Last night I was talking to my cousin and she wanted to hear all about our trip to Florida and what it was like to see an actual shuttle launch, so that inspired me to return to this blog and post my piece as promised. It's definitely not a perfect polished ready-for-publication piece (besides that of a local newspaper anyhow, or so I thought), but I'm proud of it and want to share it with the world.
In my newest "self-help" book on how to become a writer, Adair Lara, in "Naked, Drunk, and Writing" (sounds right up my alley, eh?), writes, "I realized that I'd been missing the necessary other half of the writing process: the pleased reader. It was as if I'd been trying to tell myself I was a good cook, but without ever asking anyone to dinner." So I'm inviting you all to my dinner party. I hope you are pleased with what I serve you. Here goes.
The Last Shuttle Launch:
“Ever seen one of these before?” asked the stout, middle-aged stranger standing next to me. I looked over at him and replied, “First time.”
His eyes gleamed behind his large glasses like he was about to let me in on a secret.
“You’ll never be more proud to be an American than right now.”
One night, my husband and I were sitting at our own respective computers, faces staring at our monitors, when out of the blue, he turned around in his chair and asked, “How do you feel about going to see a shuttle launch?” I felt like a giant palm had just whacked me across the forehead. Why had this never occurred to us before? Why had we waited until there were only four launches left? Knowing time was not on our side, we immediately began to put plans into action in order to see a shuttle launch as soon as possible.
When it comes to a launch, all the planning in the world can’t save you from surprises, or worst, scrubs. Scrubs can happen up to the last minute, the last second of a launch, so all that time spent organizing your travel plans, all that money spent on tickets and hotel and flights, all that waiting on buses, in long lines, on the miles-long causeway can disappear in a moment with the announcement of a scrub. And yet the possibility of a scrub can make the experience all that more exciting. Hearts thumping, pulses racing, butterflies stirring endlessly in your stomach as the countdown booms over the loudspeaker, “T-minus one minute and counting.” Please, God, let them keep counting.
We had beginners’ luck with our first launch, the shuttle Atlantis, STS-132 in May of 2010, the start of a year-long obsession with everything NASA. Everything went off without a hitch; the shuttle blasted from earth before our very eyes, a ball of flames pushing this massive craft up through the atmosphere and into outer space. Movies and television don’t begin to do it justice. It’s the world’s greatest adrenaline rush, and we were hooked, bound and determined to see whatever launches remain.
However, we apparently had used up all our luck the first time, because both Discovery and Endeavour, the next two in line, scrubbed shortly before the scheduled launch, but only after our own flight had landed on the tarmac in Florida. And we were devastated each time, not just because we had taken the time off from work or because we had spent all that money on the trip (these were the risks of space travel spectating that we assumed from the beginning), but because there was a very real chance that we would never get to see a launch again.
Our last chance to ever see a shuttle launch came July 8, 2011, the Final Flight of the Space Shuttle. It was our old friend Atlantis again, our good-luck charm, I was hoping. It would be a grueling experience that kept us awake for 39 hours and left us sitting on a bus for 8 of those (all for a 45-second-long show), meanwhile our stomachs churning from the dense storm clouds and constant rain that threatened any chance of a liftoff. Please, God, not another scrub.
It seems we had paid our dues to Lady Luck, because shortly before scheduled launch time, the clouds began to clear and favorable weather conditions looked like a possibility. As we intently listened to my husband’s ham radio, the countdown miraculously continued and unknown voices urged, “Go for launch.”
We readied our cameras, trying to keep them steady despite the thumping of our hearts. “T-minus one minute and counting.” The crowd roared. Until…
“We have a hold at T-minus 31 seconds.” The man on speaker broke every one of our hearts simultaneously. A sea of groans emerged. My husband was desperately trying to hear what was being said on his ham radio while I incessantly hassled him: “What’s happening? Are they scrubbing?”
The problem was quickly addressed and the countdown resumed. We all breathed such heavy sighs of relief before taking up our cameras again, and we all shouted out the remaining seconds.
We can’t even hear Mission Control announce, “Liftoff!” We are all cheering as loud as we can, cheering for that ship and for the astronauts on it, even though they can’t hear us. And a fire ignites under the shuttle and smoke billows out and completely engulfs it until you see it rise like a phoenix, humungous flames shooting out from underneath it as it ascends into the sky. And it’s as if time slows down for a few seconds, just long enough for us to appreciate what is happening in front of our eyes. And I feel as if a part of me is on that shuttle, because I am an American and that is my family on that ship. I am filled with such an enormous amount of pride that tears are streaming down my cheeks freely and I am giggling like a schoolgirl. I take a deep breath and try to relish every second, knowing that I am witnessing history, knowing that I will never again in my life get to see this exact scene ever again. And in the blink of an eye, it has disappeared into the sky, behind the clouds, into the vastness above. Only then does the rumbling sound of takeoff finally catch up with time, and all our bodies vibrate with the boom that is left behind by Atlantis.
That stranger on the causeway, he was right, of course. He was right the whole time. I have never been more proud to be an American in my life. I have never been so proud, period.
