“So you’re telling me they could still die at any time until they re-dock.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And Michael Collins could still have to come back alone?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is there any more I need to know?”
“Yes. But I have a feeling you don’t want to know it just yet.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
Do you see what I mean about Buster?
Honestly, Michael Collins. I thought it was just going to be smooth sailing from here on in until you get back to Earth.
And you know what, it was. Or at least this stage was. Because later on today we got word that the Eagle ascended just fine and re-docked with you just fine and you’re all heading on home, scheduled to land back here in just two and a half days.
“Now do you want to know the rest of it?” Buster asked, once we’d learned about the re-docking going smoothly.
I put my hands over my eyes as if shutting off my own sight would somehow make it so I didn’t have to hear.
“Fine,” I said, though with a groan. “Tell me.”
“When they reach Earth again and reenter Earth’s atmosphere, the outside of the craft will heat up to twenty-five times hotter than a kitchen oven. The craft is protected by a special heat shield that’s coated with resin that burns away while keeping it cool. They’ll be traveling at nearly twenty-five thousand miles per hour. But they’ll need to slow down drastically, because otherwise?”
“They’ll die.”
“Too steep a reentry? They burn up and—”
“Die.”
“Too shallow? Never get a second chance and they—”
“Die.”
“Have to get it just right while going nearly twenty-five thousand miles per hour so that, oh, even in perfect conditions, they’ll become a fireball.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“There are parachutes that’ll come out to slow their descent. But if those parachutes don’t deploy at exactly the right time and in exactly the right way?”
“They die.”
“That’s right. The Columbia would hit the water with such velocity, the astronauts would be killed on impact.”
“So, basically, they could still die at any moment.”
“Pretty much.”
Oh, why did I let Buster tell me all about that? And why did you let yourself get into this mess, Michael Collins? Did you know all this when you started?
I tell you, I sure didn’t. I thought getting to the moon was the whole deal. I sure should have been paying more attention to the “return safely” part. My dad always says President Nixon isn’t worth listening to. This time, at least, it would appear my dad is wrong.
But you know what? And this may sound crazy to you, but I can’t worry about all that right now. I just can’t worry about anything, period.
I’ve got Campbell back, and her and her kittens to think about.
I haven’t named them all yet, since I don’t know, if or when anyone else comes home, whether I’ll be allowed to keep them all. But I did name one. I named him Michael Collins. I hope you don’t mind. I hope you don’t feel insulted, having a cat named after you.
If it helps any, let me just tell you this about Michael Collins the cat:
He is the best one.
Sincerely yours,
Mamie
Tuesday, July 22, 1969
Dear Michael Collins,
Yesterday, two great things happened: (1) I found Campbell and her kittens and brought them back home; and (2) the Eagle successfully re-docked with the Columbia, and now all three of you astronauts are heading back to Earth.
Well, today a third great thing happened. I have to say, I am surprising even myself by putting it like that, and you will know what I’m talking about when I tell you what it is: Bess came home today.
I never would have guessed before that seeing Bess would make me feel so happy, but such is this endlessly surprising world of ours in which wonders never cease.
“Did you break up with Vinny?” I said.
“No,” she said.
“Did Vinny break up with you?” I said.
“No,” she said.
“Well, then, did the two of you get in a fight?”
“No,” she said.
“Then what, then? Why’d you come back?”
“I just missed you, I guess.” She looked around. “Also, Mrs. Whitaker called and told me I better come home or else.”
“Mrs. Whitaker?”
I tried to figure out what must have happened. Maybe when Buster got home last night, she grilled him and he finally caved to the pressure?
A part of me wanted to be mad at him, but really, how could I? Buster had kept my secret for as long as he could, and when he simply couldn’t keep it any longer, he’d chosen the path of least resistance: Bess. How he got Vinny’s number, I don’t know, but Buster is nothing if not resourceful.
As for Mrs. Whitaker, it was actually kind of nice to think that at least one of the adults in my acquaintance could still act like a grown-up.
“You never called Eleanor?” Bess said now.
“Campbell had kittens,” I said, by way of an answer.
“That’s nice,” she said. And then she yawned. “I think I’ll take a nap.”
Well, it was only ten in the morning. She must have felt cheated out of half a night’s sleep.
“Okay, then,” I said.
And it was. It was most definitely okay to have her back.
After she went upstairs, I called Buster and he came right over.
“How’d your mom get Vinny’s parents’ phone number?” I asked once he was inside.
“It was right at the top of your notepad,” he said, “the one with the list for the party. I saw it and memorized it, and then I gave it to her when she asked what was going on. I figured she’d know what to do.”
Just as I’d suspected.
“And you just told her? You told your mom what’s been going on?”
“I had to, Mamie,” he said. “She’d been asking all kinds of questions. She knew something here wasn’t right.”
