172 Hours on the Moon Page 8

  This was no vacation.

  They were taking a risk. Sending their daughter into outer space.

  What if she never came back?

  What about all the things that could go wrong?

  They remembered the pictures on TV of the space shuttle Challenger shown over and over again in 1986. It had exploded in a sea of flames seventy-three seconds after takeoff, killing all seven on board. But not instantaneously.

  The cockpit they were sitting in had not been torn to pieces in the explosion. There was a chance that they’d all lived for the two minutes and forty-five seconds it took until they hit the surface of the water with two hundred times the force of gravity — enough to annihilate them.

  Did they know they were going to die?

  Maybe.

  Probably.

  Actually, only her parents were thinking about that. Mia wasn’t aware of that infamous accident. She hadn’t even been born when it happened. What she was thinking about, as the taxi slowed down and parked outside the hotel, was her friends.

  What were they doing right now?

  Were they together, without her?

  She didn’t want to think about that.

  Were they having fun?

  But she couldn’t stop herself.

  A hotel employee opened the cab door for her, and she took her first steps out onto a wet New York sidewalk. The rain soaked her hair in seconds so it stuck to her face and made her look even sadder than she was.

  “Well, here we are,” her father said with a smile, elbowing her gently in the side.

  Mia didn’t smile back.

  “Are you tired?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  They stood there for a second, both on the verge of saying something of what they’d been thinking about in the cab. But before they had a chance, they were interrupted by a bellhop who came out of the hotel and stacked their luggage onto a cart.

  “Welcome to New York,” he said, grinning. “Sorry about the rain. It’s not always like this.” He held an umbrella over them even though it was only a few yards to the entrance. “Follow me, please.”

  A couple of NASA representatives met them in the restaurant later that evening. It was surprising that they offered fewer details about the moon mission itself than all the media interviews and online chats and video blogs and TV shows and ad campaigns and the extensive world tour that would start as soon as they returned from the mission.

  “Yes, this is an outstanding opportunity for her,” her mother said.

  “We’re very grateful Mia was chosen,” her father said.

  “Obviously, it will change her life forever,” one of the NASA men said.

  “I’m going to bed,” Mia suddenly announced, getting up from the table. Her mother, her father, and the two NASA men looked at one another.

  “Now?” her father said. “You’re going now? But we’re talking about you here, about your trip. Don’t you want to talk about it?”

  “It’s not like you guys will even notice whether I’m here or not.”

  Her father came up to her room twenty minutes later along with Sander. Mia was just finishing brushing her teeth when he knocked on the door.

  “Mia? Are you going to open the door? There’s someone here who wants to go to bed.”

  She walked over and let them in.

  Sander smiled when he saw her and shuffled into the bathroom, where he started brushing his teeth right away. Toothbrushing was his specialty and he was very proud of it. His technique wasn’t great and it always took him a while, since his toy lion needed a good once-over with the brush before Sander was satisfied. But at least he could do it by himself.

  Mia went back to the suitcase by her bed and got out her things. Her father followed her and sat down on a chair.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said.

  “About what?” Mia asked.

  “About … everything. That this wasn’t what you’d planned for yourself. But you know, John Lennon once said, ‘Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.’”

  Mia wasn’t about to argue with John Lennon. After all, she was a musician herself.

  “So, what about tomorrow?” her father went on. “Is there anything special you want to do, Mia? It’s the last day before we go to Texas, you know. Maybe we should go see the Statue of Liberty? That would be something, wouldn’t it?”

  Boy, that would be ironic, Mia thought. Visiting the Statue of Liberty when she didn’t even get to decide what she was going to do with her own life, let alone her summer vacation?

  “Sure, why not,” she replied, looking the other way.

  Her father sighed and stood up. She felt bad for a minute. He was doing his best. It wasn’t all his fault.

  “Sorry.” The apology tumbled out of her mouth.

  He stepped closer and gave her a good hug. The intervals between hugs had gotten longer and longer in recent years, so it meant a lot to Mia.

  “See you tomorrow, then,” he said. “Good night, Mia.”

  “Good night, Dad.”

  Sander came running out of the bathroom and flung his arms around his dad, his mouth still lathered in toothpaste.

  “Night-night!”

  “Good night, Sander,” his father said, picking up the boy and giving him an equally vigorous hug back. And then he had to hug the boy’s stuffed lion, too. The furry fabric around its mouth was almost worn through from intense toothbrushing over the last several months. Grayish white cotton stuffing was poking out and made it look as if the lion was trying to cough up a hair ball or two.

  Their father walked over to the door and turned toward Mia.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” he said. “I promise.”

  She helped Sander get into his pajamas, and then he climbed into bed. She pulled the covers up to his chin.

  “Sleep well, Sander.”

  It looked like he was thinking. “Are you sad?” he finally asked.

  Mia nodded.

  “Because you’re going so far away?”

  “No, not because of that.”

