The Gravity of Us

by Phil Stamper

  I think of his lips, his taste, his …

  I’ve got to see him. I shoot over a text without giving my mind a chance to talk me out of it.

  “You up?”

  “It’s only 7:35,” he responds. “How much sleep you think I need?”

  A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Again, my mind broadcasts that I’ve got to see him. So I ask if he wants to take a drive.

  Within minutes, and with a little bit of convincing from me to my mom, I’m in my dad’s Corolla. I pull out of the driveway and roll the windows down all the way. My arm turns into an airplane wing, cutting through the night sky so quickly, I could almost see the wind bend around it.

  But since we live so close, that feeling only lasts a second.

  “Hey,” I say when Leon gets into the car.

  “Cal.” The way he says my name is the way I’ve always wanted someone to say it. Packed with emotion, warm and syrupy.

  I turn back onto the road and drive through the Houston suburbs. Stars punch through the night sky, and I’m left with a pit in my stomach, homesick for a world I’ve never had.

  “How many views is your StarWatch video up to now?” he asks. “Millions? Bajillions? I’ve seen it linked everywhere.”

  “It’s gone so viral, I can barely keep up with it anymore. But honestly? I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

  “Okay. What should we talk about?”

  “Can you tell me more about Indiana? Were you raised in the suburbs?” I ask. “Like this, with stars and huge lawns?”

  He laughs. “Sort of. Indiana suburbs are a little different. Bigger yards, boring brick houses. Same amount of Olive Gardens, though.”

  One of the only Olive Gardens near me is the one in Times Square that boasts four-hundred-dollar meals on New Year’s Eve. But I don’t tell him that.

  “Sounds relaxing, I guess,” I say. “I’m still not used to sleeping at night without strangers shouting outside my window or cars beeping relentlessly.”

  “New York’s that cliché?”

  “Brooklyn is amazing and awful, all at the same time. You can get killer vegan Chinese food delivery at midnight, but you can barely see the stars at night. Nothing stops in Brooklyn. Manhattan’s even worse.”

  He places a hand on my leg, and sparks fly. I can’t catch my breath, but I keep talking.

  “I can’t wait to go back. Maybe try for another BuzzFeed internship? First, I thought I wanted to study journalism, but some of the university programs seem kind of dusty and out of touch, so I’m not positive on that one. And I’d have to take out a hell of a loan, or I could try to monetize my channel to pay for it.” A pause. “The future is hard, eh?”

  His grip tightens on my leg. “Not so hard if you refuse to think about it. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. Is that bad?”

  “No!” I say, but it’s too forced and quick to feel honest. The truth is, how do you not know what you want to do by now? “I mean, there are so many options. What do you like to do? Any jobs sound cool? Will you be going back into gymnastics? Can you make that a career? Have you looked at colleges yet?”

  “Whoa, whoa, slow down, babe. I don’t know. Any of that. I kind of think it’ll hit me when I realize what I want to do.”

  I sense that I should let it go. But I get an itching in my skin—a need to put him on the right track before it’s too late. We’re about to be seniors! I breathe. I can let it go.

  “But what if it doesn’t?” I ask, apparently not letting it go.

  I know I can help him.

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” he says, like he’s reading my mind. “I’m not lost, just indecisive.”

  “Well, let’s think about it logically. What about your gymnastics? You still go to open gyms from time to time, right? Even if you don’t want to compete, there are plenty of scholarships out there, I’m sure, and I assume colleges have gymnastics teams, right? Like, that must be a thing.”

  “That’s definitely a thing. Just … not a thing I’m really into.”

  “You know, I watched the videos of your last competition before you came here. You were incredible.”

  “I was, I guess.” He sighs. “It’s like one day I woke up, like really woke up. And realized I’d given thirteen years of my life to gymnastics. Time I can never get back. And it hit me really hard: it didn’t make me happy anymore. I … faked being sick that day and canceled my practice.”

