Not Even for Another Moment
May 6, 2026
My teenaged daughter Seffy made that noise every teenager makes when she simply can’t even for another moment. We were wedged in together on a transport ship, heading for a planet called Beetle-3, and Seffy would rather have been anywhere else. If I was honest, so would I. I’d known about this trip for over a year, but it had always felt so abstract. Now everything was accelerating.
“Mom!”
“I already told you. They’re hosting a memorial day event for the survivors, and—”
“Urgh, I know what’s there,” she groaned. “Why are we going?!”
The answer was complicated.
---
Since that day thirty-three years ago, I don’t think I’d seen another Persephone native outside of my immediate family. Now, the arrival gates were choked full of people that all looked like me—and everyone was squawking and shoving, hauling bursting luggage and corralling crying children. It was an evacuation in reverse.
---
By the time Seffy and I made it to the pavilion the ceremonies had already started.
It was a sea of green and yellow decorations. Buildings, outfits, and even face paintings bore the Persephone flag. Vendors sold opera-style playbooks for those with tickets and hastily rebranded telescopes for those without. It was surreal. Uncanny. Persephone had never looked like this. The worst was the cuisine. You physically can’t make authentic Persephone food anymore.
Something inside me tightened at the sight of it all. “Your grandfather would have hated this.”
Seffy muttered, “I hate this.”
At least we agreed on something.
---
Our passes got us middling seats inside the observatory. We wouldn’t actually look through the big telescope; they had projectors rigged up like a movie theater—albeit one that played thirty-year-old reruns.
Seffy leaned in close. “So what, we watch a three minute livestream, then everyone claps?”
“Ohmygod—Seffy, whatever happens, do not clap. Lots of people died. Be serious.”
“I am being serious. We all watched clips during school. Like, the actual footage. Documentaries about humanity’s first encounter with aliens. We’ve all seen it.”
I muttered, “Not like this.”
A voice came over the speakers, sudden and harsh, thanking the sponsors. The lights flicked off, like the power had been cut. The auditorium was dark and full of nervous murmurs. My hands started to shake. I gripped my legs, hard enough to hurt.
And then suddenly—there it was. On the screen. In poor focus and contrast. With its edges tinted red and blue from the optics. A big, flat, dull circle. But there it was.
Persephone.
My home.
The rays of light that had started their thirty-three year journey from Persephone to Beetle-3 were arriving and I wasn’t ready.
Somewhere, at that moment, I was on that planet. Oh, no.
Seffy scoffed. “That’s the best they can do?”
I was too distracted to scold her. She was right—we’d all seen this before, and in higher definition. We all knew what was coming.
But it was still live.
“I’m fine,” I said, though Seffy hadn’t asked.
My chest seized, sharp and sudden, like I’d missed a step I didn’t remember taking. Seconds felt like hours. I felt the world rumbling below me, felt the booming shakes all over again. The theatre looked cramped and messy, decorated with a child’s things, and I was so small. My mommy was yelling at me to wake up, sweetie, and to pack my clothes—
I couldn’t even—
The earthquake sounded like my daughter. “Mom!” she hissed.
“I’m fine,” I blubbered. “I just need a moment.”
Seffy grabbed my hand and yanked me out of my seat. “Jesus! I knew this was stupid. Come on!”
I blurted, “We’re going to miss it!”
They say a parent can summon the strength of a locomotive to save her child from danger. Seffy probably didn’t need that much to haul me out of the auditorium and into the open air. I collapsed against her, bawling like I was six years old all over again.
The sun had set while we were in the line up. Above us, the stars twinkled—one of them a little more violently than the others.
---
Much later, I leaned back against the wall, wrung out.
Seffy crouched in front of me, shaking her head and clucking over me like I used to do for her. She asked if I would be okay if she ran to the toilet.
Of course. I’d had my little moment.
She hurried off down the promenade. Minutes later she stomped back with a box in her arms. It was one of those bargain telescopes.
“Quickly,” she said, tearing the box open. “I think it’s already started.”
---
Thirty-three years ago, aliens invaded my homeworld of Persephone. My mother and I barely made it out. Humanity won, eventually. But I never went home.
Seffy and I took turns peering through the tiny eyepiece, watching as impossible distances turned fireballs into fireflies. I gulped and sniffled, wiping tears from my cheeks. She grabbed my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back.
“Mom?” she asked. “Are you … are you there right now?”
“Yeah. You can’t see me. I’m on the far side, I think. Right now your granny is waking me up.”
“What about grandpa?” she asked.
I took my turn so she couldn’t see my face.
“He’s in space right now, fighting them off. I never see him again.”
I heard footsteps approaching us. Instead of a security guard, it was an elderly couple—more Persephoners. They looked like they couldn’t stand it either, not even for another moment.
“Excuse me,” the man said. “May we take a look?”