Sputnik 2

Oct 19  |  Alycia Fonseca

He is talking and talking and talking. Dinner is dragging on, check forgotten on the edge of the table, and I am waiting for him to pick it up, I want to interrupt his monologue, beg him to pay for both of our meals, as he insisted upon over text message. My fingers are gripping the hem of my dress, something I found on a sales rack, I think the seam is uneven. Why am I still sitting here? Why am I smiling? Am I smiling? I havenā€™t stopped thinking about Laikaā€”not all day, not during this first and only date, the dog the Russians sent into space. Over sixty-five years ago, a stray, sent to oblivion. I cried for several hours, gathering as much information as I could about the dog, who couldnā€™t get a proper burial due to disintegrating upon re-entry to this terrible planet. Why couldnā€™t we talk about her? Why didnā€™t we talk about her every day? She weighed thirteen pounds. They knew she was going to die. She played with children on her last days on Earth. ā€œAre you listening to me?ā€ No. I listen to the stars and hope to hear her bark.

One Comment
  1. CANDACE C3 weeks ago

    This so painfully wonderful. Completely heartbreaking. Beautiful writing.

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