Taking Off (17 page)
Authors: Jenny Moss
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Historical, #United States, #20th Century, #Social Issues, #Death & Dying, #General, #School & Education, #Juvenile Nonfiction
D
ad hitched a ride on a motorcycle to go to the nearest auto-parts store. We were told to get out of the room by noon, or we’d have to pay for another night. Dad said once he bought a new set of points, it’d be an easy fix and we’d be out of here.
I settled in a booth with plastic seats at a coffee shop down the street from the hotel. The waitress was getting tired of refilling my cup of coffee, but it was so cold outside. Drinking hot coffee comforted me, made me feel like I was home in my mom’s kitchen.
Tommy slid into the seat across from me.
“Hi,” I said, watching the cars go down the road in front of the coffee shop.
“You want to drink in every coffee shop in this town?”
“What?”
“You know, like every country in Epcot?”
I smiled. “Disney seems a long time ago.”
“Yeah. It’s funny, isn’t it?” Then he shrugged. “Although not really.”
“No, not really,” I said.
Our hands were close on the table. But he didn’t reach for me, and I was really glad he didn’t.
“Annie, I know this is a bad time to ask you this, but have you thought more about the situation with Mark?”
“Tommy, don’t,” I said, shaking my head a little and looking away. “Please.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s not that. I just don’t want to think about anything else that will make me sad.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I did what I said I wouldn’t. It’s just that you’ve been so distant since the … accident, and I already miss you. I can’t believe I miss you and you’re right in front of me. And I can’t believe I didn’t know you a few days ago, and now … I …” He looked tired and sad.
All I could do was nod. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know what I felt.
Tommy ordered some buttermilk pancakes, and I watched him eat them. They looked good, but I had no appetite.
Dad went by on the bike, behind some guy he’d never met before today. Life was strange, I thought. Life with Dad was particularly interesting.
Tommy stood up and grabbed the check. I put my hand on his arm. “Give me a minute with my dad, okay?”
Dad had already popped the hood when I got to the car. The guy on the bike was gone. Dad started talking as soon as he saw me. “Annie, it won’t take me long to do this.” He was talking fast and moving fast. He seemed nervous.
“Dad.”
He looked at me. “I’m—”
“Dad. I know you’re trying to fix the car.”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “I know you want to get home, Annie.”
“I got upset because I want to go to the memorial service.”
“What service?” he asked.
“They’re having a service at JSC for the astronauts. Lea told me about it this morning. She’s going to ask her parents if I can come.”
“It’s not today, is it?” he asked, looking slightly worried.
“Not today. I don’t know when it is. Lea didn’t know yet.”
“We’ll be back tonight, Annie.”
“I’m sorry, Dad, that I got so mad.”
“Aw, Annie, it’s okay.”
“Can I get you a Coke?”
His head came up, his eyes wide in surprise. “Sure. Sure.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “Or do you want a Dr Pepper? I know you drink Dr Pepper.”
“Yeah,” he said, “that’d be great.” He ducked his head back under the hood. “Go on, then. I’ve got to fix a car.”
I
didn’t see him when we’d pulled into my driveway. I was in the front with Tommy while Dad slept in back. I’d dozed off, but woke when the car stopped. I looked over, and there Mark was, getting out of his parked car.
I felt a rush of comfort when I saw him, like I was home, like I was safe, like the world made sense again. And he was so kind to be here, to know that I would need him. When we’d last stopped for gas, I’d called him. It’d been midnight so I shouldn’t have. But the world was suddenly dark and scary, and I’d wanted to hear his voice. He’d been tender on the phone.
It was dark, but would be light soon. I couldn’t see Tommy’s face in the dark. I sat still for a moment, as did he. I didn’t know what to say. It felt wrong being here with him, especially after all that had happened with the
Challenger
. Tragedy made me want to hold on to the people I knew well. I’d felt the same way when my grandpa died.
Dad was moving around in the backseat. In the sideview mirror, I could see Mark walking toward us. I reached over and brushed Tommy’s hand with my own, quickly. He turned toward me, but I moved away and opened the car door.
I hugged Mark, not saying anything.
He held me tight, kissing the side of my forehead. I wouldn’t turn my head toward him. I heard the doors of the car open, and I let him go.
“Hey, Mark,” said Dad, shaking his hand. Tommy got my bag out of the trunk and handed it to me. I didn’t look at him, but I reached for the bag. He held on.
I pressed my lips together and glanced up at him, pleading with my eyes for him to let it go. I could sense Mark standing behind me. Tommy released the bag.
Mark grabbed it from me and flung an arm around my shoulder. The early morning was cold and still. My street was empty and dark except for the occasional harsh lighting of a street lamp.
Dad gave me a kiss on the cheek, which startled me. “Bye, Annie.”
“Dad?”
He looked at me, concern in his eyes.
“Thank you for taking me, Dad.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t turn out like we thought,” he said.
I kissed his cheek then, startling
him
. “Bye, Dad.” I walked to the door with Mark. I didn’t look back, but heard the car drive away.
Mark came in and pulled me down on the couch with him. He lay down along the length of it with me against him. I leaned into him, trying not to think about anything at all.
M
ark ate Cheerios. I ate toast over the sink.
Mom was gone when we woke. I couldn’t believe I’d fallen asleep in Mark’s arms on the couch, that Mom had seen us together and left us there, and that we hadn’t woken up until noon.
