Cosmic Journeys

Cosmic Journey

Kathy Tauber

B-o-r-e-d. Shamus is b-o-r-e-d. His entire smalltown life has been and forever will be b-o-r-i-n-g. The same routine: sleep, eat, work part time at the hardware store. For extracurricular activities it’s chess or cybergames. His home life consists of menial chores: mowing the lawn, making his bed, bathing and feeding Caesar, his Golden Retriever. Conversations with the folks are uneventful. “How was your day?” “Have any plans for the weekend?” (They know the answer since they always have an opinion about his weekend activities. That opinion often inhibits his pleasure.) The gang hangs out at the Apple or Game Stop stores. Once a week they eat at Wing Stop. Nothing exciting ever happens to him. To make matters worse, everyone in town knows his name, therefore, getting in to any kind of trouble, like smoking pot or getting drunk at O’Malley’s, or drag racing in Costco’s parking lot, would be unacceptable. When your dad is Mayor of Boringville (actually it’s Bloomfield), you live in a fishbowl. He’ll never be able to do anything sensational. One day while reading a travel magazine at the dentist, Shamus discovers a possible solution to his tiresome situation.

The ad: Once in a Lifetime Experience: Travel to the Outer Limits of the Solar System. Book now for the trip of your dreams. CALL NOW: COSMIC JOURNEYS. He ponders. Once in a lifetime?. . .outer limits of the Solar System? This town isn’t perking up. If I don’t try something thrilling, I’ll die of boredom. He makes an appointment for the following day. Not gonna tell anyone. Needs to be a surprise. Skepticism would be more like it since Shamus doesn’t travel well experiencing: motion sickness; digestive and sleep disruptions, hives. Can’t forget his ADHD, OCD, acid reflux, and halitosis. Then there’s the packing, unpacking, laundry. These issues have kept him homebound. Enough of this. Time for a challenge. It’s MY life and I’ll show them I can be adventurous!

****

Over the entrance to a ginormous field hundreds of multi-colored lights flash: COSMIC JOURNEYS. Before entering, he notices two monstrous rocket boosters. From the distance they look like cardboard cutouts juxtaposed on the grounds ready for liftoff. Crossing over the threshold he’s stunned. Idle on two, maybe three enclosed football fields are dozens of space capsules, the kind you see on television during space missions. Some are named for a planet trip: “Mercury Mayhem;” “The Loveship Venus;” “The End of the Earth Tour;” “Red Hot Mars;” “Ring Around Saturn;” “Eureka! Uranus;” “Natural Neptune.” Lost in this Disney-like set-up he fails to hear the golf cart behind him. The ooga-ooga of the horn prevents him from being road kill. He jumps out of the way. A wizard is driving. A stereotypically dressed wizard with a tall, cone shaped floppy hat, over-sized high collared cape, scepter, silly looking elf shoes, with a beard to his waist. His outfit is green. In a shrill and irritating voice, the wizard booms, “Welcome earthling! I’m here to make your dreams come true. Hop on and let’s pick a trip!” Waving his scepter magically the theme song from “Space Odyssey” reverberates through the grounds. Shamus begins to wonder if this is a legit deal or some demented psycho who just happens to collect space capsules. Actually, what’s crazier? A wizard or a collection of space capsules? Doesn’t matter. I’m doing this.

****

The wizard, aptly named Atlas (an androgenous name to be politically correct) informs Shamus, as they travel the arena, he will give Shamus a brief overview of the journeys. He stomps on the gas pedal; however, with limited acceleration the cart only moves inches towards the capsules. Atlas begins the spiel.

               “Each trip is one day. No need for a passport or to pack. We provide all the documents and appropriate space attire. You will orbit the Earth at 25,000 miles per hour and be weightless for the duration. You’re allowed one out of ship excursion. It can be tethered or free-fly with a jet pack. Each capsule interior is decorated with the finest subtle Italian leather recliners. No bathrooms. All your hygiene needs are funneled through hoses attached to your Missoni designed travel wear. You may book a single or double voyage. Accommodations are first class. There’s a pilot, co-pilot and one lovely capsule attendant. Three meals plus two protein bars. WIFI is free. Your attentive attendant will show you points of interest. Photography is encouraged. With years of experience, the owners of COSMIC JOURNEYS feel they have been successful in fulfilling every dream. It’s worth the price.”