  “Is this related to your depression? I mean, there’s so much my mom avoids because of her anxiety, and I wonder if it’s something like that.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” he says with a shrug. “I must have liked it at some point, you know? But even now, I can’t think of a meet where I was actually happy. Not since I was a little kid, when they’d just let you do somersaults all day.”

  The thought makes me chuckle. “Oooh, look at my athlete. You’ll have to show me your somersault someday.”

  “Oh, so I’m your athlete now?”

  My face flushes with heat, and I reach for the air-conditioning. As I direct all vents toward me, he leans forward, slowly, and plants a soft kiss on my cheek.

  “I like the sound of that,” he says. “Being yours.”

  “Really, it’s kind of an antiquated way of looking at relationships, if you think about it. Me being possessive over you? That’s toxic, right?”

  “Hey, Cal?” He laughs. “Maybe spend less time on social media.”

  We pull onto Jordan Road, a silent, dusty road with no lights. All is still. And the tension inside my shoulders eases.

  I should be alive with sparks and fire and romance, but I’m a little more focused on the point of our conversation. I feel so obnoxious—Why does someone else’s lack of career ambitions make me this anxious? I wonder as I stop the car on the shoulder of the road.

  Leon lets out a fake gasp. “Is this where you murder me?”

  “It is a deserted road,” I observe. “Left my weapons at home, though, so I guess we should just make out?”

  Instead of leaning in and kissing me, like I made it very clear he should do, he gets out of the car. It’s pitch black now that I’ve turned the car off, and there’s nothing to hear but the crickets shouting. It’s like a weird sensory deprivation tank.

  I step out of the car, and a cool breeze hits my leg. Well, cool for Texas. I take a deep breath and release it, blowing out all the bad feelings from the past week.

  Leon leads me to the middle of the road—it’s not like many cars actually drive down here—and I survey the area around me. As my eyes adjust to the blackness of night, I see a few old wooden fences, keeping in acres upon acres of land on both sides. Cattle farms, I assume, since it doesn’t seem like they’re growing much else out this way.

  “What about this—is this like Indiana? Just with different farms?” I ask.

  “No, it’s different,” he goes. “It just feels different, you know? Like, we would be flanked by giant cornfields, or rows and rows of soy. The wind moves everything there. Giant trees, the farm crops. Everything’s moving, and alive. Here everything feels so …”

  “Dead?” I assume. He doesn’t respond, so I guess he feels it too. “I get that. New York’s alive in a very different way, but here it feels so plain. Simple, I guess. I don’t hate it, though.”

  I let my gaze wander. The only source of light out here is a large building and complex about half a mile away. The glow of the space center looks eerie from here, looming. Like it’s the one thing that can disrupt this calm and perfect moment.

  My mind starts to process something I’ve been ignoring until just now. How quickly Bannon was erased from our lives.

  “Mara Bannon left this week,” I observe, though it seems pointless to say.

  Leon catches where I’m looking and grunts in assent. “It happens fast, I guess. Never know when we’ll be going back home. I wonder who will take over NASA’s community gardening days.”

  He takes a sea
t, cross-legged on the empty road, so I do the same. We’re a foot apart, but I feel this magnetic pull into him.

  I want to be closer than this, though we’re basically touching.

  I want to be more alone than this, though no one’s around.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” I say. “I don’t … I don’t like how quickly things change here.”

  “Things won’t change,” he says, and he leans in to kiss me.

  But they kind of will. NASA’s announcing the six Orpheus V astronauts and their backups any day now. They’re dying to get some good publicity after Bannon—“dying” might have been a poor word choice considering the circumstances—and they want to restore some hope that was lost in the death.

  “What if they don’t pick my dad, for the mission or backup? He hasn’t been around for long; why would they put him on this first flight?”

  Leon looks uncomfortable, like biting his lip will help him hold back something. “I think he’ll be on, as an alternate at least. I wouldn’t worry about that.”

