Ginormous Beasts

Jo fiddles with the bottom of her tank top, twisting the cotton around her fingers, trying not to think of the burning sensation on the back of her arm. It pinched as the needle punctured her skin, an uncomfortable pressure when the sensor was removed. But now, as she thanks the astro-physiologist and grabs her purse to leave the lab, the pain has transformed into a fire-like sensation. She reaches with her other hand to feel where the sensor used to be. Under a thin layer of skin, the sensor had felt no bigger than a ladybug. She doesn’t know when she had grown used to it, but here she is, her fingers searching. Her arm feels foreign now with the skin smooth. Tender to the touch. Jo grits her teeth and flashes Dr. Wright a smile.

“I look forward to your call tomorrow,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes. He is at least thirty years her senior, his receding hairline peppered with gray, but it’s worth a shot. He is still a man.

He gives her a shy smile, his thin lips pressing tightly together, and extends his right arm. Jo’s tricep now burns so strongly she tears up. She thinks of mentioning this to Dr. Wright — Is this normal? Should my bones feel like they’re made of fire? — but that would only make her appear weak. Instead, she thrusts her arm forward and catches his hand.

“Now remember, Ms. Holly,” he says as they shake hands, “Nothing is decided yet.”

A few more flutters of her eyelashes. A tug at her shirt, exposing her collarbones. A bite of the lower lip. “Of course, of course,” Jo says slowly, leaning closer. “Still… I look forward to your call.”

Dr. Wright doesn’t speak, but his face is flush, no longer matching the stark white of his lab coat. He diverts his eyes like a school boy in trouble as he guides Jo past the waiting room. She forces her eyes down to the cream-colored carpeting to avoid looking at anyone else. She doesn’t want to see her competition, yet she can feel every pair of eyes on her. 

Dr. Wright leads Jo to the hidden entrance in the back, created specifically for visitors such as her to avoid the protesters that crowd the front entrance. As she follows Dr. Wright down the stark white, windowless hallway, she can hear the protesters. It’s all too easy to visualize the large group clustered on the other side of the building wall, each face tightly wrapped in a mask, muffled chants cutting through hazy air.

The walk to the exit feels slow, the clicking of her shoes mirroring the ticking of a clock. Only seconds left with Dr. Wright. Jo debates going in for a hug. At least a forearm touch. A brush of fingers? Anything to make him remember she was there.

_____________________

Hours later, Jo still regrets not doing anything. Now, back at her apartment, she can’t stop wandering to the full-length mirror in the corner of the living room every few minutes, twisting her arm around to look at the spot of the removal. It is transforming into an ugly bruise the size of a dime. Red in the center, surrounded by a bluish purple. Each time Jo presses down on it she winces, sucking air in sharply between her teeth. So why can’t she stop?

For a full month she had lived with that damn health tracker inside of her, wishing it was out. But now that they have parted, something feels off. She painted each night that it was under her skin to calm her nerves; tonight is no different.

Jo brings her natural paint supplies over to the mirror and takes a seat on the floor in front of it. This way, she can keep her eye on the bruise. She grinds her coffee beans and tumeric into extra fine pigments with her mortar and pestle, faintly remembering the days when art supplies were in abundance and therefore not outrageously expensive. She lets her fingers do the thinking for her. Painting a dark orange sky, she leaves a tiny, circular spot of white for the sun. Enormous brown sand dunes come into fruition. Heavy, dark brown clouds. Marcus has described the view on Orsus many times to her before. Although he always mentions there’s only a handful of sunlight hours when you can actually see out the observation windows. 

Jo allows her imagination to take over. Perhaps some yellow wildflowers in the corner. Why not an orange lake? Why not the sun sparkling a thousand diamonds upon the rippling surfaces? She paints and paints until her fingers grow stiff with the effort. She paints and paints until there’s a light ring coming from her computer in her bedroom at 8 o’clock on the dot. 

She grabs a towel to wipe her hands as she darts into her dark bedroom, flipping on the light switch. She tosses her brown hair over her shoulders and gives a practice smile for the computer camera before accepting the call.

“Hello Marcus,” she says in a light sing-songy voice. A familiar face projects onto the bedroom wall, larger than life. Oval-shaped with a narrow nose, a raggedy beard grows over a once visible dimpled chin. “Hello,” Jo tries again with a wave, in case the connection is slower on his side. A few seconds pass, and she continues to wave, bigger and bigger, waiting for her fiancé’s dark brown eyes to light up. When they do, Jo resists the urge to run over to the wall and throw her arms around that projected face, hugging cheek to cheek. 

