Chapter 2—Error 404: Reality Not Found

At some point in your life, you have heard the saying: Life is full of surprises. You could meet the love of your life tomorrow, but you could also wake up bald.

Or in my case, a 2003 Volvo S60 could knock you into the Star Wars universe and you could be left severely worried for your mental state.

My first thought when I don't end up body slamming the grass or the pavement or a nearby tree and dying but instead land with a fwumpth on warm soft sand is 'Oh my god, I got knocked out of reality!' which, as far as I can tell, was a pretty on-the-nose first analysis.

I don't know why, it just seemed like the idea that I got knocked out of this world, or into a hyper-realistic coma was a far more likely idea than that I was dead and this was heaven, or hell, for that matter. I actually haven't fully ruled out this being a coma, actually. It seems far more likely, and I've heard all kinds of weird stuff about people that fall into coma's and wake up being able to speak another language fluently—so, why couldn't my brain make up a very realistic Star Wars themed world? (For whatever reason, it's Star Wars themed and I blame James for this).

I lay there in the sand, trying to find it in me to move because even if I did travel to another world, or enter a coma, I could still feel the bone-shattering pain of being hit by a car. It's not as bad as it should be, though, if it was as bad as it should be, I would be dead.

As the pain subsides I finally manage to sit up and take a look around. It looks to be some kind of deserted junk yard judging by the state of the spaceship nearby and all the shrapnel surrounding me.

Bzzz.

– What was that? I whip my head around to identify the noise and I spot my iPhone in its rose gold Caseology phone case a few feet away from me. It must have flown out of my hands when I got hit. On aching limbs, I scramble over to it and pick it up and—wow, not a scratch. I turn it over in my hands and the corners are a little banged up but they were like that before because of my butterfingers always dropping the delicate piece of technology down the stairs.

The screen isn't even scratch. Dang! When I get back I'm leaving Caseology a glowing review on Amazon.

I check the rest of the pockets on my parka to see if everything else I had on my made it through okay. In my inside pocket I am pleasantly surprised to find three blue Jolly Ranchers and proceed to pop one in my mouth. In my other pocket I find my trusty MAC lipstick in the color Ruby Woo.

Okay quick sidebar. If you've never seen Holes starring Shia LeBouff, first of all, I highly recommend it, and second of all, there is a woman in the film that goes around murdering all the guys who wronged her lover and with each one she leaves a kiss on their cheek.

Or at least, that's what I remember the plot to be. I'll be honest, I haven't seen the movie in a few years but I remember that part where she marked all her victims with a trademark kiss. It was so iconic I started wearing lipstick so that I could be more like her.

I quickly swipe the lipstick on before checking the rest of my pockets only to find no more bounty.

After my inspection, I quickly press the home button and my wallpaper becomes visible. It's a picture of me and James down at Santa Monica pier taken last summer with the Ferris wheel and rollercoaster visible in the background. James is wearing a black v-neck and black skinny jeans (the little emo nerd), his blue hair tousled and messy from the wind rolling off the ocean. He's wearing black aviator sunglasses and smiling wolfishly into the camera as he holds me on his back, a perfect red lipstick mark was visible from where I had kissed him on the cheek. My red hair is tied back into two French braids and I'm wearing mom jeans and a mustard colored tank-top. I've got my arms and legs wrapped around James and this big shit-eating grin on. I had made sure to get up extra early that day and do my makeup because I knew we'd end up taking pictures and I didn't want to end up looking like a drowned rat and it had worked. I look like I'm so happy that I'm practically glowing, that was just the bronzer and highlighter, though.

The clock read 5:40pm with the date stamped below saying it was February 14, 2018. Up in the corner it said NO SIGNAL, not surprising. Battery at 58% and one new text message from an Unknown Number. Where there would usually be like—a normal number, there was instead a string of digits in a language I had never seen before. Blocky and squiggly like some weird made-up alien language that you see on Doctor Who or something. I unlocked my phone and opened up the new text message, hoping that I wasn't about to accidentally download a virus onto my phone.

It read: "Find Han Solo at the bazaar and make him hire you," and what looked like a link to Maps with coordinates.

What the hell? I tapped on the link and my Maps opened up showing a red pin that must be where I am supposed to go, not too far away from the little blue dot that was supposed to represent me. The actual map though is all kinds of wack, and where it would usually so an aerial or traffic view of the terrain around you, right now it was just showing a blocky green grid like something out of the 80's.

