3. Observation Deck

I’m a little embarrassed to say that the pre-packaged protein mash and vegetable sticks that made up my first space meal tasted better than numerous things I had cooked myself back on Earth. And from the sideways glances my mother gave me from across the table every time she took a bite, I think she was thinking the same thing.

In an attempt to break the silence we had spent a majority of the time in our room in, I tried to think of something to say to spark conversation. Unfortunately, the only topic that seemed worth mentioning, other than the glaringly obvious, was the food.

“This is pretty good, huh,” I said.

My mother gently shook her head and smirked as she finished chewing her last bite. “I’ve had worse, though” she added, keeping her eyes down on her food before glancing up to make eye contact. She was definitely thinking the same thing.

I stared at her straight-faced for a moment in an attempt to conjure a defense, but I had nothing. After a few seconds, we both broke. Laughter escaped both of our lips in unison. “Come on, Ptolemy. How can a potato be both burnt and raw? What’s your secret? No one fails that miserably without trying to do so.”

“Look, Mom,” I began in an attempt to defend myself, “I’m pretty sure half of our kitchen is stuck in some sort of time vortex.”

“A time vortex, really?” she asked.

“Oh, absolutely. It would explain so much. The potatoes, why the scissors keep disappearing, and how those bananas never ripened.”

“Just because they didn’t turn yellow doesn’t mean they never ripened. They were nothing but mush under that skin.”

“How could you possible know that?” I asked, still ready to die on this hill despite the bananas having been thrown out years before.

She sat back in her chair and pursed her lips, as if she had to physically keep something from escaping her mouth. After a few seconds she relented. “Your father ate one.”

“No!” I practically shouted as I was overcome with a mix of shock and disgust. “What color was it? How bad did it taste? What did it smell like?” I rattled off question after question leaving no time to answer in between.

Laughing, she waved her in hand toward me to stop speaking. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there.” After she gained her composure, she continued, “When I asked him where the bananas went he said he threw them out because they had spoiled. When I told him they were still green, he changed the subject a little too quickly. But it must have been bad because he was beet red and would not answer any of my questions.”

For the next minute we laughed. Me at the unfortunate choices of my father, and my mother at my reaction to the story. “I miss him,” I said towards the floor as my laughter slowed. More involuntarily than anything. A thought that came out before my brain could step in to measure my delivery for the women across the table.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, not sure if they were from the laughter or my last statement, and looked up and locked eyes with my mother. “Me too,” she said.

The next few minutes were similar to our car ride to the Cardiff Center. We sat in complete silence and stared off in opposite directions. Almost afraid to move, as if any action could make the situation somehow worse. An abrupt knock at the door shook us both from our haze.

Behind the door stood Officer Patel. “Good evening. If you would like some time in the Observation Deck before the ceremony, I can take you there now.”

The walk from our room only consisted of a few hallways, but it felt like a never ending labyrinth. Every featureless walkway had the same indistinct layout of rooms and branching paths that seemed to repeat again and again. Our path ended in a small foyer with a set of double doors centered on the opposite wall. The letters above read “Observation.”

If there is a word in any Terran language that can adequately describe how my body reacted when those doors first opened, I’ve yet to find it. It was an instantaneous and involuntary reaction. My eyes widened, shoulders dropped, and lungs filled with air as I took a deep breath in through my nose. My body became simultaneously overwhelmed by a denseness that made it hard to move and a weightlessness that made it hard to believe I still existed. In that moment, I forgot everything I had ever learned or experienced. All I could do was walk forward.

In front of me hung a brilliant blue marble in a sea of darkness.

My home. Our home.

With my face practically pressed against the domed glass that comprised the walls and ceiling of the room, I stared at the planet as it slowly spun. Seeing the moon as we approached it on the shuttle that morning was something spectacular and unbelievable. This, however, was beyond unbelievable. It bordered on unfathomable.

In a brief moment of semi-clarity, I remembered that I didn’t come to the Observation Deck alone and wanted nothing more than to share this memory with my mother. As I turned and opened my mouth to speak, I became aware that I was standing on a raised platform at the front of an auditorium with several hundred empty seats.

Scattered around the room were a few dozen officers standing in complete silence. They were simply staring at me. I heard a familiar, soft whimper to my left and my heart fell from my chest.

Standing not twenty feet from me was my mother. Her tear-filled eyes stared back at me. One hand outstretched towards me. The other was resting on my father’s closed, white casket.