by Edward Es
Melody tries to catch her breath. “Could you get me a tissue? They’re over there on the table.” Noelle hurries and pulls the last few tissues from a box sitting on a picnic table and gives them to her. Melody dabs her mouth. “I’ll be all right.”
Noelle hands her the bag. “I brought you some cinnamon toast. Mike over at the Bumbleberry said it’s your favorite when you go there.”
“Thank you, Miss Crane. I really do love it, but I’m not hungry right now. I’ll have it later.”
“Sure, honey.” Noelle takes the bag and sets it on the picnic table. A dark fear rises as she blinks back another flood of desolation. “Are you sure you’re OK? How do you feel?”
Melody looks back across the field, pausing to notice empty corn stalks bobbing in the gusty breeze. “Actually, I’m kind of happy.”
“That’s nice. Any particular reason?”
“Mommy came to visit me last night.”
Noelle’s grabs the edge of the table, her knees buckling. “Your Mommy? What do you mean?”
“She came to see me in my room last night. It was kind of late, but I didn’t mind.”
“But your Mommy, she doesn’t usually come to see you at night, does she? Maybe you dreamed it,” Noelle says in disguised panic.
“No, I wasn’t dreaming at all. I was very much awake. In fact it was right while I was saying my good night prayers. She was looking really well, better than I’ve seen her in a long time. But she didn’t stay long.”
Noelle covers her eyes. “What did she say?”
“She told me she was going away for a while, and that she loved me very much.”
“Is that all she said?”
“No, she told me it was my time. That soon I wouldn’t be hurting anymore, and to get ready for that. Then she just went away.” Melody contemplates her mother’s quiet arrival and departure. “I was really happy to see her.” Noelle fights back yet again the sting of tears and begins to shake, looking around. “So, I want to be all ready. And I was hoping you could do me a favor.”
Noelle tries to mask the muted terror of it all, dabbing her eyes with the napkin from the bag. “What is it, honey? What do you want?”
“I was wondering if you would go buy me a new dress. There was a really special one in the window of the store next to the market. I saw it again a few weeks ago when Roberta let me go with her. It’s all white, with red lace along the bottom, and Indian beads around the collar. I have some money saved.”
Noelle looks to the sky for strength, then back to Melody. “Of course, Melody. I’ll get you the dress. And don’t worry about paying for it. It’s my present to you. I want to give it to you. Is that all right?”
“That’s very generous. Thank you. I’d like that.”
Noelle stands up, leans over, and kisses Melody on the head, closing her eyes. “I’ll go get it and bring it to you. But you eat something for me. Promise?”
Melody tries to look up at her. “I will. I promise.”
Noelle walks away, tight lipped, driven by a cyclone of love, fear, anger, and confusion.
Tom sits in thought, staring at his monitor. It shows a close up of the lunar surface in vivid detail, shining so brightly he has to squint. He picks up Zion, asleep on his lap, ripping the cat’s velcro belt from the mating pad attached to an elastic band around his leg. The logistics of cats in space have been evolving. He moves the band from his leg to his arm and reapplies the cat to it. Zion has become accustomed to the absurdity of his various positions, as cats tend to do.
Tom drifts over to the window and stares at the Moon approaching faster and faster. In spite of the disaster that has befallen him, he’s still overwhelmed at this accomplishment, and humbled. He dreamt of it all his life, as did Noah. He draws back, moves over to a locker, and opens it, pulling out a small backpack covered with Jetson characters and revealing behind it the canister and the Book. He reaches out and touches them, then closes the locker.
From the backpack, Tom pulls out several objects. First, a Pez dispenser with Speedy Gonzales’s head. He pulls the head back, launching a Pez slowly toward him and catching it in his mouth. Pez in space. Truly a first, he thinks as he takes out a cassette tape, looks it over, sticks it into a cassette bay in the electronics rack, and pushes play.
All the games are played and the songs are sung,
Dinner’s over and I’m in the tub.
I better hurry and get one more hug,
Before it’s time to sleep.
Sleep, gonna close my eyes and sleep,
Until it’s morning time.
Sleep... before it’s time to sleep.
Tom remembers this was Noah’s favorite bedtime song. He floats through the open bulkhead door at the back of the flight deck into the pressure lock, a narrow corridor spanning the width of the capsule, opens a locker at one end and carefully pulls out a spacesuit, gold-faced visor and all. The only act Kirshner performed that could be considered criminal was to use his access to the Smithsonian vaults to “borrow” a training suit from the Gemini 4 mission. After positioning it to one side, he reaches in further and extracts a coil of umbilical cable, then looks the suit over, unfolding the arms and making it presentable.
I’ve had a drink of water and a story told,
I’ve got my blanket to keep me from the cold.
The light is out and the curtain’s pulled,
It’ll soon be time to sleep.
Sleep, gonna close my eyes and sleep,
Until it’s morning time.
Sleep... it’ll soon be time to sleep.
Tom enters the flight deck, reopens the locker, and reaches in. This time he pulls out Theo the bear, turns him around a couple of times, then lets him go. Tom taps one leg, rotating Theo slowly, and it occurs to him how happy Noah would have been to see his best friend as a space traveler, spinning like that.
