Or maybe I’m not going to Europa.
I go down to the river each morning to read. Something about the trees and water sounds relaxes me and I slip into the zone. My favorite thing in the world is that zone, the place where my body is inert and my eyes are scanning a page but I am not aware of it. Instead, all I see are pictures of whatever I’m reading.
I came home early yesterday because I finished my Book, one I’ve read a hundred times: The Martian. That guy Watney is the exact type of resourceful idiot-genius that I want to be.
Or wanted to be.
When I got home, there was a yellow paper tucked to our front door. Even from the street, I could read the bold, black word: evicted. My Mom had had trouble coming up with rent money, but I stopped asking for burger money and haven’t had a new pair of shoes since, well, some time ago. I removed the Sky-sized hole in her budget, so I assumed we’d be fine. Mom had never said a word.
I guess I should have been filling out a job application instead of one for Europa. Taking part in the Europa mission doesn’t pay at all.
I was still sitting on the porch, rubbing the letter between my fingers, when my Mom came home. She had out in her hands from my favorite burger place. I said what the hell, and she said what the hell right back. If we’re losing our place, I don’t need to save this money to pay rent, she said. So let’s eat.
I told Mom I’d look for a job, and she smiled. Honey…there aren’t many jobs to have, and none of them are hiring 17-year-olds.
Why not?
But she just kept smiling. We’ll figure something out.
But instead of figuring something out, I’m here banging away on a device I should probably sell. I might not get much for it, but it’d help a little. Mom’s never made me feel like a burden, but I have to be, right? I’m a parasite–taking but never giving.
No. That’s stupid. Get a grip, Sky. I’m a kid. She’s my parent. Parents take care of kids–while they’re still kids. I turn 18 in a few months. I was planning to leave anyway, if the program accepted me, and I can still leave. Just to the city instead of to a moon of Jupiter. They always need servers in the city, and I can balance glasses and bowls on a tray. I could save a little even if I were sending money back to Mom. And I could watch the vids of Io, live vicariously through those settlers.
Well, okay friends. That’s a plan. Sorry to get you invested, maybe, in a blog about a girl heading to Europa. Most of you are the ex’s friends, so I don’t feel that bad, I guess. We had a good run, etc. Three whole posts.
I’m going to go now. Maybe I’ll reread The Martian.
The lucky bastard.
Sky of Europa 