By: Angel Perdomo
Junior and his father enjoying their typical banter during Liminal Night.
At the edge of the galaxy Milkdromeda,, Junior and his father were getting ready. Today was “Liminal Night”—the night their planet would be at the perfect angle to create a completely dark and starless sight of the firmament. The only phenomenon that made it possible to experience the margins of their galaxy. Junior was eager to get out of the house before sunset and look at the night sky.
“Did you grab the foldable chairs?” Junior asked his father. “I refuse to lay on the ground like last time.”
“You kids don’t know what’s good,” his father answered. “And yes, I bought a couple new ones.”
“What?” Junior asked. “What happened to the ones I got you?”
“Those biodegradable ones were no good,” his father replied. “I got some regular ones that should last more, and they are more comfortable”
“Why are you always like that? Junior said, somewhat irritated. “What was wrong with them? Don't you care about this planet?”
“Paper straws,” his father replied with a calm but dismissive tone. “Some things are just paper straws.”
“You know, I never understood that expression,” Junior responded, trying to not let the response get under his skin. “What does it even mean?”
“It’s a very old Earthling expression,” His father replied. “It refers to a poor solution to a problem that doesn’t even address the real issue. Paper straws were that. In the end a lot of other things were still made out of plastic, and it wasn’t like switching to them helped much. People just ended up with soggy straws.”
“And how were my chairs paper straws!? Junior said, irritated and unsatisfied with the explanation.
“Now we have places with the tech to break down most materials safely, and the culture to encourage the production of long-lasting products,” He replied matter-of-factly. “You don’t need an uncomfortable biodegradable chair”
“You know the history of those composting companies!” Junior said, raising his voice slightly. “We cannot trust them!”
“I know, but most things have horrible origins,” He said, trying to be diplomatic and to avoid an actual argument. “There's more than one way to look at things. It isn’t a matter of trust, right now they seem to be doing good.”
“Right, but…” Junior began.
“I got everything ready,” He interjected. “Grab one bag, I got the rest.”
“Okay,” Junior obliged. They would sometimes engage in debates just for the enjoyment of proving the other wrong. His father was not one to shut down opposing opinions or arguments. He also was not the type to entertain a “boring” conversation. This was his way of saying that he agrees to disagree. Junior also did not see any reason to keep pushing the topic further.
Junior and his father walked out the house, They changed topics, discussing politics, arguing about what was on the news that day. That reminded one of them about an article about extending life expectancy beyond 150 years old, which led to a joke about Junior getting an extended childhood until he was in his fifties. Chatting away, they approached a hill overlooking the ocean. Junior set the chairs while his father put up a small table for their drinks and snacks. The popular choice this side of the galaxy were Fabaryzas, a Cheeto-like food originally developed for long space voyages. These were initially made out of legumes and rice which made them a nutritious meal. (This was not the case for the modern commercially available versions which were just some crunchy enriched carbohydrate paste cover in savory powder). Fabaryzas came in classic flavors such as Mexican, Japanese, Iberian, American and more! (These terms really meant for the people at this point in time and space beyond it being an artificial exoctic-ish flavor profile). The choice of beverage was the classic carbonated drink of humanity, the Cola. Beer was on the list for “the drink of humanity” due to its history as part of human heritage, but after deciding alcohol could cause problems on ships and new colonies and that alcohol-free beer was trash they went with Cola.
And then they sat and looked at the sunset.
“Damn!” Junior exclaimed. “This chair is so comfortable!”
“I told you,” His father said with a smug smile.
They watched the sun go down as the darkness of the Liminal Night set in. There were no city lights to take away from how overwhelming the void of black infinite space was before them. There they sat in obsolete darkness.
“Why do you think there aren’t any other people here, Dad?” Junior asked. “This isn’t something you can see everyday.”
“Well, There might be several reasons for it, but I think it is because it makes people sad.”
“Why? Isn’t there some romance in imagining what could be there beyond the darkness?”
“That’s the thing—we know what is beyond the darkness, or at least we think we know. Our ancestors used to be able to see what was out there, but now they are so far away that their light doesn't reach us as they move even further away—other galaxies and billions of clusters never to be seen again. People used to celebrate this night. It was a symbol for human achievement, but now it’s seen as a reminder of our human limits.”
“I like imagining what else might be out there. Maybe there is a version of us out here also looking from the edge.”
“I think that it’s for the best…it was my generation that stopped coming out for this night. We felt like there was nothing left for us to discover and explore. We felt that adventure was taken from us. I’m glad it fuels your imagination.”
“You old people are so dumb, and dramatic,” Junior took on a sarcastic tone. “‘Oh my, there are not more planets to colonize and ecosystems to destroy.’”
“‘Oh my, let me get some dumb biodegradable chair that melted in the attic’,” his father retorted.
“Those are not the same thing.”
“They are the same thing. Same paper straws. In our case, we just stopped looking at the sky at night.”
“Do you feel like there’s no adventure left for you, Dad?”
“Raising a brat like you is enough adventuring for me.”
“I’m being serious, dad.”
“I am being serious. Look where we are, most can’t get these views… unless they close their eyes.”
“You're annoying.”
“I love you too.” His father replied with a cheeky grin that Junior couldn’t see but imagined was there. He was quiet for a minute and then said to his son: “I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.”
They sat there and enjoyed the quietness of the night.
“You know,” His father said, breaking the silence. “There will be one day when people forget that there are other galaxies beyond the void. Even now there are people that are skeptical of the records and think that there’s nothing else besides our cluster.”
“Maybe that’s what we need,” Junior said. “I think it would be a good thing”
“What do you mean?” His father replied, puzzled by the answer. “How would it be a good thing?”
“Maybe if someone is stubborn enough to prove them wrong,” Junior argued. “They might find a way to cross the void and get to the other clusters. I know I would find a way if you said there was nothing just to prove you wrong.”
“Hmm” his father exclaimed, pondering. He then said: “I think I see the vision, child. The world needs more of that level of pettiness. You are going places!”
“I know, I know,” Junior said in a haughty tone. “I’m what they call a visionary.”
They laughed in unison and moved on to other subjects.
Junior thought of all of the other times they had been there before, talking in the darkness of Liminal Night, and how crazy it was that they were moving away from everything else in the universe so fast that not even light could catch them. He felt sad when he thought of his light and the light of his cluster of galaxies never reaching whomever was across the void. Maybe that was the reason they stopped looking up during this night, he pondered. He felt his chest get tight. He felt small, and dumb, and unimportant. But as they looked at how it vanquished the night, mesmerized by the glow of the ocean against the clear skies, Junior thought about how much he wanted to be right there with his father for the next Liminal Night.
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