In All Equations There’s An Equal

I once read, “the truth is never more compelling than a lie”. But the cost of a lie is exponentially more than the truth. An internal cost.

Is a lie worth all that grief?

Breathe—slow, steady—breathe.

Is culture shock inevitable, with a lie that changes your entire world?

Breathe—slow, steady—breathe.

The constant buzzing in my chest from the last week slows to a calm hum. Weightless. Movements without effort require precision, as I begin to maneuver through space, prepping for the lightshow.

And I’m a stagehand.

The stagehand.

Breathe—slow, steady—breathe.

Culture shock was inevitable. The lie only made it worse. Much worse.

A week ago I barely managed the flight from Cambia to Aroulia. I’m not adventurous.

I’m not brave.

Not like my sister, who stepped up, went to Empirica when she was fifteen to train, then train more, before finally taking her station amidst the stars. Here. In Aroulia—the most sought-after space station in our orbit.

And she did it all, without hesitation, to fulfill her dream and better the lives of our family.

I’m not my sister’s equal.

We reside in Cambia, our pod, with lush greenery and an abundance of freshwater filtrations, because Lucy is stationed on Aroulia. Our pod—a stark contrast from the desolation just outside of its protective shell. Without her station, we wouldn’t be allowed. Doesn’t matter that I teach primary students. Nor that our father, a structural engineer, leads the team that keeps us protected from solar flairs and sandstorms.

We’re all transplantable.

All lucky, to reside in Cambia.

Cambia provides direct access to the space station, so Lucy can come home to visit, and we can go see her. Direct access that she rarely uses, because she’s too busy working, moving up the ladder—proving to the world she’s the far superior twin.

Direct access that I never use to go see her, because she’s the far superior twin. I’m too afraid. Of everything.

But she needed me. So, I boarded the transport shuttle a week ago, internally kicking and screaming, because I was determined to continue proving my worth. My wavering equality to her more apparent every day.

Arriving was as terrifying as leaving earth. The ground beneath my feet unstable, yet with no discernable indication of why.

The silence of the shuttle as it turned off, gliding into bay from space. The whirring of fans, vents, air circulating, all quiet, but deafening to my ears, as I descended the ramp into the station.

My breaths rapid, my vision darkened at the edges.

Lucy didn’t notice my impending doom as she bounded toward me shrieking “Emmy” with glee. An excitement that was only temporary, as her cheeks were still splotchy, her eyes still puffy.

She wrapped me in a tight hug, then pulled my unwilling muscles down a long white metal corridor with bright lights surrounding us.

The buzzing inside grew louder, becoming prominent.

Space wasn’t like I’d imagined. My body heavy, my mind a fog. Not even the annual disaster preparedness classes, with the space suit fittings and suspended gravity rooms, were enough to prepare me.

Nothing could have prepared me for space.

Funny, space doesn’t have a lot of its namesake.

My sister pulled me into her quarters, tight, even for a single resident. Her bed barely large enough for two, her floor space nearly nonexistent, her desk (or table) brought down by a pully from the ceiling. But her lights dimmed and changed colors—a calming effect.

On her bed with the desk pulled down, lights dimmed in a teal hue, we ate chocolate and talked until what I assumed was past midnight.

Navigating time is hard without the rotation of the sun on your side.

“We talked about adding hours to our days, since we aren’t subjects of the sun,” Lucy shared. “But then we’d be out of sync with our families…”

It was her way of avoiding the subject. Her broken heart.

“So, who’s this mystery man you keep telling me about,” Lucy prodded.

“It’s too soon to talk about,” I told her.

Too soon, since I hadn’t met mystery man yet. Another story I created to be her equal.

“William proposed,” Lucy finally said.

William had proposed, then explained he wanted to be Kate. He’d be returning to Earth for a bit, to transition. The leave already approved, appointments made, all without Lucy knowing.

“Do you love him?” I asked.

“You know I do,” she sobbed. “But you know it’s not that simple.”

“But isn’t it?”

Tears streamed down her face. The room closed in, the buzzing all around me, inside me, making it hard to breathe.