I type back: "Who is this? What's going on? Where am I? Is this some sort of new VR thing? Am I dead? How did I get here? Hello?"

No response.

I should have expected as much, why should it be that easy? Frowning, I look around the junk yard as if a plan- or better yet, a coherent explanation- would just pop up from behind one of the hunks of metal. No such thing happened, which was also not in the least surprising.

Now what?

With great effort, I pushed myself off of the ground and started following the little blue path Maps had drawn for me, my feet squelching in my wet shoes.

-Why not? It's not like I had a better plan.

The little open-air market area was teeming with all sorts of life and it was then that I began to wonder if maybe it really was all real, because there's no way my imagination could be this creative. There were blue aliens and green aliens with bug heads, tentacle covered things and bright orange giants with horns. To my left was a gaggle of aliens that looked like E.T., and beyond them a booth of creepy looking slender-man aliens with glowing red eyes and soft, hissing voices.

So, now to find Han Solo.

Where to start? If I'm following dream-logic and this is a coma, then the first place I look should be where he is.

I begin walking in a random direction. This whole ordeal made about as much sense as a real unicorn showing up in your backyard and telling you the exact time and date of when you would die and then farting out four years of college tuition. So, to my most likely concussed brain the idea of just ambling around with the hopes of running into Han Solo seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan.

I turn to the nearest alien, some Bigfoot type looking creature, and tap him on his arm since his shoulder was too high up for me to reach. "Excuse me sir," I begin "I'm looking for a Han Solo. Do you know anyone by that name?" Bigfoot turns to me and roars. "Uh-huh, so was that a yes or a no?" He roared again and then turned and started to walk off, parting the crowd with ease. I hesitate, unsure if I should follow or not before sprinting off to catch up with Bigfoot. When he turns down an alley I pause again before following.

There's a man leaning against a stack of crates, he has tousled brown hair and is wearing a black vest that's giving me rebel space-cowboy vibes. When he spots us he jumps to his feet, pointing what looks like a pistol in my face. I raise my eyebrows, throwing up my hands in.

Now, of course I know what Han Solo looks like. I know what Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill, and Carrie Fisher all looked like in the trilogy thanks to seeing their faces on merchandise and internet memes all my life. But the man standing in front of me wasn't Harrison Ford dressed as Han Solo, it was Han Solo. As if someone had found a Harrison Ford doubleganger; very similar—almost identical, but distinctly different. Like Harrison Ford's Han Solo had been inspired by the man in front of me.

This Han Solo looked gritty. His tanned skin was sweaty and covered in a thin layer of grime and mottled with scars. He had dark eyes, strong nose and a sharp jaw covered in a few days worth of stubble. He didn't look ruggedly handsome the way Han Solo in the movies had been portrayed to be, he was just rugged. There was a glint in his narrow eyes that said that he got what he wanted—one way or another.

"Chewie, what's the meaning of this?" Space-cowboy asks, looking between me and Bigfoot. Bigfoot roars in response. "I don't care how nicely she asked, we are kind of in the middle of something right now, aren't we?" Bigfoot roared again and then Space-cowboy turned to me. "Why are you looking for Han Solo? Who sent you?"

"I don't know who sent me," I said truthfully, "but I'm to be Han Solo's—" crap didn't think this far, um, ummm…"—bodyguard." He sent me a disbelieving look, his eyes raking me up and down, taking in my giant raggedy parka, to my black leggings and rain-soaked flats.

"Yeah right," he scoffed, "no offense, but I don't have time to deal with delusional little girls right now." Whirling around, he resumes scanning the street before quickly exiting the alley. Bigfoot and I follow.

"So you are Han Solo," I confirm. Han Solo swore under his breath, glaring at me from over his shoulder. He weaves expertly between different groups of aliens, taking long, purposeful strides that force me to break into a jog to keep up.

"Yeah, I'm Han Solo. Nice to meet you. Now scram before I call your parents, you got that kid?" I nod and then stop. Unzipping my parka, I turn to Bigfoot.

"Would you mind holding this for me for just a second?" Bigfoot roars politely and takes it. I stretch, warming up muscles while Han Solo is frozen, watching me with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

"Test me." I say. Han blanches.

"Excuse me?" He demands, "this isn't some little game, girlie. I'm not here to test you, you got that? I've got bigger fish to fry—like the flippin' bounty hunter tailing me right now!"

