I Love You, Michael Collins

by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

  “Yes,” I said, feeling more cautious yet.

  “Well, don’t tell him it’s me. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at your aunt Jenny’s.” Aunt Jenny’s her sister. “But there’s no need for anyone else to know that just now.”

  “When are you coming back?” I asked.

  “I’m … not.”

  WHAT? I wanted to scream that at her so bad. But I didn’t say anything at all, because if I opened my mouth that scream would come out and even if my dad couldn’t hear my whispers over the running water, he’d sure hear that.

  “I’ll try to call again,” she said. “But Aunt Jenny’s number is with the emergency numbers taped to the side of the phone. So you can reach me if you need me.”

  IF? I wanted to scream that, too. I wanted to scream I need you now! But the words wouldn’t come and, like I already said, I didn’t want to be too loud.

  “I love you, Mamie,” she said.

  “I love you, too,” I said, finally able to get some words out because I wanted her to hear that part. But it was no good. As soon as I finished saying the words, I could tell that the other end of the line had already gone dead.

  The water had stopped running.

  “You love Buster?” my dad said, smiling for the first time in quite a while. “Is that something you kids say to each other these days, like ‘Peace’?”

  “No,” I said quietly. “Mom. I love Mom.”

  His smile went away so quickly, it was like it had never been there at all. Then he moved toward me fast, his face so serious and his hands grabbing on to both my arms so tight. It didn’t hurt. My dad had never hurt me—never had, never would—but it was still scary.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said.

  “I didn’t have time. She just said a few things and then she hung up.”

  “But she’s okay?” he asked urgently.

  I thought about this. How could she possibly be okay if she wasn’t here with us?

  And yet she’d sounded …

  “Fine,” I said. “She was fine.”

  He closed his eyes, his grip on me loosening a bit. “Thank God.” Then his eyes shot open, that grip tightening right back up again. “Where is she?”

  I tried to think of what she’d said exactly. “She says no one needs to know that right now.”

  “Where is she?”

  I tell you, Michael Collins, I didn’t want to betray her. But this wasn’t like when my dad asked me what I usually have for breakfast. This wasn’t just a question I could somehow turn away the truth with by using another question. And I couldn’t lie to him.

  “Aunt Jenny’s,” I said.

  “Aunt Jenny lives two states away!” He let go of me. “Where’s Aunt Jenny’s phone number?”

  “Taped to the side of the phone, but—”

  He was already dialing.

  “Put her on,” he said to the voice at the other end of the line when someone answered. “I want to talk to my wife … I don’t care if she doesn’t want to talk to me. She’s still my— Then I’ll come down there to get her … Well, I know she’s got her own car and that she could drive herself home if that was what she wanted. I just—Fine. If that’s the way she wants it? Fine.”

  He slammed the phone back on the hook.

  And that was it.

  My parents have been married for nearly twenty-five years—nearly a quarter of a century, they like to call it—so you’d think there would’ve been more, but there simply wasn’t.

  “She’ll come around,” my dad said, like he was trying to convince someone of something. “I’m glad she’s okay.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  And I was. I certainly didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, not ever. But she’d said she wasn’t coming back. I hadn’t told him that part. He hadn’t known to ask the question and, not being asked directly, I wasn’t about to volunteer the information. I didn’t want to believe it was true. I wanted to believe he was right, that she would be back. But what if my dad was wrong? What if she never came around?

  My dad probably thought it was about the Launch Party and then the Moonwalk Party he’d said no to. He probably thought it had to do with what she said before she walked out, about him not having any romance in him. But for her not to stay, not to stay to at least fight about it some more, I knew it had to be more than just that, big as I could see those things were to her.

  Before we could say anything else, there was a knock at the back door, followed by a whole series of rapid little knocks.

  “Hold your horses,” my dad said. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  I was right behind him, so I was there when he opened the door on Buster, who had a large glass pitcher in his hands, filled with orange liquid.

  “Hello, Buster,” my dad said.

  “You stayed home for the launch, sir!” Buster said.

  “Not exactly,” my dad said. “But I suppose it’s turning out that way.”

  “That’s great, sir!” Buster said. “My dad went to work in the city. But he said they’ll all go over to the appliance store across the street and watch it on the TVs there, so that’s all right, I guess. Oh, and look!” He started waving the pitcher around. “I brought Tang!”

  My dad quickly relieved Buster of the pitcher before Buster could slosh the contents all over the kitchen floor, which looked close to happening.

  “That’s mighty thoughtful of you, Buster,” he said.

  “I think there’s enough for everyone!” Buster said.

  “Well, that’s just great. Why don’t you and Mamie…?” He used his pitcher-free hand to indicate the direction of the living room, but it was a halfhearted gesture and mostly I just got the impression that he was ready to be rid of us.

  With the distracting swerving pitcher out of the picture, I could now see that Buster’s great mind had thought like mine. He had on navy shorts and a red shirt, but no white headband.

  “You wore navy, too, today, sir!” Buster said, pleased. “In honor of the moon launch?”

