star stuff

one

Some losses are impossible to recover from. Maybe losing Jasper was one of them.

Losing Jasper felt like forgetting how to speak. Losing Jasper without Sagan to confide in or grieve with felt like forgetting how to breathe.

Sagan didn't care about me the way I cared about him, but we still both cared about Jasper. Losing the two constants in my life seemed like too much to bear.

I was standing shock still but the earth was still spinning and the sun was still rising and tomorrow was still coming and coming and coming and I was powerless to stop it.

The day of Jasper's funeral wasn't rainy like it should have been. It was sunny. Too sunny, too happy for such a day. Mother Nature should have been crying with us, not giving us warmth.

That's when I realized that the universe does not stop for the grief of men. The universe did not care whether Jasper died. The earth did not stop just because I did.

So I gritted my teeth, picked up whatever pieces were still salvageable, and moved on. Part of me still wondered if having Sagan to talk to would have made me more whole, saved more pieces, because I do not feel like a complete person.

You force yourself to breath. In. Out. In. Out. And after a while, it comes almost naturally.

You freeze everybody out. Ice princesses don't get hurt.

Four years. Four years since Jasper died. Five since Sagan left.

I've sometimes thought to myself that I shouldn't hate Sagan so much for running away when I did the same thing. But when I ran away, it was because there was nothing left in that town for me. Sagan had Jasper and I.

You are so lucky for your internship people, mostly fellow college students tell me. Every time, I want to sneer at them you think this is luck? Then that explains why you don't have one.

But staring at the building titled Saga Corporations that seems to extend into the cloudline, I feel much smaller and much less confident.

When a passing man jostles me, I realize that I need to stop gaping and get off of the sidewalk. Taking a deep breath, I push through the revolving doorway.

The environment and atmosphere hit me like a bullet train - expected and familiar all at the same time. 

Everything about the reception area is clean, crisp lines and all the furniture is straight and black.

Two security guards in pressed black uniforms stand imposingly at either side of the door. The floor is a bustle of activity with people walking to and fro. In one door and out the other. The air rings with the constant ding of elevators.

A lady behind a reception desk smiles at me when I walk up to her. I know I should smile back, but I don't. My smiles are hard to come by.

Her smile fades and I feel a twinge of guilt. But if I listened to my guilt I would not be here; I would not have left my hometown as soon as I turned 18.

"Hi, you must be our new intern. Juno, right? May I see your ID?"

I nod, pulling the card out from my bag. She takes it, her eyes flitting between me and the card.

Juno Tan. Dark brown hair. Green eyes. Cold downturned mouth.

When she is finally satisfied that the girl on the card is the same as the one in front of her, she nods. "Emma," she calls to someone over her shoulder. "Could you show Juno to the interns' floor? Oh, and keep out of the way of the boss. Today's one of his bad days."