"Okay," I say easily, cracking my knuckles. "I'll take him out for you, how about that? That can be my test." At this, Han throws his head back and laughs.

"You!?" He points and laughs, shaking his head as he wraps and arm around my shoulders. I bite my lip, trying not to let my growing aggravation show. "You see that guy in the green armor?" He yanks me behind a stand, pointing to a figure dressed in battered green armor with what looks like a rifle mixed with a rocket launcher strapped to their back. "That's Boba Fett, the most infamous bounty hunter in the galaxy. You wouldn't last three seconds." Han sneers, "but if you really want to take a crack at him, be my guest. Just don't come crying to me when he cuts off your arms and sells you to Jabba the Hutt as a slave." My mouth quirks to the side but I don't say anything. "Let's go, Chewie—wait hey! Hey, kid! Hey-! Aw man."

The street is crowded and I am able to walk right up to Boba Fett who is leaning against one of the stands, scanning the crowd through a tinted helmet and so therefore doesn't notice me until I've already kneed him in the groin.

A quick note: When it comes to close quarters combat, the number one mistake most people make is going for the full extension. It takes more time and is ultimately less effective. It's better attack with knees and elbows. The most vulnerable to hit are nose, throat, groin, shin and then the back of the knee. Ribs are good too, but the torso will most likely be well protected if you're fighting someone with armor whereas the throat, and joints will be easy targets.

The moments I kick him, Boba Fett draws his pistol and I hear gasps and screams from the surrounding attendees of the market who have just suddenly found themselves in the midst of a brawl. He fires and a red laser comes shooting out which I have to duck to the side to avoid. I reach for the gun, grabbing his hand and yanking him forward as I drive my elbow into his throat. Boba Fett makes a coughing, choking noise and stumbles back. He drops his pistol and reaching for his rifle. I jump at him, wrapping my legs around his middle I send us both tumbling to the dusty ground, the rifle skittering across the ground.

I lunge for the rifle, throwing myself across the market floor and scramble back up once my fingers wrap around the barrel. I whirl around, pointing it at Boba Fett with the space-pistol from his spot on the ground. We're frozen in a stand-off, him with the pistol and me with this intense looking rocket launching rifle.

It's obvious whose weapon will do more damage.

"Lower your weapon," I say, trying to impersonate the quality my dad's voice would take on when he was in Policeman Mode. Slowly, Boba Fett lowered his pistol and places it on the ground by his feet. "Now kick it over to me." He did. Without taking my eyes off him, I felt for the gun with my foot and then quickly picked it up and shove it into my hoodie pouch.

"Scram," I order, "and tell whoever sent you to leave Han Solo alone or they'll have me to answer to." Boba Fett stands up and I tense. Pressing a button on his arm, he activates—oh my god he has a jetpack? That's so cool!

He flies off. A cloud of sand follows him making me cough and my eyes water.

That was the galaxy's most feared bounty hunter? That fight didn't even last three minutes.

As soon as the action ends, everyone immediately resumes what they had been previously doing. I walk back over to Han and drop the weapons at his feet, looking at him expectantly.

"So did I pass?" Han's mouth is wide open, looking flabbergasted. He looks to me, and then to where Boba Fett disappeared. Then to me again.

"Wha—how did you—you just—oh my god…" He looks a little pale and I'm not sure why. It wasn't a particularly big deal, was it? Han's wide, brown eyes find mine. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"I'm Jade? I'm not from around here, to put it lightly—was that really the galaxy's most infamous bounty hunter?" He nods. I quirk my mouth to the side. "Well, he wasn't a very impressive fighter." Han fixes me with a funny look and then laughs again.

"Kid, you're something else, I'll tell ya," and he slings an arm around my shoulders, "you're absolutely crazy, but I like you. Consider yourself hired." He shakes his head, chuckling to himself as if he couldn't believe the preposterous situation he's suddenly found himself in.

I force a smile and follow Han.

"Aren't you hot in that?" Underneath my parka, I'm wearing a grey sweatshirt and I suddenly realize how out of place I must look in this desert climate area.

"I honestly hadn't noticed." Han sent me a look that clearly said that I was a freak and he was worried. He places his hands on his hips as if he's thinking something over before finally nodding.