  His eyes glisten in the moonlight, and I sense a bit of turmoil in his expression. I should let it go, but I’ve never been good at letting anything go.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  The silence expands between us. I feel it in my muscles, in my chest. Anticipation drives my hand forward, and I place it lightly on his face.

  “I can’t stop these thoughts,” he says. “It could have just as easily been my mom who didn’t make it back from Florida, and I should be relieved, but I don’t feel anything but … There’s this heaviness that I can’t shake.”

  He breaks eye contact, but I keep my head level with him. “I’m here to listen, if you think it would help. I won’t even interrupt you.”

  His eyes greet mine.

  “… Much.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he says with a smirk.

  “Is this something that you’ve dealt with before?”

  “Since I can remember.” He pulls back and leans against the bumper of the car. “Sorry, I’m not ready to talk about it. I thought I was, but I’m not. It’s weird—”

  “Hey, it’s fine. Just … know I’m here.”

  He smiles. “I know.”

  We sit like this for five, ten, twenty minutes. We talk about our upcoming school year together like there’s no doubt we’ll both be in Clear Lake, graduating from the same school next year. Like everything couldn’t change immediately. And it’s good to talk about the future. To have a future I can see here, in Houston of all places.

  I look away, and my eyes fall on the space center again. The mission launches in the spring.

  “This might be the last quiet week we’ll ever get,” I say.

  Leon considers me smoothly. I feel my emotions all at once, bursting through my heart, but I don’t know what he’s feeling. He’s calm, I’m frantic. He’s pleasant, I’m panicked.

  But I know I need him now.

  This kiss is different. We start softly, growing in intensity. Exponentially. I press him into me, and he wraps his arms around my neck. I crawl closer to him, until our legs are entangled. His warm leg slides up mine, causing chills to take over my body. I shudder as I pull him into me.

  We’re pressed to each other, and there’s nothing on my mind but his taste. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I press mine against his. I moan softly because it feels so right. So perfect.

  I put my palm on his chest, and with a smile, I push him back against the road. He looks uneasy, so I don’t make a move. I just keep kissing him. We keep celebrating our closeness in muffled moans and gasped breathing.

  And then my phone starts buzzing.

  Then Leon’s phone starts buzzing.

  We’re forced to stop. We’re out of breath, but the unusualness of these simultaneous calls shakes me to my core. Our parents know we’re out, not necessarily that we’re doing this. I look at the caller ID.

  “It’s my mom,” I say.

  “It’s Kat,” he says.

  We answer, and simultaneously shout a “hey” into the speakers.

  My chest tightens as my mom speaks. Her voice is laced with excitement, worry, panic, and she can barely get the words out. Her words all mush together, and she’s not actually saying anything.

  Kat’s much more articulate, apparently, because Leon pulls the phone away from my ear.

  “Mom’s on the mission. Your dad’s her alternate.” He smiles weakly. “It’s really happening.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Streetlights fly by my car as we ease from the rural farms to suburban houses. The flat, straight roads start to bend and twist, and the space center fades away in my rearview mirror. I feel like I’m soaring, but a look at the speedometer explains that I’m actually driving under the speed limit. My body’s forcing me to go slower, but everything feels fast. Everything feels tight. My hands are numb.

  Leon’s mom is going to Mars. My dad’s her alternate. We’re really, really in this together. Our families are tangled up in a fascinating, seemingly ancient tradition. A silent understanding of practicing the same job, both for the astronauts and for the families. In Apollo 13—the movie, and debatably in real life—Marilyn Lovell advised an overwhelmed Mary Haise to respond to the press with three words: Proud, Happy, Thrilled.

  That’s my life now, and I am having all those feelings.

  I’m proud of my dad. Just six weeks ago, things felt settled. The only constant in my family life was the yelling that my parents did. But that’s become rare in the past month. And he’s become … useful? Driven.

