The little boy woke up and yawned, curling up beneath the cozy blanket. He looked to the window, where the billowing curtains were gently pushed aside by the wind. Tiny rays of light streamed through. Beautiful, but unfamiliar. He wandered out of bed and through the door. What happened to the car? Where was he?

 

His eyes widened in amazement at the sight before him. Millions and millions of twinkling stars enveloped him. Asteroids and comets streaked by and illuminated the dark sky. Shades of blue, purple, and pink were splattered across the galaxy. He could make out the faint outlines of the spinning planets. He used to religiously read The First Big Book of Space and had committed all the planets within its pages to memory: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune. Neptune, decidedly, was his favorite. Then, he noticed the constellations that his mother had fondly taught him. She used to shake him awake at 2 a.m. with a thick wool blanket over her shoulder and two mugs of hot chocolate in her hands. They would open the window and climb out onto the roof. “That one,” she would say with a warm smile, “is the Big Dipper.” She would then point towards the brightest star in the constellation and would advise him: “If you ever get lost, just follow the North Star.” But she was the one lost now. Where was she?

 

She wasn’t here on the moon. Was she? He meandered around aimlessly. He wondered if there was any water here. Any lakes or rivers or oceans. His father promised to take him fishing one day. He briefly scanned his surroundings. No water, but he did notice that the moon was a bit larger than he had expected. He didn’t mind, though. More to explore, right? The surface he was walking on now was dappled with craters and ridges and bumps and speckled with shades of grey. The ashen grey reminded him of the concrete sidewalk from home. He had scraped his knee while riding his bike there, but his father had patched him right up: “Better now, champ?” Much better. He remembered the lazy Sunday mornings spent sitting on his father’s lap as he read the newspaper aloud in his comforting, matter-of-fact voice. He could still smell the fragrant scent of hazelnut coffee lingering on his father's breath. He missed those Sunday mornings with his father. Where was he now? 

 

He kicked the ground, sending plumes of lunar dust swirling and clouding his vision. The novelty was beginning to wear off. His newfound freedom wasn’t worth it. He missed home; he missed his parents; he missed messily shoveling half-melted vanilla ice cream in his mouth under the blazing California sun; he missed Milky Way bars from the local convenience store and spontaneous beach trips—all those things, and so much more. There was no beach on the moon. Was there? Could he create a beach here? He didn’t think so. You can’t have a beach without water, and there was no water.

 

The other side of the moon was far away and engulfed in darkness. A faint noise echoed from over there, a muffled voice: “Come this way! There are more people like you here. We can be alone together.” He sharply turned his back and ignored the voice, focusing his attention on the sky. Asteroids and comets and meteors flashed by, like the universe was putting on an extravagant show for him. His mother and father sat with him, watching. The little boy climbed into a shallow crater and sat down at the bottom. He smiled up at the display before him. He heard his parents laugh at the wonder of it all and joined in with his own cries of joy. He knew he couldn’t stay here forever, but he could definitely try.