Chapter I – “Discovery”

Τhe piercing shrill of worn brakes jolted me awake and I subsequently tried to fight the morning light from my tired eyes. I rolled over in the warm bed and tried to recapture my pleasant dream, but the incessant racket of the garbage men and their civil duties tugged at my conscience. I turned to the window again and the blurry image through the glass disappeared with fading thunder. I knew from this weekly ritual that it was Thursday, which had little significance beyond that it was simply another day of boisterous amounts of coffee and plenty of writing.

With great hesitation, I rose from bed and wrapped myself in the light blue “Ritz-Carlton” that was given so graciously to me by my father as congratulation for my first publication. Several novels and many sleepless nights later, several threads hung from the sleeves and the once fluffy material had long since worn but fortunately it still served the same indulgent purpose.

The breakfast nook was a dungeon in comparison to the bedroom and I wondered why the designer did not think about my well being or sleeplessness when he chose the location of the bedroom. Nonetheless, I began to search the cupboards for a few spices and set out to make two omelets with the few onion scraps and strips of bacon that remained in the fridge.

“Emily!” I called firmly; the sound echoing through the seemingly empty rooms.

A beeping diverted my attention and I opened the microwave door and grabbed for the mug of steaming chocolate milk. The sizzling of bacon and smell of coffee filled my nostrils as I lapsed into a morning stare out the window over the sink, contemplating whether to buy new drapes for the master bedroom. Again, a beeping brought me to my duties and I grabbed an empty mug and poured myself a fresh cup of coffee.

“Mommy! Where’s my sweater?” A young voice questioned from somewhere in the house.
“I have your coat out here sweetie. It’s too cold for just a sweater today.” I called back without any surprise.

A door opened and Emily walked out with her arms waving in the air as she pulled her wool sweater over her uncombed light blonde array. I set the steaming cup of hot cocoa and warm omelet on the plate and grabbed for a brush.

“I found it. Am I late for the bus today mommy?”

“Were fine today baby, and good thing too because I have a lot of work to get done and I know you do not want to miss the Thanksgiving play do you?”

“No! That’s why I rushed down here! Can’t you notice?” She asked with a tone of remorse in my not noticing her extra effort. She did seem unusually jovial this morning and I did only have to call once instead of the three or four times it usually takes. The little hands produced a paper cut out of a red, orange and brown turkey that resembled a hand print. We had made this together the night before and I carefully unfolded a part of it and placed the ring of paper attached to the makeshift turkey on her head. She smiled at me and squeaked;

“Mine is going to look the bestest!”

“Of course it will sweetie!” I encouraged, envying the innocence and cuteness in her voice. “Put your jacket and boots on so were not late.”

She scooped a last bite into her tiny mouth and scrambled back into her room. I grabbed the plates and cups and placed them in the sink, glancing at the clock. 7:38. Two minutes before the bus arrived. I rushed into my tiny office, attempting not to spill any coffee, and stepped into my matching slippers to accompany my daughter to the corner.

The morning air bit at my face and I squeezed my daughters warm little hands as we briskly made our way to the end of the lengthy drive way. Another rumbling noise, similar to the one that woke me up signified the busses arrival before it could even be seen as it barreled over the crest of the hill and came to a screeching halt synonymously with our arrival. My daughter happily gave me a kiss and jumped on the steaming school bus and I watched steadily as the yellow dot faded into the countryside. A strange lonely feeling swept over me as clouds buried sunlight and a slight breeze reached out from the gloomy oak forest that covered the landscape opposite me. I turned hastily back down the driveway pausing only briefly to pick up the newspaper that lay at the base of the mailbox. The headline on the front page read: Oil Prices hit record 100 dollars per barrel: President calls for rationing. Another oil rationing, when will it end. My mind wandered as I tucked the paper under my arm and hurried toward the warm interior of my home.

The coffee felt good going down my throat sitting at my desk and spreading the paper over my keyboard and turning on the computer. The news was the same old depressing information that had been repeatedly impressed upon us. War. Taxes. Death. I was not surprised when I read the title of a little article on the bottom of the front page that claimed: Space Shuttle Mission aborted; crew taking necessary precautions. I thought it odd that something could go wrong with something so meticulously planned for years and had actually been following the evolution of the Space program for several years now. I continued to read and thought of how it would have been if Jack were still around; the radio blasting classic rock as he would play space ship with baby Emily. His work never seemed to affect his personal life; unlike my mind which wondered into my stories every waking moment. But we did share a great love and passion for flight, his in space flight and mine in worldly flight; we had soared in love together.
A sudden ringing jolted me out of my daze.

“Hello?” I answered, clearing my throat.

“Holly, have you read the paper yet?” A man’s voice questioned sternly on the other side.
“I just opened it dad, why what’s wrong?”