  “No, Buster,” my dad said. “That’s what you call a coincidence. These are just my regular work clothes.”

  “I have to say,” Buster said, “it’s probably a good thing your work clothes aren’t all red. I suspect, if you don’t mind me saying, that you’d look funny in all red.”

  “You’re probably right about that, Buster.”

  As we started toward the living room, Buster turned back to my dad. “Aren’t you going to come watch with us?”

  “I don’t think so,” my dad said. “But wait.”

  He pulled two glasses from the cabinet and poured Tang for me and Buster, handing the glasses over. Then he seemed to consider something and pulled a third glass out, filling that one, too. He raised his glass in our direction. “Cheers.” Then he took a glug that left him with a surprised look.

  “Great, isn’t it?” Buster said.

  “Not quite the word I was looking for, Buster.”

  “I know,” I told my dad, “but you get used to it, kind of.”

  Buster tugged on my hand.

  In the living room, I suppose we could have sat on the couch to watch. No one else was using it. But we were so used to taking positions on the floor, because older people would claim the better seats, that we just plopped right down. Then I crawled forward on my knees to switch the TV set on.

  And I’ll tell you, when I turned that set on, it was like magic. Even with the excitement of Buster being at my house, even with the excitement of being allowed to drink something as colorful as Tang in the living room no matter what it actually tasted like, there’d still been a shadow over the day. How could I enjoy myself when my parents were fighting and my mother was gone and who knew what all else might happen? And yet, as soon as that color picture popped into my living room and I saw all those people waiting down in Florida for the launch of Apollo 11, everything bad fell away. It’s not that
I wasn’t worried about my mom anymore, because deep down I was. But it’s not like she’d left Earth. She was just somewhere that wasn’t here. You, though—you were about to leave Earth. I couldn’t even feel bad about that right then, not worried or scared like I’d been the night before, because it was all just too incredible.

  There you were, walking out to the launch pad with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, waving to the crowd.

  It didn’t even bother me when Buster said, “Hey, where’s your mom? Isn’t she going to watch this?” and all I could say was “No” and “I’ll fill you in later.”

  “What about Bess?” he said. “Isn’t she home?”

  “Sleeping,” I said. “Normally, she’s not up for another three hours or more. You know that.”

  “Wake her,” Buster said. “She’ll be sorry forever if she misses this.”

  So I did, even though she yelled at me, even though I was worried I’d miss it myself because she was taking so long to get out of bed, I just kept tugging and tugging on her arm until finally she gave in and let me pull her downstairs. I rejoined Buster on the floor, with Bess behind us on the couch.

  While I’d been gone, you must have gotten inside the Columbia, strapping yourselves in, doing final preparations. Buster had told me that the three of you astronauts would be seated on your backs, that that’s how astronauts fly, on your backs, facing the sky, and I wondered what it must be like to be you right then, feeling what you were feeling, seeing what you were seeing.

  There was just one tense moment for me.

  “Takeoffs,” Buster said. “In anything that flies, that’s one of the most dangerous parts.”

  And then the countdown reached the final seconds—TEN … NINE …—and I couldn’t help it because I really heard Buster when he’d said Bess would be sorry forever if she missed this—FIVE … FOUR—I yelled out, “Daddy! Come on! Daddy! Come here!”

  And he did.

  I heard his footfall entering the room right on ONE, felt him by my side as the Saturn V rocket powered you in Apollo 11 off the ground. Even on the TV, the sound it made going up was like a volcano erupting with white-hot flames and gas spewing from the engine nozzles. There was so much billowing smoke and fire, I couldn’t help but think again how that did not look like a good idea, but then I forced myself to remember that you need that fire to get you where you want to be.

  I heard a gasp and looked quickly at my dad—his mouth was hanging open, something like awe on his face. But then my eyes immediately went back to the screen as you rose higher and higher and higher. Buster cheered so loud then and I cheered with him and I swear we were so loud together they could have heard us down in Florida and some Tang sloshed out of Buster’s glass and onto the carpet and my dad didn’t even say one word about it.

  And then we all just watched, watched you in your rocket trailing fire behind you until we couldn’t see you anymore, and that’s what I meant when I started this letter by saying “Today was every bit of what Buster said it would be and yet so, so much more,” because it was and because even though I’m using words to write this letter, words truly cannot express what it was like to see you do that today.

  I don’t think my dad could express it either. When I first got up this morning, he’d said he was still going into work, only later. But after that, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Not then.

  When we couldn’t see you anymore, I was relieved, because I remembered what Buster had said about takeoffs being one of the most dangerous parts of flying. At 9:32 a.m. today, Michael Collins, you left Earth. You survived takeoff. If Buster was right, as he is about most things, you started out with a million and one things that could go wrong with your mission. It may not seem like much, but one less thing to worry about is still one less thing to worry about, and today I will gladly take that.

  The way I figure it, now there are just a million things left that could go wrong.

