Astronaut.

There was a brilliance that was slowly becoming greater in the minds of the people. It was a wild theory, something recently proposed and not very popular. Most people disbelieved it. It was blasphemous! It was the idea that the universe had been created in a bright flash of exploding hot gases. There wasn’t a name for it yet, but it was described as a silent camera flash that blinded you instantly.

Jupiter’s shining eyes were more intense than the prospect of this. He could see the anger there. It glowed with the light of a thousand stars. Her pale, cold lips parted and uttered the words: “You left her to die.”

Noah’s brow creased deeper. Fear sat like a frozen sun in his stomach. Fear for Jupiter and the way she looked. Her eyes barely hid a deep and angry sorrow. She said she was okay, even though every action she took proved that she held a grudge against him. He didn’t understand why. Lora Joan had been a sick child living with a needy sister. No one expected her to live half of the life she had. She made an impact on the world she lived in. Wasn’t that enough? He felt fear for himself. Would she ever forgive him? Could she ever take him back? Could he go on if she didn’t? He feared being alone. He was terrified of losing Jupiter, his world, the gravity to his steps, the breath in his body. He was afraid that she wouldn’t give him the opportunity to cure this wound. He was scared that there was no way to revoke the greatest mistake in his life.

Beside this fear lay a deep and aching homesickness. He had been away from his homeland – where he was born and raised, where he went to school, where he fell in love – for four years. He had decided at a certain point that it was time to come home and face his fears. He had planned everything perfectly. He would arrive on this day, do these things for her… It was perfect. He had dreamed about how it would be.



He comes to the porch, suitcase in hand, sand shimmering from his hair, dirt still under his nails, the smell of the sun fresh on his skin. He touches the door that used to be so familiar. Time has passed; he knows this well. The ivy that sprouted elegantly from the outer wall has stretched toward him, dripping eager green fingers to welcome him.

It is good to be home.

He opens the door. It creaks gently, like a small voice calling to the house, “I’m home now, I’m home.” The silence is disturbed only by the distant sound of the radio she always used to leave on. He knows that she does everything with that radio turned on. He can almost see her, his radiant Jupiter. She wipes down the dishes, she creases clothes, she dances to herself, she makes love… He can smell her in the air. How sweet the scent. He had dreamed about it and never quite gotten it right. Here it was again.

She is in their bedroom. She is reading a book. He cannot see the cover; he has never had the best vision. He doesn’t even bother to squint. He knows that she is reading a book he has left behind for her. While he stands in the doorway, taking in the image he has created in his mind for months, she continues to not notice him. He sets down his suitcase. She does not see. He clears his throat. Now, she lifts her head. Her hair floats in clouds of brown sugar past her face. Her eyes turn on like lights, like she hasn’t looked on a single thing she enjoyed this much in years. There is a glow that instantly appears in her skin. She is light on her feet as she comes to him.

She is in his arms, holding him, crying soft tears, kissing everywhere she can, asking how he is, why is he back, did he miss her, what was it like, where did he go, what are all these tattoos for?

And he smiles. “Let me tell you.”



But that is not how it was. He wasn’t welcome in his own home. The woman he loved practically hated him, blaming him for her sister’s death.

Jupiter said in a high, cracking voice, “She was okay until you were gone.” Horror shone in her eyes as she remembered all the things that she had wanted to say to him. Her delicate chin trembled like an autumn leaf unwilling to fall. “She believed that you could save her. You promised she would be okay.”

Noah shook his head slowly, not seeing her logic in this. He knew that she was highly stressed about Lora Joan’s death. He just didn’t know how it came down to him to take the blame. “Jupiter, I… I’m sorry, but she’s gone. There’s nothing that can be done.”

Her mental dam exploded into words that drowned him. “What you did to me was okay. I’m still here to forgive you. I can be fixed. I understand what’s going on; I can take care of myself. But Lora Joan is dead and it’s not okay because she can’t forgive you!” Her hands were clenched into fists. Water dripped coldly from her long hair and splashed on the ground before her bare feet. The moon shone down on her face and he saw the contortion. “You promised!

“You lied to her!

“You broke her heart!

