PROSE
TOWARDS THE STARS by lisa feng Space is many things: it is the dimensions of everything, it is having the freedom to live as one pleases, it is the area which is unoccupied by anything and nothing but air. It is also the starry vastness of the vacuum that surrounds us, dotted by stars and dust; it is long and loud and eternal, forever and never, born from a ripple in time and inflating like a hot balloon, dictated by strange laws that push and pull miniscule amounts of matter into their positions in an unending cosmos. Space is nothing, but it is also something because humanity has given it a definition and brought it into existence with their words. John, poor undergrad college student, does not think about any of this. The only thing he has space in his mind for is that he has a creative writing piece due on it in 4 days. His eye twitches as he continues his aggressive one-sided staring contest with a blank word document (outside the standard MLA heading, because doing that is coded into muscle memory since middle school). Nothing happens, because unfortunately one has to type words into a doc to make them appear. John’s eye twitches again, and he quietly debates to himself whether he should punt the computer out his window or just bang it against the desk until it breaks. He can’t think of a good idea with actual coherency and a plot. Instead, John sighs and breaks his internal turmoil to make some instant ramen, because repairing broken laptops is not something he wants to consider in his budget this month. Some time later, after he decides to give up on the doc and start on that Comp Sci assignment he’s been procrastinating on, he hears a knock at his dorm door. His friend
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Oliver’s voice breaks the silence, “Oi! John, brought you the 8-pack beer as the apology for last week!” John doesn’t feel bothered to get up. He has better things to do, like anything else, instead of actually talking to people. He settles comfortably into his chair, careful not to make a creaking noise. “Uh...if you’re not here...oh I feel stupid.” John feels half-tempted to yell back and agree with the statement and give up the game. It’s when he waits for Oliver's footsteps to signify his retreats does he hear the loud ‘ping!’ from his phone of a message, presumably Oliver notifying John of his gift. Guess he forgot to mute it. Oops. “Oh John, open the door! I know you’re hiding in there!” sing-songs Oliver. John sighs in defeat and trudges over to unlock it. Oliver delightedly barges in with a pack of beer and some Chinese takeout. “I knew you were ignoring me! Just like that One Time with the fish and how you chose to ignore my texts.” John rolls his eyes fondly and bites back with a, “Ah- ah- ah, we don’t talk about that One Time With The Fish.” Oliver grins and turns back to the subject at hand. “So me, Liam, Cassie, and the rest of us decided we had to apologize for uh- trashing your room last week and I volunteered to bring you this 8-pack we scraped together.” “Oh.” John blinks. “Thanks and send my regards to the rest of them. Tell Cassie I’m still pissed at her for the permanent marker. Now, shoo.” John proceeds to push Oliver out the door, but to no avail. “Hey!” Oliver quirks up an eyebrow in a question. “What’s with
the hurry?” After some time, when Oliver stubbornly refuses to budge and continues to stand there, John finally starts, “So. You know how I majored in CS ‘cause I thought it would be better in college? Turns out, it’s literally just like high school. But somehow the food issue is even worse.” Oliver shrugs and crunches on a potato chip. “Wow, picking a major you don’t like. And then suffering. Shocking.” In the seconds while John was distracted talking about his problems, Oliver had already snaked his way to John’s snack cabinet and stolen a bag. “Thanks for your incredible and unending support of me,” snarks John, with an added eyeroll for effect. “No, I actually do like CS. It’s just, my God, if I see another forum post of a specific issue and then that person replying “fixed” without detailing the answer, I’m breaking my coffee machine in half- hey, stop laughing at my problems!” Oliver finishes his cackling, “Sorry, sorry. Just change majors man. Alicia changed it last year.” At the confused expression on John’s face, Oliver explains, “Alicia, the overly competitive one back at our high school, the one that majored in chem on a bet. Ended up transferring to business some time ago and I’m sure she’s having plenty of fun terrorizing crusty old businessmen now.” “Huh,” John intelligently manages, “Neat.” “…” Their awkward silence is broken by Oliver’s phone ringing and his face comically whitening with a hushed whisper of “Oh God, I forgot to pick up my girlfriend at the stop.” He then proceeds to run out of John's room faster than what should