“How’d she know that?”
“Gosh, Mamie, my mom’s not an idiot! I know a lot of folks in the neighborhood think she is, but she’s just not. You coming to church with us, there being no cars in your driveway two nights ago even though you were supposed to be throwing this big party, all kinds of little things.”
“So you told.”
“I couldn’t lie to her. And anyway, I was worried about you, Mamie. I still am.”
I thought then, when he said that, that what he’d done wasn’t at all like tattling, not even a little bit. Also, who knew Mrs. Whitaker’s “or else” could be so powerful?
And you know what, Michael Collins? I’m still not thinking about all those things Buster said could go wrong on reentry.
No, I’m not thinking about any of that.
At all.
Sincerely yours,
Mamie
Wednesday, July 23, 1969
Dear Michael Collins,
You know how when you think something can’t get worse, that there can’t be anything new to worry about, and then there is? Well, sometimes, when things start getting better and you think that’s going to be all there is and that’s okay—like Campbell getting found with her kittens and Bess coming home, too—things can still get better.
When I heard a car door slam in the driveway, I thought it must be Vinny coming for Bess as usual. It was so nice having even her back, I was ready to beg her not to leave me alone again.
But when I looked at her, she said, “Don’t look at me.”
So then, hope against hope, I thought maybe it might be my mom or my dad. I ran to the door and outside.
Well, it wasn’t.
But it was something almost as good as that.
This is by way of saying that when the day was almost over, a little after five in the afterno
on, Eleanor came home.
“What are you doing here?” I cried.
“Folks home yet?” she asked, by way of not answering.
“Not yet,” I said.
“Well, then.” She went around to the back of her car, popped the trunk, and pulled out a suitcase. “I’ve come to stay for a bit. I tried to call last night to tell you I’d be here today, but all I got was a busy signal.”
Bess.
“But what about your work?” I said, remembering what she’d said. “What about your life? You said that’s why you couldn’t stay before.”
“I’ll still have those. I can drive to work from here as easily as I can from my apartment.”
“But what about you saying that coming back home was like taking a step backward? What about your bed here not being big enough for you?” I asked, remembering the other things she’d said.
“It’ll be okay for a little while,” she said. “Maybe I can get some thinking done while I’m here. And it’s not like it’s going to be forever.”
No. I guess I’d known that. Although who knows? Maybe if our parents never come back, it will have to be.
“Can I help you with that?” I said, taking the suitcase from her and leading her in before she could change her mind.
Once we were inside, just like Mom, she got down to the business of wondering what to make for dinner.
I showed her the few TV dinners still left in the freezer.
“That’s not a proper dinner,” she said, wrinkling her nose, again just like Mom would do—that is, if Mom ever had frozen dinners in the freezer to begin with. “There’s still time to go to the grocery store before it closes.”
So that’s what we did, her and me, getting the fixings to make her terrific cold chicken salad.
“What smells so good?” Bess asked, entering the kitchen as I helped Eleanor prepare things.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Eleanor asked.
“I could,” Bess offered.
“All right,” Eleanor said.
I felt so happy then, thinking how the three of us would be having dinner together again, just like we did that one time before, almost like we were a family.
But then I thought of something.
“Can Buster come, too?” I asked.
I don’t think I ever told you this, Michael Collins, but I used to dream of being a member of the Girl Scouts of America. Somehow, it never worked out. At school, though, sometimes I would hear girls like Delores Doyle and Lisa Burke talking about things they’d learned in Girl Scouts. And one was a little song called “Make New Friends.” Is your daughter, Kate, a Girl Scout? If so, maybe you know it already. If not, it’s about keeping old friends, even when you make new ones; about how new friends are like silver, but old friends are like gold.
Now, I know Eleanor and Bess aren’t my friends. They’re my sisters. And them coming home to be with me, even if Mrs. Whitaker had to talk Bess into it, was a fine thing. But I didn’t want to get so lost in the fineness of it all that I forgot Buster.
“Of course,” Eleanor said, not looking up from the chopping she was doing. “He’s your best friend, isn’t he?”
“That’s right,” I said. “He’s my gold.”
Then I went to call him.
Dinner with the four of us that night was a festive affair, with everyone talking at once sometimes. There was only one bad moment.
Eleanor had just asked if we’d watched the moonwalk three days ago, which kind of seemed like a stupid question to ask. Hadn’t everyone in the world watched that? Of course we had.
“That Neil Armstrong,” she said. “He’s really something.”
“Oh, I guess he’s all right,” I said. “But you know, Michael Collins is the best one.”
“What?” Eleanor said.
Before I could tell her why, or even remind her about how the other day I’d used the example of you to show her there’s still time to change her life if she really wants something enough, Bess rolled her eyes.
“Never mind, then,” I said, “but he is.”
