder through me as my trajectory is altered. I’m okay. I am okay.

Chloe, born six and a half minutes after me, had always been the adventurous one. I had always gone by the book. I did my work. I cleaned my messes. I was punctual, studious, law-abiding…and boring. How fitting it was that I ended up volunteering for this. I guess they were right after all; I really was jealous. Every exciting thing I tried to do, I ended up failing. So I didn’t try. Chloe always had such spark, such daring, such charisma. Everyone loved Chloe, and she loved everything. I was always the one sitting out, always calculating, always coming to the conclusion that the adventure was too dangerous, too risky. I guess I’d secretly always wanted what Chloe had. She was always in motion; I was always stagnant. And she’s supported me. Supported all my choices. Even this one.

Vaguely aware of curvature. Too steep. Shouldn’t happen.

And now, here we were. I in motion; Chloe stationary, watching her twin sister finally get to have the adventure while she sits out. But Chloe isn’t sitting out. Again, she is having the adventure. After this she would no longer be six and a half minutes younger than me. She may very well be a grandmother before I got back. She was going to live her life, while I…I…

The ground is in front of me. I failed, again. My pupils dilate in terror before I close my eyes. I’m not ready…

Adventures belong to my sister. I shouldn’t have tried to take this. What would Chloe do now? Would she calm down in mourning over me and this disaster? Or would her grief carry her more strongly than ever into the unknown? She really believed in me. And I was only jealous.

Whatever she does, I hope she is able to move on, be happy. Be great.

Cheers.

Loud, delighted cheers.

“Sam, you did it!”

“That was amazing, Sam!”

I open my eyes. Everyone is wide-eyed and beaming. They’re rushing toward me. Not to my sister, but to me. I look around. Our soapbox spaceship is in pieces, and those pieces are strewn magnificently across the dry creek bed. One of the wheels is actually spinning on its side like a movie cliché. A brown, curved structure on the other side of the creek bed catches my eye. Our ramp, my ramp—the one I designed—is perfectly intact.

“You okay, Sammy?” asks Chloe, closer to me than all the other kids. The concern in her voice is unable to fully suppress her laughter.

“Yeah,” I say slowly. My voice feels hoarse, like I haven’t used it in years. “But I think Einstein might have been wrong about time dilation. I think maybe the person moving gets more time.”

“Alright,” Chloe sighs, clearly torn between amusement and exasperation. “But we’re twelve. Maybe wait until eighth grade before making any final conclusions about advanced theoretical physics?”

“Cool,” I say. I can’t help but smile at my sister. Six and a half minutes younger than me. Not a second less. I took my sister’s hand and led us all back home. We’ll salvage the wreckage tomorrow.