  “Then why?”

  There was no point in trying to explain the problem to Sander. “Because I’m going away from you, of course,” she said, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

  “I could go with you. If you want. Lion, too.”

  “Sorry, but that won’t work.”

  Sander thought about it for a long time. “But!” he said suddenly, lighting up. “I can send you letters.”

  She thought about how simple everything was in Sander’s world. There were no limits for him. Everything was possible. Mail to the moon?

  “Of course you can.”

  “I could write you one now,” he said.

  “But I haven’t even left yet,” she laughed.

  “So you can take it with you.”

  “Okay.”

  Mia found a pen, some stationery, and an envelope and brought them back over to Sander. It struck her that she’d never seen him write anything other than his own name. And even then he usually forgot the E. But she gave him what he needed, left the reading light on over his bed, and let him be.

  Mia couldn’t sleep. Or had she slept? She fumbled in the dark for her cell phone and found it on the nightstand.

  The clock said one thirty. That meant she’d been asleep for almost four hours. She thought she could hear her parents and the NASA men in the room next door talking loudly. She heard them clink glasses and there was laughter — loud, shrill laughter.

  What were they talking about? Her?

  She looked over at Sander’s bed, squinting to make him out in the dark room. His breathing was regular, calm.

  Quietly she pulled the covers down and slid her legs onto the floor. Her boots were waiting by the door, and after pulling them on and shrugging her arms into her jacket, she carefully let herself out of the hotel room and took the elevator to the relatively crowded lobby. A group of Asian guests was checking in, and several men
in suits were sitting in the bar talking loudly to one another. She stood there watching them for a couple of minutes wondering what to do.

  Suddenly it hit her that she could do anything. No one knew she was up. Sander was sleeping, and her parents were busy entertaining the NASA guys. What if she just walked out of the hotel, left them all? They’d never find her again, not in this city. She could disappear for good. Maybe she could go to Mexico? Find some new friends, start a new band, they could share a worn-down apartment in the middle of Mexico City. Why not?

  Just the thought was enough to give her goose bumps. If she left, no one would even realize for hours that she was gone. They wouldn’t notice until breakfast at the earliest, or when they knocked on the door to her and Sander’s room. But by then she’d be long gone.

  Mia walked through the revolving door, out onto the sidewalk. The doorman approached her the instant he spotted her.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  “No, thanks, I’m fine,” she replied quickly.

  “Where are your parents, if I may ask?”

  Mia turned and pointed to the bar. “They’re sitting in there. I’m just going to go buy a pack of gum.”

  “I think they have gum at the front desk.”

  “Not the right kind,” she responded.

  “And what kind would that be?”

  “A Norwegian kind. I doubt you’ve had it before.”

  “Norway, huh? Well, just don’t go too far. This is New York City, not the best place for a tourist to be out alone in the middle of the night.”

  She nodded to him and started walking down the street, turning left onto Park Avenue. Above her towered enormous skyscrapers where only the very richest people could afford to live. A few blocks later she spotted Central Park, which she recognized from countless movies and TV shows. She knew it was enormous — much, much bigger than the park they usually went for walks in back home in Stavanger, Lake Mosvannet Park. Central Park was Lake Mosvannet on steroids.

  She found an entrance on Fifth Avenue, and minutes later she was in the middle of the park, following the path that meandered along a little lake. Only the sounds of the traffic reminded her she was in the middle of a huge city. She started humming one of the songs her band had just written, the last one before she left. And then it hit her.

  Her friends.

  She looked at her watch. Two thirty in the morning. That meant it was about eight thirty in the morning in Norway. And that meant the others were at band practice.

  Suddenly the same feeling she’d had in the lobby came over her again. She felt powerful. Free to do what she wanted. And what she wanted was to call them. Call them and find out how they were, maybe mention in passing that she was in Central Park. Alone. Well, I just felt like going for a walk. Needed to get a little fresh air. This city’s not bad, you know. She’d sound sophisticated, pretend being here was the most easy and natural thing in the world.

  She’d left her cell phone in the room, so she started looking around for a pay phone. There wasn’t much besides trees here. Almost no people, either. Just the occasional jogger off in the distance and a pair of young lovers staggering home along the path ahead of her. It took at least fifteen minutes for her to finally find a public phone.

  She fished around for the coins she’d received as change when she bought a sandwich at the airport, and dialed Silje’s cell number. Someone picked up on the other end. At first Mia just heard loud music, and a voice that was shouting to the others in the room: “You guys want to be quiet? The phone!”

  “Hello?”

  “Mia?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  The voice shouted again, “Hey, everyone, it’s Mia! Shh! This is so cool. How’s it going?” Silje asked.

  “Oh, fine.”

  “Damn, you’re in New York City! That’s crazy! What are you doing right now?” Silje asked.

  “I’m in Central Park.” Mia tried to sound all blasé.