“The day you left, she couldn’t even say my name, she was so weak!

“I had to watch for a fucking year as my entire world disintegrated around me. I couldn’t save her!

“Why did she have to trust you? Why did she let you affect her that way? Why couldn’t she trust me? How come she chose to die the same day I realized I hated you?

“How could you let this happen to my angel?”

She sobbed raggedly, then fell to her knees. Noah rushed up to help her, but she pushed him and moved away. He was relentless, determined to console her. She moaned and held her arms to him, trembling with the effort of keeping him at bay. “No…” she whimpered, shaking her head weakly and spilling shining tears. He finally locked his arms around her and pushed her face into his neck. His fingers pushed into her hair, gently stroking and comforting her.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” he murmured, pulling his fingers softly through her hair again and again. He rested his cheek on her head as she relaxed. He smiled faintly at memories of this being the only way he could calm her down. She seemed to turn to putty in his arms when he touched her hair. “It’s all okay, Jupiter. I’m here now. Lora Joan loved you. She was sick. She kept getting sicker, but honey, she would have passed away whether or not I had stayed.”

Jupiter made a pitiful sound of disbelief. “No, it’s your fault.”

“No, it’s not,” he said reassuringly, hugging her tightly against him. The ground was cold beneath them, but he didn’t care. “She was sick practically from birth. Doctors thought she wouldn’t make it to four years old. It’s a miracle that she lived for as long as she did.”

“She is a miracle! She’s the perfect child. She doesn’t deserve this.” She pressed her face softly to his chest, unable to resist the comforting warmth. “She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

Noah nodded and ran his hand down her back. “You’re right. You are absolutely right. She was better than the cards fate dealt her.” He remembered times when he had been afraid to talk to Jupiter, because she would get upset over something he had no control over. He would go and talk to Lora Joan, and she would help him build up the courage to talk to her. It was enchanting, her wisdom. “She was perfect,” he whispered.

There was a soft sniffle. “She was, wasn’t she?” He felt her mood lighten immediately. “She was so beautiful. She gave the best little hugs.”

Noah smiled and held her closer. “Yes. She hugged my leg once and I almost fell over.”

She giggled and looked up at him with wide eyes. “She loved you.”

After looking down at her for a moment, he lifted a hand and touched her nose. “She loved you, too.”

Jupiter flushed happily and bit her lip. “You know, she said something to me that day.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows with interest. She saw this as a special secret, he knew. “What did she say to you?”

Her warm hand cupped around his ear as she leaned closer.



The sun was sick, too. It was like a ballerina that had danced just a little too much. It felt tired. The green curtains that Jupiter had put up over the window shed a strange hue on the room. The bed was occupied by a single, tiny form. She had been there for five weeks.

Jupiter sat next to her, weight barely creasing the sheets, and leaned to feel her forehead. She had not gotten better at all. They were lucky if she got a day of healthiness a week.

“How you feeling, honey?” she asked, tucking a sweaty curl behind the little girl’s ear.

She lifted heavy, dark lids and didn’t smile. She hadn’t spoken in a couple days, which worried Jupiter.

“Can you say something for me? Does it hurt?”

Lora Joan seemed to consider this. She had started growing a few months ago and hadn’t stopped yet. Her legs and arms constantly ached. She gave a feeble nod.

“That’s okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to say anything.” She went about checking all the bruises that had started to appear on her arms. She pressed tenderly with her fingers, ceasing immediately when the girl grimaced with her painted mouth. “This looks alright,” she commented, setting the small arm back at her side. “I bet you’ll get better very quickly.” She tested the strength of a smile that lacked conviction. It didn’t fit.

Lora Joan’s lips turned into the first genuine smile that had been seen in this house for months. “I’m not afraid to die,” she said in a quiet voice. Her throat constricted as she swallowed thickly. “People have died before. I think about the times I laughed lots. That makes it better…” After she let out a soft sigh, she rested her head and eyes.



“It’s okay that she died.” She looked earnestly up at him. “It is.”

“I know, I agree,” he said with a nod.

He saw that she had finally come to understand: it wasn’t about how she died; it was about how she had lived. Perfectly.