To the Moon and Back: Why the Hope of Meeting My Love Absolutely Terrifies Me... Milo Koenig

Nonfiction by Milo Koenig

Ding! The orange-yellow glow of the seatbelt sign cut through the dim lights as it clicked on. The captain’s voice echoed through the speakers, letting the passengers know that we were nearing the end of our flight. The plane’s engines hummed under the strain of thousands of pounds of luggage and passengers. I knew that the probability of a crash this late in the flight was low, but I couldn’t help gripping my seat as we started to descend. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived in my head, making up little memories and scenarios to replace the not-so-pleasant ones I had to endure. This is one I’ve been entertaining for a while, and when I finally do make the decision to hop on an international flight to spend a summer with a friend I’ve never seen before, I’ll have done a surprising amount of thinking and research on the matter. I know the moment we meet in person will be important to me, but I don’t know how much humans are capable of feeling, and I’m a little afraid of finding out. After all, my past experiences with love didn’t end too well. The landing goes off without a hitch, I manage to dislodge my fingers from the arm of the seat as passengers begin disembarking. “Thank you for flying Lufthansa Airlines.” I look for my exit and enter a small lobby. My suitcase makes little clicks every time we go over a grout line in the tile floor, and the sound echoes, a tiny percussion instrument marking time for the chorus of beeps, whistles, and melody of different languages in the air. I look around, scanning the room for a bit before I see her.1 She jogs up to greet me, but is cautious about touching me at first, as if she’s not quite sure what to do. “Oh my god, you’re … You’re a real person,” they say with a hint of an accent. “Uh … yeah, last time I checked,” I stammered. Great one, Milo. Barely a minute in and you’re already making a fool of yourself. You know, you should really— “Is it okay if I hug you?” She asked, a smile punctuating the question. I nodded quickly, feeling my grin grow impossibly wider, and held out my arms. They pulled me into a bone-crushing hug that seemed to last forever—several minutes, at least—before sighing and pulling away again to look at me. “Shall we?” She asks, gesturing toward the exit. I nod, and we head outside. Dampness hangs in the air, but it’s not muggy. Instead, it’s clean and refreshing. The smell

1 This individual uses both they/them and she/her pronouns, and requested that I use an even mix of these pronouns when referring to them.