Marcus’s blonde hair is darkened with grease, and it hangs down to his shoulders now. His mouth moves and Jo waits for the sound to come through. She presses down on the sore spot on the back of her arm, counting in her head. 1…2…3…“Hello, Joanie.” 

He sits forward, readjusting his headphones, and Jo notices there is a lot of movement in the background. Clumps of people walk together, whispering to one another. A large group forms towards the far wall behind Marcus, pointing fingers at a board filled with scribbles Jo can’t make out. Voices raise, someone slams a fist on the table. An older woman is so enthralled with a tablet she bumps into Marcus’s chair with no apology. Marcus doesn’t react to any of this; he just leans in closer to the screen and speaks. 1…2…3… “Can you hear me alright?”

“Yes, you sound great,” Jo says with an exaggerated smile.

His mouth moves. Then: “We’ve been having solar flares. Hopefully this call doesn’t drop.” He tilts his head, gazing at her through the camera. His mouth moves again, and her heart clenches when his words come through to her. “God, Jo, I’ve missed you. I wish I could wrap my arms around you right now.”

“I don’t even remember what that feels like anymore.”

“Very soon you will,” Marcus says softly, his eyes bright. “When did you go to the lab?”

“Today. Dr. Wright removed the health tracker. Every time I picture them analyzing my results I feel sick.” She presses down on the bruise again. Winces.

Marcus waves his hand. A few seconds later, she hears, “You’re in tip-top shape, don’t worry about it. Hell, you could run circles around some of the people already up here.” He rolls his eyes playfully.

“Well, I’ll have to be picked first,” Jo says with a forced lightness, fidgeting with the bottom of her shirt. It’s too much to think about the possibility of another year with him on Orsus, her on Earth.

Marcus smiles, his big brown eyes looking every bit as kind as she remembered, even while pixelated. “You’ll be chosen. You took the aptitude test again, right?”

“I scored a 1470.” She sees him flash her a thumbs up, even while she says, “Nothing compared to your 1500.”

“That’s why I went with the first group. Trust me, it is way better to come with the Fourth Cohort than the First. We’ve figured out a lot about Orsus in the past three years.”

Jo bites her lip. They are lucky Orsus was found in the first place. Sometimes it feels hard to remember that. She leans forward, her voice quiet. “Is it really better than life on Earth?”

Marcus is still for so long Jo wonders if the solar flares disconnected them. But then he runs a hand through his long hair. His sigh hits her ears a few moments later. “Can’t say.” Worry lines become visible on his forehead. “But Orsus is our future. We can’t see where we’re going if we’re always looking behind us.”

Marcus has said this to her so many times over the years that she believes those words to be tattooed onto her heart. “I know.”

“Besides, Earth will soon be uninhabitable. What choice do we really have?”

Her stomach turns to stone at that word: Uninhabitable.

Sometimes, when walking around town, a mask wrapped around her mouth as an attempt to block out the ashy air, she’ll find herself stomping her feet to the sound of that word in her head. Un. In. Hab. I. Ta. Ble. Or when she reads another devastating headline from a far away country ravaged by natural disasters, she’ll click through the pictures to the rhythm of the syllables. Un. In. Hab. I. Ta. Ble.

Uninhabitable. Jo’s chances of escape dwindles with each cohort that passes her by.

She suddenly is too overwhelmed with exhaustion to keep her tone light, her face smiling. Her bones feel heavy inside of her. She knows it isn’t easy for Marcus to be one of the firsts, to have to leave her to establish society on Orsus. To be one of the firsts to create sustainable space suits for everyone, to learn how to grow crops on a planet that doesn’t nourish them. But how much easier is it for her to align their video call schedule with the planetary movements, talking to Marcus only when Orsus and Earth align every three months?

 Marcus waits for her to say something. When she doesn’t, he whisks his hand across the screen like a shooting star. “Come next week you’ll be rocketing off to your new life! Our new life.”

Jo nods slowly. Once again she feels like she’s moving in slow motion. She sees Marcus’s face break into a wide grin as she forces out the words, “I hope.”

