Red Graves

“You suck,” one of the neighbors said as their sibling strummed an incorrectly fingered chord.

“Shut up. I’ve almost got this song down.”

Tami kept her head down, focused on planting her flowers as a harsh, choppy rhythm carried over the wall. She’d rented the house because the yard was surrounded by a wall instead of a fence, but it wasn’t as private as she’d expected. Every quarrel from the adjacent house carried through her walls. Even when they were happy, they were loud.

As the young neighbor practiced a basic rock tune, memories of Tami’s musical studies surfaced. She’d wanted to start with the trumpet but had been pressured into the clarinet. Her dream was to branch into other instruments later, but her parents wouldn’t permit her to attempt another until she’d mastered the first. She’d practiced diligently until she was able to play three symphonies perfectly. The thrill of finally being allowed to try something new was short-lived. She was back on the beginning of a familiar road, forced to practice trumpet until she thoroughly impressed everyone willing to listen, while maintaining mastery of the clarinet. The pressure made her wish she’d never seen a sheet of music.

Pressure. That’s all she ever felt. The chance to enjoy life was always there, but was constantly stolen. She would have been happy in school if the only goal was to learn, but she was pushed to excel at her assignments and to make as many friends as possible. She might have gotten married if she had met someone who could just enjoy her company, but every partner desired to work toward something with her instead of being happy with her. Nothing was ever good enough. She was never good enough.

Her phone rang, and she swore under her breath at forgetting to set it to silent. She rushed inside before the noise caught the neighbor's attention. The call was from her sister, who had started calling more after their father died, and more so now that their mother had also passed on. Tami had attended both funerals and had grieved with her family members. That should have been enough, but, as always, there was pressure. With mom and dad gone, there was an unspoken expectation for the siblings to reconnect. She made a fist, slowly extended a finger, and answered. “Hi, Lily.”

“Finally, I tried calling yesterday.”

“Service was down.” It was a lie she’d used before, but it was more believable given her current living situation. Over the years, she’d moved to smaller, more isolated towns. The single-unit shack was the furthest off the beaten path she’d ever been, so poor connections weren’t surprising. She wished people would notice the pattern and take the hint that she wanted to be left alone, but nobody cared enough to recognize those kinds of things about her.

“Well, tell me, what’s up? What’re you doing today?”

“I was just outside, starting my flower bed.”

“Oh, that’s great. Are you including petunias again? I hope they go better than last year.”

Tami closed her eyes. Even gardening was ruined the moment other people became involved. She couldn’t just plant flowers because they looked pretty. Each flower bed had to be better than the one she tried before. If she wasn’t making progress toward becoming spectacular, then she wasn’t living properly.

Tami tried to get Lily to talk about herself, but she’d never been good at having, let alone controlling, conversations. Lily kept siphoning information about Tami’s latest activities, along with advice on how to improve, or express hopes that her latest attempt would end better than the previous one. Tami took the comments in stride as best she could, which primarily consisted of biting her tongue, until her sister finally ended the torment due to her dinner being ready. Tami sighed as she hung up and realized that she was also hungry.

After talking to her sister, she didn’t want to try to cook anything elaborate, so she settled for a sandwich. As she spread the peanut butter, she fantasized about a future in which she stopped trying to do anything, accept that there was nothing spectacular about her, and casually coast through the rest of her life. However, she’d been down that road before. The less she tried, the more incessant her friends and family became. Once she was goaded into trying something new, they were guaranteed to breathe down her neck, practically forcing her into perfection. There was no escape. She was born with a rope around her waist so people could pull her along on journeys that she’d quickly regret.

She only knew of one chance at happiness. One shred of hope that she never shared with Lily, or any of her friends or family. Whether she spent her last days blissful or miserable as ever depended on an online form.

Officially, Far Off Inc. was a retirement agency, but it offered a unique plan. Instead of retiring on Earth, the company sent clients to housing structures on Mars. Experience as an astronaut wasn’t necessary. The ships were designed to make liftoff tolerable for anybody, including the elderly. Life-sustaining processes like air supply and filtration were automated, and assisted living was performed by robots. The most notable feature of the plan was that it only offered one-way trips.

Near each retirement home was a domed biome, where bodies were transported after a resident died. The long-term goal was to make the soil within the biomes fertile, and the longer-term goal was to make Mars habitable. The first – and primary – issue brought up was the immensity of Mars and that it would take eons for the retirement plan to yield results. The founder’s response was: “A species can dream, can’t they?”

The founder’s outlook resonated with Tami. Skepticism continued to be thrown at the company and all its stakeholders. Nobody would let them try their project just for the sake of trying it. An idea came to her.

She’d submitted applications to Far Off before, but they’d been denied. The main issue was her age. The amount of provisions ships carried forced the agency to only accept clients who were very old or terminally ill … people who wanted to go to Mars but weren’t expected to stay there long. Tami had just turned 68. She hadn’t retired because she didn’t have a substantial 401(k) and relied on supplemental income to afford rent. She only saw two options: keep working and deal with people for the rest of her life, or get her application approved and leave the world behind.

Tami crafted a letter to attach to her application. She tried to form a rapport with the company owners. It was difficult to find the appropriate tone. She didn’t want to sound depressed but needed to articulate the depth of her distaste. After many drafts that kept her busy late into the night, she sent her fifteenth attempt to Far Off Inc.

