Short Stories from Wing's Authors.

Launchings

by

Linda Rettstatt

MOLLY

Molly poured her second cup of coffee as ABC news interrupted Regis to show the space launch. She felt an irritation at this break in her daily routine. Now she would never know what the woman in New York won on the trivia prize spin. As she settled back into her chair, the shuttle went into the final moments of countdown. They showed clips of the crew as they had prepared to enter the capsule earlier that morning.

Molly was surprised to see that the commander was a forty-eight year old woman—she, herself, would turn forty-eight in two months. As the countdown continued and fire erupted at liftoff, Molly’s eyes involuntarily filled and her chin quivered. She was mesmerized by this launch and by this woman. It wasn’t so much the fact that it was a woman commanding the shuttle. It was the fact that this woman was not so different from Molly—except that she was doing this spectacular thing at this time in her life. The most courageous thing Molly had done, to her estimate, was to get married and have a family. No small feat.

As the news coverage ended and regular programming returned, she sighed and carried her cup to the sink. She reviewed her schedule for the day—finish the laundry, scrub the kitchen floor, take out chicken to defrost for dinner. She suddenly felt deflated. A woman her own age was just launched into space and here she was, preparing to scrub the kitchen floor, once again. Tears escaped the corners of her eyes, and she reached for a tissue. She started to attribute this emotionality to the fact that her doctor had confirmed she was pre-menopausal. She thought she should feel saddened by the news—a glaring confirmation of aging and something ending, but argued with herself that it was no big deal. She had her children, and she certainly wasn’t wanting to have more at her age, so let it go, let it pass, get on with life.

That was the issue—getting on with life. She turned, walked out to the patio and slumped into a lounge chair. A woman her age was just launched into space; she was planning to mop the floor. Where was the justice in this? She was feeling that her life had turned toward its final chapter while another woman her age was exploring a whole new world! Her life seemed to pale by comparison. Sobs began to erupt from her that shook her from the center. She fumbled in her pocket for a tissue, grateful for the privacy fence. What if Joyce came out her back door and saw her? How would she explain her breakdown to the neighbors?

She sat there for a long time, her sobs gradually settling into a sniffle, and then subsiding. She looked over the back yard, the garden she had created, the pool they’d put in ten years ago. She had a good life with Drew and their children. Katie was twenty-two and had just started her first job after graduating from college. Brian was in his second year at Ohio State. Drew, who had turned fifty last month, had no plans for retirement any time soon. His law firm was doing well and he loved his work. He’d probably still be practicing when he was seventy. They had a good life together. He had made her dreams come true—the home she’d always dreamed of, the children, travel, his undying devotion—she wanted for nothing. So, why was this affecting her so deeply?

Here, today, right now, she was overcome by the feeling that she had missed something. She pulled herself up, took a deep breath, and went back to the kitchen—the mop and bucket still standing lifeless against the counter—waiting. As she filled the bucket and her sinuses were penetrated by the sharp scent of pine, she wondered, “Why did I never dream of anything more than this? Why Eileen Collins and not me?”

That evening, Drew came through the door with a bouquet—for no particular reason—just because he loved her. He did things like this often. Katie called to say that she was considering a job change and wanted to know what her mother thought about it. It touched her that her daughter wanted her opinion, needed her approval, still. Drew reminded her that Brian was leaving on Saturday for a month of studies abroad and wanted them to be there to see him off.

She finished loading the dishwasher and went to put away the laundry. Her kids had left home, but they still needed her. After twenty-four years, her husband still brought her flowers—for no particular reason.

As she and Drew watched the late news together, she reached for his hand and they watched the film of the shuttle launch.

He squeezed her hand. “Imagine, commanding a space shuttle. I can see you doing something like that, if you’d had the chance.”

Her eyes filled and she said nothing. He saw all of that in her and that was all that mattered. She had said “yes” twenty-four years ago and that had launched her into this life. She and Drew had struggled with the differences that can make or break a marriage. She had given birth to two beautiful kids who were in the midst of their own launchings into life. At this moment, she felt as though she held an entire universe in her heart.

~ * ~

JENNIFER

The junior class had been ushered into the auditorium. As the lights dimmed, the chatter subsided and the principal stepped up to the podium to command silence and announce they would be watching the space shuttle liftoff in a few minutes.

