"They want volunteers to go live in a space station." I scrolled down the article and clicked on the application link.
I glanced at her while it loaded, drinking in her visage. Her short hair stuck out in all directions,like a crow's nest. I have tried to tame it for five years now,with no avail. This will be how I will remember her on my death bed- messy hair,dressed in black, precious.
I caught a whiff of that cheap pocket perfume I got her last year. I breathed in a large gulp of air,greedily chasing the lingering hint of the strong, synthetic, and headache-inducing eau de cologne.
It smelled like home.
She didn't care for perfume and never wore any. The only reason she liked this one was because of its slick,mini packaging.
And because I bought it for her, of course.
I skimmed over the application and ignored the tedious task of reading terms and conditions all together. It was not like we were going anyway.
There are two spots in space. For two years.
The waiter sauntered in, carrying a mouth-watering platter of creamy pasta, and I was back to earth. Who wants to go to space when you have all you need right in front of you?
The world's best partner, and pasta!
"What kind of people are they looking for?" She dumped three-fourths of gooey goodness on my plate. We were nineteen and twenty,still in school, and broke. We've been sharing a single portion of pasta for a while now.
"Just people." I transferred some spoonfuls back to hers. "Willing ones"
Her dark coffee eyes stared ahead, sparkling under the soft amber light of the restaurant. People were dining around us, conversing in hushed,merry voices. Steel clicked against porcelain,chiming in with Ed Sheeran singing Perfect on speakers. Somewhere, a child screamed for dessert.
She glared at the kid, her nose scrunching.
"We should go."
I swallowed the mouthful of pasta I was planning to savor for a little while longer.
"Where?"
"Space"
We stared at each other.
"Okay," I munched.
"Think about it!" She dropped a black olive slice on my waiting spoon. "Away from your parents and mine!"
"That's stretching it," I said, slipping my fingers into the spaces between hers—two puzzel pieces interlocking seamlessly. I didn't like the parent talk.
She snatched the phone from my hands and typed in my password. Ours. Four zeros. Very original.
I watched her key board smash, brows furrowed at my sloth-fast device. Her bottom lip was bleeding again from her ripping at the dried skin. I wanted to kiss it away.
"Delete those useless screenshots you don't even look at." She gave it a light shake,as if it were going to make the lagging phone work faster. "You only have 485 MB free!"
"A wise woman never deletes her screenshots." I tipped my head up to match my exaggerated accent. She cracked a small smile, and her eyes disappeared in a sea of crinckles. Warmth blanketed my insides.
"There. We are going to space."
The bright green "response submitted" screen glared at me. I squinted.
She gave my hand a little squeeze. I smiled back at her. We were not going into space. But I didn't tell her that.
Days rolled into weeks, and in a heartbeat,another three years passed.
