Joan brought rainbow-colored macarons and a children’s book about women who changed the world – both, according to her research, suitable for a seven-year-old girl’s birthday. The bright blue front door stood open, so she slowly stepped inside, gifts held out like an entry ticket.
A burst of purple confetti. A dozen little humans shrieking and sprinting across the Barbie-pink carpet. An obstacle course of wooden horses, fire trucks, and plush animals. Now what?
After a year in the silent, weightless vastness of space, the life on Earth she had so deeply missed felt overwhelming. Blinding and deafening, momentous yet insignificant. She hesitated, mentally calculating a path through the chaos. But before she could define the perfect trajectory, Sam appeared, pulled her into a warm hug, and guided her to the backyard.
Sam was Joan's next-door neighbor, the first and kindest person to approach her since she moved to the village. Joan imagined that Sam thought of her as a burnt-out career girl, which is why she asked so few questions. In reality, Joan was just on the standard three-year break between missions, using the time to experiment with a more self-sufficient way of life.
The backyard was a calmer world – an island of evergreen shrubs, a picnic table heavy with food, beach chairs scattered around. Joan went straight for the buffet – creamy, crumbly cheeses, crisp, citrusy salads, and sticky, sun-ripened fruit. Nothing freeze-dried or rehydrated in a plastic pouch. She’d never seen herself as a foodie; food was just sustenance. Yet there she was, piling her plate high.
Sam pulled her into a conversation about holidays. A couple beamed as they explained how much their kids adored the sandy beaches on some Italian island. Joan smiled, struggling to validate their enthusiasm in between bites. In her mind, she was floating in her spacesuit, a rope tying her to the station as her left foot was obscuring the boot-shaped silhouette of Italy.
Another couple joined in, praising their latest holiday purchases – fine linen, handcrafted glass, aged wine. So fascinating, Joan thought, how much humans desired and the lengths they went to fulfill those desires. The glaciers, forests, and oceans of the Earth have all been shaped by these desires coming together.
The birthday girl ran past, clutching a balloon. Parents melted at the sight.
Little did they know, or mind, that the damage to the world she’ll grow up in was irreversible. They would keep wanting, enjoying, complaining that it wasn’t enough. And when they looked up at the sky, they would imagine heaven was somewhere there, abundant and effortless.
They’d be wrong. Heaven was right here, but you only knew it for sure when you saw it from very, very far away. And then, you were never truly at home. Not here, not there.
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