“The Shuttle Hol! They say it’s had a malfunction or somethin. I thought you might know somethin more ‘bout it.”

“No dad, I don’t talk to too many of Jack’s friends anymore. They mostly left when he did.” I answered coldly. My father had always been eccentric; I developed my passion from his.
“Well call someone up, I want to know some more ‘bout it. Seems serious and you should take more of an interest in it if you ask me!” He answered back sharply.

“Ok dad, I’ll look into it. Let me call you back.” I hung up the phone and reached for the television remote.

“…and the hydraulic lever is the main component responsible for allowing the wings fluctuate throughout the mission. This ability to fluctuate is unfortunately the most critical on re-entry as precision in direction and timing is necessary for a safe return.” The screen switched from an unsympathetic looking controller to two visibly bewildered news anchors.

“That sounds devastating Frank. How hopeful is American Space Exploration Association that this problem can be fixed before the shuttle reaches its critical re-entry point?”
The screen cut back to the middle-aged man with horn rimmed glasses and a plaid button up shirt.

“It is hard to say right now, but our team is doing the best we can, working around the clock to ensure that our brave astronauts come home safely. I have great confidence in the specialists that we have assembled here and can assure you we will find options.” His voice seemed to stagger slightly contrary to the unwavering facial features.

“We trust that you and the rest of the ASEA…” The screen flicked back to the tight lipped news anchors, “… know what you are doing and we hope and pray that our astronauts return safely.”

A feeling of unease hit the pit of my stomach. The wooden desk drawer seemed heavier than usual as it slid open; the metal connectors scraping the worn plastic rollers. A black leather booklet sat neatly between a mess of unorganized notes (which were kept for reference) and several unopened boxes of red pens. The tired pages turned with ease and each hand written word, scratched in its respective area, seemed to project his soft pale features into my mind. The tediously kept directory of names and numbers might have seemed old fashioned, but Jack would have argued that each person he met deserved a “personal touch” of remembrance.
The name poked out with special significance; not only because he had been Jack’s best friend but there was significantly more content around this particular person. A little note with a star by it read — *In case of Emergency*. I cracked a smile, remembering Jack’s incessant giggle when he had told his “emergency contact” that the latter’s lack of attendance to a dinner party would lose him the title gained from so many years of loyalty. He never changed it. Sadly, the title had been too applicable in recent years and the page I stared at had become far too familiar.

The ringing had just started when a voice on the other side answered forcefully.
“Yea?”

“Jim, its Holly.”

He sighed heavily and a little unexpectedly.

“Hol, listen I’m really sorry but we’re really busy here and I need to keep this line open.”

“So it really is a big deal than?” I said skeptically and emphasizing the “is”, having an intimate knowledge of how space travel had become the equivalent of the Wild West and therefore the Media’s playing field.

“I don’t even know how a big of a deal it is ‘cause we don’t have contact and were really scrambling over here. Hate to say it, but this was Jack’s department and he’s gone; we could really use him now. He finished the sentence and took a deep breath. “Hol, I have to go but I’ll have someone keep you posted.”

The phone clicked and went silent. The news casters had been diligently talking to scientists and other reporters, gathering the information that had been released to them.

“…spoke with the Control Room liaison and they informed me that they are in constant communication with the crew of the Space Shuttle George W. Bush and that both crews are working diligently to assess and repair the problem.” Another voice calmly explained.

I dismissed this last statement for its false legitimacy and sank back into my chair; my mind again wandering off. The Space Shuttle worries, that were imminent to Jim and would have been central to Jack, seemed hopelessly disconnected from me. I took another sip of the chilled coffee and began to type on the keyboard. Fifteen minutes of little productivity encouraged another break and I stood up from my chair.

“We have breaking reports coming in now from Houston!” I could only imagine what they were about to say but was more frightened when I heard it. “The Space Shuttle has broken apart on its reentry…”

The screen flashed to a live video of several tiny specs of orange flame surrounded by a deep blue sky.

“…and is now falling towards earth. This is tragic ladies and gentleman! Again this is live footage of the Space Shuttle George W. Bush which we are being told has “broken apart” in its failed reentry into earth’s atmosphere!”

My fingers were shaking with the mug dangling at the end. I was in shock. The phone began to ring and I instinctively answered it.

“Hel…” I coughed and cleared my throat again, my eyes still glued to the screen. “Hello?”

“Hol! This is a disaster! What happened? Did you talk to Jack’s friend?”

“Dad!” I answered hysterically dropping the phone.

The news screen had been covered by scrolling white text. –A warning has been issued by the weather station for the following states: Mississippi, Louisiana and Texas. Please remain calm but be aware that there may be debris falling on or around your area. Take necessary precautions. –

The message had not finished before I was already in the car. My bare feet pressed hard on the accelerator and I pulled out of the driveway. The scene was entirely too calm for the fear I felt as I kept looking to the sky in fear of falling flaming metal scraps. The cloud cover prevented me from seeing anything, not that I would even know where to look; but I continued to search. Emily’s school appeared on the horizon after ten minutes of frantic driving through the hilly oak covered landscape.