He stepped aside, moving the podium with him. The TV coverage was projected onto the large screen. Jennifer and Natalie, who had been whispering about their plans for the weekend, fell silent. The screen showed the shuttle, standing at the launch pad, waiting. The countdown clock displayed ten minutes. They began to show clips of the crew as they had breakfast that morning, then prepared for the flight.

Jennifer, who didn’t keep up with the news unless she had to do a report on current events, was surprised to see that the commander of the flight was a woman. It struck her that this woman, though a little older, looked something like her mother. She stifled a laugh as she thought of her mother preparing to go off into space.

She imagined her leaving instructions for everyone in the house, before she put on her orange suit and helmet. Her mom would remind them to take out the trash, put their dirty clothes inside the hampers, make their beds, and do their homework. Then she would wave and disappear into the shuttle. She would probably send back embarrassing messages from space—messages that the whole world would hear—messages like, “Jennifer, honey, I forgot to tell you that I got your tampons and they’re in my medicine cabinet. And, Jakey, please remember to put on clean underwear every morning. Oh, and, Bill, don’t forget to take the dog for his worming. Bye, I’ll wave from outer space.”

Fire erupted beneath the shuttle and the final countdown began. Several students counted along—five, four, three, two, one, liftoff! Silence fell across the auditorium, at the shushing of several teachers. As NASA began to communicate with the shuttle, Jennifer heard the commander’s voice—calm, clear, in control—confirming liftoff. The voice echoed inside her, and her chin lifted just a little. She felt pride at being a woman.

Jennifer was at that stage of planning in her life where you decided on a career, applied to select colleges, and determined your destiny. She found herself wondering if that woman who was now commanding the space shuttle flight had, at some point in her life, sat in her high school auditorium and decided to become an astronaut. She then wondered if her mother had sat in her high school auditorium one day and decided to become a housewife. How, she wondered, did people arrive at such important decisions about their lives?

She was shaken from her wonderings by Natalie, who tapped her shoulder and said, “Jen, come on, wake up. It’s over.” 

She stood and filed out of the row and back to her classroom. Something had shifted in her. She needed to start thinking more seriously about her future, about how she would invest her life. She needed to find some way to thank her mother for the way she was investing hers.

~ * ~

AMANDA

They had been given the assignment of watching the Discovery liftoff that morning in lieu of attending class. Amanda was studying physics and had always been fascinated by the space program. She and her grandfather had followed the program closely. She grew up in Orlando, and they had gone to watch the Columbia liftoff a few years ago. She remembered the excitement in the air, the hush that came over the hundreds of people who had gathered to observe the launch. At sixteen, she had still grabbed her grandfather’s hand and squeezed as the engines erupted beneath the shuttle and it lifted off. They wept together when they saw the TV coverage of the shuttle disintegrating over Texas.

She was studying at the University of North Carolina. If she were still in Florida, they would have, no doubt, gone to watch the shuttle liftoff. She was planning to do her graduate studies in Astrophysics at the University of Florida.

Amanda’s grandfather had only an eighth-grade education, but he had a curiosity about the world that he had instilled in his granddaughter from the time she was a toddler. They would go to museums, planetariums, archeological digs. He would point out the constellations to her as they sat on the patio on summer nights, when he and her grandmother came to visit. They would take Amanda with them on trips to see natural wonders, like the Grand Canyon, and to the Smithsonian. His curiosity about how things came to be and how they worked fostered Amanda’s curiosity and her decision to become an astrophysicist.

She wanted to be a part of a team that sent one of the shuttles into space. She imagined herself sitting before a monitor in the control room, feeling the pull between excitement and anxiety, listening to the countdown, watching the liftoff, then adding her voice to the eruption of cheers as the shuttle rose and made its arc, releasing the rockets.

As she watched the final preparations for this liftoff, her phone rang. It was her grandfather. They would watch it together—via phone. As they showed the crew walking to the shuttle earlier that morning, Amanda looked into the eyes of the commander—a woman about her mother’s age. She saw in those eyes a calm determination and imagined, somewhere behind that, a natural anxiousness that would soon enough subside.

They listened to the final countdown and both held their breath as fire erupted beneath the shuttle and it lifted off. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, watching until it passed the critical point and released the booster, having reached a speed of more than 17,000 miles per hour—ready for orbit.

They heard the commander’s voice affirm the separation from the booster. Amanda then heard her grandfather say, “That’ll be you, one day, Mandy. My little girl—taking us into the next galaxy.”

She could hear the emotion and pride in his voice. She felt electrified by that possibility, knowing that it was within her reach.