The Putting In Place Of Spaceman Sam Page 2

thought of this often as he worked in his lab. He was thinking of it now as he took one more look in the microscope. There was nothing he wanted more than this and he deserved it … he did. He wasn’t sure why he deserved it over the others around him, but then who really does know such things?

  Then … and later he would say he felt it first, and then he saw it. And initially, he didn’t say a word because he wanted to make sure his assumptions were indeed correct. But when, and only when he was certain … he looked up—and then around—he smiled and screamed out: “I GOT IT!”

  Now, if this were a movie, this would be where the birds, frightened from the ear piercing scream, would take flight from the trees. And the dogs that wandered loose would howl, and the cats would run for cover …. But this isn’t a movie, this is real life and in real life, what actually happens is the other scientists who were around him all moaned in disappointment. Tina, a lovely woman with three children, she beat her fists on the table, and she cursed out words that would draw soap to the lips of her offspring’s.

  And Harry … Ole Hook-Nose-Harry … he threw things across the room. Glass beakers that shattered upon hitting the wall. And Harriet, sweat, menopause, hot flash, Harriet—she held up a knife and for a moment, Gerald thought she would take her own life. And why wouldn’t she …? Why wouldn’t they all …? They had failed—each of them and done so miserably, and they knew it. They were losers, and if they didn’t believe it when their parents told them, they certainly did now. They couldn’t play sports, they weren’t smart enough to become lawyers, and they should never have been allowed to breed! But that’s the world we live in. And Gerald was just glad he could pull himself away from the trash.

  He walked to the door, the front door where just outside, stood the PETA people with their signs. And those signs didn’t say anything nice. He threw open the door and stepped out and this was a gutsy move because they could now get their claws on him. But he didn’t care. Not now. He stood tall, he raised his hands and bellowed out:

  “My friends—on this day—the lambs their eyes grow tired, and we all know it. But this I tell you … on this night … they will sleep … By God, this night they will sleep...!

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  In the morning, back at Cape Canaveral, down in the sunny State of Florida, Spaceman Dan walked along the edge of a launch pad. And this pad, like all the pads, had a name—one that was given to it by other men who had walked upon it way before Spaceman was even born. These men—these pioneers, were respected by Spaceman as was the gear they had used and there wasn’t a time when Spaceman walked upon the pads that he didn’t feel a little of something. Perhaps human.

  And why wouldn’t he …? The pad he was on had stood the test of time and was named: “The Maximum Geometry Platform” (Or Max-G-Pad) as it was the biggest pad they had. And Max-G was put into service back in nineteen-sixty-four, and still, remained as big a pad as any man, or woman would need.

  But that had changed and as Spaceman counted off his steps: “three, six, nine ….” He feared ole Max-G was a bit too small for his rocket. Not much, but a little, and sometimes that’s enough to create a disaster, which in turn cause’s embarrassment ending in a mess that isn’t easily cleaned up.

  Spaceman didn’t want that … no one wanted that. After all, Putin would be watching—wouldn’t he. And so would Mother Russia. And the race was on, once again and the stakes were as high as they had ever been. And now … the enemy was wise to the miracle of special effects and the illusions that Hollywood could create. No longer would a simple, black and white rerun of Star Trek fool anyone. This time, we had to actually do what we said we had done before … we had to be successful! To make matters worse, this target planet wasn’t the moon, it was well beyond that, and there was a lot that wasn’t known and a lot that could go wrong.

  But then—Spaceman wasn’t worried because this was what he was born to do. That is until he walked off and then calculated the square footage of Max-G-Pad .... Now he was a little troubled and who wouldn’t be. And there weren't any other options. At least none that was better, so he would have to live with it, and he would … He would.

