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So, yeah. Technically, I have no proof that it’s Valentine’s Day.
I know that the trip out to Tau Ceti (and isn’t that ridiculous, calling it a ‘trip’ as if I’m on a roadie with my stoner college friends) took four years, but I don’t know exactly how long in days. And I’ve been out in space for, like… ten months? Ten and a half? I don’t know. It’s been monotonous for quite a bit as we travel to Erid. So if I left Earth in April, and I’m pretending that time works the same way here as it does back where I came from, and I give myself a whole lot of leeway, like at least a year’s worth of leeway, well…
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Rocky.” I say.
“Need second word definition.”
We’re both a bit listless. Well, I’m listless in that I stare at the wall, play a lot of Balatro, and try to condition my brain into enjoying the taste of coma slurry. (Maybe if I just think about, like, one of those overpriced smoothies that are so big in San Francisco with the kids nowadays? And by nowadays, I mean twenty years ago. Who knows what they’re drinking now.) Rocky’s listless in that he’s not working on any planet-saving cutting-edge engineering project, just a really-cool super-complicated personal engineering project. Sigh. Eridians.
Actually, maybe just Rocky. He’s hypercompetent. It’ll be a relief if I get to Erid and there are Eridians who are just lazy bums. Like me!
“Valentine is…I guess a name? He was a famous guy, I guess. He might have been made up. It’s just an old word,” I tell him. One nice thing about being friends with a non-human is that you end up with the most fascinating questions. Like, yeah, who the heck was St. Valentine anyway?
Rocky hums. “Old like human-old or old like really old, question?”
“Really old,” I laugh. “more than Eridian-lifespan old. But it’s mostly the name of a holiday. In the second month of the year.” Months are weird for Rocky, but I think he just takes my word for it and acts like he knows what I’m talking about. Which is fair. “It’s like a romance – a love holiday. Romance just means love, basically.”
I guess that’s not really true, though. I know that's not true. It always feel like a jerk when I have to 'dumb down' stuff for Rocky, even though it's not so much dumbing down as it is making it possible for us to communicate efficiently./p>
I say to Rocky, “Can I ask you a question?”
He rocks a little in the way he always does when he thinks he’s about to be absolutely hilarious. “No. No talk with me ever.”
He’s a hoot. “Okay. So we talked about the word love, right? It’s like, big happy. Big version of happy feeling, but applied to– to I guess one thing in particular, instead of, like the world in general?” I trip on my words. This is such a nebulous concept. Why am I the first contact person? I’m not a freaking linguist.
Rocky responds, “Yes. I use word ♬♬♮♪. You know this.”
“Yeah. But I guess I never asked you what that word really means in Eridianese. If you’re going around the actual word, how would you describe it?”
He thinks for a little bit. “Is word I use for my ♫♩♯. So, specific to one thing, but many of me people all together. It is describe word for feeling I have with ♫♩♯.” That last word means a lot of things. It seems to encompass the Eridians you hatched from, the rest of your litter, and so on – it seems to also need physical closeness. Rocky told me that extended lineages of Eridians, along with unrelated friends, often live in small communities within a larger complex or city. I think I translated the word to close community when I heard it for the first time, but Rocky’s made it clear that it’s more than that.
So I don’t know why I’m so surprised. “Oh.”
“Why face, question? Expect something different, question?”
“No. I mean, yes. Kind of. I think I had kind of assumed it was describing, like, how you felt about Adrian.” As I say it, I realize that it was strange of me to assume that.
“It could be. But not usual. Common word for feeling of big like specific to mate is ♫♯♩♪♪.” Rocky notices my silence. “You are thinking.”
I am. I’m sort of annoyed with myself. I never thought about the fact that Eridianese might have multiple definitions for the word love. I mean, it’s kind of a useless word in English without context or some qualifier added to it. And the Greeks had, like ten different words for love, and so do a bunch of other people, so why wouldn’t Eridians? “Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s just weird to think about having two different words for the same thing.”
Rocky puts a couple of his tools down. “Is not same thing. Very different feeling.”
He’s right. “You’re right.”
“Yes,” he hums self-satisfactorily. “Tell me about love holiday.”
Oh. Right. I lose my train of thought a lot lately. Being trapped in a tiny spaceship with only one other person (plus a scary robot) will do that to you. “I mean, technically, it’s a holiday for the other kind of love, the one you just said that you have with your mate. It’s for–” I almost say couples, then remember that I don’t feel like adding another five minutes to the conversation trying to explain the difference between couple, duo, dual, pair, etc, because I know myself and I know I’m a nerd and I know that Rocky is also a nerd and if we start we’ll just never stop. We once talked about the words for different kinds of Eridian walking patterns literally from the time Rocky woke up to the time he slept next. Anyway, I just say, “It's for mates. Which are not forever for humans, remember. So it’s a holiday to celebrate your current mate.” I don’t mention the kitschy gifts or the pink theming.
“You liked holiday, question?”
“Not really. I was never really into any of that stuff. It just wasn’t for me.”
“Not have ♫♯♩♪♪ , question?”
I open my mouth to respond no, I just didn’t like the corny bears and chocolates when I realize that, yeah, I didn’t really have anyone to feel ♫♯♩♪♪ with. Not anything that counted like how Rocky and Adrien do. Back on Earth, it was always a bit of a social sore point, something I would have to groan and commiserate about at bars with my college friends and pretend like I really cared about if I was dating someone or not. It was kind of an act. You drank your beer and you talked about how she sounds so crazy and yes, man, you totally dodged a bullet, but ultimately all the college buddies got married and then there was a new host of complaints, but those were different. It was always just putting on airs for me. Maybe it was the same for them, but I don't know. I don't think so.
I say to Rocky, “Yeah, I guess. I was never sad about it though.”
“Is not something to be sad about. Many Eridians do not have mate. Is not sad. Is only sad if you have mate and then are separated. That is special type of sad. But not sad to not have one.”
“Yeah. Most humans think it’s really sad to not have a mate.”
Rocky hums, mulls it over. “Stupid humans. Make themselves melancholy.” (Eridianese fun fact: some more specific words are made up of piling low-note words together with high-note words. So ‘melancholy’ is really just the chords for sad-alone-loss stacked on each other. The more you know!)
I chuckle. “Yep. Stupid silly humans.”
We’re quiet for a little.
“I will not say happy ♫♯♩♪♪ holiday back to you. Makes no sense. Boring pointless holiday.” Rocky sounds settled.
“What, you guys don’t have a day where you celebrate your mates?”
“Yes, but very different. Is individual to mates, is not celebrating mate, is celebrating…I not know how to explain. No words to describe it.”
Sometimes, being best friends with an alien is incredible. Being best friends with Rocky is pretty incredible all the time. We’re both scientists, and we're both super curious people; it makes for great conversation. I think I’ve definitely become more philosophical, at least. And being able to learn an alien language from your best friend is, like, the most incredible.
But sometimes, it makes me desperately, desperately sad. There are just things about him that I can’t understand, no matter how hard he tries to circumvent the phrases, no matter how much mimicry he attempts. And there are some things about me – about humans, about my life – that he’ll never know, not for lack of me telling him, but for lack of him being able to know it at all. It’s fascinating. It’s horrible.
Rocky knocks me out of my reverie. “Grace, question?”
I sigh. “Sorry. I got– melancholy.”
“No melancholy. You are Friend Grace. You are part of me ♫♩♯ so I feel love for you.”
It's desperately sad. It's also really, really, wonderful. “Thank you.”
“Maybe we come up with new word. Not ♬♬♮♪ or love. Just for us.”
I grin. “Maybe. I mean, we are pretty one-of-a-kind.”