The initial response was another denial. At first, she was deterred, but a week later, after several conversations with her sister, spats from the neighbors, and irritating work conversations, she revised her letter and tried again. A pattern developed. Submission. Denial. Acceptance. Conversation. Revision. Submission…

The repetition wasn’t irksome. None of her friends knew what she was doing. She wasn’t striving for perfection. Instead, she viewed the application as a private hobby. If it ever happened, she’d rejoice. If not, she had comfort in the knowledge that she had tried.

Submission. Denial. Acceptance. People. Revision. Submission.

Then, surprise.

She received an email from a sender who identified themselves as David Pasadera, the founder of Far Off. She doubted it was really him. Best case scenario, it was an aide responding to a persistent customer to make her stop applying. Tami read on anyway.

If it was really from the founder, it was moving. He claimed he understood her and knew the sting of constant encouragement. He wanted to make her dream a reality and let her know that he was willing to discuss further.

She spent more time on her reply than she did on her initial letter. She still wasn’t convinced that it was really him, and a part of her didn’t expect a response. However, the next day, she received an email from the same sender. This time, it felt more personal.

They sent messages to each other like pen pals. They had an almost friendly tone, but they also discussed business. David had a way of modifying a ship to hold more provisions. There were also individuals who were believed to have passed on before their rations had depleted. The robots could be used to transport extras to her living quarters. He could make an exception and accept her application, despite her age being lower than their typical demographic.

Tami was invigorated. Her application process had gone from a dream, to a hobby, to a possibility. She kept it a secret, but every time she talked to Lily, Tami gleefully imagined each conversation as their last.

Unfortunately, David wasn’t as good at keeping secrets. It wasn’t entirely his fault. As a minor celebrity, he was constantly interviewed. Eventually, he let details slip, and from there it didn’t take long for dedicated reporters to put together the story. Newscasters reached out to Tami. To David’s credit, he apologized, although that did nothing to assuage the pestering. In her next messages, she begged him to do whatever he could to get her off Earth as fast as possible. He said he’d see what he could do and promised it would be soon.

It wasn’t long before Lily called with a much more aggravated tone than usual. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Now that escape was in sight, Tami found a sense of courage and combativeness that she’d never felt before. “We always talk about me. Tell me about you.”

“Tami, I’m serious. Are you the one the reporters have been talking about? Mr. Pasadera’s been talking about?”

“I’m leaving, and if you love me, you’ll do something you’ve never done before.”

“Talk you out of it?”

“Support me.”

“I’ve always been supportive. Where is this coming from?”

Tami laughed. “Seriously? I’m sick of you, sick of my neighbors, sick of my coworkers. You should know that by now.”

“Tami, you’re scaring me. Nothing ever seemed to bother you before. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

“Too late for sorry. I’m done, Lily. Done with you always putting me down.”

“When have I ever put you down?”

Tami scoffed and hung up. Lily called back, but she didn’t answer. The next day, she sent her retirement notice to her boss. They wanted a party, but she refused. David was the only person she wanted to talk to, the only one who understood her, and the only one who could finally make her happy.

Finally, she received a departure date. David sent her instructions for how to operate the equipment. She went to her local Far Off location to undergo training. Before she knew it, she was launched off the Earth and into the void of space.

Throughout the trip, she never looked back at her home planet. This is what she wanted her entire life. Emptiness. Absolute silence. Nobody looked over her shoulder. Nobody was around to make her feel small. There was no pressure to do anything or become anyone. She could just exist, as herself, and be comfortable with who she was. The time in space blissfully dragged on, and with every moment she spent on the ship, she became more grateful that she would never have the chance to return.

But the trip had to reach its unavoidable end. She strapped into the designated compartment and waited as the landing procedure completed. Automated machinery covered the majority of attaching the craft to the existing housing structure, while she performed minor adjustments. It went smoothly, and soon, all she had to do was wait for the airlock. Being stationary felt restrictive compared to drifting through space, but she retained the glee that came with being truly alone.

Inside the structure, the first thing she did was activate a panel on a wall that displayed the recent activity of the robots. Seeing the air units were functioning normally was a brief bit of good news, but she paused when she noticed they were active an hour before she arrived. She opened the airlock file and saw there were two procedures on record.

“Hello, Tami.”

Tami’s breath stalled as she turned toward a shriveled man who leaned on a cane. It took her a moment to realize she was face-to-face with David Pasedera. “How?”

“I came in my own ship, modified like yours. It landed first. The robots disconnected it before you arrived.”

“How?” Tami repeated.

“Your letter and emails made it clear that you’re the only one who understands me. We’ve both been pushed past our limits. Forced into obedience by people who don’t realize they’ve chained us. But in the end, it served a purpose. I was pushed further until I created Far Off. Now we can spend the rest of our days together.”

Tami backed into a wall and sat down. David claimed he understood her, but she felt betrayed. All she wanted was to be left alone. Instead, she was forced into a confined space with someone she only knew through emails. Instead of living the rest of her life in peace, she only had a few months of it while she was travelling to Mars. Just like everything else in her life, the joy had been short-lived before it was destroyed by other people.