  “That is so cool. Is it amazing?”

  “It’s totally awesome,” Mia said.

  “Does it look like it does in the movies?”

  Mia looked around at the park. “Yeah, actually, it does.”

  “Sweet.”

  “How about you guys?” Mia tried.

  “Things are fine here. We wrote some new songs.”

  “Really?”

  “I think they’re really good. We’ve got to keep things going while you’re gone, you know. The future won’t wait even if someone’s on vacation, right?”

  Vacation? Was that some sort of accusation? Did they really think she didn’t care anymore? Already? Or was Silje trying to make a joke? Mia wasn’t sure.

  “No, of course not,” Mia said. “But … well, who’s singing?”

  “Kari. She wrote the lyrics and everything. I had no idea she could even write. And definitely no clue that she could sing. But she’s a totally awesome singer, wouldn’t you know it? Kari, you’re a totally awesome singer!”

  Mia could hear the other girls hooting in the background.

  “And she can play the guitar at the same time!” Silje added.

  “But … I’m still the vocalist, right?” Mia asked facetiously.

  “Of course. We can talk about all that stuff when you get back. I mean, we’ll work something out. But she’s crazy good. You want to hear? Wait a sec. …”

  Mia didn’t have a chance to respond before Silje set down the phone. It was quiet for a few seconds, then she heard them start one of the new songs.

  And it was good. That was the problem. It was really good.

  She stood there and listened to them for a minute, until the phone indicated that her money was almost used up. Then she hung up.

  “No one home?”

  Mia jumped. Someone was speaking English to her. She spun around and was staring into the face of a homeless person, who was bending over a shopping cart. He must have been around seventy and was wearing a huge, filthy brown coat. But there was actually something really pleasant about him, despite the fact that he definitely hadn’t bathed in several months. Or maybe years.

  “Excuse me?” Mia responded.

  “I said, ‘No one home?’” The man gestured at the phone.

  “Oh, no. Busy.”

  “That’s how it is these days, you know. Everyone is busy all day. Not that I know why, but they are. So damn busy, all of them. It was different before. Have you ever been to Coney Island?”

  “No.”

  “Playground of the World, it was called. It used to be an amazing place. Amazing. Now there’s hardly anything left of it. When I was a kid, people from all over the world went there, and all the things you could do, all the rides, oh my God. There was a mechanical horse race, felt like it went on for hours, and over in Dreamland there was a railroad that ran through this mountain landscape, like the Swiss Alps or something. There were Venetian canals with gondolas, roller coasters, and Ferris wheels. And there was a one-armed lion tamer, Captain Bonavita he was called. It was the Playground of the World. That’s what they called it. It was an amazing place. People came from all over the world to see it.”

  The man was starting to repeat himself, and Mia wondered if he wasn’t senile. He disappeared into his own thoughts for a moment.

  “We used to spend the nights there when we were kids. Slept on the beach. Under the stars. You can’t do that anymore. I guess it’s too dangerous nowadays. It’s really sad.”

  “Maybe you should do it again?” Mia suggested.

  “I wouldn’t dare.” He smiled at her. It was one of those sad smiles that made her heart cringe. “And you shouldn’t be out here alone, either. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I’m waiting for us to move on. My parents are back at the Four Seasons.”

  “Well, I have to tell you … best hotel in the city. I worked there once. As a doorman. But they fired me.”

  “Why?”

  “I let everyone in. Probably shouldn’t have. It’s a
n expensive hotel.”

  “NASA is paying.”

  “NASA, you say? Not bad. Wait. You’re not … yes, yes you are! You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

  “One of who?”

  “One of those poor kids they’re going to send up into space.”

  Mia nodded.

  “Nothing good will come of it, believe me. It’s all about money, the whole thing. And who knows what you’ll find up there?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just that you ought to let sleeping dogs lie. Take care of the people on Earth first. I think people ought to stay put. You know, uh, everything that goes up … must come down again.”

  He pulled an orange out of his coat pocket, held it in his hand a second before throwing it up into the air. It disappeared in the darkness, before coming rushing back down again and splitting open against the ground, some orangey flesh and pulp splattering over the asphalt path.

  “You see? I think you ought to stay home.”

  “Little too late to suggest that now. It wasn’t my idea. Going.”

  “It never is. It’s always someone else’s idea. Come on, it’s time to get you back home to your folks.”

  “Are you going to walk me to the hotel?”

  “Does it look like I have anything more important to do?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Come on, then.” He waved his hand toward the way out. “My name’s Murray.”

  “Mia.” He extended his dirty hand to her, and she shook it.

  “Nice to meet you, Mia.”

  They strolled out of the park together. Several people they passed gave them weird looks, wondering if this disheveled homeless man was bothering her. A couple even stopped and asked her if she was all right.

  And she was. Perfectly all right. Murray was giving her an impromptu tour, pointing to different buildings and educating Mia about their names and histories.