Anthea

Anthea Joan Patrick

I would not have ever thought in a million years that I would be a part of something big. No, I'm not that kind of girl who pities herself for her very existence. I'm not one to see the worst in anything, really. I thought this because of my childhood.

My father would tell me that the universe was bigger than your brain could imagine, and that everything else in my life was merely a speck. Dust. It was true, and I grew up to believe it whole heartedly. Because of him saying this, I came to the conclusion that nothing I did would affect anyone, anything, across the entire universe. I saw nothing wrong with this.

My father was my idol, my anchor. He taught me to see the practical, scientific, and painfully truthful aspects of life. My father studied astronomy in school, busying himself with the stars. He was a germaphobe, and a daydreamer. One would say he had his head in the clouds. I would respond that he's thinking of a new way to interpret the world, and has every right to do it.

He was considerably tall and had a sufficient amount of muscle for a man who spent his hours in a lab or peering through a telescope. He graduated college with ease and built his own laboratory just a five minute walk from his home. He was the mad scientist from children's books. And he was the father of Anthea Joan Patrick, myself.

My mother left us early. I figured there was something about her that I didn't know that caused her to leave. Little did I know, she left because of my father. For reasons I would soon understand.I got my first telescope when I was six. I got an upgrade at eight, the top of the line at twelve, and the best on the world's market at fifteen. Of course, I kept all my old ones. They held my best memories.

I can vividly picture a younger me, tearing off the bedsheets, submerging myself in the constricting cold air. My night gown plastered to my back, flattened by hours of rest, and tingled as it slowly withdrew from my skin the more I moved.

I would tiptoe to the window where my newest telescope sat, my feet brushing the cold hardwood floors. I smartly avoided the creaky boards that I had come to know so well through night time ventures like these. The room was lit by nothing but moonlight. It gave a bluish sort of hue to the shadows that were cast across the floor. My eyes adjusted slowly to the strange lighting, and I squinted into the dark.

I reach the telescope with a light hop and lay my fingers on its cool metal finish. Goosebumps spread across my body, for the metal was far colder than anything else I had encountered. But also, for the feeling I felt. A feeling of mystery, feverish anxiety, and wonder all mixed into one.

I still get those feelings every time I look up at the stars.