One thing I like about Atlantis: No answering machine blinking a big fat red zero in my face when I get home from work. After all, on Earth, when that happened, ignoring it only took me so far. The TV took me a little further, and a bag of chips the rest of the way.
An effective scenario, day after day, especially since I spent most of my time on the job. It's extremely satisfying to be in charge, to be the leader. People come to me, ask me what to do. I enjoy the expression on their faces as they listen to my instructions, the little spark of recognition, often frustration, in their eyes as they take it all in. I know so much.
That's as it should be. I've dedicated my life to science, and I've earned it. There's no end in sight, to the amount of work that needs to be done, especially in Atlantis. Today has been an excruciatingly stressful day. I won't go into it now but I think Zelenka will be all right.
Sleepy. Per the usual, won't bother to change for bed. Nobody's going to walk in and care or complain about how I look. In fact, I'm not expecting anyone, and it looks like it'll be that way for a while. You'd think the isolation of another galaxy would send a woman into my arms for comfort like a knight in shining armor. This may be another point on the astronomical map, but it's still the real world.
Another memory wants to barge in, one from a few years back. They creep in before I fall asleep, except this time I must've been halfway between snooze and awake because it seemed as if I were watching it through a powerful telescope, trained on Earth, along twenty thousand miles of Pacific coastline, blue-green, rocky and terrifyingly vast, falling off the edge of the continent. I was on the shoreline, climbing long, long wooden and stone zigzaggy steps, rickety and bordered with rusty wire rails and hairpin turns. It was worth the effort to get down to the beach. Not that I'm a Speedo or surfer kind of guy, more a nap on a big towel on the sand with a book over my weary eyes kind, after a nice lunch.
I heard voices and saw Roger, a friend, well, more an acquaintance colleague. He'd brought his family along to the conference. His dog, too. Kids, the everything, the whole enchilada. Their beach day looked like Happyland. The day went on and on for them, and for me. The Labrador in the sandcoat, the kids hugging and tickling and laughing with their dad, chasing after him. They were polite, didn't bother me. I almost wish they had said hi. I pretended I was dozing, but I listened, peeking out. The chilly waves couldn't dampen their spirits.
Has that become my unavailable reality? Did I give it all up for this? For a cot and a lamp and a few clothes and a rapidly declining ration of coffee? For the chance to dodge deadly enemies, as if there weren't enough troubles on Earth, and carry guns and get myself almost killed on a regular basis? I'll bet the first North American pioneers asked themselves the same things. They probably screamed out over the Pacific cliffs, shaking their fists:
What the hell am I doing here?!
When you see a family like Roger's, getting along, you see where you aren't and might never be. Especially living away from everything I've known. No one seems interested in settling down. No one around for a little fun in the sun, a face you could love like your own, to come home to after a nasty day when you get tagged for a minor thing that went wrong because you got so little sleep the night before tending to a persistent cough that you weren't thinking straight and who said it's a small world? If it were small, I would've met the woman I'd marry by now. The sort of only one for me. As for previous possibilities, I can't say what's going on with her, the one I left behind. She's probably found someone else. Our timing was significantly impaired. I miss her.
I know. I got the chance of a lifetime, not Roger. He's at home worrying about college tuition for three kids over the next decade. It was tough to leave my cat behind. I think it hung around because it knew I needed it, least that's what I told myself and anyway, the neighbor always liked it, didn't she? I wonder how cat's doing. It used to fold its paws over its chest like a mummy. Exceptional creature.
Being part of history was more important, an offer I couldn't refuse because God, how can you refuse? Imagine saying no and looking back, seeing the person that took your place and thinking, "That could've been me". Unbearable. It's why Diana didn't turn down Charles. Besides, I'd done so much work on the gate, so much research by then, I was the Man, the best man for the job. It was inevitable.
There's always the chance of meeting someone I suppose, someone who appreciates my skills in those many challenging situations we always seem to run across. A technician, a military sort, a scientist or maintenance clerk. Doesn't matter. Love comes in various packages (Whoa, did I just think that? I must be suffering from seasickness). At least that's what they tell us, that there is a "right" one. More likely just a best one. There's a gate tech, Olivia, not blond, but she's pretty hot, very sharp. Hasn't happened for her and me. I don't scare women off, do I? I'm not a scarecrow. I mean, I do have a heart. Inside, I liked that cat a lot. Poor Fluffy. Or was it Poofy?
If I'm a scarecrow, then scarecrows have dreams, too. No matter if they have hay for innards and terminal calcium deficiency. Scarecrows need dreams, although I'd say they have a good excuse for not trying because how can you get to your dreams minus any liver or structural support?
I got the goods. I simply need more time than other people, that's all. I am after all the product of my upbringing, like they are. Trust is, well, trust takes time but once you've got mine, I never let go. I'm like a dog, loyal to the end, most of them. Maybe I should've gotten a dog instead. Even if they do run away and never come back and leave you wondering for the rest of your life what happened to them. Stupid dogs.
It'd take a real act of outright betrayal for me to turn away from a friend.
People think a man wants a combo maid and mistress so he marries but that's not me. I don't care if I live with the perpetual overflow of boxers in my hamper and have to eat spaghetti every night of the week. But to wish for a regular life in Atlantis, that's too illogical to waste time on. I have wiser things to do like getting shot at and watching football reruns with Sheppard.
Yes, I'm alone. Truly alone. No parents with issues or a too busy sister you're not that close to to call when you get a little nostalgic at Christmas, against your better judgment, because that's what families are supposed to do. There is some comfort in acknowledging that here I've experienced a new beginning with my teammates. In a way, they all remind me of my first family, in different, small ways, but important ones. It's surprisingly efficient: That the human heart can grow to size. There I go again.
Isn't it odd? The nice thing would be for me to start my own family and do it more effectively than my folks did, but starting a family out here may be a longer shot than it would be on Earth, and doing it better even harder. I suppose meeting someone is a bit of a collision process anyway, like Pair Production, turning out an electron and positron in tandem. It requires a heavy nucleus and I guess I've misplaced mine somewhere in this somewhat cluttered cubicle I call my quarters. It's like going back to your parent's place to not have a house of your own.
I guess nothing's perfect in the universe. I'm not sure I could handle a wedding anyway. I'd probably end up like those grooms in the funniest home videos. The ones that topple over at the altar in a dead faint. That's funny? No, no fainting for me. Oh well, tomorrow I'll ask Olivia to lunch. Again.
Someday though, I really would like to be called dad.