"I'll tell you what, let me buy you some clothes—as a sign of thanks. You took care of Boba Fett for me and I'm indebted to you and Han Solo always pays off his debts." Something about that statement makes me think it's not very accurate but I allow him to buy me a change of clothes seeing as all I have right now are the clothes on my back.

The clothes Han gets me are practical, if a little skimpy. From one of the stands, he got me a pair of green cargo pants and brown boots. The pants were made of a material I couldn't identify but it was light and sturdy, a breathable material that would keep me cool in hot climates, dry in wet, and warm in the cold. It felt like good all-weather, Washington clothing. The boots were second-hand and a little battered, but comfortable, like well-worn leather. Lastly, he got me a tight black top and a gun holster. The shirt was of a similar material to the pants, sleek and water-proof, snug and stretchy. It reminded me a lot of Underarmor, actually, taking me back to when Dad took us all to the Army Surplus Store to get our backpacking gear for our upcoming family trip where we were going to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. However, the shirt is just a little too short and rides up to expose my bellybutton.

"It's a shirt for little boys, but it's the only thing they had," Han says by way of explanation and shrugs one shoulder.

I strapped the holster around my hips, and I know that it wasn't intentional but Han had just dressed me like Kim Possible.

"Here, take the blaster." Han tosses me Boba Fett's space-pistol.

I don't really like the idea of being armed but I holster it anyways. I can feel it hanging oviously on my thigh, a cold and deadly weight. (That's going to take some getting used to...). He's eyeing his handy-work appreciatively and I give him a twirl as he nods approvingly. "Much better."

I couldn't help myself. "So, what's the sitch?"

"The sitch?" Han makes a face that clearly says, 'kids these days and their lingo,' "I've got a business venture on Kafrene, you ever been?"

"I've never been anywhere," I say truthfully.

"I don't know what you mean by that but I'm going to leave it for now. C'mon." He gestures for me to follow out of the little make-shift dressing room inside one of the clothing stands and I do. In the streets my eyes pick up all kinds of accents I've never heard before, the scent of unearthly spices fill the air. Adjacent to us sits a woman selling street food that looks like octopus tentacles on a stick, except they're bright purple and giving off a fruity scent. Bigfoot is standing outside waiting for us, still politely holding my parka.

"Thanks," I say as I take it from him and wrap my old clothes inside the large jacket, tying the sleeves around it to keep everything in place before tucking the wad underneath my arm.

"My ships this way," Han jerks his head in the direction of a giant, domed, grey building and we take off.

"Now don't go judging it based on the way she looks just yet," Han warns as we approach, "my girl can hold her own in a dogfight and Chewie and I have made plenty of modifications to her over the years."

The Millennium Falcon is far bigger than I expected. It's about the size of my two-story suburban house back home, including our modest North Seattle-sized back yard and drive way. The ship was probably once shiny and white, but its greyed with use. The thing sits dusty and battered, covered in nicks and scratches and scorch marks. The air in the bay smells like gasoline and burnt rubber, oil, and space dust.

I am stopped in my tracks, awed.

The ramp to the Millennium Falcon lowers with an audible groan and I feel a small thrill of excitement zip through me. I can't keep the grin that is pulling at the corners of my lips as I approach, my boots hitting the paved ground with anticipation and trepidation in each step. Han catches my excitement and smiles back at me as I near.

"Here, now that I'm no longer in a hurry thanks to my body guard," he chuckles to himself again at this, "let me give you an official tour." He guides me inside, sweeping his arms out in a grand gesture to the dingy grey metal walls and grated flooring before leading me into a faded white paneled hall. "Here we have the boarding ramp, just inside are my smuggling compartments—you're gonna get real familiar with those. Through that corridor is the cockpit." Han explained, taking off down the hall in the other direction. He waved his hand at a large domed door with the words ENGINEERING BAY printed in large black letters on it. "In here is the Engineering Bay—you've got your freight elevator, escape pods, hyperdrive, and sublight engines. Up ahead is the Crew Quarters—where you'll be sleeping, you can take the third bunk, and refresher." The Crew Quarters were cramped and basic, holding three sets of bunk beds with two that already seem to be in use. There's a sexy picture of an alien woman in a bikini tacked above one bed, and a calendar tacked next to the door, but besides that the walls are bare. The floor, however, is strewn with dirty clothes and a few engineering bits and bobs. The third bunk is piled high with junk and Han scratches the back of his neck, "yeah, you're gonna have to move some stuff first. Chewie and I have just been using it as extra storage for a while now."