“Do you love William because he’s William?” I pushed. “Or do you love who he is as a person?”

Her eyes brightened for the first time since I’d arrived. “The person. It doesn’t matter to me. It’s just…He didn’t tell me. He didn’t trust me.”

“And neither will Kate, if you don’t give her a reason to,” I said, my wisdom from years of teaching bright minded children.

The next morning, I awoke to an empty room. A note next to me. The buzzing filled my ears, reminding me of the bees in the arboretum back home. Except, it was constant. Drilling into my brain.

Emmy,

You’re right. It’s so simple. I love William. I love whoever he, or she, decides to be.

Maybe we didn’t plan for this together, maybe William was unsure how I’d take it. Clearly, he had every right to be concerned, because I let our relationship crumble in the presence of my ego.

You’re right about building trust. With Kate. With the person I love.

Now, I need you. I need you to swap me, like the other times when we were younger.

I know I should have asked you first. But I couldn’t risk it. I need this. I know you’ll understand. Work needs me now…I can’t request leave. That’s why I needed you to come to me.

I’m sorry. I’m taking your spot on the shuttle home. I’ll be back. Soon.

Love, Lucy

P.S. – I won’t pretend to be you on Earth. That would be weird with your mystery man waiting for your return.

Bile rose to my throat. Trade places?

How the hell are we going to trade? I know nothing about space. I know nothing about her job…except the exams I took for her a time or two, or more, because I retain excess information too easily. Because I am book smart, while she has always been brave—ready to conquer the universe.

With buzzing surrounding me, in me, my vision blurry, I pulled on clothes from her cubby, her rank emblem and name etched near the collarbone, then stumbled down the corridors. Searching. Looking. For a sign. What to do next. Where to go.

It appeared. He appeared.

“Hey Lucy,” a man sprinted up from behind, thwacking me on the shoulder.

My chest constricting, I tried to suck in air, to keep my balance, to be competent enough to walk in a space station. I managed to turn my lips up in a slight curl, then quickly glanced at his own emblem and name.

Emory. Purple diamond with gold ring. Just like Lucy’s. No, not Lucy’s. Mine.

“This week is going to be epic,” Emory rambled, forcing me to match his quick, easy pace. “The lightshow is going to be off the charts wicked.”

I nod. My throat too dry to manage words.

“Well, if you figure out those last equations. Otherwise, we’ll be back to how we did our last.”

“Equations?” I croak.

“Yeah. But you’ll figure them out. You always come through. If not, they’ll love the show, just as it was the last few times. Right?”

Lightshow week. That’s why Lucy couldn’t leave. She can’t ever leave during lightshows. She’s the stagehand after all.

I remembered the time I teased her for taking on this extra task. Why would someone with her skillset want to take on more, let alone something like a stagehand?

Then she explained it. Not like the plays I help the kids put on at home. Not like me painstakingly designing and decorating props to perfection. Not like me hiding behind the curtain while the kids say their lines, making sure everything goes as planned.

Lucy and Emmy. Both stagehands in addition to the paths they took in life. Emmy with her primary students, navigating movements and lines on a small stage. Lucy, an astronaut and mechanical engineer at the number one space station, and a stagehand to the lightshow that can only exist in space—dancing with the stars as the calculations are programmed into a complex external computer.

The most danger I’ve ever been in is standing next to a prop and worrying it’ll tip over and fall on me. A bruise waiting to happen. But Lucy must get the calculations right, to stay out of shot of the lasers that could pierce her spacesuit and destroy her flow of oxygen in a split second. Lucy, going out in space regularly—knowing the dangers and the risks to her life—to do her job. To keep her and the residents safe. To keep our society moving forward, preserving our planet, and discovering more every day.

“The equations,” I repeated, as I followed Emory from the too bright white metal corridor into a dimly lit room with hues of blues and greens, a padding on the wall and floor to absorb sounds.

“Like I said,” Emory reassured, flashing me a gorgeous smile that lit up his eyes, “you always figure them out in the nick of time. Some say you’re a procrastinator, but I say you like to hold out on that brilliance of yours.”

