I don't know when that happened. The trip was long but we finally arrived at this number and it's mind-numbingly larger than I thought. It's seasoned. It's earned it's scars, pockmarked by years of being pelted with space junk, with aster-
Meteorites, I mean.
Look up there!
An asteroid!
That's a meteor, Peanut.
Same thing, isn't it?
Technically, but it's an asteroid until it reaches our atmosphere, and then it becomes a meteor. If it burns up when it gets to us it's a shooting star. If it lands it's a meteorite.
Can we look for some?
Meteorites? Or shooting stars?
Both!
Meteorites would be hard to find.
But what if we found one?
What would you do with it? His mouth curls up on one side. He's amused. I love it when his face does this. It makes my stomach flutter so fucking hard.
Cut it open! I am breathless and immediate with my reply.
And what would you find inside?
OUTER SPACE. That's it. I'm determined now.
But outer space is right. there. He points for effect. Look around you.
I sit up from where we lie on the picnic table. His legs dangling off the edge. Mine not reaching, thought they would if we were crosswise.
This is the best birthday I've ever had.
I can't believe you're fifteen already.
Some day you'll be fifteen too. What are you going to do when that happens?
Get my learner's permit. And go to space.
You can't drive there.
I'm thinking driving a rocketship is like driving a car.
Is it now? There's that smile again when I look at the side of his face. He's making my stomach hurt. His eyes flash in the dark and I really wish he would hold my hand.
I trace his arm in the dark. The rocketship tattoo is still vivid decades later now, ready to lift off into the sun. Into space. Our ticket home to the stars, this massive field above us while we lie in our backs in the wet grass at the far edge of the lawn, stuck way down here on earth.
Happy birthday, Locket.
Best birthday ever, Peanut.
He says that every single year.
Meteorites, I mean.
Look up there!
An asteroid!
That's a meteor, Peanut.
Same thing, isn't it?
Technically, but it's an asteroid until it reaches our atmosphere, and then it becomes a meteor. If it burns up when it gets to us it's a shooting star. If it lands it's a meteorite.
Can we look for some?
Meteorites? Or shooting stars?
Both!
Meteorites would be hard to find.
But what if we found one?
What would you do with it? His mouth curls up on one side. He's amused. I love it when his face does this. It makes my stomach flutter so fucking hard.
Cut it open! I am breathless and immediate with my reply.
And what would you find inside?
OUTER SPACE. That's it. I'm determined now.
But outer space is right. there. He points for effect. Look around you.
I sit up from where we lie on the picnic table. His legs dangling off the edge. Mine not reaching, thought they would if we were crosswise.
This is the best birthday I've ever had.
I can't believe you're fifteen already.
Some day you'll be fifteen too. What are you going to do when that happens?
Get my learner's permit. And go to space.
You can't drive there.
I'm thinking driving a rocketship is like driving a car.
Is it now? There's that smile again when I look at the side of his face. He's making my stomach hurt. His eyes flash in the dark and I really wish he would hold my hand.
I trace his arm in the dark. The rocketship tattoo is still vivid decades later now, ready to lift off into the sun. Into space. Our ticket home to the stars, this massive field above us while we lie in our backs in the wet grass at the far edge of the lawn, stuck way down here on earth.
Happy birthday, Locket.
Best birthday ever, Peanut.
He says that every single year.