This thought draws him back again to the days of his family when his life was so simple and so full, he and Noah, and Francine. He knows he can no longer put off what he must do. Tom reaches in and takes out the canister, holding it in both hands, then moves over to the console and lets it go, staring as it floats in front of him. He picks up the phone and enters a number.
My mama loves me, that is plain to see,
My Daddy loves me sittin’ on his knee.
Their love grew and it created me.
Now it’s time to sleep.
Sleep, gonna close my eyes and sleep,
Until it’s morning time.
Sleep... now it’s time to sleep.
Now it’s time to sleep.
Francine is picking at a salad when the phone rings. She looks over at the answering machine and lets it answer, her outgoing message short and detached. After the tone there’s silence, followed by, “Hey Francie, it’s Tom. I guess I missed you.”
She lunges for the phone, knocking the handset to the floor. Finally getting hold of it, she answers, “Tommy? Is this really you?”
“How are you?”
“How am I? How are you? That’s the question.”
“I’ve been worse. A lot worse.”
“Where are you?” she asks.
“Where am I?”
Francine rolls her eyes. “I know, blonde question. Remember those people that went around saying there was never an Apollo mission? That it was all a big hoax, done in a TV studio? This time I wish it were true.”
“I need you to know I didn’t want it to end up like this. I knew it might though, and, well, that’s the way it goes.”
“You know, Tommy, I’m heartbroken. Of course I am. But there’s a part of me that knows you did something you really wanted to do. And I know you well enough to know you’re at peace with it. I can’t say I understand why you did this, but I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you. Of all the people in the world, I knew you would understand.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I miss you, and I can’t imagine this world without you in it. But then again, there are other worlds, aren’t there?”
“You bet there are.” Tom looks out the window, then back at the canister rotating slowly in front of him. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Go ahead.”
Tom pauses. “I’ve got Noah here with me.”
Francine covers her mouth. For a moment she can’t speak. “Oh, Tommy.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I had no right.”
“No. No! Don’t say that.” She reels from the shock of it, from the thought of her son’s remains racing toward the Moon. “Now I understand. Now I know what you’ve done. I know what you’re doing. Excuse me for a moment.”
Francine drops the phone down on the counter and doubles over, then takes a tissue from a box and wipes her eyes and face. She recovers enough to pick up the phone. “You really did it. You made his dream come true.”
Tom chokes back a flood. “I don’t know, Francine. I don’t know where his dreams are. But I do know that what’s left, what we have left of him, will finally rest where he always wanted to be. At least I can give him that much.”
“Tommy, you must know we have more of him than that. You have to believe he’s still with us. It’s the only thing that’s kept me alive.”
“I wish I could. I’d give anything to feel him, to see him, to sense him near me. But the only thing I’ve felt for all these years is the emptiness of a world without him. There’s nothing of me left here. Wherever he is, I can’t find it, no matter where I go.”
“Just look in your heart, Tommy. That’s where you’ll find him.”
Tom stares at the canister, then looks out the window at the edge of the Moon and into space. “If I knew where my heart was. But he took it with him, Francie. He took it someplace with him.”
Francine’s voice breaks like glass. “I pray for you. I pray you find that place. And when you do, say hello for me.”
“Goodbye, Francine. I love you.”
“Goodbye, Tommy. I love you too.”
The phone disconnects and Francine walks out onto the balcony, slumps into a chair, and lets her own flood go.
Noelle stands in front of the shop Melody described to her, looking at the dress. Of all the shops in Springdale, Barry’s sits back behind an ancient oak, the frontage visible to those who know to walk up the crooked stone path. It’s a Victorian home, the living room converted to a simple but warm establishment for purchasing handmade clothing. Helen Barry, an elderly woman with a smile of ages, approaches Noelle from around the verandah.
“Oh! Miss Crane! What an honor. I’ve been watching your stories on television. You were so sweet to our little Melody.”
Noelle extends her hand. “Please, my name is Noelle. The honor is mine. And your name?”
“My goodness, how impolite of me. I’m Helen Barry. I’ve lived in Springdale all my life, and my grandparents before that. They were one of the original settling families here,” she says with a soft glow of pride.
“What a wonderful life you must have had, growing up in this beautiful, peaceful place.”
“Wouldn’t trade it for the world. Although, I must say, it hasn’t been too peaceful around here lately.”
“I know. And let me personally apologize for all of us who’ve invaded your life.”
“Not at all. We’re only sorry it ended up so badly. Tommy Holmes was a dear boy. He and his family used to come into my store when they were, well, when they had nothing. But, oh were they happy. And that darling little boy. Such a tragedy.”
“I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a child... like that,” Noelle says from a place hidden in a corner of her.
“I lost my daughter when she was fifteen to polio. My God, if I could have shot myself to the Moon, I’d have done the same thing. But, what can we do? We have to keep going, somehow. That’s how we keep them alive. In our memories.”
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“No, please. I’m sorry for going on about it. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Yes, actually. I came here to get that dress in the window.”
