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February 02, 2003
A kick in the stomach
I had planned to sleep in a lot this weekend, to try to get over my cold, but yesterday morning, I woke up coughing at nine o'clock, and couldn't go back to sleep. I'd start to drift off, and then my throat would start tickling, and I'd cough myself awake. After about an hour of that, I decided I'd watch a bit of TV until I felt like getting up and facing the day. I rolled over, groped for my glasses, and turned on the TV, and there it was: a shot of a white plume of smoke trailing a glowing ball of flame. The caption on the TV said only "Possible terror attack?" I shot out of bed, scared speechless for a minute, until I heard them say the name Columbia. It took a few more seconds to sort out what they were talking about -- I'd thought someone had launched a missile somewhere, for just a second or two. Once I realized, I went downstairs and called my mom to ask if she was watching the news, and if she knew what had happened. She said she had seen it, because she had been watching TV since 9 or so, hoping to see the shuttle land. She was crying a little, and I noticed I was too. We talked a little, and she said she'd called my grandparents to tell them to turn on the TV -- they live near Orlando, and my grandmother has avidly followed the space program for years. We hung up, and I sat on the couch and watched the news for most of the day, stopping to make some coffee, and to run to the grocery store. The radio was on in the store, and the usually chatty guys at the meat counter were silent and red-eyed. People were talkiing about it quietly, sadly. I went home, put some stew on to cook, and sat back down to watch, numb.
In 1998, my mom and I got to see the Endeavor launch from my grandparents' porch. It was set to go up at 3 a.m., the morning after we arrived. I remember my grandmother excitedly asking if we wanted to get up to see it; I agreed just because I knew it would make her happy. I thought they lived far enough away that we wouldn't see much, maybe a bright dot along the horizon. But I Mom and I said yes, we'd get up, so she came and tapped on our doors in the wee hours, and we went out to the back porch to watch the sky. Grandpa had the TV on, so we could hear the countdown. When it reached one, we waited... for a second or two, there was nothing, then we felt a slight rumble, and the sky lit up bright orange. There was a tail of flame, maybe three inches long, and so bright it looked like the sun was rising. We could make out the shuttle and booster rockets, even from such a distance away. We could see the rockets fall away, and the shuttle, with a smaller, brighter tail of flame, moving on up, turning a little, then dwindling away until it disappeared out of the atmosphere. It took a few minutes, and I don't think I breathed once until it vanished. When it was gone, I realized there were tears in my eyes. It was just so cool. I wish I could articulate it better than that. It was, far and away, the coolest thing I have ever seen. And I was awestricken, and painfully envious of the people in that shuttle. I'd give my right arm to be able to do that. (I wanted to be an astronaut until high school, when I found out how bad I am at math and physics. Thus, I am a librarian who daydreams about being an astronaut, still.)
Watching the news yesterday made me feel like I'd been kicked in the stomach. I was talking later in the day with my mom, and we were trying to figure out why we were so sad -- yes, the loss of those seven lives is awful... but people die every day. Part of it, I'm sure, is that the shuttles go up and come down so often, without incident, that we take it for granted. I never expected to see another one fail like that, after the Challenger. But a big part of it, I think, is that it shatters that daydream. Most people, I'm sure, look at the launches and think "I wish I could do that." Most people imagine what it must be like to leave this place, to look down and see the Earth from a vantage point very few of us will ever have. Yesterday's news put a shadow over that daydream. I'll still keep having it, though, and I'll still envy the people who can live it.
Posted by Mary Ellen at February 2, 2003 11:38 PM