Chapter Text
Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: You are all stardust. You couldn't be here if stars hadn't exploded, because the elements - the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution and for life - weren't created at the beginning of time. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars, and the only way for them to get into your body is if those stars were kind enough to explode. So, forget Jesus. The stars died so that you could be here today.”
- Lawrence M. Krauss
Every small town has those stories, ones that aren't urban legends, or ones that teenagers tell, wanting to scare their friends. No, those stories that were about normal people and change. Those stories that the residents don't always speak about, but if you hang around enough in the main square, you'll hear about it. Those stories that define the town.
In the beginning, it wasn't about her. It wasn't about the stars. It wasn't even about the Empty Building. It was about The Bike. That’s what the people say, anyways.
The Bike, that nobody ever questioned but nobody ever really thought about. They didn't know where it came from, and it wasn't doing any harm. It was leaned up against The Tree, the one in the park, down the trail from the Empty Building, the one that all the little kids were too scared to go near, and their chuckling parents called The Only Weeping Willow In Nebraska, and was so well hidden that you couldn't see it unless you were almost under The Tree. Some said The Bike was blue; others would swear to you that it was bright red. The only thing that almost everyone agree on was that it wasn't a child's bike. And the biggest thing that everyone disagreed about is where The Bike went in the early hours of the morning.
She was as much of a mystery as The Bike. Nobody knew her name or where she came from, where she lived. But every afternoon, at around one or three, depending on who you asked, she was standing in front of The Tree, looking through it, and smiling. Then she walked down the trail. Nobody ever followed her. Mostly because the only ones who wanted to were children and the adults didn't allow them.
Then, after a few years of The Bike always being there, and the girl always standing there in the morning, and the children who happened to be in the park at the time staring, something changed. Those who were adults then would tell you that it was all by chance. Those who were teenagers would tell you that it was just something that happened. And those who were young children at the time, especially those who spent most of their time in the park, would tell you it was magic.
She found it under a tree. It was evening, about six, and no kids were around. It was too big for a kid anyways. She had walked over to the tree, because she had never seen a Willow in Nebraska, or at least not around here. She hadn't expected to find a bike under it. It looked worn, there was rust around the red metal and wheel rims, and the back tire needed some air. She rolled it out onto the dirt path and looked around again. The playground a few yards away was empty and nobody was on the path. Looking back at the bike, she saw no harm in climbing on it and pedaling down where she had been walking, towards the hill.
“Dammit, Jo,” she thought. “You've lived here all of three days and you've already managed to probably steal something.” She promised to bring it back after she had seen the rest of the park. There was a hill at the other end of the path, and over the tops of the other trees, she could see a building. It looked as old and rusted as the bike, and just as interesting. Pedaling as hard as her short legs would allow her, Jo pushed her way up the hill and when she got over it and the other side, she almost crashed the bike into a short stairway. Looking up the stairs and to the building, she realized what the building was: it was an observatory. A very old, rusted and seeming empty observatory. And Jo, forever the explorer, didn't think twice about climbing the stairs.
It was small, as far as observatories go. It had the rounded top that observatories had but sat low on the ground. The color had faded over the years, but it had once been a deep gray. At least, that was Jo’s guess.
When she climbed up the stairs, the rust on the rails caught her black jacket and she had to spend a minute unhooking it. When she got to the top of the stairs, she grabbed for the handle, only to find it locked, sadly. Jo pulled harder, thinking the old door was stuck from years of not being turned. After a minute or two, Jo went the way she usually did. Pulling out her little wallet, she used her pick to pick the old lock. She had been right; the door was rusted, but the lock was like one on a house. Which means it had been replaced.
Unsure by what she would find (images of everything from cobwebs to bodies of old astronomers flashed in her mind), she slowly pushed the door open, wincing when it squeaked. The unlit hallway had a doorway at the end of it, and Jo, pulling out her new apartment keys where she had already attached her little flashlight, kept the door cracked because, well, you never know. Trying to make her way down the hallway as quietly as possible, she opened the next door with no problem, and made her way up the spiral staircase that opened up to a round room.
The place was spotless. There was no dust, or rust, or cobwebs (or bodies, for that matter). It was like someone had just cleaned the whole place moments before Jo had turned up. There were a few chairs around the desks lining the walls and there were papers and books everywhere. Two more doors leading into the base of the building, most likely where the people who researched here had lived. Jo turned circles, staring at the room and the huge telescope sitting in the middle of it, pointing up at the ceiling, where, if you threw the switch, would open and you would have all the stars in your eyes.
Jo smiled brighter than she had in a long time, and didn't realize she was laughing until she heard the echo. She held out her hands and closed her eyes, and just smiled. She hadn't felt this free in years, and she tried to keep her mind focused on this feeling. The feeling of happiness. She laughed again, this time on purpose, louder so it would echo. She opened her mouth to shout, just to be able to, when she felt it on her back.
Instead of a shout, she opened her eyes, and only managed to let out a single word.
“Fuck-”
“More like who the, uh, fuck are you?”