“That’s Melody’s dress,” Helen says gravely.
“She asked me to get it for her.”
Mrs. Barry looks at her, and the unspoken truth of what that dress represents passes between them. She enters the shop, reverently takes it from the window display, and looks at it, stroking the coarse white material. She disappears, then walks back out with a plastic bag in her hand.
“She always comes to visit it. I’ve had many offers to sell this dress but I always kept it for her, bless her little heart. How that poor thing has suffered.” She looks at Noelle. “We’ve all prayed for the day when her suffering would end.”
“She seems to think that day is near.” Noelle reaches into her purse for money, but Helen stops her hand.
“No, please. I would never take money for this. I always wanted her to have it. As many times as I’ve offered to give it to her, she would never take it.” She folds the dress with loving kindness and slides it into the bag. “Somehow she thought she’d be able to save enough to buy it. I guess she finally did.”
“Actually, she agreed to let me get it for her.”
Helen stops. “Then she must care a great deal for you.” She extends the bag to Noelle. “Give her my love.”
Noelle takes it, touching her hand. “I will. And thank you, from Melody.” She walks out, and Helen clenches her fists over her heart.
President Stamp sits at his desk, looking over one of Graffet’s T-shirts taken from an open case on his desk. The intercom buzzes. “Mr. President, Dr. Cole is here.”
“Send him in, and have Faith come in also.”
The door opens and Margaret ushers in Dr. Cole as the President stands to greet him. He puts the T-shirt on over his long sleeve shirt and looks silly, his staff accustomed to such displays. He pulls two more shirts out of the box and hands one to each, decreeing to Margaret, “Go ahead, put it on.”
“Now?”
“Why not?”
Margaret pulls it over her dress, messing her hair in the process, curtsies and leaves the room. Stamp shakes Cole’s hand, and Cole makes a sheepish query with the shirt. “Not necessary. I only have executive authority to make fools of my immediate staff. And myself, of course.” He picks up a few more shirts. “Amazing. A real tribute to free enterprise, don’t you think?”
Cole agrees out of courtesy. “I suppose. Either that or crass opportunism.”
“Now, now, Terry. I had a personal conversation with Mr. Graffet myself. This is truly for charity and we’re glad to help here at the White House.” The door on the other side of the office opens and Faith Neumann enters, also wearing a T-shirt. She’s a statuesque thirty-year-old with long, straight, fire-red hair. “Doctor, Faith Neumann, one of my public affairs liaisons. Faith, meet Dr. Cole.”
“Of course, Dr. Cole. I’m a great admirer.”
“No, please, let me do the admiring.”
Stamp wags his finger. “You better watch this old fox. He thinks women are impressed by his huge brain.” Cole is embarrassed as Faith smiles at him. “Well, down to business. I asked Faith to give me a briefing on the public reaction to this Holmes business, and I wanted to get it straight from you what’s going on with the technical end.”
“Well, Sir, I’m afraid there’s no hope for Mr. Holmes.”
“So I’ve heard. But I wanted to be prepared for how this is all going to end.”
“My understanding is that with the solar power array he has, the capsule will remain functionally habitable for years, with the exception of the oxygen supply. He’ll have about another eighteen days of that remaining.”
“When it runs out, will he suffer at all?
” Faith inquires.
“No. Actually, he’ll gradually get very tired and fall asleep. That’s about all there will be to it.”
The President walks around his desk. “Will anybody know when that happens? Aren’t there usually monitors?”
“Usually, yes, but not on this mission. He wanted none of that.”
“I see. Truly, no hope at all.”
“No, Sir.”
“Well, I’d like you to work with Faith here and formulate some appropriate way to handle this, from the viewpoint of NASA and the White House. I’ll have to make a statement, eventually. Somehow, I’d like something positive to come out of all this.” Stamp turns to Faith. “Faith, you know I was concerned over Melody’s statement to the press. It was very touching, naturally, but her cry for help was disturbing. What can you tell me about public reaction?”
“Well, Mr. President, I brought a videotape the communications staff put together of TV news broadcasts around the world. If you were disturbed before, I’m not sure how you’ll feel now.” She walks over to the VCR and inserts it.
“The world media jumped all over this, as you would expect.” The tape begins playing, muted, showing a news broadcast from Russia. Though the commentator’s words can’t be heard, Melody’s picture appears. This cuts to an interview with a little Russian girl. “This girl in Moscow says her mother is going to set the alarm clock for three in the morning so she can get up and say the prayer.”
Next, a scene at a school in Africa where a class of fifth-graders are painting a wall-sized mural of Melody’s drawing, followed by an interview with a man in a business suit. Faith turns the sound on with the remote. “Jack Wilson. Fortune 500 top ten.”
Wilson speaks. “Last night when I heard Melody Baxter’s request for prayers, I put out a statement that I’d donate one dollar to the Unicef fund for every prayer a child wrote. I’ve gotten thirty-eight hundred letters already in twenty-four hours. I’d like to encourage children all over the world to do this. My offer stands.” Faith fast forwards the tape and they watch scenes of children and newscasts hurry by. She resumes play on what appears to be a computer screen.