The Dream Net of Maggie Zoe

Cassiopeia and Pegasus, meteor showers and shooting stars, the vastness of the Milky Way and beyond; I do like the view from my window. We're the lucky ones they tell us in school, we're one in a million. We have the golden ticket. Except I was one of the "lucky" born with this golden ticket.

That's right, living on a space station my entire life, The Expander; luxury spacious living. You can't get more spacious than -the- outer space! A life I didn't exactly choose though. A strange and dreamy existence.

Earth is probably no better. Chaos and war and insanity. All reasonable excuses to desert everything you know of the planet and shoot yourself into the unknown. I don't blame them, my parents, by any means. They volunteered to help Earth's overpopulation crisis during an emotional crisis of their own. It makes sense.

And we live spaciously and comfortably, financially and physically secure, yet I wonder, as I peer out of my wall sized window into the glow of stars in the distance: is this going to be too much space one day? Even though I have an excellent social circle for a girl my age, a space station of 3,000 people is certainly starting to feel a bit limited, as it does somewhat, even now.

"Chocolate cake again?? Mag, you need your vitamins at breakfast, crazy!"

"Lol whatever, Greta. I'll be fine. Plus, it's Saturday, right? That stuff doesn't count on the weekends, duh."

I confidently received my plastic box from the dessert machine and headed to the closest table by a window with Greta.

Oh Greta. She's been my favorite fellow astronaut since Day 1 of exploration (of kindergarten, that is). We do all the important stuff together, dancing and parties, school projects, gossiping and daydreaming.

Sometimes I wish she understood me just a bit more though. She's content. Perfectly happy, perfectly scored class grades, perfect plan to be a future engineer on the station. When we daydream, she never casts her dream net too far. I guess she doesn't feel the need to.

"How's that new project coming along?" She asks me, while using a knife and fork to cut her honeydew.

"Oh, I mean it's coming along. Still looking for a bassist. And guitarist. And drummer to be honest." I replied dully.

"Isn't Peter still looking for a reason to play bass these days?" Greta giggled.

"I would rather play every instrument at the same time while in a space suit than deal with Peter playing bass, Greta. Nice one though."

"Damn, okay heard." she said laughing.

"Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither wildly as they slip away across the universe..." our acquaintance Peter enters the dining hall, swing in his step, singing to himself, reaching for the classic: eggs and toast, O.J. too.

Obsessed with the classics, in music, food, and just about anything you could classify as vintage, Peter was a solid and dependable, yet often straight up boring classmate of ours, in my opinion. I never understood why someone would listen to the same old basic rock album week after week, when we had the always brand new, exhilarating radio waves of Earth’s top 100 neo-soul-pop-funky fusion genres coming to us each weekend on the station. It was beyond me. Nevertheless, I guess being predictable was a silly thing to hold against someone.

"Hey Mag, hey Greta. How are you guys floating along today?" Peter instigates.

Greta snickered and glanced at me.

"Alright, Peter. Just waiting for something thrilling to happen today. Same old, same old" I said.

"Ah, I see, maybe a meteor will finally crack our class lecture hall window and they'll have to repair." Peter replied. "It’s not like we get snow days, amiright?!"

"Uh, yep. You're right." I shyly responded; half embarrassed for him by that dad joke.

I began to drift into a vision as he bounced away with his tray. Snow day. What would snow feel like, frozen, falling weightlessly on my face in a crisp white landscape surrounding me as far as I could see? I had no idea, nothing to really compare it to.

"Snow covered

Ice lover

Frozen on arrival,

Call me icy

I don't mind

Attitude for my survival"

Visualizing my grand arrival on Earth someday, I jot down lyrics on some yellow scrap paper. Daydreaming takes over my senses once again, yearning to be a star on the Billboard charts of that mystical planet.

Call it poetic irony if you want: yes, I live amongst the stars and I still shoot for them in my deepest desires. But I want to reach the masses, dance and sing my artistry to a sold-out summer music festival in front of thousands. I want to feel the energy and soulful vibrations of millions, and even billions! I want to shake and rumble solid ground beneath my feet with subwoofers and the jumping of an overflowing crowd.

