Home where is home I said, thought, wondered; felt anxious and began also to feel frightened as well. So I ran, started running, felt it shrinking ran faster trying to get there; but it shrank away and pop disappeared, and so that when I got there even though I was panting out of breath it didn’t matter, it was already gone.
I sat down.
Shit, I thought. What am I supposed to do now?
What am I sitting on, that was my next thought.
The grass, cross-legged?…a fallen log, or a stump?…a rocky outcrop?
Or maybe a chair, maybe, in a room. Or a seat, in a row facing a stage in a grandly elegant opera house. Or like on a spaceship, next to a porthole-ish type of window and I’m looking at stars, maybe nebulas or other such galactic-type things. It’s not a very comfortable seat, though, there’s a fat man snoring loudly in the seat next to me, even though we humans have spaceships now we still haven’t solved the problem of fat people in the adjacent seat snoring loudly, unfortunately.
I wonder where the spaceship is going.
I wish I had more money. There was a pretty girl in the first-class compartment who smiled at me when I walked by, if I had more money I could’ve bought a first-class ticket, then I’d be sitting next to her laughing, drinking space-cocktails and our knees would be touching, there would be potential, maybe we’d drink more space-cocktails and get horny and giggle and sneak into the bathroom and have really hot you-know-what in there, and then we’d land and I’d meet up with my friends and they’d say How was your flight, and I’d say It was really great I joined the Billion-Mile-High Club, and they’d all say Awesome!, and then we’d exchange high-fives to show that we all think it’s sweet getting laid especially in exotic locations.
Btw, did you get it, billion-mile-high club?, ‘cause normally it’s mile-high club for sex on airplanes but this story takes place in outer space, ha did you get it pretty clever right, haha.
Also that woman and I wouldn’t exchange phone numbers or anything because she would get that I’m a cool lone wolf type and can’t be tied down so she’d be cool about it. Or we would exchange phone numbers since it was really hot sex, and we’d hook up again semi-regularly but it would be a no-strings-attached kind of thing. And then one day she’d be turned on her side away from me in the bed and I’d say What is it, and after a moment without moving she’d say I have to tell you something, and after a moment I’d say What do you have to tell me, and then she’d roll over and look at me and after a moment in a quiet voice she’d say I’m pregnant, and I’d look back at her and after a moment I’d say Yeah that’s what I thought you were going to say. And then we would lie there, it’s morning and there’s pale cloudy morning light, and we just lie still there looking at each other and not saying anything for awhile.
Later on after she left I’d stand on the balcony and lean on the railing smoking a cigarette and think thoughts to myself.
I’d think how even though we humans have marvelous technology like conquering space travel and cities on other planets, we still haven’t conquered problems like shit, what do I do now I accidentally got a girl pregnant.
I’d think how money definitely doesn’t solve problems, I mean if I hadn’t been able to afford a ticket in first class I never would’ve met her, and my only problem would’ve been being uncomfortable in a cramped seat next to a snoring fat man, which is way less of a problem than getting a girl pregnant, obviously.
I’d take a drag of the cigarette and look out across the, y’know, really fancy super-techno landscape of this city on another planet with, like, green clouds and two silver moons probably, and I’d take a drag while I was leaning on the rail of my balcony looking at all that.
And I’d think: Shit, am I ready to be a father?
And I’d think: Do I love this woman?
And I’d think about things like how I’ll be like, Which shoes should I wear, and she’ll look and say The black ones, how she always solves little problems for me like that, and never says Figure it out yourself, or Jesus I’m not your mother. And about how patient she is in general, how I like to watch her do simple things like make coffee because her movements are deft, precise, she’s never in a hurry, how I like it because it makes me remember how much I like slowing down, how much I like to remember to slow down and stop and smell the roses, I mean stop and actually smell the actual roses because there is nothing like the smell of a rose and the beautiful delicate sort of fairy world it opens up inside your mind, and she helps me to remember that so it’s, like, a gift that she kind of gives me, like a gift on accident instead of purpose, which is sort of the best gift.
And then I’d look at my watch and realize I have to get ready and leave because it’s almost time for my meeting with Albataur to brainstorm ideas for the installation piece we’re doing for the Landing Festival, in regards to negotiating the ongoing tensions between humans and the Tethics, the native humanoid species on this planet, and I’ll like, sigh, and stub the cigarette out and go inside.
But when I’m changing I’ll stop, like freeze suddenly, and then sit down on the bed because I just remembered, just realized that I know when she got pregnant. That when we were having sex that time I like suddenly felt that it was different, like felt in my body suddenly; not with words but still with knowing that Something was suddenly very different and that the Something was that we were about to make a baby.
And I sit on the bed and wonder if she knew it too.
And I realize that yes she did but anyway that doesn’t matter.
And I remember saying Where is home, and anxious and then frightened and home was shrinking away but I ran, ran so fast towards it but it shrunk away and disappeared and when I got there even though I ran so fast and was out of breath and panting and sweating and my whole body was trembling it didn’t matter, it had already disappeared anyway and wasn’t there anymore.
And I sat down.
Like how I’m sitting, half-dressed, on the bed now.
And the, like, great beauty of the mystery of being alive sort of slowly overwhelms me, and like gently breathes into my spirit or maybe just is my spirit. And I lie back on the bed and I’m going to be late for the meeting with Albataur but it doesn’t matter.
I’m going to be a father. I lie without moving and look up at the ceiling for a long time.