Someone approaches Marcus in the background. “Marcus. A word?” A man around their age enters the frame, wearing a hideous orange space suit, the helmet tucked under his arm like a football. 

Marcus stands, and Jo sees he’s already wearing the space suit on the bottom half of his body. She looks down at her jean shorts and tries to imagine her skinny legs hidden by that puffy material. That bright puke orange.

“I’m so sorry, Joanie, I wish I could talk longer, but I gotta go,” Marcus says, leaning down so his face reappears on the screen. 

Her chest tightens. “Already?” she asks at the same time she hears him say, “Be excited! We’re going to see each other soon. And not through a screen!”

Jo wraps her arms around herself, wishing for the arms of the man millions of light-years away. Soon, she thinks, attempting to conjure even a fraction of Marcus's confidence. Soon.

“I love you,” she manages.

1…2…3…“I love you too, Joanie.”

And then he is gone. And the burning sensation returns. She reaches with her other arm to feel around, expecting some kind of blister. This is worse than her worst bout of sunburn, on the beach trip to Florida where Marcus proposed. A lifetime ago.

But it will all be worth it, she repeats to herself again and again, believing it a bit more each time.

_____________________

The call comes at 7 AM. Jo sits up in bed so fast her head spins. She stares at the screen for a few seconds before working up the courage to accept the call and place the phone to her ear.

“Is this Joan Holly?” It is a familiar voice on the other end of the phone call. Dr. Wright.

She clears her throat, feeling her hands clam up with sweat. “This is she.”

“I’m pleased to share with you that you have been chosen for the next cohort to Orsus. Your vitals checked out and we are satisfied with your score of 1470. We believe you’ll be a strong addition.”

A large breath releases from somewhere deep inside. She’s floating. She’s still in bed, but she’s floating. Marcus. Orsus. Home.

“The rockets are scheduled to launch this Friday at 8 PM sharp,” Dr. Wright continues. “Ten rockets, one thousand people per rocket. You will have an assigned seat and we will check you in at the gate. It is of utmost importance to not be late. Once the gates close, they will not reopen.” He pauses for emphasis. Jo nods, forgetting he can’t see her. She knows these details already, she has heard them a million times during the process, but it feels different hearing it now. Her body tingles with each word.

“For the sake of space, you are only allowed one piece of baggage, no heavier than 50 pounds. You won’t really need as much as you have here on Earth. You’ll be allocated a bunk upon arrival, and all community needs are overseen by the Interplanetary Resettlement Authority. They assist with the relocation process upon arrival, as well as ensure the mental and physical well-being of the population.”

Her head buzzes as Dr. Wright explains all the details. He doesn’t pause to check in or ask questions. He speaks so fast that she has no time to grab her tablet for notes. All she is truly able to process is that she has three days until she’ll be heading to Orsus. Three days to say goodbye to the only home she’s ever known.

“Well, then,” Dr. Wright takes a deep breath. “I believe congratulations are in order. Welcome to your new life.” There was a click, then silence.

Jo blinks. What now? 

She sends an excited message to Marcus, knowing he won’t receive it for many hours. Her hands shake so much she has to retype it three times. She lays in bed for a few minutes, her heart pounding, her head light. The amount of tasks between now and the launch start to infiltrate her thoughts and she knows sleep is no longer possible. She heads for the shower.

Jo always keeps to the mandated two-minute maximum, but this morning the water feels especially refreshing, cleansing her body and her mind. Each time the water automatically shuts off, she turns it back on, knowing the government will charge her extra for each violation. She smiles. Let them. 

By the time she leaves the bathroom, it is full of steam and her fingers are pruny. When she was a child, she loved taking long baths, laughing about her wrinkled fingerprints. Back when time felt infinite. Back when she believed she’d one day be just as wrinkled all over, but loved and happy and home.

Home changes in three days. Home will no longer be smoky skies and hot breezes and dried grass and the possibility of shriveled up fingers. The orange space suit appears in her mind. She wonders if her breath will fog up the glass of the helmet.

_____________________

As Jo is about to leave the salon on the third day, she stares out at the hundreds marching by, enroute to the launching site. The harsh thuds of boots hitting concrete creep into the salon, intermixed with chants and yells, amplified, all-encompassing. She stares out, watching masked face after masked face pass by. Many of the protesters wear shirts or carry banners with images of the Earth on it. Jo glances down at her fingers, the skin stained after a full night of painting. She had moved from images of Orsus to creating portraits of Earth. She wishes she could still get her hands on blueberries; charcoal and turmeric made Earth’s oceans too dark, too ominous.

