birds did. If that was even possible.
She looked out, over the ocean … she could see nothing but water and sky. She wanted to ask him if that was what space looked like—if that was the reason his stare was so intense? But then she feared his answer would be something she didn’t want to hear. Something her mind didn’t want to see. So she remained silent, and she knew he liked that ….
The Florida weather was warm as it usually is during the spring months. And Spaceman, like all who grew up in Florida, was dressed accordingly …. He sported beach attire with flip flops on his feet. And as the sun’s rays bounced off the ocean, they took the time to shine on his face .... Who or what wouldn’t? Stacy wondered. He’s perfect in every way! And then—she quivered, as she felt a tingle, down in her nether region.
She let it be.
His skin was the color of mocha, and it was rumored this browning was permanent and was the result of flying too close to the sun. His body was chiseled, as he only ate food developed by NASA, packaged food that was full of everything great and whole. Packed with only what the body needed to excel. Food that would never spoil and came out the same way it went in. The texture was that of tar, and there was no flavor. Flavor would have to be added and meant nothing good. Flavor was never good and meant one was eating for pleasure and Spaceman knew pleasure would bring pain. That’s all it was, pleasure meant pain the same as life means death. And he had already been born and that was enough.
He was a short man—five-foot-five—so the capsules could be made smaller. His lungs were pink; virgins to all smoke except burnt rocket fuel and molten lava fumes. He was built for speed, space travel, and danger. His reflexes were that of a cat—his vision, an eagle—and his stamina, a Camel!
Stacy had his action figure dolls at home. On a shelf, still in the box. Ken was melted down, and Barbie now stood next to a real man. A man, those in movies pretended they were, but not even the best of actors could properly portray such an idle. Stacy knew this, as did Barbie, as did every little girl in America. Ken had gotten old, and Barbie had moved on. And just like in real life, Stacy had kept all Ken’s accessories. Why not …? She could, so she did!
Shallow …? Perhaps, but Spaceman didn’t complain. But then, he never made the mistake of thinking they were his. He was only borrowing them and had no problem leaving them behind when the time came. I wonder how many reading this can read between the lines?
Anyway—and as Spaceman stared off to the East, Stacy thought of all this, and she thought of life after Spaceman was gone. And she had no doubt he would be gone. She didn’t like this and no one would because it meant nothing good. Not for her, nor the world. “Why don’t you let one of the other astronauts take this mission?” Her voice broke, and Spaceman knew she was about to weep.
All the same, his eyes remained on the horizon. “They only want to mess with the moon,” he said, his voice low as though he felt sorry for them. “There’s nothing on the moon. And moon walking is for pussies and pedophiles …. Do I look like either of them!”
“No,” Stacy quickly said. “You’re an American Hero, just like the ones who put Russia in their place.” Her words were now stumbling.
“That’s right,” Spaceman said, now his voice was robust, but his eyes remained on the horizon. And Stacy could feel his strength—she was that close. She felt lucky, and she was—and then—once again—there was that tingle in the nether region ….
God, she wished at least one hand was free—but alas, they were both holding onto her hero’s hair.
Spaceman raised his head, and his chest filled with air. He looked to the sun and bellowed out with the strength of a preacher: “When the Russkies tried to break the sound barrier, they found me already on the other side! When they went into orbit, I swerved to miss them! When they sent a monkey into space, I brought it back home! When they went to the moon, I honked and waved as I passed! Saw them planting the flag, saw the dust rise! Nothing on the moon but dust! Saw their golf cart too--who rides a golf cart on the moon …!” And he stopped—and slowly looked down at her, and his presence was intense she moaned, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she closed them for a second. She quivered, her body rose to an all time high ….
Then she calmed, like the waves that rolled out in the ocean—it had moved on. She opened her eyes, and she could see he was waiting for an answer …:
“Pussies and pedophiles?” She said.
“That’s right!”
Stacy thought a moment. She was sure he was talking about the American space program, but that had happened back in the sixties? Confused, she said nothing. She took a better, lighter hold on his hair. “Let’s get something to drink,” she said.
“Some Fanta?”
“Of course.”
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Not that far away—a man named General William P. Colton, sat at a long table that wasn’t very wide. Chairs lined both sides of this table, and all were taken—in fact, some were added as people filed into the room.
There were pitchers of water placed in the center of the table, clean and clear water with ice floating around cut fruit. Peaches, oranges, and limes. Moisture clung to the sides of the glass and for some reason, the General couldn’t stop looking at it. He wanted to touch it, write his name on it. But he resisted due to the fact it would be seen as childish, and people were watching …. Highbrow types.
He had filled the glass that was set just for him. He had tried to add some ice and fruit while pouring, but that was next to impossible and he failed with the result being there was now a large, wet spot that soaked the tablecloth directly in front of him. This wet spot was spreading and closing in on not only him but those around him as well.
They didn’t look impressed.
Besides the General—seated in the room were a variety of important people. Some military, some political, some he hadn’t a clue who they were, and then there was the President of the United States who was on the speaker phone. This phone sat in what looked to be the exact center of this long table. The General wondered if someone had taken the time to measure and find this location …? He wondered if there was a little “X” under the phone? Perhaps two pieces of tape, crisscrossed. If he were close enough, he would lift it and see. He was sure there was, and he would place a bet, and he thought about asking the man who was close to lift it. He opened his mouth, willing to wage a ten-spot. But then stalled when he realized he hadn’t any cash on him.
The man, this man who was close to the phone, seemed to feel what was going on as though this thought held weight, or somehow thickened the air he breathed. He looked down at the General, and they locked eyes. And like all who are competitive in nature, there was a look that each had, and each recognized. It was the look of a gambler while cards were in their hands. Or the look of gunslingers, who are about to draw. And others in the room picked up on it, and they fell quiet. They waited, and not a sound was made. And then, the President, who wasn’t even in the room. It was as though he could feel the tension and knew something had to be done because the reality was … he was surrounded by children who had only grown in height and age, but not maturity.
He knew they would throw a tantrum, they would call each other names and make up lies. He knew their faces would turn red, and tempers would be lost, and they would sing out about past mistakes and that would only lead to more tantrums. And the President had enough of that during election time.
“Remember why we’re here!” He snapped over the crackled phone speaker, and just like that, it was over. The room became normal with low voices, compassion, and possibly some love. It all radiated in this room, this office, which was located on the top floor of a skyline building. One where out the window, the Cape Canaveral holding warehouse could be seen. A high, almost monumental looking facility, which stood alone along the tropical shoreline which consisted of Palmetto bushes, Palm
trees, and scrub oaks.
Inside this warehouse, was where the rocket was stored and heading towards the building at a turtle's pace was ole Max-G-pad, and she would be the pad who would send the rocket sailing. And there’s nothing like a pad to get a man to leave the comforts of warm sheets, to leave his home, in this case, the whole planet.
Max-G—rode on top of what looked to be a hundred wheels. Each turned boringly slow, and the pad barely moved to and from the actual launch site. One could look at her for hours and swear she hadn’t moved. But she had, and seeing she took the craft to where it had to go, you couldn’t just go on without her. So they waited, and they took this time to ponder and there was a lot of time. And they looked at their watches and moved their feet. But nothing made her move faster. Max-G had only one speed. So they tried to ignore her and look beyond where there was the Atlantic ocean and this was where the rocket would land and blow to pieces should something fail.
There would be spectators … oh yes! And the General could only wonder what would happen should Spaceman Dan be killed in sight of the public …. Oh Lord—there would be Loss of hope, future! It would be a disaster!
And there was more at stake … much more. The General could feel this as he was a Christian man