Marsha

I wish you could meet Marsha. I’d been away from home for so long when we met, and the first thing she asked was, “Would you like a cup of tea?” Millions of miles from my own mother, it felt like a warm hug. “Would you like a cookie?” was her second question. I almost cried. Maybe I did. Only Marsha knows and she would never tell anyone. I think about her a lot. Still three years away from home, the memory of her voice keeps me sane.

***

“Three, two, one…” I whispered the words to myself. Should I keep my eyes open or close them? I decided on closed right when a jolt shuddered through the metal casing and I was slammed back into my seat. Sure they told me what it would be like, but practicing in water, practicing in a gyroscope, practicing in a dark chamber. Nothing prepares you for this. This feels like someone measured equal parts black hole and birthday party into a celestial pan and is whisking away at it. It’s not the way I can’t straighten my back or the way I can feel speed through the metal. It’s the way my soul is wrapped around my heart and buried in my brain and I want Amelia and I want to know the name of our baby and I want to get a dog and walk it every day at 5AM. But I can’t even straighten my back.

“Reaching an altitude of 25 nautical miles,” crackles through my headset. When do they start using years instead of miles? “The booster rockets will be engaging in five, four…” I forget to listen to the rest of her countdown. I’m trying to calculate how many seconds I’ll miss. They told me the years some time ago but no one seemed to care about the seconds. No one told me how many tulips I’d miss blooming in mama’s garden. Or how many presents I wouldn’t be able to give my brothers.

“You’re doing us all a great service,” Mama told me when I called her last night. But I don’t want to do the world a great service anymore. “I’m so proud of you honey, this is your dream. And you did it.” If anyone can calm me down it’s her. Even Amelia doesn’t get it. She spent our last five minutes together absolutely losing it in front of everyone. I tried to tell her my commanding officer didn’t want to watch her cry but she did anyway. I love her for it, but she can’t calm me down like Mama.

When I asked Amelia if she could wait for me, she said “yes,” but I saw the fear in her eyes. “It’s OK. I’ll always love you but if you want to date Margaret-your-hot-yoga-friend or if you want to marry Louis-the-sexy-downstairs-neighbor then you do that. I want you to be happy,” I don’t think she believed me. Because I want a baby and a dog that I walk at 5AM every morning.

“Monica, I love you,” she gripped my hand until her perfectly rounded fingernails left marks. I wanted to get those semicircles tattooed there because maybe we’d never hold hands again. Because I know she loves me, but I know she needs someone.

“I love you with everything I have Amelia. When I’m millions of miles away, I’ll still be thinking of you. And I can promise you that.” She tried to smile, but I had to wipe her snot away instead. I’m afraid because I’ll be all alone. I’ll only have her and Mama and my brothers to remember but they’ll meet new people every day. They’ll have chats with the cashier at Ed’s and go for lunch with their yoga partners. While I eat re-hydrated potatoes and stare out at darkness.

A screaming explosion jolts me as the booster rockets fire. I have a feeling I’m going to have to relearn the meaning of time. What is a second, an hour, a year? I’ll have years to figure that out. If everything goes to plan. I’m enveloped by a sudden warmth and I imagine the rockets burning away as I cross earth’s atmosphere. I’m counting off the final machs, 23, 24, 25.

“Monica, you have successfully entered space,” I can hear faint cheering in the background. My body floats upward against the seat straps.

“Thank you ma’am. I am privileged to be on this journey,” I am a soldier at heart and soldiers don’t let emotions cloud their mind.

“We’ll see you in fifteen years officer.”

Maybe I’m not as much of a soldier as I thought. Since my childhood, I’ve watched as space explorers traveled further and further. First mars, then other planets. And now I’m the experiment. The one who will be away longer than anyone thought possible. They told me I’m the perfect candidate, that I have imagination, fortitude, wisdom. All I know, all anyone at Command knows, is the planet’s ID: PL442. Just a speck of light.

