Unidentified Cosmos Girl

At University I attended a free Cosmos course. The course was run by a leading Professor in the Physics Department and was aimed at the unscientific sorts, as an introduction to the latest discoveries and theories in the world of astrophysics.

As a Philosophy student I welcomed a touch of hard reality. It was good to know, finally, that if a tree fell in a forest and there was nobody there to see it that it did indeed still follow the laws of physics. Sometimes you start to lose faith in these things.

It was on a Saturday morning so, it goes without saying, none of my friends were interested. In fact, there were very few students, it was mostly ‘grown-ups’. Who knew grown-ups liked astrophysics too?

I sat alone, but the seats around me filled up. Just before the lesson started the most beautiful woman I have seen walked into the room. She was blonde, slim, not my usual type, but perfect in every way. She sat on the other side of the room, out of my reach.

The lecturer was a leading theoretical physicist, an expert on black holes. He had his own theory that it may be possible to travel faster than the speed of light in a black hole.

I tried to concentrate on the physics, but I found myself glancing over at the girl. She really was beautiful.  Impossible to ignore, like a black hole at the centre of a galaxy.  When the lesson ended, she stood up immediately and powered out of the room at speed. I tried to follow but she was long gone.

Never mind, I thought, it was a ten-week course.

The next week I arrived early and lingered. The chairs filled up, but there were three together to the right hand side of the front row, where Unidentified Cosmos girl had sat last time.  I sat in the middle of the three chairs. 

My careful calculations paid off. She arrived a couple of minutes before the lesson started and sat to the right of me. Two whole minutes before the lesson started. I made chit chat. Before the Professor started speaking, I had managed to make a connection. We didn’t get as far as names, but I found out at least that she was a Geology student. Excellent, I could talk to her about rocks. I know a lot about rocks. I live on one.

When the lesson ended, I took a leap into the void. “Do you fancy a coffee?” I said.

“Sorry,” she said. “I have to be in a whole different universe. Maybe next week.”

Maybe next week. On such hopes entire universes are founded. True, they mostly end up imploding into themselves, choking on the very physics at their foundation, but hope is what powers us, I can’t live without it – you might as well ask me to give up coffee.

The next week I arrived early and kept the seat to the right of me free. She arrived late and hastened to the seat next to me – no time to talk.

The Professor talked about the building blocks of matter and their foundation in the early universe, seconds after the Big Bang and how the early universe was visible through the most powerful telescopes on Earth. Billions of years of history unfolding before our very eyes. Just too far away to make out anything interesting.

“Do you still fancy that coffee,” she said to me at the end of the lesson. 

Is the speed of light a constant? I thought about saying in response, but held the words back. Keep it simple, don’t try clever. Also, of course, the Professor had raised doubts about the statement, is the speed of light a constant or is it possible that the rules don’t apply within the confines of a black hole. “Yes,” I said instead. You’re usually on safe ground with ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Nobody’s going to shoot down your physics.

We went to the café by the duckpond. She liked her coffee white and wishy-washy (hopefully she likes her men the same way, I thought to myself). We talked for hours, as if the rules of time don’t apply in the duckpond café. We had an early lunch, in her case, or a late breakfast, as it was from my perspective. Afterwards we ordered rolls and went outside to feed the ducks.

We went for a walk around the park. We talked about rocks, about university, about life. Her father’s job had meant that she’d never stayed in one place for very long, she’d been to twentythree different schools. Her three-year course would be the longest she’d remained in one place in her lifetime. In termtime at least, during vacations she could be literally anywhere in the universe.  

“You were born under a wandering star,” I postulated. She looked at me blankly. We hadn’t covered Lee Marvin in the Cosmos course.  

The afternoon turned magically into early evening. “We could have something to eat round mine?” I suggested. I avoid the actual phrase “back to my place.”

“Do you have an anteater in your house?” she asked.

An anteater? “Actually I was thinking of making a curry.”

She laughed. “In that case we’d better go back to mine,” she said.

