The Spaceman
I gazed up at the stars. If there was ever a concrete definition for beauty, this would be it. The sight of the night sky in a rural area was enough to bring a tear to my eye. This was my entertainment, not the luxury of the luminescent glow of a television. This is where my love for space came from. It was the watchful eye that my parents were not and the freedom I was not allowed. It would never change, not like the Earth which changed all too fast.
In 1969 I watched Neil Armstrong become the first person to walk on the moon. I watched wide-eyed and open-mouthed as he took that first step and uttered his famous lines, “that’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” That day cemented my destiny: I was going to be an astronaut. I remember the next day cutting enough room in the milk carton so it would fit my head. I was one small step from becoming an astronaut.
I think the underlying reason for me wanting to be an astronaut came from the idea of the unknown. Starring up at those stars as a child, I was filled with the warmth of their glow, yet chilled by the unknown. What was I looking at? Is there some other boy, on another planet who is barred from watching television starring back at me?
Neil Armstrong was the first person to physically touch space. How did Buzz Aldrin feel, knowing that he was the second person? He was there, he could have been first, but he wasn’t. That opportunity vanished in front of his very eyes in a flash. The moon was just the beginning. I dreamed of touching the next frontier. I dreamed of being the first, of being the catalyst of a future.
My whole life I spent preparing for that day when I would blast off into space. So much so that I changed my diet solely to “astronaut food”. That stuff was putrid. But it was something that I had to do. It was the next logical step. I had a friend who owned a convertible car. I would take that car over a hundred miles an hour down abandoned roads to get a feeling similar to take off. I would jump on my bed to simulate what I thought zero gravity would feel like. I exercised. I exercised with additional clothing and weights to simulate how heavy I assumed a suit was. I wouldn’t become an astronaut: I was an astronaut. I am an astronaut.
The day they told me I’d be on the next mission to space was the happiest day of my life. And even better: I’d be going to Mars. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Here, I could become the first man on Mars; I could step onto the red cloud of dust, and speak the words that would inspire the next generation. This wasn’t just my dream: it was my destiny, my duty.
In an instant the Earth faded into outer space. A tear fell down my face as I saw the beauty of the thin line between space and the Earth. It wasn’t space, but it wasn’t Earth. It was an entirely different world, separate from the others. And then there was black. I saw the Earth for what it really was: nothing. It was tiny. Faint. A ball of blue. In the void that surrounds, the Earth was just a speck of dust on a slightly larger speck of dust.
And then there was nothing. I couldn’t believe it. After we passed the moon there was nothing to be seen for what felt like forever. Maybe we were alone. It felt like we were. And even if there was something else out there, would they be able to even reach us? Could we reach them? As we pushed forward in this endless vacuum I seriously doubted that we would ever find other life or that they would find us.
I was not impressed with my crewmates. Both of them were consumed by entertainment, by Hollywood. Even without my TV-less childhood I was never too impressed with Hollywood, with celebrities. A popular topic was The Godfather, both parts. When they asked my opinion on it, or on anything of the nature I could never respond. Although after the first few days I never wanted to talk to them anyway, and I suspect they felt the same about me. It was okay. I had always been alone. My parents never gave me the time of day. I never had a girlfriend. Sure, I had been intimate with a few women, but mainly through my one and only friend. The sad part of that relationship was that after high school we never spoke again. I don’t know why. I mean, I don’t know why he was my friend in the first place. It was probably because we were neighbors and it was nice having a friend so close. I’m sure that he was never able to shake me off until he moved away for college. It was probably the best decision of his life.
The time it took for us to arrive was used to become acclimated to the weightlessness of space. I won’t lie, it was fun. It gave me some common ground with my crewmates. Floating away from the troubles that weigh us down. Space was everything I imagined it to be. I was home. The dream of my childhood was now the reality of my adulthood.
As Mars came in to view I began to think about what I was going to say when I take that historic first step. Maybe I would repeat what Neil Armstrong said, but update it a little: “One small step for man, an even gianter leap for mankind”. Wait, was gianter even a word? When I said it aloud, it didn’t sound as good as it did in my head so I scrapped it. My crewmates fought over who would the first to walk on Mars. It didn’t matter: it was going to be me. They knew it. I could see it when they talked to me (as little as they did). I had it in me. I had the ambition. The guys back in Houston had indirectly said that it was to be me. They said ‘I had a part of Neil in me”. But then again, even if it wasn’t me I wouldn’t care. Still, I was going to say something, something that would rally a nation. Something that had no prior preparation. I would say something in the heat of moment. That’s how I work best.
The ship landed with a soft thud. We put on our suits. The door opened. I took my position in the front. I would be the first. They had accepted it. I stood in the doorway, gazing at the red uncharted landscape that lay before me. This wasn’t just a small step; this was a plunge into the unknown, into the future. I took a deep breathe. I jumped down and landed onto the red planet. I could feel it: the world was watching me. Even though I could not see them, they could see me. They were waiting. Waiting for me to rally them. Waiting for me to offer insight into this world. “I can see the future.” I said. “And the future is red.” This is what I was going to be remembered by. These words. Were they lame? Would they inspire a generation or laughter? I smiled. It did not matter anymore. I had made history, and whatever I said would go down in history as words of wisdom and insight. Textbooks would have my quote under a heroic portrait of me.