***

I have yet to learn the intricacies of time in space. Sometimes I catch a glance of the digital numbers on the wall of the scientific studies room and it’s been 22 hours and other times somehow six months have passed. I talked to Amelia but I can’t remember if it was a year ago or last week. Everything feels so distant. This morning, Command reminded me I launched seven years today. Only a few months to go before I reach PL442. I should be more excited, but I’m just tired.

The planets have taken on personalities. I smile and wave as they pass by and sometimes the gases ripple around them in what I imagine to be a wave back. I mark each one on the map the scientists at Command gave me. It was just a sheet of blank black paper before, but now it glitters with color. I’ve named them all. Gertie was the first planet who waved at me, her purple eyes glowing in recognition of a fellow creature of fascination. Now I can barely fit the names on, Kay and Rory and Jerimiah and Karinna.

Amelia doesn’t talk about us having a baby anymore. Every time Command calls through with, “We have Amelia on the line for you Monica,” I think about telling them I don’t want to talk. I know she won’t tell me if she’s found someone else. Maybe it would be easier to let her go. I’m the one who came up here after all. Whenever Mama’s in Florida, she calls, but she lives in the middle of an Ohio corn field, so I don’t get to hear her voice very often. I wonder if she’s adopted a replacement daughter from that white clapboard church she goes to. The potluck kind of girl who has a husband--and a baby.

Seven years is a long time. Enough time to make my brother’s kid a teenager. Enough time for a dog to reach middle age. But it’s static up here. Logically, I understand that time has passed, but I have none of the markers. I can remember the Christmas video calls with my family, but the rest of it is just a congealed ball of what other people call time. They offered to get me a therapist, but trying to explain feels like knitting a sweater with invisible yarn.

***

“Hello, child,” a low voice wraps around my shoulders.

I unfurl my hand from around the pencil I was taking notes with before I fell asleep.

“You are awake,” the voice ripples through the cabin. The window glows a pink gold. I want to get up to look but I can’t seem to move. “My name is Marsha.”

“Who?” It’s been seven years since I’ve heard a voice that doesn’t crackle through years of airwaves.

“I believe you know me as PL442,” I can feel the voice smiling but all I can see is the golden pink light.

“PL442?” I look up at the digital calendar. It’s blinking furiously. Seven years and six months. I’m here. PL442. PL442 is talking. PL442 is talking to me. Perhaps I should have talked to the therapist. Maybe I should have been more consistent with my journaling.

“You’re not crazy Monica. You have been chosen,” Marsha’s voice sounds like coffee brewing in the morning and the turning of book pages and the laughter of my nephew.

Oh god. I don’t need to be chosen. I just want to go home. But what is home anymore?

“Monica, you can see us like no one else can. You named every planet like you would your own children. And I am their mother,” Marsha feels like warm socks from the dryer and curling up under a Christmas tree and getting under the covers during a snowstorm.

I make it to the window, “Marsha, I- I don’t know what to say.” She glows brightly.

“Child, you don’t have to say anything. You are not afraid of your true nature and we are honored to have you here,” she spins out of the way and far away into the darkness, planets and stars, meteors and space dust whirl together blinking a light show in sync to “Space Girl” by Frances Forever.

“Is that the tik tok song from seven years ago?”

“We got tired of listening to the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack. It’s about vibes. And no, no one on earth can see this. We make sure to keep our dance nights to what earthlings think of as The Abyss.”

Gold and blue light dance in patterns twisting in and around each other disintegrating to the edges as green and pink planets twirl and spin faster and faster around each other leaving trails of light.

“It’s so beautiful,” I almost don’t have enough breath to speak.

“Would you like some tea, dear?” Marsha holds out her hand.