               “O, cost. What does it cost?” inquires Shamus.

               “Not so fast. You’re ruining my pitch.”

               Atlas continues, “The more economic journeys are Monday through Thursday. The Friday through Sunday excursions, reserved for proposals, newlyweds and parental get-a-ways, are more expensive. We have the one and only, space station, the “Solar Express.” It’s booked for bachelor or bachelorette parties, elopements, small weddings, birthday, and anniversary parties. It accommodates 10-12 people. All trips depart at 5:00 a.m. and return, the next day at 5:00 p.m. The journey orbits Earth. The deeper into space the pilot flies the more stars, asteroids, moons, and space debris you’ll see.

               “Wow. How much did you say?”

               “I didn’t. This is an experience of a lifetime. It’s a priceless memory. Why ruin the moment with a financial detail? Shame on you.”

Shamus reflects. The wizard’s got a point but nothing is free.

               “If you don’t tell me now, I’m leaving.” (Remembering his online ‘Make a Deal’ skills class he took and failed.)

               “Fine. A weekday trip is 250,000 crypto coins. I seriously doubt you can afford the other packages so I’m not going to waste my time. Do you want to book one or not?” (The wizard clearly passed ‘Closing a Deal 101.’)

               “250,000 crypto coins are you nuts? Surely it can be done for half that. Sorry, not interested.” (Having taken online ‘Negotiating Skills 101,’ he was feeling lucky.) Shamus gets out of the cart.

               “Hold on Earthling. This is your lucky day. If you sign right now your price will be 150,000 crypto coins. Because I’m beginning to like you, I’ll throw in a souvenir swag bag, tee-shirt, ballcap, and Smiley Pics taken in flight. This offer won’t last long. Maybe the next ten minutes. If you don’t accept it’s gone forever.” (Obviously another sales class Atlas excelled at.)

Shamus calculates how much money he has in savings, adding his next allowance, and “the rest of his life” allowances. He can do it. “It’s a deal,” thrusting out his hand to seal the deal with a good, firm handshake.

               “Good decision. Let’s get on with planning,” the wizard says with a sneer. “Is there anywhere special you’d like to visit?”

               “Definitely not Mars. Too dusty. It’ll aggravate my asthma. Don’t like heat either,” Shamus replies.

               “I’ve heard Saturn has moons that move backwards. That wouldn’t be a good either. Spinning gives me vertigo.”

               The wizard tries to speak. “How about. . .?” 

               “Don’t even offer Mercury. That planet causes so much trouble when it goes retrograde. Last time it happened, my parents argued for days. Caesar chewed up my computer. It was a nightmare. Furthermore, it’s too close to the sun. Not enough SPF to protect me. I burn easily. No Mercury.”

                Atlas persists, “A popular and easy trip is “Natural Neptune.” No turbulence. Lots of yoga, massages, poetry readings, mediation. There’s dream therapy and spiritual sharing. Colonics are on the menu.

               “Colonics??? Seriously? No yoga. I won’t be able to walk for a month.”

               “Now if you have a girlfriend, you could book the “Loveship Venus” tour,” controlling his laughter at this ridiculous suggestion. “I mean, do you?”

               Shamus sighs. “Have a girlfriend? No. I have an older, fluid, binary pal named Alfie who enjoys polyamorous relationships. We play ‘Dungeons and Dragons,’ ‘Game of Thrones.’ Tell me anyway.”

The wizard is gob smacked. What? A fluid, binary pal named Alfie? O dear.

 “This capsule has a disco ball, mirrors on the heat shields, a round bed with surround sound, strobe lights. Mood music by Marvin Gaye. A healthy menu of chocolate covered strawberries and grapes. Lots of champagne. There’s a variety of videos. Capsule moves leisurely.”

“Won’t work at all. Alfie’s allergic to strawberries. I have to limit my sugar intake. No thanks.”

Running out of his best sales tactics learned from the latest Dale Carnegie course where he won outstanding student, the wizard is losing his patience. 