Equations. So many equations click through my memory. Time and again, calls from Lucy, screensharing her workspace with me, so we could solve complicated equations together.

So I could solve them…for her.

I took a seat in the station I recognized as Lucy’s, from all our conversations and the photos she shared. In the corner, a replicator hummed to life and disbursed a cup of coffee and blueberry muffin.

A replicator. My fingers tingled with anticipation as I reached for the items that came from thin air. They’ve been trying to master this process on Earth for many years. But it never works. Space particles are needed and can’t be harvested. So, we rely on hydroponics and the scrappers who risk their lives to brave the elements of Earth’s surface outside of the pod. Uninhabitable, but with some resources we can’t create inside the walls.

These equations I hadn’t yet seen. Lucy was probably too distraught, or too exposed, to ask for help before I came to visit. Before she abandoned me here.

Equations are simple. They can always be equaled.

Unlike humans.

Unlike me and Lucy.

The week was a crazy blur. Meals generated. Fake smiles for people who know and trust Lucy. Space alcohol to numb the buzzing around me, inside me, all through me. Thank the stars it’s allowed because the cool burning liquid was the only thing keeping me from erupting. Or dissolving. Into the existence of my lies. My incapacity to be brave. My clear distinguishing unequivocal features that keep me worlds from Lucy.

The moments that tried my resolve and pushed me beyond comprehension were not those related to the equations. The equations were complete as soon as I met them. Equal. Clear.

Ready to be transmitted.

The moments when I had to convince others on my team to go out in space and complete the engineering work I’m not equipped for, no matter how well I can calculate a complicated equation.

The moments when Lucy’s “friends” came to greet her and ask how the visit with her sister went. It was then I learned Lucy gossips about my status with these women. They joked openly about how shocking it was that Lucy’s Earthling sister would survive a trip to space.

And finally, the moment I got drunk with Emory and led him to my sister’s room. The next morning when I woke up to face the shame of my decisions, because they were mine, but only impacted Lucy.

Lucy, who was selflessly trying to earn her love back with unwavering trust.

The way my heart pulled with the desire to keep Emory close, to run my hands over his body, to kiss him everywhere. The way my mind told me I couldn’t, that I must cut him loose and call it a massive mistake.

But a mistake, it was not.

The buzzing. All around me. Inside me. Through me. Louder and deeper with each new moment, each new person, each new thing.

And now, the buzzing is a calm hum, as I drift through space. Ready to enter the codes.

Breathe—slow, steady—breathe.

I’m confident in the one thing I know to be equal. Mathematical equations.

As I activate the computer from the side of the massive viewing window—a stagehand always at work, never to be seen—it dawns on me. Lucy had never been concerned about her safety, was never afraid her life would be ripped from her, because she always trusted me. She knew I’d help her solve her equations, under one pretense or another lie to cover her tracks. She knew I’d have her back. That I’d always come through and make things equal on paper—while driving me and her farther apart.

As I steadily type the information into the computer, and the lasers spring to life, I float, weightless, in awe of my creation. Of all the creations I’ve made leading up to this moment. All of Lucy’s lightshows my own creation.

In space. Breathing—slowly, steadily. Dancing with the stars.

A buzz in my headset announces the impending interruption of my thoughts.

“That was epic,” Emory says, momentarily forgetting the rift I’ve created between us.

“It was,” I say, stunned.

“I told you; you could do it,” Emory says, his voice kind. Caring. “By the way, your sister’s here watching.”

I buzz. To life. With keen awareness. Finally.

My sister is here. For her life.

My sister. My equal.

I am brave.

As I enter the stark white hall, fresh from decompression, she greets me with a hug. Emory at her side.

I pull from her and wrap Emory in my arms.

“She looks just like you,” he says in my ear.

“That’s because she is me. And I am her,” I whisper, kissing his cheek.

His eyes glimmer in realization. His jaw falls open.

I smile back.

I am the stagehand. Of primary students. Of space lightshows.

Of life.

I cultivate a reality different from that we know. Lies of love and trust. In a reality that is much different from my own—a culture shock—an equation waiting to be solved. And I am the equal.