Comet

I went to the apartment of My Brothers & Co. last night to do homework on their couch instead of mine. I’m substantially less productive there, nearly guaranteed to get distracted watching Seth’s favorite scene from La La Land, or screeching (emphasis on screeching) “Love Is An Open Door,” or receiving a “measuring things is for chumps” rice cooking tutorial from Mr. Dallin Luth, or discussing the green comet passing our planet at that very moment.

Actual footage of the green comet.

Esmeralda, as I’ve chosen to call it, is a comet that was discovered by NASA less than a year ago. Her official name is C/2022 E3 (ZTF), and honestly, I have so many questions. My first question is, why? My second question is, how is that pronounced, exactly? Also, she doesn’t get a real name? Do we not name the robots we send to Mars? We do. In fact, there’s a whole documentary on Amazon Prime about the Mars rover, Opportunity, which I’ve heard has made some viewers cry. So whatever stereotypes may exist around people who work at NASA, emotionally-unattached-from-their-projects-and-discoveries is not one of those stereotypes.

Esmeralda. Let’s call her Esmeralda.

I digress.

It is believed that the last time the comet could be seen from Earth, Neanderthals still roamed the land.

I remember when the comet was first discovered last March. Clickbait headlines on my Twitter feed read, “New Comet Discovered To Be Hurdling Toward Earth!” or something dramatic like that. I had just finished watching the movie Don’t Look Up (2021) (that is not a movie recommendation, by the way) and was paranoid about the prospect of an astronomical projectile hurdling toward Earth. I did some reading, learned that the comet was hurdling toward Earth in the same way that I hurdle toward the gym every day, I hurdle past the entrance, I wave to the employees at the front desk, and I never go inside. There was no crisis, there was no doom. And I forgot all about the comet.

Well, I had forgotten about the comet, until last night, after the musical indulgence and trying to explain that BRUH IT’S A LOT LESS COMPLICATED IF YOU JUST MEASURE YOUR RICE, when my younger brother, Ethan stood within the apartment of My Brothers & Co. and asked the room full of people if we would all like to join him on an Esmeralda-viewing excursion (my words, not his).

Now, if you spend much time around Ethan, particularly in the evening hours, you know that Ethan has set a 10:00 bedtime for himself, and he sticks to it. (And honestly, respect. Know your limits, queen.) Well, that is, unless Ethan is feeling spontaneous or adventurous, in which case he abandons any semblance of structure he’s established in his life and we find ourselves sledding at the park at midnight, or eating In-N-Out at midnight, or chasing a novel, green comet at midnight.

Of the entire multitude (6. There were 6 people in the room.), only two of us subscribed to the call to adventure: me, and a guy we found on the street named Spencer. At 11:30 pm, on the first day of the second month of the year of our Lord two-thousand and twenty-three, little brother Ethan, Hobo Spencer, and I piled into my little white sedan and set off, barreling down the Interstate at 80-something miles per hour toward the literal middle of nowhere, because that’s where the darkness is, and our gurl Esmeralda thrives in darkness.

We exited the freeway in Mona, which is the first town south of Utah County, which is the cosmopolitan cityscape where we reside. We drove past the single gas station, through the only four-way stop in the town, and before we even realized we had entered the town of Mona, we had left it.

We proceeded along a dark backroad as the landscape on either side of the road evolved from barren, snow-covered fields to the walls of a small canyon. Suddenly the unnerving yellow light illuminated my dashboard, informing me that I probably should have gotten gas before we started this little outing. In my defense, my gas gauge showed that I had over a ¼ tank before we left Provo. Either my car is suddenly guzzling gas harder than I do a McDonald’s Coke, or my gas gauge is no longer reliable. Or both. I swear if Florencia has a drinking problem, I’m going to be so sad.

Either way, we took the gas light as a sign to not go see what was up that canyon. I, instead, flipped a U-turn, drove a couple hundred yards back toward town, and found a place to pull off the side of the road.

The three of us got out of the car, eyes to the sky. We were looking for Esmeralda. We came for Esmeralda.

No comet.

There was a slight winter haze. The moon was nearly full. Even miles away from city lights, few stars shined through. Even Esmeralda was too shy to show us her glowing green glory.

At the end of the day, we didn’t see what we set out to see.

But have you ever basked in the silence of a snow-covered winter night?

Have you ever driven without a destination, but you know the destination when you see it?

Have you ever chased a deer across a field?

Have you ever sped down a country backroad, yellow gas light blinding, “Imma Be” by the Black Eyed Peas blaring?

Have you ever woken up for work in the morning and thought, wow, I am so exhausted, but I’m not even mad?

Because little brother Ethan, Hobo Spencer, and I have.