We took a few samples of rocks and some dust before it was time to go. Yes, the moment I had spent an entire life to achieve was over in the blink of an eye. But I didn’t care. I had done it. Dreams do come true. I took an extra-long look at my history before closing the door and ultimately blasting off back to Earth. My world grew smaller and smaller until it no longer existed. I longed for it like it was my home. It was a world without the error of humanity. It was a world untouched my impurity. Such is paradise. I wanted to go back.
The homecoming was more extravagant than I had imagined: we were heroes. I was the hero among heroes. I showered with heartening praise instead of warm water. This was the history that I knew I had created. But this praise was short lived. I could feel their stares. Looking right through me. And then it hit me: my words. Those words that should have inspired a generation for achievement now inspired a generation for ridicule. Everywhere I went, people would address me as “Mr. Astronaut” or “The Martian” or “The Spaceman”, words of endearment laced in spite. They did not mean the praise they sang of. No, they were mocking me. What was once my home had now become a prison of misery. I didn’t want this anymore.
The news stations were playing the video again and again. They were playing my words again and again. I could not turn on a television and not see my face or turn on a radio and hear my voice anywhere. And they would play it with Neil Armstrong’s moon landing. What should have been an honor was now disrespect to Neil, which sickened me. His history should not be blackened by mine. No, the two should have remained separate. I could not stand the comparisons to my hero. I wanted to be like Neil, but I knew that I was not on the same level. I knew that I would never be considered as great as he was. Yet, here they were saying that my feat was greater. That I was a bigger pioneer for future space exploration than he was. But he was first. How could they forget that? I was nothing, just the next step.
Then they asked me to come on their shows. And I did. I had an obligation to this country to do so, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. The more the spotlight was shined on me the more I wanted to step out of it. The more the spotlight was shined on me the blinder I became. Not that it mattered. I did not want to see the fame monster I had become. It was too much. I realized now why people wanted to explore space so much: they wanted to escape from Earth. When people die they will roam the Earth because it is hell. I had found a world, so pure, so innocent, and I wanted to go back. To escape the taint that is the Earth and start anew on Mars. That was where I belonged, not here constantly in the spotlight. There were more important people to worry about; I was just doing my job. I never wanted to be a celebrity, just a man of history. Mars. There, there was no gossip; there was no tabloids, no exploitation, no lies. I could live the rest of my days in peace. In escape from what I had become against my will. On Mars, I would have the freest of will. I was going to go back. I was going home.
I heard of another mission to Mars. I wanted to go, and with my repertoire they had no choice to take me. In the time before the mission, I amassed a collection of food for my travels. And then we left. Surprisingly, no one questioned my insane amount of food. Maybe my previous crewmates had told stories of me. Or maybe that figured I was deranged or just simply weird from my interviews.
I was still left in wonderment as I entered space for the second time. I still felt the isolation of space. I knew I was going to be alone forever. But it made me happy. The happiest since I first heard the news that I was going to Mars. The resurgence of happiness was fitting for this moment. Then I saw Mars again. I saw it differently: it was no longer unknown. I knew it like I had been here before, like I had always been here, like I would be there forever. I recognized this feeling: it was the feeling only a home could provide.
Mars was still had the warmth of a burning fire on a cold winter’s night. I was home. As the second team prepared to return to Earth, I made my move. In one of the detachable pods I stored all the food I had brought with me. I determined it was enough to last me a few years: two or even three if I rationed correctly. I informed one of my co-pilots my plan, and against his protests I went through with it. He wished me luck, and said that the next mission would bring me more food or bring me back. I appreciated the sentiment and told him I would look forward to the next visit.
I waved goodbye to my fellow men and gazed back at my new home. The home that had always been there for me. Sure, it was barren, but I would fill it with love and belonging. Things I never felt on Earth. The poison of that destroyed Earth would never be felt here. No, I would make sure that this place would remain pure. I would remain pure.
This was the dawn of a new life for me. I gazed at the void that surrounded me. My promising smile soon turned to a frown. The winking sky I once stared up at as a child was empty and soulless. Still, it beat the empty and soulless gazes of those judging liars. Here, I would be appreciated for what I truly was: I pioneer to the future. When the next group arrived, they would see the first colony on Mars. Not only was I the first man to walk on Mars, but I was also the first man to live on Mars.
I waited for what felt like eons for the next team to arrive. Yes, I actually missed the companionship of humanity. And then I saw them. The shuttle landed with a soft thump. I could feel it as they walked all over me. All over me with their malicious judgment and condescending views. They saw my trash in the hole from which I had designated for it. They searched for something, I couldn’t tell what. I called out to them, but they didn’t hear me. But I could hear them. I could hear their cackles, mocking me.
“Do you think he left?”
“No. His ship is still here. And his trash. We could search for years and never find his body in this barren wasteland.”
The ship left as soon as it came. Those bastards. They come and mock me and don’t bring any food. I was hungry, and yet they just laugh at me. I’m glad I left those people behind on Earth. Those people don’t know what home means. Here, I am home.
