Friday, March 11, 2011

Space Camp

They were watching the movie SpaceCamp in their sixth floor apartment when he stood, walked to the television, popped the DVD out of the player, placed it in the case, went to the window, opened the window then the screen and tossed it out. What did you do that for, she said. The sounds of the outside world—horn, distant airplane, voices—briefly heard, then gone once he shut the window.

In the vomit comet I can fly. This was my explanation in 10th grade, when I was asked about why I wanted to be an astronaut. The class chuckled, some let out vomiting sounds. My English teacher, sitting at his desk and grading as I spoke, adjusted his tie, yawned.

I have company over to watch SpaceCamp. Man, what garbage! We laughed and drank vodka.

I'm home sick from school when the Challenger exploded. Actually, I faked sick that day. When you're in tenth grade, you've got to improvise if you want days off. Mock wooziness, played up cough, invisible throat pain and I'm chilling at home, playing Commodore 64, watching The Price is Right while eating Ellio's Pizza. They're at the end, spinning the big wheel, when they cut away, show a trail of cursive smoke in the sky where there should've been a space shuttle.

You're in an aircraft, I told them, that simulates zero gravity so you can be weightless. Then you're floating about the cabin. Then you're flying.

1 comment:

  1. Wow. #2 and #4 shot me back in time. You do so much with very few words.