DAY 7029
Acid rain today. I forgot my umbrella and had to take the Underground instead of walking. With all of the stops between 168th Street and Banyan Junction, the trip took twice as long, and I ended up late to class.
Today was just one of those days. One thing went wrong and then it all went like a mudslide. So I did the usual thing and went to the Museum of Human History after school and stared at the rubber ducks for a little while.
I hope they never take that exhibit away. I miss bathtubs. They don’t make them like that anymore. Makes sense, I guess. It’s such a waste of water, and it’s so unproductive to just sit there as your skin cells float by.
Word of the Day: Rubber duck
(n.) Pure yellow embodiment of joy. Floats on water. Historically used for the purpose of youngster amusement. Ruled as violation of Productive Resource Allocation Act, 2076. Apparently joy doesn’t figure in the survival of our earth. (I get it. Rubber is scarce. Sometimes I wonder if they really squeaked and squirted water, though.)
***
DAY 7030
A study on the pod plants:
Still as cheerful as can be. The aloe has mostly wilted, but one leaf is still going strong. It sticks up in the air like a little fin waving at me. Today the plants watched the rain pelt the window but didn’t get a single drop to drink. That’s some Tantalus-tier cruelty.
I tried calling Teddy today on MySpace, but he didn’t pick up. The ticket is burning a hole in the bottom of my desk drawer. Two hours later he called me back on Skype and said that “he was sorry, he missed my call because he was in the middle of a moondust filtration.” They’re doing some kind of excavation up there. What a mess.
Hey, I’m sure he’s living his best life, etc. etc. That’s fine. It’s his choice. He chose to jump on a rocket and jet off to a rock in space. I’m happy that he’s happy. (Shouldn’t I be?)
I wonder if it’s raining over there.
Fat chance.
***
DAY 7041
I’m sorry. I haven’t written in a while. Mum’s been badgering me about the ticket. She wants me to stay here, of course. So this one’s for you, Mum:
“Reasons to stay on Earth”
- The lovely acid rain. Isn’t it so great? The drainage pipe outside the building is slowly dripping a hole into the sidewalk, and I have bets on how long it’ll take to erode through to the other side of the earth. And get this! When it’s really pouring, the Underground gets real cozy. For example, today I had my face squashed against some man’s scarf. It smelled like mothballs and moldy memories. The train hadn’t even started moving yet, and they were still trying to pack more people in. I never got to see his face.
- Nostalgic clutter. It’s not something you’ll find in space. I recently learned that you’re only allowed to pack a toothbrush and a birth certificate to Mars. No baggage. No stuffed animals. No favorite mugs. Certainly no invasive plants. Goodbye, aloe. I’d like to say I’ll miss it, but in truth I think it does better without me.
- Next-door neighbors. Here on Earth, we have the luxury of living in whole houses side by side. There’s just enough space to go trick-or-treating, if I was five. What kind of neighbors would I even have on Mars? The nearest one might live in the bunk bed above me. Some stuffy scientist. She’d have a perpetual goggles line on her forehead and a face like a shrew. Every night she’d tell me how many of her potatoes died. She’d be wonderfully morbid and equally blunt.
Speaking of neighbors: On the way back from school I passed Bethesda’s house. They’ve put up a rain-dome around it to keep the thrifters away — or worse, the archaeologists. They all kept coming back to paw through her china. She had some really old stuff in there, I think, including that fantastic vintage couch.
It’s now been two months and three days since they said they’d finish demolishing the property. They brought a dozer once, but then it disappeared. Now her house just sits there like a rotting cake with a mouthful scooped out of it. Her living room is hanging out over the sidewalk, and every time I pass by I toss a greeting to the peeling portrait of her Great Aunt Hortensia. She looks sadder by the day. Perhaps she also misses Monday afternoon tea with Bethesda.
I really wish I’d had the guts to drag that couch out. It was a really squashy one. Faux leather.
Word of the Day (I keep forgetting this): Thrift
(v.) The art of reusing functional items. Every human still on Earth is a master of this. The World Bible Organization wrote a little footnote somewhere on their website to clarify that thrifting did not violate the Eighth Commandment. (Thou shalt not steal.) Thrifting, unlike stealing, is charitable. It makes the world go round.
I really should have gotten that couch.
***
DAY 7042
Sometimes, when Teddy calls, I show him my latest thrifted trinkets. I think a little part of me hopes he’ll see them and remember why we used to love Earth. How silly I am to think these things like cigarette butts and pennies could make him come back.
Word of the Day: Collectibles
(n.) Tidbits that give comfort. Ex: I have a whole collection of pennies. Dollar bills, too. My favorite is the $1, because it was so common but so necessary. How else would you have made change for a $29 pack of gum?
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DAY 7045
Called Teddy.
I was staring at the aloe on my desk. I think that maybe it’s not waving hello anymore.
Word of the Day: Space
(n.) Utterly infinite. Nonexistent in the Underground on a rainy day.
(n.) What he said he needed.
***
DAY 7046
Word of the Day: Escape
(n.) To cut the tether and float. To relax every muscle and let space carry you. Is this how astronauts daydream? Spinning around in the expanse of space, surrounded by nothing but stars? I think it would be nice. Absolutely silent. No chatter. No clutter. No heartache.
Here’s the thing. I love Earth. I really do. How could I leave Earth?
But here’s the thing about Mars. It’s a place you go when you don’t want to be found. More precisely, it’s a place you go when you want to drop your baggage and start again. You go there when you’re sick of acid rain, when you miss rubber ducks, and when the only person who really knew you is on some rock in space and won’t return your calls. Mars has no room for umbrellas, potted plants, peeling portraits, cigarette butts, pennies, or packs of gum. It doesn’t care if you’re in love or if you’re lonely. It just is.
Word of the Day: Escape
Me. A toothbrush. A birth certificate. Miles of red sand.