"Beggars can't be choosers," I say compliantly, setting everything thing I own— my ball of clothes—on the bed before we continue on.

"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "Anyways, here we have the main hold," we enter a room that looks like a sitting room. It has a futuristic white, crescent shaped couch taking up one corner with a round table in front. In one corner it looks like there is a chess table set up and in the other it looks like there's a work bench but for the most part the room is left clear and spacious. Han spreads his arms out wide again and says, "welcome to your new home!"

The words hit me funny, like an invisible hand has just yanked at my guts and I force a smile. Bigfoot appears in the doorways, roaring.

"Right, formal introductions are in order," Han says, clapping his hands together. "I'm Han Solo, you already know, this here is my partner and Co-pilot, Chewbacca—but please just call him Chewie, it's the only thing I ever call him." Chewie roars in acknowledgement, offering me a paw which I take graciously.

"I'm Nancy Duke, but please never call me Nancy. Most just call me Jade." Han nods, appraising me again with his head cocked to the side and an easy grin.

"JD?" He tries. Only my dad calls my JD.

"I'll answer to that too," I finally say, giving a curt nod.

"Well, JD, you go ahead and make yourself at home. Chewie and I will take off and set a course for Kafrene." I nod, eager for a chance to sit down and collect my thoughts and we quickly disperse. I make my way back through the metallic corridor to the door marked CREW QUARTERS and enter. Now that I have time to rest, I can feel the cold, spindly fingers of anxiety creeping their way up my chest, slowly constricting my heart and needling their way into my lungs.

Am I dead? Is this real? What's happened to my family? Dad? Nathan? James? Is everyone alright? How will I get home? Will I ever get home?

My hands are shaking and I quickly set about clearing off my bed. I pull my sweatshirt out of my bundle of clothes and press my face into it. It smells like citronella candles and polished hardwood floors and Irish Spring deodorant. It smells like home. And in this dark little corner of my bed in the Crew Quarters, I cry myself to sleep.

James and I are sitting enjoying each other's company in the Mos Eisley cantina from the opening of the first Star Wars movie. We're making dinner plans; I want sushi but he says Tatooine is a terrible place to get sushi because it's a desert planet- he wants to get Korean BBQ. We're so absorbed in our little conversation, we hardly notice when Boba Fett shows up. He has his blaster pointed at us and before I can even react he's pulled the trigger and I watch in slow motion as a red laser beam hits James square in the chest. My whole body goes cold as James slumps over, dead.

There is blood pooling everywhere- so much blood. Hot, sticky, oozing, black-red blood. It dribbles down the table from the gash in her neck, mingling with her wispy blonde hair. Someone is screaming, I can hear it ringing in my ears as I look over Amanda's body. So much blood. So much. It covers the walls and arcs across the ceiling and the little room smells overwhelmingly like pennies.

Fear constricts my heart and I'm only acutely aware of my own screaming, Hanna and I cling to each other, clutching at our own stab wounds. I look back over to Boba Fett whose taken off his helmet, revealing the gentle, elderly face of my seventh-grade geometry teacher Mr. Fisher.

"Nancy? What are you doing here?" His sounds surprised but keeps his voice gentle, as if trying not to frighten off a wild cat.

I am shaken awake, my eyes snapping open to see Han leaning over me with wide eyes.

"You were screaming bloody murder in your sleep!" He exclaims, "I thought I was going to come in here and find someone trying to murder you!" I blink back tears as I sit up. I think I've gone and peed myself just a little bit.

"Sorry," I sit up on shaking limbs, slowly pulling myself together but I can still see Amanda slumped over dead and Mr. Fisher dressed as Boba Fett. I wrap my arms around myself and I wonder if Han is going to try to comfort me or question me.

Han straightens up, pursing his lips as he eyes me. I don't meet his gaze and keep my eyes fixed on my boots.

"We'll be reaching Kafrene in about twenty," Han finally says after a while, "go get yourself ready and then meet me in the cockpit." I nod. I don't look up until he's left.

I clean myself up to the best of my abilities, using my sweatshirt to wipe the sweat from my face. I rake my fingers through my hair in a shoddy attempt to comb it before splitting it into two French braids.

I enter the cockpit and stop short, awed once again by the magnificence before me. Outside the glass shields, there is an array of colors, pale greens and reds and purples and blues all bleeding together and interspersed with bright streaks of light.

