A Lovely Lardacious Lardass

It should have been harder to make someone with a doctorate in and extensive theoretical and practical experience with molecular biology feel like an idiot. And yet, somehow I managed it on a daily basis, even in the midst of condicting scientific breakthroughs. Now, kids of any species will make you feel like an idiot in ways you never even knew existed, but this time had nothing to do with them.

The Eridian engineers in charge of my biodome’s function had been trying to make it more complex- a closer approximation to Earth’s atmosphere- both for my own mental and physical health and for the purpose of scientific study. Explaining humidity to a species that is wary of oxygen in the atmosphere, much less free water particles, had taken a while. But that wasn’t the problem either. At least, not directly. Today, early in the morning, they had managed to make a thunderstorm.

It had happened on accident. They were getting pretty good at rain, mist, and even fog during the past few months, but something in the air exchange had caused the high and low pressure zones to clash and clamor as I was eating my breakfast. It was startling, to say the least. The engineers thought for a moment that they’d done something terribly wrong.

Needless to say that when I explained that it was a natural phenomenon on earth, they were about as pleased at peaches.

After getting back to the house, (quite soaked through, mind you,) I had had a… moment.

It was funny. The familiarity of the biodome as they worked their way toward a more naturalistic setting was comforting, in a way. They were doing it for me- and I appreciate it!! Very much so!!

But the ache of what I had lost, the cascading realization that the weight of experiences that I would only forget, it had hit me. Hard.

I wasn’t even fully inside when I realized I was crying, my glasses fogging up as my cheeks warmed with emotion. I was an ugly crier, always have been. But even though I couldnt be ugly to the Eridians, the shame of it only served to squeeze my insides harder.

I sat on the edge of the bed and wept, head in my hands as I wallowed. I felt truly quite miserable, the thought of never talking with old colleagues or seeing my students graduate again like a wellspring in my soul. And it wasn’t just that- it wasn’t just the big stuff. It was the little things.

How, even though the thunder and rain outside was familiar in its comforting rhythm, that it just didn’t smell the same. The gravel and sand under my feet was a dead thing, sanitized to keep me safe. To keep me alive. But I was the only living thing in here. My own personal fishbowl, as nice as it could be, would never be the ocean.

By the time Rocky was pounding my door down, (I realized a bit too late that me crying would certainly be picked up by my host’s incredibly sensitive hearing), my throat was raw and my eyes stung.

“Grace!!” His notes were an octave higher than typical, his carapace held high off the floor as he scuttled in, alert and searching for a perpetrator. I waved him off, but was unable to make anything useful word-wise come out of me. So I flopped back, rolling cumbersomely over and burying my face in the pillow as the shame in myself turned sour and sharp in the put of my stomach.

Rocky wasted no time climbing up onto the bed after me, poking his limbs into my side. I could feel his thrumming as he checked me over, before seemingly deciding that nothing was physically amiss.

“I’m okay, bud.” My voice sounded awful, raw and wet from my grief, “I’m just a little, uh, sad.” I couldn’t keep the wobble out of my words, and I rolled back onto my back. Rocky’s humming dropped about two octaves, and his weight pressed into my side. Commiseration. We stayed like that for a few minutes, the gentle tapping of the rainstorm on the window interspaced with my ragged, hiccuping breaths as I tried to regain some level of self control. Rocky just settled closer and closer, like he was trying to climb into my skin.

“Would more Earth food help Grace feel better, question?” Rocky asked, so sweetly and genuinely that it gave me pause. Then, his little hands started to press into my stomach, kneading not unlike a cat. “Or an abdominal massage, question?”

I had to laugh. It was stupidly sweet, and a little silly, but damn if the little guy didn’t know exactly how to break my moodiness. I sniffed between giggles, eliciting a curious head tilt from Rocky. This, of course, just made me laugh harder. How a creepy space spider without a face could look like a puppy, I will never know.

“Why Grace laugh, question?” I could tell Rocky was trying to sound offended, but I knew his tones too well not to hear the relief behind the facade. He was too sweet for his own good.

“Nothin, bud. I’m just lucky to have you.” I replied, situating my glasses on my nose and curling around him. Right on cue, my stomach rumbled, and I felt my face warm for an entirely different reason. Rocky (again, somehow and without a face,) had a fairly smug air to him.