“Let me get my spacesuit on,” I’m not certain why I’m so ready to accept a planet named Marsha offering me tea, but here we are. The navy blue cloth hugs against my skin and I attach the oxygen mask. I reach for the com to Command but I decide against it. “I’m ready Marsha.” I pass through the airlock, valves hissing and repressurizing. The heavy door slowly swings away and I stare into the twirling lights.

“I’m over here, dear!” Marsha calls and I study the distance from where I stand to where she sways to the music. “Just get over here! You’ll be fine!” A navy blue planet tilts past me and nods reassurance.

I dance one foot into the weightlessness of space, pull hard on my tether and jump out. For a moment I’m truly floating surrounded by a sea of stars and planets. A chattering collection of dust whirls around me pulling me closer to Marsha. And with a whoosh of air, I am in her embrace. I close my eyes and she chuckles her warmth.

“Would you care for a cookie? Warm from the oven,” she winks at me and I laugh at this utter absurdity.

“I would love one!” A small planet pours me a cup of tea, plopping two cubes of sugar in.

“Oh do you like sugar in your tea? Dom gets a bit over eager at times.” The planet named Dom flipped sheepishly.

“That’s fine, I don’t usually drink tea at all,” I gingerly stir the cup and take a sip. It tastes of the best parts of a wintery fire and a warm summer day..

“Once your tea is finished, we’ll take you on a bit of a tour,” Marsha’s china teacup balances in her orbit.

I close my eyes with each sip as every hug I’ve missed over the last seven and a half years courses through my parched body. Marsha’s voice rumbles around me but I can’t seem to focus on any of her words.

“Are you ready?” Marsha says through my fog.

I absently nod as we take off into the light streaked darkness. We’re traveling faster than I ever have in the past seven years.

Other planets whirl by, joining us for a few moments of our journey. Their delighted giggles at seeing a human echoing around us. Marsha points out important planets as we pass and they wave back. I somersault around her orbit, spinning around to look as we pass.

“That’s the door to what earthlings call heaven,” Marsha gestures to a block of light off to the right. “And over there you’ll see Edwin and Sherwin. They’ve been trying to contact earth for millions of years.” The two stars glow a bit brighter as we rotate to a stop next to them.

“Sherwin! It’s an earthling!” Edwin spins in tight circles.

“I know. Keep up will you,” Sherwin seems like the staid older brother type. “It is an absolute honor to meet you. I hadn’t dared to hope I would make contact before I died and now here you are.” A tear glistens then a meteor streaks across the sky.

“I cannot believe I’m talking to a star,” I grin back at the orbs of light named Edwin and Sherwin. “We are working just as hard to contact you, but we just didn’t know what we were looking for.”

Edward laughs, “Green guys with bug eyes? Yeah we know you’re idiots.”

“Exactly. Not nearly as beautiful as this,” I gesture to the twinkling darkness.

“We should really keep going,” Marsha stares across the infinitous sky.

“Oh sure, cut our fun short,” Sherwin winks at me and ducks a slap from Marsha. “And you,” he turns to me, “bring those idiots from your home, we’ll give them the time of their lives.”

“Trust me, they’ll never believe it, but I’ll do my best,” I wave as Marsha whirls me along the edge of the darkness.

“What’s past that edge?” I look down into an abyss that our motion is tracing.

“The dark planets,” Marsha’s light dims for a moment and I bite my tongue.

“What are dark planets?” I’m perhaps too curious.

“They are planets who didn’t think celebrating what we already have was enough. They wanted more power. So we separated. Pure joy cannot be tainted by darkness that sucks everything into it.” I can tell Marsha wishes it were different.

“I’m sorry, sometimes it’s like that.”

“Yes it is, child.”

I can just barely hear “Fly Me to the Moon” playing in the distance. We are silent as time twists my hair into tangles.

“We’re almost back. How was your first ride through space?” Marsha is back to her warm self.

I try to speak, but only tears come. We stop near my ship.

“Would you like one last cup of tea?”

I nod and she pours and with each sip, infinity and stardust feel more like home.