She fidgets with her own face mask. Is it worth wearing it anymore? She has three more hours of Earth’s oxygen, and despite its toxicity, she wants more. Oxygen is our gift from the trees and the ocean, she thinks, and we are not worthy. Orsus has neither. Perhaps humans fit there after all. 

She stuffs her mask back into her backpack, takes a step outside, leans against the window of the salon, and breathes deeply through her nose for the first time in…years. Her nostrils burn slightly. She runs a hand over her newly shaven head. Smooth and dry. Marcus had advised her on the buzzcut. He had specifically messaged: “Hair isn’t worth the trouble.” She wonders why exactly, but doesn’t question him. She secretly felt hair isn’t worth the trouble on Earth, either.

“Jo? Jo!” A voice calls out from the street. Jo turns towards it, recognizing a face from her past hiding behind a black face mask. Mimi.

Jo raises her hand to wave, even as her heart begins to sink, lower and lower, lodging itself deep in her stomach. Jo had met Mimi many years ago, their first year of college. They had co-chaired the Climate Action League, the environmental club on campus. Together, equipped with the fearlessness that comes with being 18-years-old and believing the world actually owes you something, they staged massive protests, wrote letters to government officials, and organized campus wide clean-up events. Until one day, Jo sat next to a cute aerospace engineering student in astrophysics. Marcus listened to her rants and politely told her she was wasting her time. His confidence in a better world was intoxicating. Certainly more appealing than fighting a dying cause, draped in the stench of Earth’s decaying body. Marcus’s conviction was amplified with the announcement of Orsus’s discovery and the subsequent missions. Slowly, Jo distanced herself from the club, from Mimi, blaming other responsibilities. Over time, they drifted from best friends to friendly acquaintances.

“Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you!” Mimi says, gesturing with her hands towards Jo’s lack of hair with wide eyes. “Heading to the protest? Check out my sign.” She slings off her backpack, pulling out a large electronic sign attached to a handle. The first message reads: THANKS FOR LEAVING US BEHIND. “Wait, wait,” Mimi holds up a finger, giggling. Frozen, Jo watches as the words trickle away, an image of a cartoon Earth flipping off a cartoon rocket taking its place. Mimi bursts into laughter, and Jo forces herself to join in. “My friend Jax is going to shoot off drone fireworks, spelling out ‘YOU’RE THE TOXIC ONE’ in the sky in all caps. Can’t wait for those assholes to look out their tiny-ass rocket window for a last glimpse of Earth, and instead they see that message.”

Jo nods, her legs growing weak.

“You going there now? Wanna come with?” Mimi asks.

“I, uh…” Jo lets out a shaky laugh. “I actually have to go and… I’m… I can’t go to the protest.”

Jo’s face heats. She tries to smile, but the way Mimi’s eyes search her face, she feels as if she’s under an interrogation lamp. Jo wishes she could twirl her hair around her finger, a nervous tick from childhood, but settles on stroking her newly-shaved scalp. After a few moments, Mimi’s eyebrows raise before hardening above narrowed eyes. “Don’t,” she says. “Don’t fucking say it.”

Jo forces her hands to her side and glances away. “Then I guess I won’t.”

Mimi drops her bag fully onto the ground, staring hard at Jo. “I didn’t take you as one of them. My mistake.”

Jo balls her hands into fists. “You can’t make me feel guilty for having an opportunity at life.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Mimi says in a steely whisper.

“And what helps you sleep at night, huh? You think you live some perfect life? That your actions don’t affect anyone?”

Mimi straightens her back so that she is eye-to-eye with Jo. “I don’t sleep at night, actually. I’m kept up thinking about how people like you are turning your back on Earth.”

“It’s uninhabit—”

Mimi holds her hand up. “Don’t say that word,” she hisses. “That’s all I ever hear anymore. From politicians, from scientists, from everyone who’s turning their backs on us. That word means it is impossible to live here. I’m living here just fine.”

Jo wields Marcus’s logic like a shield. “You can’t see where you’re going if you’re always looking behind you.”