We walked into towards the Uplands, and stopped outside what was obviously a student house.

There was nobody about. The kitchen was directly in front of us as we entered, but we didn’t head that direction, we went upstairs.

“I’ll show you my anteater,” she said.

We entered her room. It was small, but it had a bed, which was a good sign.

“This is Anthony,” she said, passing me a cuddly toy anteater. It had a bushy tail and a long, long nose.

“Hello Anthony,” I said.

“I need him when I kiss,” she said.

I looked at her, nonplussed.

“I can’t breath through my right nostril. And my left nostril’s a bit rubbish as well. I can only sustain a long kiss if I touch the top of my nose to allow the air to pass through. I could use a finger, but it gets in the way, an anteater has a longer reach.”

We kissed, as if to demonstrate the process. I was aware, vaguely, of the anteater’s nose in the corner of my eye, but I had more important things to consider.

The kiss continued. Hands strayed, two of mine and one of hers. Only the hand holding Anthony remained static, she was clearly well-practiced.

Without speaking we moved onto the bed, anteater still in place.

“You’re good at this,” I said to Anthony, when there was finally a break in the passion.

“You wouldn’t believe how good,” she said.

“Show me,” I said.

We rustled quickly out of clothing and under the bedsheets. Anthony joined us. We kissed and fondled, all the time with the Anthony in place, like a snorkel, allowing her to breath whilst submerged in passion. If you’ve never made love with a woman holding an anteater up against her nose, then believe me you’ve missed out.

After the first time we tried again, with me holding the anteater, but I struggled to maintain the correct position, and kept poking her in the eye.  “Give Anthony to me,” she said, and we resumed as before.

I ended up staying the night. The following morning, I woke to find her gone. Anthony was there, with a note tucked underneath him. “Sorry, I have to dash off, I have to be in a whole different universe. There’s cereal in the kitchen, and the possibility of milk. Let yourself out. I’ll see next week.”

I had cereal and milk, then headed home. I never got her number, I thought. Then I realised that I hadn’t even gotten her name. She was still the Unidentified Cosmos Girl I’d described to my friend.

I thought about calling round during the week, but I felt instructed otherwise. I knew nothing about her, or the people she lived with.  It might have been awkward.

I waited. Like a love-torn planet waiting for the once-in-every-thousand years return of its favourite comet. A week. I had to wait an entire week before I’d speak to her again.

Finally the week passed. I positioned myself in my usual chair and saved the seat next to me. The lesson started. She didn’t come. Clearly she had somewhere else in the universe that she needed to be.

After the lesson I walked to her house. I rang the bell, but it echoed, hollow and empty.

“You won’t find anyone in there,” a neighbour said. “It’s been empty for months.”

I didn’t argue. I peered through the letterbox and the house did indeed look empty. I left a note. I addressed it to Anthony the Anteater, as I didn’t know Unidentified Cosmos Girl’s name.

That afternoon I went to Toys R Us and bought an anteater. With an anteater of my own, I figured, I could invite her back to mine the next time I saw her. It wasn’t the same make as Anthony, but it’s nose was long and it’s overall shape and structure was grabbable, so I thought it would suffice. I called it Antoinette.

I put the Antoinette by the side of my bed and waited. It would only be a week.

Only it wasn’t. She didn’t turn up the following week. Nor ever again. I called round her house many times, but there was never anybody there. Clearly she had somewhere else in the universe she needed to be.

Years have passed. Antoinette is still by the side of my bed, but she has never met her Anthony. I never found out Unidentified Cosmos Girl’s name, nor what happened to her. I still have her note, unsigned, and memories, unsurpassed.

I still have hope that I might see her again. Nothing is impossible. Even the laws of physics, which seem fixed in their ways, may have exceptions. Like Liz Truss’ motorways, black holes may not have speed limits. And, who knows, maybe it’s even possible that I’ll see Unidentified Cosmos girl again.  After all, we inhabit the same universe. And when you share the same universe with someone you always have a chance.

All there is to do is wait.