“Dude. You’ve got three shuttles left. Earth, Uranus and Jupiter. Jupiter orbits faster than all the others. It goes 30,000 miles per hour. When you look out the porthole it’s a blur. Your eardrums burst, the hair on your head is blown out by the roots, if you have dentures they fly around the cabin. You spin nonstop at zero gravity. . . you become an insomniac. Like being in Las Vegas. Jupiter is the extreme tour. No way I’d sell it to you. “Eureka! Uranus” is our least popular journey. It’s very scientific traveling to the darkest region of the Solar System. There are intellectual discussions on the dark hole and big bang theories. I don’t recommend it. Last one: ‘End of the Earth.’ Take it or leave it.”

“Ok. When does it take off?”

Atlas is ecstatic he’s made a sale. Grinning his shifty wizard grin, while doing his “Dancing with the Stars” wizard jig, he outlines the details.

               “Shuttle leaves in fifteen minutes. It’s gonna cost 100 crypto coins. That’s a major discount, but here at COSMIC JOURNEYS we aren’t happy until you’re happy. You’re happy. I’m happy. My boss is happy. Everyone is happy. Now just fill out these papers: emergency contact numbers, debit account information for payment. Don’t forget your address so we can send the souvenir pictures. No need to worry about calling anyone. We’ll call everyone. When you’re in flight you can ZOOM them. Hurry they’re loading the capsule.”

Shamus can’t believe his good fortune. The trip of a lifetime! To the outer limits of the Solar System, at a discount no less! His folks will be proud of his initiative. Alfie will be jealous. The wizard, driving like a maniac, takes Shamus to the to the “End of the Earth” capsule. He helps him in to the designer space outfit, tightens the buttons, zippers, belts, and affixes the helmet. Atlas starts to leave. Before Shamus can ask where’s the crew? the door slams shut. Then a deafening roar. The shuttle begins to shake like an earthquake. The portal covers drop, lights out, the upward lurch of the capsule convinces Shamus he’s left his stomach behind. He tries to scream, but only ends up with spit inside his helmet. The rocking and shaking intensifies until he feels like his brain is going to explode. What have I done? Where am I? What’s going to happen to me? Where are my air sick meds and Pepcid? All rhetorical questions. Finally adjusting to the swaying and rotating, he drifts into a hypnotic trance.

A hologram, dressed more like Wonder Woman than Nyota Uhrura, speaks in a soft, soothing voice,

“Welcome. Thank you for joining us on this “End of the Earth” voyage. I’m Nadia, your capsule attendant. Pilot Kirk and co-pilot, Igor will control the shuttle. In a few minutes, Mr. Kirk will release the seatbelt sign and you will, with no will at all, be free to race around the cabin. Beverage service will come through the hose attached to the vessel on your back. There’s a selection of alcohol and non-alcoholic beverages. Staying hydrated is very important so drink as much as you like. You can’t get drunk in space because you’re already tipsy. The portal blinds are open. Your ROKU remote is on your left sleeve. Whenever you need me, just wish. When you’re ready for your out of capsule excursion let me know. I’ll help you.”

He's exhilarated! He peeks outside. Millions of stars. Planets. The International Space Station. I’m here. The outer limits of the solar system.

The pitching of the capsule has subsided. He unbuckles. Up he goes trying to grab anything to anchor him, his body is out of control until he gets his bearings. Gaining poise his body floats. Better than his YMCA swim contest float. Weightless, Shamus does a somersault. He moves like the astronauts. Upside down sideways, backwards, spirals, cartwheels, and a headstand.

“Nadia, I wish”. . .In an instant she appears.

 “Yes?”

 “Please, I’d like my out of ship excursion Atlas told me about. I assume you’ll be watching in case I get in trouble. Time to see the sites.”

               Nadia knows the out of ship excursions aren’t how Atlas describes. She’d like to spare Shamus the disappointment. Atlas has conned another customer. 