Mimi’s mouth flies open, but she pauses. Her eyes scan the streaming crowd of protesters marching past. Finally, she says, in a voice so calm it sends shivers down Jo’s back, “People who don’t look at the past do so because they don’t want to take accountability for their actions. They don’t want to admit that they’ve hurt the planet.” Her eyes meet Jo’s once more. “Or that they’ve hurt people.”

In a quiet voice, Jo says, “I don’t mean to upset you, Mimi, I don’t. It’s just… I’m thinking about the future. I’m doing this to ensure that there even is a next generation of humans. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Ah, yes,” Mimi says, a laugh like a bark coming from behind her mask. “Humans. We make everything better.”

Before Jo can even think of a response, Mimi scoops up her backpack and storms away. Jo calls after Mimi, but she merely raises her hands, middle fingers held high, mirroring the sign that sticks out from her backpack.

_____________________

The walk to the rocket is a slow one. Jo could’ve easily taken the train, arriving in only four stops. But this is the last walk she will ever take on Earth.

She keeps a small image of Earth in her pocket, painted on the back of a birthday card Marcus had given to her a few years back. It weighs practically nothing, yet she’s so conscious of its presence. It’s one of the numerous portraits she has painted since Dr. Wright’s call. The others, too heavy or large or clunky to fit inside her suitcase, had to be left behind. Delicately, Jo lined them outside the apartment building before leaving. She hopes they find the perfect home. She hopes the same for herself.

Her legs feel heavy. As if they know their hours with gravity are limited, so they want to soak it all up while they can. She breathes deeply through her nose, exhaling through her mouth. I’ll miss this, she thinks. I’ll miss the air.

The interaction with Mimi keeps seeping into Jo’s mind, but she cuts it off, pushes it away. The past is the past, keep looking forward.

The grass appears less brown to her, somehow. Almost vibrant. As she strolls along, she stumbles across a small yellow dandelion cluster pokes up from the ground. Their bright yellow heads bob in the breeze, light and ethereal.“Are you lost, little guy?” she whispers to one in particular, as if speaking too loud might make it realize it’s growing on a dying planet. She plucks the dandelion and, with no hair to stick it in, delicately places it behind her ear. She needs a friend.

When Jo arrives at the top of the hill, the rockets become visible. Ginormous beasts, they are. She remembers clutching the fence, frantically waving to Marcus’s rocket as it took off. She didn’t stop waving until the rocket disappeared into the stratosphere. She didn’t go home until the smoke completely evaporated from the sky. That memory was three years old. She thinks of Marcus then, cropped hair, eager eyed. Marcus now, bearded and pixelated.

A robotic voice booms. Ten minutes until the gate closes. Protesters crowd outside the fence, shouting at the top of their lungs. The forgotten ones. Those told they weren’t young enough, smart enough, healthy enough, wealthy enough. Jo leans forward to get a good look at them, wondering if she can find Mimi. It is no use; there are too many. An image of 18-year-old Jo and Mimi materializes in her mind, as real as the rockets before her. Bursting with life, with purpose. What would 18-year-old Jo think of her now?

With a loud gust, the rocket fuel crowds the protesters’ faces, and her heartbeat quickens. She can still remember the taste as an onlooker. Bitter gas. A thick layer coating your lungs. A cough that couldn’t stop.

Five minutes until the gate closes. A rare gray cloud approaches overhead. She squints up at the sky. Could it actually be…? She laughs in disbelief. Surely this is a good omen. Something good brings something better. Rain is Earth’s parting gift, waving her off to her new life. A life without rain. She sits down, her eyes glued to the cloud. She lies onto the grass, placing an arm behind her head.

Last call for boarding.

She finds she can’t move her legs. Or doesn’t want to. The warm wind tickles her nose.

Propping herself up onto her forearms, she watches the engineers and scientists stationed at the gate entrances. A line of soldiers separates them from the protesters. Everyone looks like little dots. Ants on an ant hill.

They are letting the last of the travelers on. 

The grass. Has it ever been this soft? It feels like silk, threading between Jo’s fingers, holding her hand.

The gate is closing.

The gray cloud opens and warm droplets fall. First, on her thigh. Then her scalp, a light tingle as it trickles down the back of her neck. Her cheek, a kiss.

She closes her eyes and relaxes her neck, opening her face to the sky. The drizzle of rain droplets dance along her tongue. She has never tasted anything so sweet.