It's Not About Space

Recently, I was at my parents' house. They asked me what I was writing.

"Well," I said, "the premise is that most people have left Earth..."

"Where did they go?" my dad cut in.

"Other planets. Colonies. That's not the point."

"Well, you know, it's very unlikely that we will actually be able to colonize another world, let alone many other worlds," my dad said.

It should be noted that my dad is a retired engineer who now spends his time reading Scientific America and taking Masters Classes on Quantum Physics and Music Theory.

"Dad. This is the premise. We haven't gotten to what the book is actually about."

"Well, if it's not about the people in space, why start there?"

"It's the setting. The story is about the people left behind."

"Left behind on Earth?"

"Yes."

"Well, if it was so great to leave Earth, why didn't everyone leave?"

At this point my mom left the room.

"Well, I can get there..."

"Look," my dad said. "We might, one day, be able to go to Mars, but we will always be dependent on Earth."

"Wellllll, you aren't going to like this next part then," I said.

"There's more?"

"In this story, all manufacturing is done off Earth, and supplies are dropped to Earth once a year."

My dad's eyes went wide, and he did the thing he always does when shocked. His fingers jumped out like jazz hands.

"Dropped? From where?"

"Space."

"SPACE?"

"Yes, dad. The supplies are dropped to Earth from space."

He shook his head. "Impossible."

"Dad, we aren't even to the story yet."

My mom came back. Despite this conversation having taken the amount of time it took her to brush her teeth and give one of her cats their daily breakfast treats (that's right, the black lady cat gets treats when my mom brushes her own human teeth. The cat's teeth are never brushed) I still hadn't told my dad what I was writing about at all.

"Mom, since we really haven't gotten anywhere, do you want to hear about this story I wrote?"

My mom, in classic mom fashion, found some glasses and was now loading the dishwasher.

"Yeah," she said.

"Okay." I paused. "The premise is humans have left Earth..."

When I didn't continue my mom looked up at me. I was waiting to see what she'd say. My dad was frozen, leaned into my mom, also waiting to see whose side she landed on.

"Okay?" She said.

My dad recoiled, throwing his hands up.

"Oh never mind. It's a murder mystery," I finally said.

"Well why didn't you just say that?" My dad said. "No one needs to go to space for that."

"Dad. No one goes to space!"

"Then don't make it about space."

I dropped my head. "It's not about space."

"You have a very good imagination. I could never write that sort of stuff," said the man who helped build NASA fuel tanks. "You know, I can tell you all the reasons why we won't be able to colonize other planets..."

But I didn't want to know.