  Walking behind and following closely was a woman who went by the name: Stacy Workman. Stacy was a looker as would be expected … Homecoming queen, cheerleader, and all around beach babe. And she looked the part, with long blonde hair, beautiful deep-blue eyes, her full lips and a body that was made to be seen. And it was seen because she was a surfer, a good surfer and she spent a lot of time on the water and around it. And Stacy wasn’t stupid, on the contrary, she was brilliant. She wore sunscreen while on the beach and a large brim hat. She went to college where she got a degree in something, and that degree landed her a job at McDonalds. It was there, while taking orders did she meet Spaceman. To this day, she knows the number he chose—it was the number “1” …! The big-Mac-meal …. Super-sized!

  She thought this fitting because he was number one, and she told him so, and soon afterward, she left McDonalds to work for him, and this wasn’t easy. It never is, because like a dentist who has spent all their parent's money and all his time in dental school. It’s no pleasure when you come clean that you’ve decided picking food from teeth isn’t for you. You’re sort of locked in, and this was the way Stacy felt, but she left anyway, and that was that. And Spaceman didn’t eat that number one meal. Instead, he handed it to a young man who was holding onto a gas can. And this young man was pleading for money as he had a wife who was fifty miles away and now in labor. This desperate soul had to get to her—he did!—because only he knew where she was, and she had to get to a hospital ….

  But alas—and of all the luck—his car just ran out of gas, and he was sure he could make that fifty miles if only someone would be generous enough to donate a dollar … Anyone …? Anyone at all …?

  “I don’t have a dollar!” Spaceman sang out of a crowd of many. “But I have a number one that although won’t fuel your car, will fuel your body. And it looks like you’re gonna need that fuel `cause you’ll be walking that fifty miles.”

  It was right then, she realized that Spaceman was the real-deal. That his generosity went well beyond the average McDonald’s regular. She watched as the young man took the food. She heard “God-Bless-You,” Spoken from the (soon to be) father’s mouth. And since that time, she has had no regrets. But then—Spaceman is still alive which means she still has a job. And that job is his personal assistant which she would say was the greatest job in the world and so would a trillion or so other women.

  Now—and as expected, being the assistant to such a man isn’t typical in any way. As a matter of fact, her primary job is walking behind Spaceman while holding onto his long, blonde, Poodle-curled hair—and she did so like it was the veil on a wedding dress. And his hair was long and untamed with the bangs being the same length as the back.

  If asked—Spaceman would say he liked ponytails, but not the rubber bands that held them. He would say they were constraints made to control what was meant to remain free. “The only people who have a problem with free hanging hair, are those who don’t have hair!” he would say, and Stacy was sure he was right. She knew for a fact—those with no hair didn’t have a beautiful young girl walking behind them while holding it. Hell—most didn’t have a beautiful young girl anywhere around them, so it made sense they would be bitter, and she took the comments for just that—bitterness, or jealousy.

  “I believe this pad will do!” she heard Spaceman say. He had come to a stop. She watched close as he looked to the North, then the South. She wasn’t sure why he was doing this, but there wasn’t much he did that made sense. But then with so much alone time, one would turn a bit eccentric. She was sure of this, and she was sure she was witnessing the by-product of an abused man. An overworked man. A man who had been taken advantage of and received so little for his sacrifice ….

  There was o
ne other chap she could think of who did more for his people, and he was thanked with spikes that were driven through his hands and feet. She wasn’t sure what was waiting for Spaceman, but it was out there, in the black. And like the feel of cool steel pounded through bone—the end would no doubt be painful ….

  A tear came to her eye. God, I hoped that isn’t Spaceman’s fate. But she knew it was. She knew that men weren’t supposed to travel beyond their world. Just like they weren’t supposed to travel across the oceans. And there was a price to be paid for disobeying orders, a heavy price that’s already been collected from a million dead sailors who now lie on the seafloor.

  But the ships sail all the same. And that’s what Spaceman sails … a ship … a spaceship.

  Stacy wiped that tear away using her shoulder and focused on the hair in her hands. Spaceman was now looking at the horizon. The sun had just risen, and the Cape Canaveral’s launch site held a fantastic view of the Atlantic. The sea rose and fell—gently, and the sea birds circled above and looked down, deep into the blue. Their eyes every bit as piercing as Spaceman‘s, and the way he looked, Stacy wondered if he saw down as deep as those