Silken fingers tickle my face as they fasten the blindfold behind my head, their animated whispers swelling and popping like bubbles.
“Hold still, Ma!”
Beside me, my sister, Emma, is giggling, receiving the same treatment. What are they up to, these great, great, great grandchildren of ours?
The excitement is contagious. “Gently now, or Auntie and I won’t make it past our two hundredth birthdays.”
We’re forever frozen in our forties, Emma and I, so strictly speaking there’s nothing frail about us, though by modern standards that’s ancient. The youngsters love to trace the lines on our faces and marvel at our silver hairs, remnants of a bygone process: ageing beyond peak adulthood.
They’re pulling me up to a standing position now and leading me towards the door to the pod.
“Don’t we need our oxygen masks?” I say, a wave of anxiety suddenly rising inside me.
“No. We made an air-bubble!” Little Tilly’s voice rises proudly over the chatter.
Reuben places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “We wanted this to be extra-special. I promise, Mum, it’s amazing.”
There’s a whooshing sound as the pod doors slide open. It feels unnatural to be stepping out without a mask, but I’m swept outside by the tide of people pressing forward.
Someone guides my hand onto the railing. The air out here is cool against my skin, and goosebumps spread up my arms, igniting memories. I’m so used to keeping them at bay that they lap against my consciousness. But they’re insistent. I won’t be able to hold them back much longer.
I feel a tugging sensation and the blindfold slides off my face. I snap my eyes shut, not yet ready to see it.
“Surprise! Happy Elders’ Day!” they chime.
A beat of silence.
I hear Emma gasp before I open my eyes.
I’m only aware of a faint sparkle at first. Then my vision clears, and my mouth falls open.
I’m staring up through the leaves of a weeping willow, its branches swaying, waving a bittersweet welcome. Beyond it, an orb glows softly against a velvety backdrop. They’ve got the silver light and the craters just right. It’s uncanny. And most beautiful of all are the glittering ‘stars,’ freckling the night sky. One for every lost soul left behind, every painfully happy memory, every human mistake that led to the collapse.
Is that my husband’s face among the stars? I blink and it’s gone.
A ripple of sighs and sobs echoes all around the camp. The other elders are outside their pods, too. We stand in an arc like a crescent-moon, gazing into the past.
I look at my children, whose features have softened into dreamy expressions.
“Was this your idea?”
They nod. They remember it too, of course. They were teenagers when we were shipped out, as were many of the others.
My heart quivers.
“Was Earth really this beautiful?” a tiny voice whispers in wonder.
Emma and I lock gazes. Our eyes brim with tears.
“Oh yes.”
