Imagine you are Solomon Starbuck. It's been weeks since you touched earth again. And you are tired. Physically it's ok, but mentally... you don't know how long you can last today.
You answers so many questions, re-explain how the trip went -some events don't follow the exact chronologic orders but no one bats an eye, because everything that happen was so cool and you are such a hero- shared how you felt and you lied a bit too much for your liking. Not that you ever were a liar, but since a year or two, you someone made you took the habit of being very honest.
It's like your back on the ship. Or you never really left. It's blurry but your not exactly on Earth.
You don't know how many people asked you things, how many interviews they were, how many photos were taken of you fake smiling. Not your job anyway. You, you have to show up, speak when asked, look at the cameras... It was a long day, it feels like an eternity. You can't feel the warmth of your body. The winged pins of your suit poke your skin, even with the layers of your uniform. It's so loud it became silent, you know how to filter certains sound now. So many flashes blinded your eyes, you don't really register colors.
It's night. Already? You didn't even noticed the blue sky or the sun. Couldn't even tell what the weather was actually. You walk through the hall of the Center. You can only think about one thing : your bed, in silence, calm, for many, many hours of sleep, forgetting the world exist.
You ask if it's done and thank god, it is.
"Actually, I think there is one last"
No no no you are not doing this you drop the nice heroic astronaut act this is too much you can't anymore this is too much
Now you can feel your body burning with exhaustion. Your heart is pounding and it hurt. The pins sink deeper. It's darker, outside. Inside too.
And then you saw them, the little interviewers. Little for you, because they are catching up to you in height now. Did they grow up while you were away? It wasn't that long but you don't have time to think too much about it actually. Your body acted on his own and in a split second, you are accross the room, and you have your home in your arms. You're back.
You hold them dear, your hands grasping their shoulders. You probably left a mark. Two "little" hands grasp your jacket back, just as hard. They probably left a mark too. No one is letting go. A mix sent of petrichor, lavender and cinnamon hits you. Soft wild hair brushes your cheek. A cold golden bracelet knock against the starry feather of your uniform.
When you pull away, you see their smiles. So bright and happy. Today was sunny actually, you remember now.
You ask first, how they are doing, how was their day. You forgot you are the one being interviewed. They remind you quickly. It's not as anxious, answering questions, retelling what happen and how. You do lie still, you are not going to scare your student away from his dream. He'll learn, later, not now, not from you. You are not going to make your kid worry too much, you are the one who worry for them. That's how it work.
You smile, just as brightly and happy. It really is sunny. You? Exhausted? On the brink of falling asleep in the middle of a hallway, of your body giving up on you, pulled by gravity? No you're not! Ok, maybe a bit tired, but you have so many questions to answer! You can't possibly leave now!
You feel the ground beneath your feets, the weight of a head pressed on your shoulder, of hands on your arm. The windows are cold, the room warm, the pins flew away. The blue of your jacket found his true colors again, and your ears doesn't have this half annoying ringing, half deafening silence anymore.
It feels good to be back.