  Sincerely yours,

  Mamie

  Thursday, July 17, 1969

  Dear Michael Collins,

  What did you see, lying there facing the sky? I wish I could have seen what you saw at liftoff. I wish you could have seen what I saw, what the world saw, from the ground. Maybe when you get back—I refuse to say “if”—somehow, you will see it. They keep on showing it again and again on TV. They’ll probably keep showing it forever. But it’s not the same. It’s not like seeing it for the first time, when it was actually happening, the hope of success and the fear of disaster.

  Buster says that even though the people on TV are still talking and talking about you, there really won’t be anything new to see for a few more days, not until you get to the moon.

  It’s funny how, if you know someone well or think you do, even if they’re not right in front of you and you can’t really see them, in your mind you still think you can.

  I picture my mom two states over with Aunt Jenny, watching the same things we are seeing on the TV here about you and your flight.

  I picture you in the Columbia, floating around inside now, eating dried foods made liquid by firing water from a gun into bags.

  As you may have guessed, yesterday evening, for the second night in a row, my mother did not come home.

  Yesterday, after all there was to see had ended and my dad left the room and Bess went back upstairs to bed, I told Buster that my mom had gone to stay with my aunt for a bit. If he thought it was strange, her leaving at a time like this and with me not having said anything about her going away beforehand, he didn’t let on. But then today, something happened that put that right out the window, which I will get to in a moment.

  It turns out my dad knows as much about cooking as he does about doing the dishes. By this I mean when it came time for dinner last night, he went to the store and came back with TV dinners, which is something my mother never buys. In fact, I had never had one before and it was quite a treat, seeing my meal all laid out in four nifty little compartments: the Salisbury steak, the mashed potatoes, the green beans, and the apple crisp. Bess, being perhaps less enthusiastic than I was at the prospect of a TV dinner, asked if she could go out with Vinny instead and, I guess since Mom is gone, Dad figured that family dinners weren’t so important anymore and he just let her go without a fight. We don’t own TV trays, which might have been fun, so instead we made do with the coffee table in the living room, and that felt like it might almost be as much fun. It would’ve been better if my mom were there, too, though, even if TV dinners are not something that she would ever, ever buy.

  Once again, I did not go to Buster’s after dinner. Once again, I told Buster there was stuff I needed to do for my parents.

  I suppose my dad must’ve been thinking the same thing, that it would’ve been better if my mom could be there, too: thinking it throughout the night as we watched TV together and then read, thinking it as he tucked me in, thinking it as he lay in bed alone. Because this morning when I came down to breakfast, there was a different energy in the air. My dad was sitting at the kitchen table and there was a bowl already filled with Froot Loops, without me even having to ask for them. I felt that new energy crackling off him as I tried to eat my bowlful of rainbow, which already tasted better than it had the day before.

  And then somewhere between my finishing half and three-quarters of my cereal, my dad abruptly got up from the table.

  “I can’t stand it anymore,” he said.

  I did want to know what he meant by that, but I didn’t think it a good idea to follow him as he stomped upstairs. I figured it would probably be best to just stay and eat my cereal. Whatever he was thinking about, whatever he was planning as I heard thumps and drawers opening and the shower running and other activity, soon enough I’d know.

  Were you aware that if you watch two individual pieces of Froot Loops in a bowl of milk and they are each a different color, you can see the dye coming off them, making a new color in the milk between the two that is a little bit like each one? It is a fact, Michael Collins. I su
spect NASA will have you doing more important experiments than this in space, but trust me, in case you never get to try this one out for yourself, it is a fact.

  When my dad came downstairs, he was wearing fresh clothes for the first time in two days, his hair was damp, and in one hand he had a suitcase. It was the battered brown leather one that’s always his when we go to Lake George every other year. My mom says he’s had it since their honeymoon and that it is an embarrassment, but he will never let her buy him a new one.

  “Are we going somewhere?” I asked.

  A part of me started to get excited. Were we going on a trip? We hardly go anywhere. But a part of me just wanted to stay put, what with everything going on in the world and space and all. Even if I can’t see you anymore, at least at home I can turn on the TV and see simulations or have reporters tell me where the scientists say you must be in your flight right now or what NASA says you all are doing.

  I needn’t have worried, though. Or at least, not about that.

  “Not we,” my dad said. “Me.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked, rising out of my chair as I started to feel a touch of panic. It would be fine for him to go outside to check if it’s going to be another scorcher. Or go to the A&P for more TV dinners. Or go back to work. I’d even welcome that. But going somewhere dressed in casual clothes and trailing a suitcase? And without me? “Where are you going?” I asked more urgently when he didn’t answer at first because he was too busy counting the money in his wallet.

  “I’m going to see your mom,” he said.

  “But she doesn’t want you there,” I said, the words flying out of my mouth before I could help myself or stop them. Still, it was only the truth. She’d said as much to me, and even though I’d only heard his side of the conversation he had with Aunt Jenny, I’d still been able to tell that she’d told him my mom didn’t want to see him.

  “So I’ll stay at a motel,” he said. “Eventually, she’ll have to talk to me.”