1 Cocoa Beach, 1969 (from ‘Five Vignettes’)
Five Vignettes
from 1001 Nights and Other Short Stories
by A T Beaune
We do not remember days. We remember moments.
– Cesare Pavese
1
Cocoa Beach, 1969
The launch of a Saturn V sends a bead of sun into the sky. You squint. The sky darkens around that bead of fire pushing its pale dart. Neighbours stand on their lawns around you, gazing skyward.
Only
after the glowing bead clears the rooftops does the sound arrive. You feel the rumble as much as hear it. It rolls toward you, takes over your ribs.
Windows rattle, birds flee. Over the rumble now sprouts a burning crackle. The
crackle and the rumble merge into a single growl of power.
On my portable radio a tenor voice speaks through static. ‘We’ve got us a roll program.’
The climbing fireball sprouts a trailing cloud. It lengthens into a snaking white spiral.
‘Roll
complete and pitch is programming.’ Crackle.
‘Copy
that,’ says another voice. ‘Stand by for Mode One-Charlie.’
Nearby my
grandmother, who often talks of Lucky Lindbergh these days, whispers a prayer.
My grandfather, gold beads blazing on the lenses of his sunglasses, says only ‘Godspeed.’
The bead of sun continues to rise. It approaches a feathery cloud. It burns through the cloud and leaves a hole. The crackle begins to fade.
A baritone voice on the radio says the three astronauts are now travelling at 4,000 feet
per second. The engines of the Saturn V are generating 7.6 million pounds of
thrust, more power than 85 Hoover Dams. One minute into the flight, the crew is
twelve nautical miles above the earth, eight miles downrange. Time to orbit: ten minutes.
I’m
a child of a NASA neighbourhood. Elsewhere, I know, people talk of rock bands and remote wars. Around here we talk of apogees and perigees, and punctuate time in reference to voyages named
for gods. Every morning the local newspaper displays, up next to the weather forecast, the time of
the next launch.
Even
now, as a boy dwarfed by adults all around, I know I’m more artist than
engineer. Yet it makes little difference. Everyone is a dreamer here. The artist lifts wine to the moon and invites it to sit. The engineer examines schematics and pulls out a slide
rule. The dream is the same. That beckoning orb, symbol
of all that is remote, can be yours.
I’m
no expert on making dreams come true. But I know the first step. That’s
deciding you want it. And I know the second. That’s waking up.
Which
brings us to the trade. As dreams become reality they fade as dreams. A journey
that begins with a glimpse of transcendence ends with dust clinging to your
moon suit as you coax a stubborn rock into a plastic bag.
When you find this happening,
remember: you signed up for this. You set out to make the extraordinary ordinary.
That’s what it becomes—if all goes nominally.
Buzz Aldrin · Mare Tranquillitatis · Photo by Neil Armstrong · 1969.07.20 (NASA)
‘Five Vignettes’ © 2014 A
T Beaune. All rights reserved.
