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Books. Blank books. The gifts given to me by those I must admit I should have allowed myself to call “friend.” I have many blank books and had more which used to be blank but were then filled. For some reason, I seem to feel the contents of my head merit preservation. Maybe because they are all I have to give to a world that needs so much more. Could these thoughts one day be more? They could never be enough, but, for now, I don’t want to let anything slip away. I want a way, at least, to remember in case I, too, begin to forget.

The Archivist, the Historian, the Commentator. This is how (with a silent laugh) I see myself in my own mind. Things they will not see and do not want to know. The Truth. One day they will have no choice, and my books are what will remain. They will have no choice, and maybe then…

But who am I to speak of Truth?

Besides, that which will take away their choice may take away more. There may be no one left to read….but still I write, because I must.

I miss the books I left behind. In the hours I was packing, I had the conviction of the emotionally wrought on my side: I was absolutely certain I wanted nothing at all of my past, that every memory, impression or observation I’d ever had or made was obsolete and, furthermore, too painful to perpetuate. I also half hoped my father would go through my things as he was missing me. I hoped he might read some of the hateful things I’d written about him in those last few months and know how badly he’d hurt me.

The shame I feel now does neither of us any good.

I’ve been on station E3 (Ironically nicknamed “The Sentinel”) for 4 months. I was scheduled for transfer to one of the remote stations, but after the Flash (a typically Scientifically crass euphemism for the day our Home disappeared forever in a flash of light), everyone wanted to transfer out of here. It wasn’t hard to sell my spot, and I needed the credits. I wanted to stay here, anyway.

Some left out of fear, more out of inability to bear the sadness of seeing the void where our world one was. A disturbing number seem to feel released from some great burden, free, at last, to follow no greater calling than their own plans and pleasures. I think they all grasp the urgency of re-securing our place in this or some other universe…I think.

For all our archives and collectively professed love of our heritage, this has shattered a link for many of the Scientists. Nostalgia was O.K., I guess, when it wasn’t this painful. Now, most of them (“us?”) would just prefer to map out a new life that has no connection to the old. I (at the age of 15) think that’s naïve. We haven’t yet had a success in getting the plants of our world to take root and thrive in the soil of another world, even in the samples of seemingly perfect elemental composition, even in human-saturated recycled air of Earthy origin. Why would we think we could so easily take root so far from our home? It may be unscientific to believe so, but in my own years I have seen enough to prove to me that there is a Truth beyond that which we can mathematically quantify, something ethereal, even spiritual, but equally essential to sustain Life. We can’t overcome everything we’ve even been so easily.

So I choose to stay.

Also, I deserve no better than the emptiness left behind. I chose to abandon my father, so it’s obvious I have no grasp of love or hope or anything else Human. Better that those with some reason of their own left to move forward should have the opportunity. I’ll fill out my years here as a caretaker of this memorial, and I’ll continue my studies of what it used to mean to be Human. I obviously have a lot to learn.

And for all of my reasons, perhaps the most crucial is the fact that those of us left here can’t leave anyway, at least not any time soon. E3 is the last remaining of the 3 original near-Earth stations. Twenty-some years ago those original 3 stations were declared permanent and their drive power was diverted to other purposes. Navigationally/mobility-wise, they maintained only the minimum thrust necessary to get out of the way of an oncoming asteroid, then stabilize a short distance away. I hadn’t actually rationally processed the relevance of that knowledge at the time I sold my spot.

I hate myself most of all for being such a child. There is no place in our present or our future for children, hasn’t been for a while. I have to face everything that’s going on, everything I’m feeling and all my own weaknesses and I have to be adult enough to conquer my demons without making them anyone else’s problems.

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