"Wow…" I breath, unable to tear my eyes away from the galaxy flying by at an unimaginable speed.

"Pretty impressive, right?" Han boasts, reclining in the captain's chair.

"Pretty impressive," I echo, a little smile pulling at my lips as the nightmare from earlier is quickly forgotten by the impressive depiction of space outside.

The Millennium Falcon is spit out inside a giant asteroid field. Before us, I can see two giant asteroids floating closely together, and I sit down in one of the open chairs as the two asteroids slowly rotate to reveal a city woven between the two giant space rocks. I could see tall spires jutting out of the city as it slowly floated through space. It reminded me of the sinews between joints in the human body, weaving together in an intricate pattern as ships of varying sizes fly in and out of the city.

"Well JD, allow me to welcome you to the Ring of Kafrene."

The Falcon is soon enveloped by the city and the stars and space dust outside the windows were replaced by bright neon lights and tall buildings littered with graffiti. I can see aliens hanging their clothes up to dry on clothing lines strung between the narrow buildings and the warm yellow lights of high rise apartment buildings. We land in the eastern city port, and I silently tag behind Han and Chewie as we enter the labyrinth that is Kafrene, more than a little overwhelmed by my new surroundings.

The unfiltered city air was thick with smog and the streets were lined with lamps and space heaters to lights the city goers' way and keep them warm as there was no sun nearby. Once we leave the warm safety of the Falcon, I wrap my arms around my exposed midriff as the permanent chill of the city attacks my exposed skin. There was no way to tell what time of day it was in Kafrene and the streets were packed with aliens and hover cars and street vendors. If you had told me that this place was on Earth, I might have mistaken in for Chinatown in New York City with its multitude of neon lights and signs written in languages I couldn't read.

"Stick close," Han ordered while placing a hand on my shoulder. I instinctively shake his hand off but don't move too far away as we progress into downtown. "This is the rendezvous point for the deal I'm in the middle of. As for right now, all we have to do is hang tight. You hungry?" I honestly hadn't noticed, but at Han's words I became painfully aware of how empty my stomach was and I think back to my last meal of scrambled eggs back home on Earth and who knows how long ago that was.

We find a cheap restaurant and quickly sit down. The small dining area is packed and we barely manage to snag a table, using Chewie to intimidate some teenage looking aliens into scramming so we could grab a cramped window table. The walls are a faded yellow and decorated with what I think is supposed to be artwork but it looks more like some four-year-old's rendition of a Jackson Polloc painting. The waiters are all running around yelling orders to each other, carrying themselves swiftly across the floor on their many tentacles.

"Welcome to Happy Yohgi, can I get you started on anything?" Our waiter was a blue tentacled creature that looked like the cross between the evil green aliens from The Simpsons and a Rastafarian with the tentacles on their head tied back in a low pony tail and one large yellow eye. Three menus are slapped down on the table before us and as I look at the menu I feel a jolt. It was covered in illegible blocky writing with squiggles and squares and little loops that I couldn't make heads or tails of.

"Three waters for now," Han says, and our waiter quickly disappears again into the crowded restaurant. I'm vaugly aware of Han watching me but I can't look away from the alien writing. "What—can't read Basic?"

"Guess not," I mumble. I don't know what to make of it— I can't read. Han narrows his eyes at me and I finally look up to meet his gaze. Han rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers, fixing me with an analytical gaze that I don't shy away from.

"Tell me about yourself." He says, but it sounds more that an order than a prompt for light conversation that is usually used to make newly acquainted strangers a little more familiar with each other.

I take a moment to answer. How much do I tell him? Do I tell him the truth? Is there even any point in lying? What's the worst that could happen, he thinks I'm crazy or lying? I purse my lips and cast my eyes around the busy restaurant. Nobody will pay attention to a quiet conversation in the corner, I doubt the table next to us would even be able to hear us talking even if we were to shout at the top of our lungs. I fix my gaze back on Han, a new 'to hell with it' resolve settling in my chest.

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, let's start out simple," Han begins, "where do you come from?"

"I'm from Seattle, Washington, the United States, North America, Earth, the Solar System, Milky Way Galaxy." Han's brow furrows in confusion as he leans back, letting out a low whistle.

"The Milky Way Galaxy, eh?" I can see him trying to process this information as he chews on his lower lip. "You mean to tell me you're from outside Tingel?"