We’d said little to one another. I thought Mark must have figured out I needed quiet, but he didn’t know the real reason. He thought it was
Challenger
. And it
was
the accident and losing Christa and all the astronauts, and being there when it happened, and not being able to get that image out of my head.
But it was also, I hated to admit, fear. Fear of what might happen if I followed my heart—of what I could lose—of what anybody could lose at any time. And it was guilt for liking Tommy, for kissing Tommy.
All the pressure I’d felt before we left for Florida had ramped up since the launch. I felt like
I
was going to explode.
I had thought this trip would help me figure out things, and that maybe I’d come back and be a different person, a more together person, someone who knew what she wanted and fearlessly went for it. Like Christa. I’d wanted her outlook on things and her bravery to rub off on me. And then my path would magically appear before me, like the yellow brick road.
But now after
Challenger
… I was fighting the feeling that bad things happened when you reached too far. Had Christa reached too far?
“So you’re going to the memorial service tomorrow?” Mark asked.
“Right. I called Lea again last night from the road. Her parents are getting us in.”
“Come sit down, Annie.”
The phone rang. He shrugged with a small smile.
It was Mom.
“I know I was supposed to wake you—,” I began.
“I was awake when you got home.”
“What?” I asked, confused. “I didn’t see you.”
“I know. I saw Mark waiting out front in his car. I wanted to give you some time with him.”
“Oh,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Anything you want special for dinner?” she asked.
“No,” I said, not caring at all.
“Okay,” said Mom. “I’m sorry about Christa. It’s awful. Just terrible. I know how much she meant to you, Annie.”
Meant to you: past tense. It seemed more real when my mom said it.
“I’ll be home early today,” she was saying. “We’ll talk then.”
“Okay. Bye.”
I sat at the table and took Mark’s hand.
“Let’s go for a drive,” he said. “Anywhere. You name it.”
“Galveston.”
We got in the car, and I put my feet up on the dashboard. I rolled down the window and leaned way back in the seat. Mark cranked up the radio. An old Bob Seger song from the seventies was playing, which was just fine with me.
I watched him as he drove. He looked at me with his kind eyes and squeezed my hand. I thought of the summer before our junior year, when we went from good friends to more.
All we wanted that summer was each other. We got jobs at the original Clear Lake movie theater and asked for the same schedule. On slow days, we shared long kisses in the ticket booth. When we weren’t working, we hung out at my house, sometimes with Dad, sometimes completely alone. We took long drives, like this one. It had been a sweet summer that extended into junior year.
I was so comfortable with Mark—being with him felt right, like it was where I belonged. I felt safe. I needed safe right now.
T
he memorial service for the crew of
Challenger
was the next day, a Friday.
I looked at the many faces around me, a true sea of faces. Most were NASA engineers and other employees. I was glad to be here around people who really cared about the astronauts and the space program.
Standing here with them made me feel like I was part of their NASA family too. I watched their faces, so many of their eyes hidden by sunglasses, and wondered if they all felt like they had failed in some way, that they were each to blame.
Thousands stood around the three ponds in the middle of the white 1960s buildings of the space center, the mood somber. A speaker’s platform had been built for the ceremony. It was surrounded by folding chairs in a roped-off area. We were outside the ropes. An Air Force band played heavy, solemn music.
Lea’s father had gotten us a good spot under a pine tree on a little hill right behind one of the ponds. It was a pretty day, clouds drifting in the sky. It felt like March, not the last day in January. Despite all the formality and the size of the crowd, it had the same feeling as my grandpa’s small funeral.
Mrs. Taylor said that many famous people were there, including U.S. senators and President John Kennedy’s children, Caroline and John. The families of the astronauts came in last with President Reagan and his wife. They sat in the front row of the folding chairs in front of the platform.
I could barely see President Reagan, but I could hear him through the loudspeakers. He talked about each member of the crew. My eyes stung when he spoke of Christa. His words described my own experience with her:
“We remember Christa McAuliffe, who captured the imagination of the entire nation, inspiring us with her pluck, her restless spirit of discovery; a teacher, not just to her students, but to an entire people, instilling us all with the excitement of this journey we ride into the future.”
I pressed one finger to my lips trying not to cry, remembering that very gesture was what Christa had done when she’d been announced by Vice President Bush as the Teacher in Space. I closed my eyes and said silent words of my own to her, thanking her for her kindness and for making me feel like I mattered.
The hardest part for me was when Reagan said: “Dick, Mike, Judy, El, Ron, Greg, and Christa—your families and your country mourn your passing.” A woman beside me began to cry then. To these people at the space center, standing around me, this wasn’t a public event with a president and a dead president’s children there. It was the loss of family. I let my tears flow then, not trying to be strong anymore. Lea put her arm around my shoulder, and I leaned into her.
I thought of Christa’s students, those I had seen interviewed on TV, who had been watching when she died. One girl’s face still haunted me. Her words had been so quiet, so lost, so without the hope that had seemed to flow out of Christa effortlessly.
I was sorry that girl couldn’t be here. Christa’s students should be here. I wasn’t one of them either. But I felt like I was, and that was because Christa had made me feel that way. She had a gift for talking to people, especially those who were my age.
I would have liked to be in Concord at the mass they were holding for her on Monday at her church, impossible as that was for me. But I wanted to be with people who’d known Christa as their teacher and had a connection to her that I wished I’d had.
Four jets flew in formation overhead. All eyes went to the sky. A lone plane pulled up and away, bringing to my mind W. H. Auden’s grieving lines:
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead
This was not how it was supposed to end.
