How I love you Neptune
Neptune is far from Earth, and even farther from the Sun, and I love it. I love Neptune because it’s far. It’s as if Neptune was a child and the Sun was its mom and dad, and because the Sun hated Neptune, it had to leave. So Neptune broke off, and ran away, becoming the farthest planet in our solar system. Neptune is an ice giant. I learned in science that ice giants are cold and windy with dense, liquid outsides and a rocky inside. Could you imagine sledding on Neptune? Endless clouds to ride on and strong winds to propel me. Infinite snow cones and snow friends. Never ending fun.
I told them I wanted to visit Neptune and they laughed, laughed, and laughed, I still don’t know why. I was handed a bucket and rag instead of a rocket, a little plate of snap peas instead of a space suit. Why? I’m not so sure. I think about Neptune all the time, but especially when I’m hiding in the cupboard. Three years ago, Bettie brought me some sticky stars from college. I’ve begun to stick them to the top of the cupboard, so when it’s dark, I have the golden glow of the stars. I haven’t seen Bettie since, I hope she’s doing fine. Sometimes I wish she would have taken me with her, but college is no place for launching a rocket. Of course not, that’s why I stay home. I build my model from sticks and pebbles and the little nuts that fall from the tree in the front yard. I keep my model in a box under the bed. I cover it with a dirty sweater so they won’t find it. One time I left the box on my bed, by accident. I’ll never make that mistake again.
This is why I’m leaving for Neptune, where I’ll never be a bother or be bothered. Where there’s no one to call me rat, brat, useless, trash, or mistake. Where I can run where I want and eat snow cones all day. Where I’ll be hugged by the icy blue. I’ve considered all the ways to get to Neptune, but a rocket is my best bet. It’s taken me months but I’m finally finished. The cardboard box interior should be stable enough to support hyperspace jumps. The tinfoil blasters filled with baking soda and vinegar are sure to give enough power for blast off. I hope the suit and helmet I’ve made are suitable for space.
All that’s left to do is launch the rocket. I’ve read manual after manual, how to manage a control panel, how to perform evasive maneuvers. Maybe most astronauts aren’t nine, but then again, no astronaut has been to Neptune. There’s a first time for everything, and if it means taking a risk then this is a risk I have to take. I’m sick of the Sun, I’m sick of the Earth. I’m sick of being hungry and thirsty and having to hide. I want to go to Neptune, I love Neptune, and the only way to Neptune is a rocket. I climb the wooden ladder to the top of the flat, and then up the stepping stones I placed earlier to get to the top of the second floor. I need height for the launch, I need speed for the launch, and this is the way. I’ve calculated it all: the trajectory, wind speed, gravitational force, so why am I so scared? I take a breath and remove the separators from the blasters, they bubble as the reaction takes place and pushes me forward. I teeter on the edge of a cracked brick, I’m losing balance, I’m falling, I’m falling, I’m flying, I'm floating, I’m in space, my rockets gone, and there’s- there’s Neptune. It’s so beautiful, nothing like I imagined. I close my eyes as I drift towards the big blue planet and away from my worries on Earth. Oh how I love you Neptune.