I pulled up to the school. Two older women stood at an entrance looking up at the sky, a folder clutched in one of their hands and a walkie-talkie in the other. There seemed to be no panic at all. Was I over reacting? The thought had barely impacted before I envisioned Jack’s lifeless body on the cold steel morticians table. I nearly sprinted to the door, passing the two elderly ladies who looked at me quizzically. I had been to her classroom several times and knew exactly where to go. The teacher was surprised when I popped my head in the door, clearly noticing the collar of the robe that I was still wearing.

“Excuse me!” I said breathing heavily only stopping for a short second to catch my breath. “Can I take Emily with me please?”

The children were sitting quietly at their desks and their teacher, a young woman with short brown hair that came down just past her ears and who normally, in, I assume, a situation in which she was not in the middle of reading an undoubtedly important piece of literature for a third grader to absorb, seemed a little perturbed at my interjection.

“Mrs. Morrow, the play begins in nearly…”

“Emily please come here now!” I commanded my daughter, cutting off the red faced Ms. Becker mid sentence. Emily hopped out of her desk and walked shyly to me. I grabbed her hand lightly, pulling her into the hallway and down the hall. Her hand tightened around mine.

“Mommy! My backpack?” She squeaked as I dragged her through the empty halls.

“We will get it later Emily.” The fear in my voice apparently too evident to hide, she understood and quickly matched my pace as we headed to the car.
The sun had broken through the dense cloud cover and illuminated the parking lot where we were headed towards and seemed to guide me to my destination. As I passed the two elderly ladies who were still standing outside of the school I noticed one pointing towards the sky opposite the way I was facing. I turned as one of them exclaimed: “Oh my god!” and quickly brought her rigid fingers to her cover her mouth, both eyes wide with fright.

I turned.

“Mommy, what is that?” She questioned calmly.

I stood there staring at the bright orange ball with a long dark trail extending in its wake. Fragments separated from the fireball and dispersed in different directions as the terrifying spectacle progressed as if in slow motion. In a mere instant, the flaming metal dropped from its apparent collision course with the school and an explosive sound echoed through the hills. A plume of debris, smoke and fire suddenly erupted not one mile directly south of the school and I watched in awe as the cloud grew and several more fragments punched through the thick billowing wall of smoke created by the impact. I watched them carefully for a cautious moment and realized that most of the pieces would fall short of the school. One particular flame caught my attention as it soared to the East and disappeared behind a distant hilltop, near where my house was. I immediately imagined the worst.

The courtyard had begun to fill with people and several cars had stopped on the road leading away from the school. I navigated through the stunned spectators, Emily struggling to hold my hand. Arriving at the car, I noticed a shimmer of a tear just below the rim of my petite daughters glasses. I could not contemplate the effect a destroyed house would have on an impressionable and innocent mind, I could only pray that our home was still intact.

As I crested a final hill, I was relieved to find the house was intact and was not aflame as I had previously envisioned. A small column of white smoke was; however, slowly drifting upwards about 100 meters beyond the driveway. Curious as to what part of the Shuttle had almost demolished my livelihood; I did not pull into the driveway but rather slowly drove closer to the plume of smoke. Without exiting the car, I could not see the source of the plume itself as it was buried in a small crater below the surface of the frost bitten earth.

At this closer vantage point however I could see several other smoking pieces of debris that, to my best guess had detached from the main console at impact. The closest of these parts to where I was looked like a badly charred metal toolbox that had tipped over and I could barely distinguish the clasp that had once held it tightly closed. I opened the door to the car and stood up, closing the door slowly behind me. The cold bare ground stung my feet as I walked closer to the box and I tried to avoid any addition to that sharpness.
The smell of the burning metal now hit my nostrils as something very unfamiliar and pungent and I tried not to breathe too deeply for fear of some hazardous chemicals. The smoldering box changed little in appearance as I moved closer; however, a small metallic case (that I only noticed because it had been the same case that Jack had used to store his diary and it was intact and still glistening) lay half underneath the broken box. Jack had explained to me once that his case was the same one the astronauts used in space, the only difference was that his had “Inscribe Name Here” stamped directly on the front. I wrapped my hand in the thick loose sleeve of my robe and bent down and picked up the metal case. On the cover was inscribed:
Journal of:
John T. Gunther
Captain, S.S. George W. Bush

I reached to pull apart the two halves of the case, wedged together to keep its secrets protected. The heat did not register in my fingers until I had already grasped the corner of the devilishly hot case.

“Shit!” I exclaimed letting the case go with both the unwrapped and wrapped hands. I brought my fingers to my mouth and thought: Jim is going to want to see this…