Part 1
The smell of crisp, fall New England morning was so vivid I would have sworn it was real. But it couldn’t be real here. Not on the space station. Was my imagination that good, or had Sam been messing with the oxygen level again?
Little to my surprise, I turn my head just a smidge and from my peripheral vision can make out a mischievous Sam tampering with the oxygen. No matter how many times I tell him, he’s still as obstinate as can be.
“Sam,” I call in a monotone voice.
He jumps back and gives loud gasp. He sighs once he realizes it’s just me. “Yeah, Chris?” he responds nonchalantly.
“Stop playing with the oxygen.” I don’t bother turn my gaze away from the whiteboard affixed in front of me.
Sam gives a small chuckle, and from my peripheral vision can make his hand out making its way to the back of his neck. “Yeah…I’ll stop.”
“Good.” I turn my attention back to the board in front of me. On it represents jobs that are to be performed between the three of us and when. I scan the chart to find who’d be executing what job.
“Harrison,” I exclaim. “You’re on garbage today.”
Only a playful groan can be heard in response. I turn my gaze for the first time to find Harrison staring right back at me, smiling. I gave a grin in return.
Harrison and I have a special bond that isn’t ever spoken of-it’s just there. We’re both dads to beautiful little girls. How we long to see them again. My Frannie, his Hilda and Charlotte. Sam doesn’t have any kids, but he does have a wife. A gorgeous one at that, according to him. Her name is Teressa. Seems nice enough.
Now, I bet you’re expecting some big mission we’ve been sent on, like we’re on a search for a crazy alien species. That’d be cool, but we’re just monitoring the Greenhouse Effect and air pressure in the atmosphere. It’s not great, but it’s honest work.
We have a select few jobs to perform every day-nothing huge. Afterwards we usually play a multitude of card games or read. We read a lot, actually. Even so, after playing the same games, reading the same books and executing the same jobs gets old after seven months. I miss Frannie.
Harrison stands up to take out the garbage. It’s a simple job, really, but we always make a fuss out of it. It’s some sort of inside joke and I’m unsure of its origin.
As Harrison leaves, Sam strides over to where I stand and assumes my position and stature. “What’re you doing?” he asks.
“I’m looking over our schedule.” I reply blatantly.
“Why? It’s only the same stuff every three days,”
“I don’t know,” I say, a look of longing sprawled on my face as I turn to face him. “I guess wishful thinking has led me to hope for something new.”
“That we’ll inevitably never get!” Sam exclaims as he pats me on the back and walks off. He said it more cheerfully than it should’ve been.
That remark upsets me. I’m already ambiguous about what the future would hold, and hearing how uneventful my life has been that plainly sends me into a spiraling mess of confusion. I’m not proud of how I spent my childhood-I wasted it. How, I’m not sure, but I didn’t do near as much as I’d hoped. Even still, the craving for adventure gnaws at my very soul.
I take a seat at our dining table and rest my head on my hand. I observe the nature of the room-the only normal looking room, as all the others are overflowed with machinery. Our kitchen setup is all shoved against the easternmost wall. Does that apply in space? The compass rose directions? Anyways, the walls are painted a soft, creamy white. The color of warm milk. Wouldn’t that be nice? That and cookies-my mouth waters phenomenally at the thought. The delicate batter pressing against your teeth, sinking right into your mouth. You can taste the sweet vanilla and the slightly bitter taste of the brown sugar. The consistency of the milk chocolate chips whose flavor envelopes your tongue jumbles my train of thought. A warm cookie is what I need. Freshly baked so you can still taste a bit of raw batter and the melted chocolate chips dissolve in your mouth after being in the scorching oven. I sigh as my fantasy ends. I eventually resume a normal seated position, as my weight began to afflict my elbow. Now what? I had finished all my tasks for the day, and couldn’t bear another day of reading. What else was there to do?
That was it! Something to do that wasn’t reading! I will bake cookies here in space. Is that even possible? I don’t even know how to make cookies, I realize. No matter, thought I, because since my mother passed I kept her pocket recipe book with me everywhere I travel. Perhaps I could find a cookie recipe. Amber was her name, and how I marvel at the thought of her mouth-watering chocolate chip cookies. It was because of her my favorite baked good is a chocolate chip cookie.
I reach into the deep pockets of my space pants-they reach down to my knees-and pull out my mother’s recipe book. I begin to skim through the pages. It doesn’t take me very long to find the recipe I seek; it’s toward the very beginning and she knew they were my favorite, so it didn’t come much as a surprise.
As much as I prefer working alone, I thought of Harrison and Sam. Sam will probably mess up, and we have limited resources, but I don’t have a problem working with Harrison. The confliction growing inside of me is eventually weighed out by basic human decency. I groan as I stride to find my crewmates. Harrison is taking out the trash, I knew that because of earlier, but where is Sam?
I turn a corner out of the kitchen and begin my search.