Then Buster suggested we all go look at the kittens, and everything was fine again, because kittens will do that for you.
So that’s one terrific thing that happened today, Eleanor coming home. But there’s even more. Because today, everyone in the world heard Neil Armstrong talking to us from space, just one day before you all are supposed to land back at home, and here is what he said to us:
We would like to give special thanks to all the Americans who built the spacecraft; who did the construction, design, the tests, and put their hearts and all their abilities into those craft. To those people, tonight, we give a special thank you, and to all the other people that are listening and watching tonight, God bless you. Good night from Apollo 11.
Well, I’ll give Neil Armstrong one thing. Thanking everyone like that—it does show manners. Although I do think it’s a bit much, him thinking it’s okay to speak for all of you.
But never mind that now.
Just one more day, Michael Collins, just one more day.
And then you’ll be home.
Or not.
I’m still refusing to think about everything that could still go wrong, so all I’ll say to you now is:
God bless you, and good night from Planet Earth.
Sincerely yours,
Mamie
Thursday, July 24, 1969
Dear Michael Collins,
Today, eight days, three hours and eighteen minutes after initial liftoff, Apollo 11 reentered our sky.
Okay, I’ll get back to that in just a little bit, but there are some other things I need to tell you about first.
I was down in the kitchen eating my breakfast when Eleanor walked in wearing her bathrobe.
“What are you doing eating cake for breakfast?” she said.
“What are you doing not getting ready for work?” I said.
“I thought I’d call in sick today. I could use a day off, to start thinking about my future. And, you know, the astronauts are coming home.”
Well, of course I knew that.
“I figured I’d watch it,” she said.
“And I figured if I didn’t eat the cake, it’d just go to waste,” I said.
“That’s no kind of breakfast,” she said.
I shrugged. Sure, I was happy to have her there. But I’d managed just fine on my own when I had to and I wasn’t about to start apologizing for my breakfast choices now.
She stared at me for a bit. But finally she shrugged, too.
Then she got out a knife since I’d already washed the one I’d used and she cut herself a big slice of the leftover Moonwalk Party cake, which was really just a few pieces of the part that had the blue frosting.
“You make this?” she said. “It’s good.”
“You’ve got blue lips,” I said.
She pointed. “So do you.” Then she yelled upstairs, “Bess, wake up and get down here before the cake’s all gone and the excitement’s all over!”
I didn’t think anything short of a shout in the face or a physical jostling ever worked to wake up Bess, but she came down for that.
The three of us finished off the rest of the Moonwalk Party cake, screaming “Blue lips!” at each other every few minutes. Then we got ready for our days, which mostly involved the others getting dressed and me calling up Buster to tell him to come on over.
The night before, when Buster had come for dinner, he hadn’t brought any Tang with him because that was not a NASA-related event, but today was, so he did.
A whole pitcher of it.
We each got a big glass of it, and then we lined up seated on the couch—Buster and me in the middle, with Eleanor on my other side and Bess on his—to watch everything on the TV.
These past few days I hadn’t let myself dwell too much on any of the bad things that could still happen, but I couldn’t stop myself now. What if there wasn’t enough resin on your ship? What if you burned up on reentry?
What if you were going too fast? What if the parachutes didn’t deploy?
So many what-ifs, and not a thing I could do about a single one of them.
We were sitting there waiting, at the edges of our seats, when I heard a car in the driveway, then a second car, a door slam, another door slam. And finally the door in the kitchen opening.
“Hello?” my mom’s voice called. “Anybody home?”
“In here!” I called.
And then there she was, followed by my dad.
Neither of them looked any different to me, yet I felt like I must look different. So much had happened while they were gone.
“Oh!” Buster said, seeing them. “I’d better go get some more Tang!”
“No,” I said, pulling him back. “I don’t want you to miss it.”
“We’re not too late?” my dad asked.
I shook my head, pointed at the TV. “No. They should be back any time now.”
“Campbell had kittens!” Buster announced.
“Oh!” my mom said.
Since the four of us took up the whole couch, my parents sat on the floor. It’s not that I wasn’t happy they were back, but I needed to watch to make sure you were okay.
And then there you were, in the sky, like I said before: eight days, three hours, and eighteen minutes after your initial liftoff, there you were again.
Only you looked so small. No more Saturn V. No more Eagle lunar module—Buster had explained to me how after Armstrong and Aldrin re-docked with you the day after their moonwalk, you’d jettisoned the Eagle and now it was back down on the moon, where it will remain forever. Nothing left of Apollo 11 anymore except for the one remaining module, the Columbia, looking so small now as it came back toward Earth. You’d needed everything else to get you where you wanted to be in the world. Now the Columbia was all that was left to bring you home.
But—oh!—there were those parachutes. And—oh!—there you were, splashing down in the water.
I Love You, Michael Collins Page 13