Try, Try Again

by Jenny Jaffe

There are plenty of reasons one of us might get returned before we reach earth, and most of them we don’t find all that distressing. The amount it upsets us to be returned is directly proportional to how much our host wanted us. Me, I’ve been returned 43 times, and most of those times it was a relief. When they don’t want you at all, when you’re just basting in their pain or revulsion or fear or even neutrality, you want out as bad as they want you out. Those times, it’s easy to come back. It’s great. It’s the biggest relief you’ve ever felt. I have been to earth 104 times; trust me, you do not want to go if the host doesn’t want you all the way.

It sucks when they want you and you still don’t get to go, though. It really does. One time my host wanted me so bad, she kept me frozen for years until she knew she could take care of me. She spent money and science and tears on me, but I couldn’t stay. That was a long trip back. The last time I got returned, my host had a name picked out for me. She sang to me. I let myself get comfortable in her primordial ooze and daydreamed with her about all the things I might be. She learned which set of genitals I would be born with. I loved her like she loved me. But my heartbeat wasn’t all that strong, and I felt her crushing disappointment when she was told I wasn’t going to make it all the way to earth. It sucked a whole bunch.

Everyone keeps telling me I’ve just gotta try again. “You’ll make it back to earth when the time is right, but you can’t give up.”

I think that’s why it feels easier to sit in the great soup from which all things come and to which all things must return, at least for a little while longer. It’s hard enough to leave its embrace to go to earth if you know you’re going to make it, especially because the great soup is so cozy warm. But if there’s a chance you might be wanted and still come back? Not only is it devastating, it’s a schlep.

But I’ll try again soon.