"Is that the name of this galaxy?" Han barks out a laugh and nods.

"Yeah," he chuckles at the absurdity, "yeah, you're in Tingel Galaxy, surrounded by Tingel Arm and the dwarf galaxy Rishi Maze. The Milky Way, huh?" He says, muttering the last part more to himself. I nod.

"Milky Way is next door to the Andromeda Galaxy and one other but I can't remember the name right now—starts with an E." I can't help but be baffled by how well he's taking all of this and I'm somewhat soothed by his ability to take it all in strides.

"So how did you get here? I myself have never traveled outside Tingel, travel outside the galaxy is explorative still." I shrug.

"I honestly don't know," I scoot in, hoping that he won't freak out by what I'm about to say. "The last thing I remember is being on my home planet, Earth, and then waking up in some junkyard type place back on that last planet—uh, where did we just come from?"

"Jakku," Han supplies, I can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he processes what I'm saying. "Sounds like you woke up in the Graveyard, it's a place where lots of crashed ships rest from the Clone War days."

"Your waters," Han and I quickly pull away as our waiter sets three cups of glowing blue liquid down on our table. "Do you all know what you're getting yet?"

"Yeah I'll get a Nerfberger with the protato wedges." Chewie roars and the waiter jots both of their orders down before turning to me.

"And for you?"

"Uh…" I don't know how to say that I couldn't read the menu so I just stare at the waiter with my mouth hanging open like an idiot for a while. "I don't know—what would you recommend?" The waiter blinks.

"You like sweets?" I nod dumbly. The waiter jots something down on their pad, "I'll get ya the wasaka berry cobbler then, sound good?"

"Yeah, thank you." The waiter leaves again, but the awkwardness of that interaction I just stumbled my way through remains. I see Han regarding me with a look I'm getting pretty used to seeing on his face by now. Like I was a freak. "I can't read your written language, remember?"

"Right," he says slowly. "So, wait a minute. You mean to tell me you traveled billions upon billions of lightyears to get from your galaxy to Jakku and you don't know how? You just woke up in the Graveyard?" Incredulity laces through his tone.

"Listen, it makes about as much sense to me as it does to you." I retort. "I'm just telling you what happened because you asked, I don't claim that any of this makes sense to me either or that I even remotely know what's going on! Hell, I feel like I'm holding on to my sanity by a thread! Do you know what my last twenty-four hours have been like? Because it's been bonkers. I was just going along, living my life on Earth when I get hit by a flippin' car and wake up not knowing where I am and just getting cryptic messages from my phone to find you!" I pointedly leave out the fictional aspect of this universe. One giant truth bomb at a time.

Han straightens up at this, looking intrigued.

"What do you mean you got a message to come and find me?" There's a soft growl coming from Chewie and I quickly pull out my phone to show them the text.

"I got it the moment I landed here and I have no idea who sent it. And at the time I just thought 'Sure, why not follow the mysterious orders around? It's not like I've got anything better to do.'" Han takes the phone from my hands, looking at the text with furrowed brows.

"I can't read it," he says, "I know my fair share of languages but I don't recognize this one."

"It's English," I explain, "my language." Han shakes his head, rubbing one hand over his face.

"By the Force," he sighs. We fall into silence after that and eat in silence once our food arrives. I keep my head bowed as Han mulls everything over, wondering if he's going to drop me, considering me more trouble than I'm worth and stranding me here on Kafrene. Chewie roars gregariously to me and hands me a handful of his protato wedges. I'm not entirely sure what he said but it feels accepting and I give him a faint smile in return as I nibble hesitantly into a wedge.

"Thanks Chewie," I say.

We pay and exit the restaurant and Han has still yet to say anything. We are standing by one of the street heaters when he finally speaks.

"Well, whatever." He shrugs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "What does it matter to me where you come from?" And just like that, Han has shrugged off all my worries. I feel my insides bubble up with an intoxicating rush of hope. I hadn't realized just how much I was waiting to see how he would react so that I would know how to react. This situation is crazy, messed up, and dragging me by my teeth through one long endless nightmare but if Han can shrug it off then maybe I can convince myself that this will all turn out okay. Like maybe it's not the shit show I think it is. That somehow a tide this big and black isn't actually that big of a deal and it'll all work itself out somehow.

"Yeah?"

"Sure," he shrugs again and casts me a crooked smile. "C'mon now, let's go to the rendezvous point."