  I’m happy too, but part of that is because of Leon. The way he makes me feel when he sits next to me and strokes my hand is too much. I’m falling so hard for him, and I wish there was some way I could stay grounded and think logically about this. My dreams of going back to New York and living with Deb are fading quickly. He’s my present. This is my present.

  And that makes me thrilled.

  But I’m also terrified. I’ve missed four calls from Deb this week to talk about the crash and what happened, but I can’t face her. I can’t explain my feelings to her on any of this, and if she’s watched any of the news stories lately, she’ll have seen me and Leon together. She’ll know I’m kind of with someone, and she must know how that could jeopardize our plans of living together.

  “I haven’t told my parents about us,” Leon says as we pull up to my house, where cars line the driveway.

  I shrug. “I think Mom figured it out the night of the crash. We haven’t talked about it, though.”

  A smile is plastered on his face, and I know mine must look the same. I park the car on the street and meet Leon on the sidewalk. We survey my house, where everything has changed in the past twenty minutes. Our families’ fates dovetail at this moment in more ways than one, and I hope they stay on the same path for a while.

  He takes my hand, and we walk into the house and hear the applause and cheering, and it’s nice to imagine that it’s for us.

  Kat immediately finds us and nearly tackles us both with a hug. “Guys, oh my god I’m glad you’re here. Everyone else is already getting drunk, and it was starting to get really awkward.”

  “Nice place,” Leon says. “Less retro stuff than ours.”

  “Thankfully,” I say.

  We make our rounds. Dad gives me a hug that’s too tight, but his eyes are still teary. Mom eyes the situation wearily, and I see anxiety setting in. But she still has a pleasant smile when I give her a kiss on the cheek.

  “At least he’s not going up there yet,” she says. “I mean, he gets to be a part of everything, but he doesn’t get to go up there.”

  I don’t reply, just squeeze her in a hug. She shakes her head, like she’s clearing out the bad thoughts. “Sorry, you know how I worry. It’s just happening so fast. And now we all have to fly to Florida in a couple days to see that satellite launch. It’s …”

  I laugh. “Believe me, I get it. Let’s just celebrate today.”
r />   I move around the room, dodging champagne glasses and drunk astronauts. There are about ten of them in my living room, and I find it fitting that they’re here right now.

  Through the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo projects, the astronauts’ alternates would take care of everything the first line didn’t have time for—the parties, the press events. They’d do it all while waiting in the wings for their chance to really shine.

  After Dad got back from the hospital, he was forced to take some time off as the rest of NASA scrambled to manage the disaster. He spent that time unpacking the boxes from storage. Among the mess was his collection of Life magazines—pretty much every one that covered the space race. He pulled out a model of Apollo 8 and a signed portrait of Jim Lovell, the commander of the near disaster that was Apollo 13. Needless to say, I learned a lot about the history of spaceflight in Dad’s time off.

  It was all here. A secret obsession, a secret dream.

  I look up at him and smile, because he gets to live it.

  I’m not sure where all the champagne came from. This time, they don’t even have soda, or snacks, or anything else. This was a last-minute effort, and I imagine them clearing out the wine shop’s champagne stock just before they closed. Or, maybe NASA just has a secret, endless stock somewhere.

  When I make eye contact with Kat, she nods in the direction of my room. I excuse myself and follow her, with Leon not far behind. Once I shut the door, I realize that I’ve brought a boy to my room for the first time ever. That thought makes me sweat a bit.

  I sit on the bed with Leon as Kat tears through my cassette collection.

  “You are a weird egg,” she says. “Who listens to Nirvana? Other than, like, Dad, if it accidentally comes on his alt nineties playlist.”

  Regardless, she takes the cassette out of its case and studies it closely. After a few wrong buttons, she opens the holder in my deck and slips it in upside down before getting it right. She sighs in frustration as she finally gets the cassette in place. She presses play and waits.

  “Why is nothing happening?”

  “There’s a little bit of dead time before the cassette starts—hold on.” As I say it, music starts pumping through the speakers. “See?”