Quite abruptly, while hanging awkwardly off my translucent desk chair, I felt my reality shift in slow motion as I swiveled towards the sound of the intercom bell.

"Attention passengers of The Expander, a special announcement: this fall, we will be selecting forty-five citizens for a unique adventure to planet Earth. An all-expenses-included, two-month journey to a few of Earth's best cities and attractions. We will be accepting applications and conducting interviews this coming week for passengers we think would be a great fit for this opportunity. More information to follow."

My tablet hit the ground.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

This kind of opportunity came once in a blue moon, and I was finally old enough to travel this year. I became obsessed with my mission in a split second's time.

Maggie Zoe would be a household name by the end of those two months, and not just any houses or pods, we're talking homes of Earth. All I need is a bassist! And a guitarist...and, well, a drummer too. But it will happen, I can see it, in the not-so-distant future...

Sleeping is nearly impossible tonight, with so much to do, so many wonderful ideas pouring in and out of my head into my planner. Then there's the proposal-to-my-parents segment of this endeavor. Mom will be harder to convince than Dad, but I have a few decent points to make up my sleeve.

I take another sip of my frappe, turn the page, starting a pros and cons list for the PowerPoint I'll be presenting to my parents in the morning.

At some point in the early hours of dawn, my eyeglasses slipped from my exhausted hands and onto my bed as I melted into the velvet comforter at last.

"Dang Mag, you look pretty tired today."

"Oh thanks, Greta" I chuckled. "You're looking pretty cute yourself."

"Hey, look at you though, getting those vitamins this morning!" Greta said.

I nudge the guts of my grapefruit, unenthused by the bitter citrus, "Well I'm gonna need all the energy I can get...I have so much to figure out ASAP, you know!" I exclaimed.

Greta suddenly turned to me, "By the way, did you hear? Peter is really trying to go on that trip to Earth in a few months; he has a music connection on the ground, I think some producer in London or something?"

"You're joking." My jaw dropped open, face immediately turned pale, totally stunned at the thought.

"Dead serious. Not sure what he's up to exactly, but I heard he's nearly guaranteed a spot with his artist application." Greta replied.

Oh no, I thought. Has my unbelievable, once-in-a-lifetime chance already passed me by? My best shot at a ticket down to fame on Earth drifting farther from my reach by each minute I waste on my own stubborn impatience and a lack of collaboration skills?!

I anxiously gaze across the dining hall of passengers, citizens of the outer realms, the same group of people I've shared this space with and performed for my whole life.

"Carpe diem." I whisper under my breath. "I have an idea."

We float on, along the sparkling and dramatically breathtaking galaxy that slow Sunday afternoon. The oxygen in The Expander brimming with excitement and potential.

Convince my dad to let me go on this surely life-altering journey: check. Convince my mom: mostly a check.

My morning presentation was not too shaky, just needed a few adjustments of conditions, extra chores promised for the next few weeks and such.

Artist essay written and application complete: check.

Improving my ability to work creatively with others: eh, it was coming along. Nothing a little researching couldn’t help!

And lastly, accumulating both enough courage and motivation, while simultaneously letting go of just enough pride, to ask Peter to work on a musical project together in hopes of getting on stage in front of as many earthlings as possible: to be determined.

Admittingly, realistically speaking, I might not be able to finesse exactly what I imagined myself doing in the next few months of my young adult life as a universal pop sensation. I know I have my work cut out for me artistically, and let's be honest, socially too. Still, I may be able to somehow take advantage of this glorious opportunity and grasp onto what I needed.

I know I’m a star. I’ve seen enough of those outside my pod bedroom window to know this. I can shine farther and brighter than this space station could ever hold in its energy mechanisms.

It’s patience and skills of adaptation I need now. True expansion of a true astronaut.

This could be -my- golden ticket.