Chapter 9

“Why do I get the sense astronomy will be a perennial part of my life?”

“Unavoidable if you stick with me.”

“Then I guess we’re going to the Keck Observatory.”

“So you’re really going to stick with me?”

“You’re going to ask me that after all we’ve been through? Of course, I’m sticking with you.”

A beaming smile lit up her face.

We hit stop-and-go traffic as we approached Riverside. It was a solemn reminder that we were returning to civilization, a jarring reminder that Autumn had cancer to fight. That she had to get her leg amputated soon. The thought made me melancholic.

As much as I didn’t want to remind Autumn about it, I wanted to know how she was feeling. Besides, I saw that she wore a melancholy on her face too. One that lends to the notion that perhaps it was better to talk it out. I decided to broach the subject.

“How are you feeling about the surgery?”

“Yeah, Meh. I mean, it’s just an amputation.”

“Totally. Just an amputation.”

“In the past, people were getting amputated left and right. Better than dying. Besides, there are some cool prosthetics out there I can get. I’ll get to customize. It’ll be hella cool.”

“You can get one of those blade things. Those look badass.”

“Peg leg is more my style.”

“Peg leg? Like a pirate?”

“Arghh! Matey,” Autumn replied. “Yeah, and I’ll wear an eyepatch too.”

“I’ll get you a parrot.”

“You better. My birthday is coming up, you know.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“End of May. Hopefully, I’ll be finished with the chemo and radiotherapy by then.”

“You’ll be done with cancer.”

“Yeah… I’ll be done with cancer.”

We stopped at a Chevron before reaching the city to fill up on gas. Autumn waited in the car while I went into the food mart to use the toilet. On the way out, I spotted a stuffed Macaw parrot on a shelf in an aisle. He was carrying a spyglass beneath a wing, and he had a peg leg. I couldn’t resist. I had to buy it.

When I got back to the car, I tossed it onto Autumn’s lap.

“It’s not your birthday, but it is Valentine’s Day. I would’ve gotten you daffodils, but they’re fresh out of flowers.”

“Aw, Joey, he’s perfect! Thank you.” She squeezed the parrot against her cheek.

All good things must come to an end. So too, must our amazing one-night adventure in the desert.

I parked on the side of the street in front of Autumn’s house. We sat for a quiet moment in the car. Neither of us wanted to get out. We just wanted to be there with each other. So, we sat silently, listening to the car engine ping as it cooled down.

I wanted the trip to go on. I was full up on gas, so we could drive all the way down to Mexico if we really wanted to. But Autumn had cancer to beat, so here we were.

Autumn’s mom came out the front door of the house. She crossed her arms and waited patiently there on the steps.

“What time’s the surgery?”

“Nine tomorrow morning.”

“Can I go with you?” I asked.

She smiled. “I’m going to be a nervous wreck. You wouldn’t want to see me, and I don’t want you to see me.”

“Ok. Fine. But promise you’ll text me as soon as it’s over.”

“I promise I’ll text you.”

Autumn’s surgery went without a hitch, and when she came out the other end, though she was minus half a leg, she was as cheerful as ever.

She had to miss classes while she focused on her rehabilitation. But her professors gave her class notes, and I continued to be her study buddy (when we weren’t doing other things quite unrelated to studying).

Only a week after losing her leg, she recommenced chemo. Adjuvant chemotherapy — post-surgery chemo, in other words. She had to go through radiotherapy too. They threw the kitchen sink at her to ensure they got rid of it, so it didn’t spread elsewhere. The lungs were the most likely place it could spread to and one of the most dangerous. If that happened, her chances of surviving would fall precipitously. It was a real worry because of how aggressively her sarcoma had spread initially and how poorly she responded to the chemo.

They did biopsies, and several PET and CT scans as she continued her treatment. There were rough troughs and hopeful peaks. Some results showed very little progress, while others showed real promise. It was a real rollercoaster ride, but after her last radiotherapy session, the post-treatment scan showed that the cancer had finally gone!

Four years had gone by since the spring semester of freshman year, the day that Autumn walked into my life. A lot has happened since. We graduated from college. She embarked on a Ph.D. in Astrophysics at the University of Arizona while I stayed in LA for medical school.

Though we lived in different states, we visited each other as much as possible. On the fourth anniversary of our first rocky meeting, I drove to Tucson to visit Autumn for a very special purpose. It was a long drive. Eight hours in total. I picked up daffodils along the way.

I knocked on her door. The door came open immediately.

Autumn looked very different than she did the day we first met. She wasn’t wearing a beanie. Her hair was a rich auburn and tied back into a ponytail. She had a prosthetic leg. Not one of those pirate peg legs she said she would get, just a regular-looking prosthesis.

Autumn squealed with joy, came over to hug me, and planted a lot of kisses on me. And I planted a lot of kisses on her.

I handed her the daffodils. She stuffed her nose into the sunny bouquet and sniffed them with a wide smile across her face.

“How was the drive?” she asked.

“Long and boring as usual. But always worth it. Hey, do you know what today is?”

She shook her head. “No, what’s today?”

“Four years since we first met.”

“Has it been four years already?”

“Wow, time sure flies, doesn’t it? I still remember it like yesterday when you asked me to be your lab partner. You were so damn nervous! It was cute. I couldn’t say no.”

“I was very nervous then. Kind of like how I am now,” I replied.

She tilted her head, gave me a confused look, and chuckled. “Why would you be nervous?”

I let out a long exhale. Images flashed through my mind of that fateful day four years ago when I mustered up the courage to ask her to be my partner for that Jupiter project. I was so gut wrenched you’d think I was proposing marriage. Which, on that note…

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a little black box. With trembling hands, I opened it. Inside was a ring. Nothing fancy. Just a simple band.

I inhaled deeply, then said, “Autumn, I was wondering if you’d like to marry me.”

She dropped the daffodils. Tears came to her eyes. She wiped them away, laughed in that Muttley way she laughs, then responded, “Sure. Why the hell not?”

When a comet comes through the inner solar system, it only stays for a little while. To see one in the sky can be quite the event. It can be life-changing, awe-inspiring, and even frightful. It can be humbling. It can challenge your notion of a normal existence, reminding you how little and fragile you are. Then it disappears. But not before leaving its mark.

The last perihelion of the comet 109/P Swift-Tuttle occurred on December 11, 1992. With its long electric blue tail, it was a beautiful sight for those lucky enough to see it. The next time it swings by will be in the year 2126. Autumn and I, in all likelihood, will be long in the dirt by then. But every summer, around mid-July to late August, the Earth’s orbit always intersects the Swift-Tuttle’s dust trail. When that happens, if you happen to be in a place with a dark, clear sky, you will likely see the fiery streaks of the comet dust as they hit our atmosphere. That is what the Perseid meteor shower is — the dust trail left behind by the Swift-Tuttle comet. When Autumn and I get hitched, we won’t have a fancy wedding or anything. But for our honeymoon, you’ll be sure to find us on the Big Island, watching the Perseid meteors rain down on us.

Thanks so much for reading my Valentine’s Day story. I’m not a medical professional or an astronomer, but I tried my very best to be technically accurate. Apologies to the experts in those fields if I messed something up.

A Town with an Ocean View (from Kiki’s Delivery Service) — Joe Hisaishi