“Listen. We’re soaring at an altitude of 600 kilometers. Should you go off in one direction, it’s possible the booster goes in another. The rocket doesn’t follow you. The closer to earth the more disturbing the scenery. There’ll be shorelines littered with an assortment of plastics; landfills fat with discarded appliances, cellphones, computers; acres of parched cracked earth; dried river beds; gated communities abandoned; animal carcasses and decayed plant life. Deserted downtowns. Historical statues reduced to concrete dust. Pollution so thick it clogs your breathing tube.”

Her words fail to change his mind. Can’t possibly be that atrocious.

               “I want the unattached excursion. Now, please.”

Nadia has no choice but to let this space traveler live his dream. After all, she’s a COSMIC JOURNEYS employee. Wait ‘til she gets her hands on Atlas. She’ll let him know she doesn’t appreciate his snake oil salesman techniques used on naïve, unsuspecting folks like Shamus.

               “Follow my directions. First, detach the beverage hose. Check your space suit. Be sure all the buttons, zippers and belt are fastened. Put on your gloves. Next, see the yellow harness and cord attached to the box? Slip the harness over your head, tuck in the cord, and push the box on to your back. I know it’s awkward but you have to do this exactly as instructed. When it’s time to pull the cord, do it fast. Now, move carefully to the hatch and hit it three times. Once the pilot hears the third hit, he’ll open it. Move quickly to exit. Don’t do a 360. Eyes forward. Remember, you’re weightless. As soon as you’re a few feet away from the capsule the hatch will close. There’s no turning back. Good luck.”

               On cue he does as told. Outside the capsule he’s tempted to look back. He can’t turn. Nor can he look from side to side. Only forward. He spreads opens his arms and legs like an air “angel.” The atmosphere carries him, light as a feather, through the blueish black sky. Soon he realizes he’s losing altitude. He’s able to look down. The scenery is horrific. 

The wind shifts directions. Gliding over another horizon, dropping faster he recognizes. . . his hometown. He discerns homes, hotels, schools, a shopping center, playgrounds, and the sculptures in the park. He watches the hustle of the hardworking townspeople rushing home after a long day. Children are playing ball in the street. The Sonic is crowded with after school teenagers in SUVs and trucks. Manicured lawns, clean streets, people moving about. Such a lovely place to live. Why would I ever want to leave? There’s Alfie! with the mile high dreadlocks and tie-dyed shirt. He waves. Fruitless. If only people would look up and see him. The breeze carries him over the football stadium where the varsity jocks are racing up and down the field. He’s free floating above the horizon of his community. There’s his house. His stomach rumbles. Dinnertime. Wonder if Mom misses me? Suddenly he begins to feel the heaviness of his body. Holy crap. At this speed, without help I’ll be a splat on someone’s yard. This is not the way I want to die. He hollers, “Nadia! Atlas! Help!”

****

He’s buoyant, moving fast. Keeping his wits, he remembers Nadia’s instructions to pull the cord. The thick insulted gloves hinder finding the end. He’s dropping faster. Throwing off the gloves, he fumbles for the cable. He pulls hard. Nothing. He pulls again, the ground getting closer. The cord snaps in half. The tree tops seem to be right under him. He tries one more time. Finally, a giant red parachute miraculously opens with a pop and whoosh. It jerks his body. The canopy catches the wind, controlling the drift and fall. With only minutes left before a painful landing, Shamus realizes he’s accomplished his dream: traveling to the end of the earth; being weightless; having an out of this solar system adventure. He could die a satisfied man. A voice comes through his helmet.

               “There’s no place like home. But there’s no adventure like COSMIC JOURNEYS,” sings Atlas.

****

 The clamor, rattle and growl of the garbage truck gobbling up the recycles disturbs his slumber. Garbage truck? I’m home?

Shamus raises the covers for any evidence of space attire—none. Checks for broken bones. None. He looks on the floor for remnants of a parachute. Nope. On his nightstand is a page from a magazine featuring a model dressed vaguely familiar, and a ridiculous looking wizard with a sly grin, both hyping a theme park, COSMIC JOURNEYS. Laughing at himself he shakes his head in disbelief. Wizard my ass. Space travel. What a joke. Weightlessness. Wait a minute. Just how did the cagey wizard do that? Doesn’t matter. What a ride, Shamus thinks feeling very unbored.