about killing myself. (Doesn’t every teenager?) I even checked out convents, but that was going a bit too far even for someone as bereft as me. Besides, the clothes sucked.
What can I say? I got over it. I put it all behind me. I grew up, I finished my primary education, I decided, like most Martians, to get my military service out of the way before college, I went to Earth …
… and now I was back, and jumpin’ Jupiter! I was nine again!
At least that’s what it felt like. Suddenly I felt like I couldn’t take a step without tripping over myself. Travis’s gaze didn’t linger, he only looked at me for a few seconds, but he took it all in. He had to, he couldn’t help himself. And though I no longer think of myself as a siren able to turn men into my sex slaves with no more than a sultry look, I have a more realistic body image, and I know I’m attractive though well short of being a cover girl. And I know something of the effect I have on Earthmen. With the heels I had seven inches on Travis, and looking up at women like that either scares Earth guys to death or gets them imagining the possibilities.
Travis didn’t look scared.
I know what you’re saying. Come on, spacegirl! Get real!
I mean, he was in his sixties when I was born.
On the other hand, he hasn’t gotten any older. He’s a good-looking sixtyish. He may very well not get any older, unless he stops skipping. Which is why the silly fantasy of that nine-year-old me was not entirely idiotic …
I could wait for him.
In forty years I’d be fifty-eight, and he’d still be sixtyish. That’s not such a horrible age gap, is it? I know it sounds like a silly science-fiction story, but you have to remember, our present was at one time somebody else’s science fiction. People from the turn of the century didn’t even have space travel to amount to anything, for heaven’s sake. They’d been to the moon six times, they had a pathetic little “space station,” and their rocket ships were still blowing up all the time. How could they have imagined that by now there would be almost a million people living on Mars, and that people could be stopped in time?
Is she serious? you’re asking yourself.
No. Not really. Forty years is a long time, and I know I’ll have changed a lot by then if the last five years are any indicator. I’m sure I’ll get over him.
Sigh.
AFTER A FEW hours, Gran caught my eye and beckoned me over. I hurried to her side.
“Tell everybody to shut up and sit down,” she said. She looked tired, but there was a twinkle in her eye. I realized she’d been enduring all this rather than enjoying it, that it was all for everyone else’s benefit.
“Attention everybody!” I bellowed. And believe me, after fourteen years of voice training, I knew how to project. There was instant silence, and everybody turned in my direction. I kicked off my shoes and stood up on a chair.
“Gran has something she wants to say,” I said in a more normal voice. “Please find chairs and sit down.” While everybody was shuffling around, some of them none too steady, Kelly hurried over with a mike, which she handed to Gran. When everybody was settled, Gran smiled around the room from her wheelchair and slowly stood up. Kelly reached to help her, but Gran waved her off.
“I want to thank all y’all for coming,” she said, in a calm, clear voice. “The food’s been good, and the company’s been good, and even the music’s been fine.” She paused. “But not good enough. Not yet. I want to ask Poddy to sing for me before I go.”
Well, I hadn’t been expecting it, but it wasn’t a complete surprise. I get asked to sing, sometimes ahead of time, sometimes impromptu, at parties like this. After all, it’s what I intend to do after I have this military foolishness out of the way. I’d even been thinking of volunteering to sing a song, and realized that the lyrics to Cole Porter’s “You’re the Top” had been circulating in my
What can I say? I got over it. I put it all behind me. I grew up, I finished my primary education, I decided, like most Martians, to get my military service out of the way before college, I went to Earth …
… and now I was back, and jumpin’ Jupiter! I was nine again!
At least that’s what it felt like. Suddenly I felt like I couldn’t take a step without tripping over myself. Travis’s gaze didn’t linger, he only looked at me for a few seconds, but he took it all in. He had to, he couldn’t help himself. And though I no longer think of myself as a siren able to turn men into my sex slaves with no more than a sultry look, I have a more realistic body image, and I know I’m attractive though well short of being a cover girl. And I know something of the effect I have on Earthmen. With the heels I had seven inches on Travis, and looking up at women like that either scares Earth guys to death or gets them imagining the possibilities.
Travis didn’t look scared.
I know what you’re saying. Come on, spacegirl! Get real!
I mean, he was in his sixties when I was born.
On the other hand, he hasn’t gotten any older. He’s a good-looking sixtyish. He may very well not get any older, unless he stops skipping. Which is why the silly fantasy of that nine-year-old me was not entirely idiotic …
I could wait for him.
In forty years I’d be fifty-eight, and he’d still be sixtyish. That’s not such a horrible age gap, is it? I know it sounds like a silly science-fiction story, but you have to remember, our present was at one time somebody else’s science fiction. People from the turn of the century didn’t even have space travel to amount to anything, for heaven’s sake. They’d been to the moon six times, they had a pathetic little “space station,” and their rocket ships were still blowing up all the time. How could they have imagined that by now there would be almost a million people living on Mars, and that people could be stopped in time?
Is she serious? you’re asking yourself.
No. Not really. Forty years is a long time, and I know I’ll have changed a lot by then if the last five years are any indicator. I’m sure I’ll get over him.
Sigh.
AFTER A FEW hours, Gran caught my eye and beckoned me over. I hurried to her side.
“Tell everybody to shut up and sit down,” she said. She looked tired, but there was a twinkle in her eye. I realized she’d been enduring all this rather than enjoying it, that it was all for everyone else’s benefit.
“Attention everybody!” I bellowed. And believe me, after fourteen years of voice training, I knew how to project. There was instant silence, and everybody turned in my direction. I kicked off my shoes and stood up on a chair.
“Gran has something she wants to say,” I said in a more normal voice. “Please find chairs and sit down.” While everybody was shuffling around, some of them none too steady, Kelly hurried over with a mike, which she handed to Gran. When everybody was settled, Gran smiled around the room from her wheelchair and slowly stood up. Kelly reached to help her, but Gran waved her off.
“I want to thank all y’all for coming,” she said, in a calm, clear voice. “The food’s been good, and the company’s been good, and even the music’s been fine.” She paused. “But not good enough. Not yet. I want to ask Poddy to sing for me before I go.”
Well, I hadn’t been expecting it, but it wasn’t a complete surprise. I get asked to sing, sometimes ahead of time, sometimes impromptu, at parties like this. After all, it’s what I intend to do after I have this military foolishness out of the way. I’d even been thinking of volunteering to sing a song, and realized that the lyrics to Cole Porter’s “You’re the Top” had been circulating in my
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