Burn It in the Sun

Time was a human construct. It was created to measure the length of days, days in a month and duration of the Earth’s orbit around the sun. The standard unit for time in scientific measurement was the second, which is considered a standardized thing. An atomic clock, which uses electron transition in the ultraviolet region of the electromagnetic spectrum as a frequency standard, is meant to measure time with enough precision to synchronize the power grid, global positioning satellites and nuclear reactors all at once.

But time was also relative. Sixty seconds could feel like an eternity for the hungry athlete waiting for the microwave to ding or the burgeoning professional watching the clock at a meeting because she drank two little water bottles instead of one. Other times sixty seconds might end in an instant, as is true for the young man experiencing his first real kiss, or the rambunctious youth playing a game of capture the flag.

The fact of the matter was that time was a bit of a pill to quantify regardless of the existence of an atomic clock. For Alfred Jacobs, time may as well have been meaningless.

In space there were no sunrises, no dusky, cloud-streaked skies for the light to dance in before disappearing. There were no tense conversations or emotional trysts. All that existed was an endless expanse of space and the need to fill it. And fill it he did.

Though there were no days in the regular sense, Alfred kept to a relatively consistent schedule. There was sleeping, then waking followed by all sorts of regular hygiene procedures like brushing teeth and eating breakfast. Then there were the function-based tasks like checking the life support systems, calibrating instruments for data collection, changing fuses and logging activity. And of course there were the social obligations—the ones meant to ensure his mental and emotional wellbeing—such as medical check-ins, responding to emails, making videos for the website and social media…

But of all the things Alfred did to pass time on the Vector, nothing gave him quite as much delight as the care and training sessions he did with Helio the golden retriever. Though Helio was technically not an astronaut, and not even technically meant to be a part of the mission, Alfred considered him to be both.

Thus, he was finding himself particularly distracted by Helio’s antics while trying to finish up today’s social tasks.

“Dear Mr. Jacobs,” Alfred read out loud. Helio stopped chewing on the knobby rubber bone long enough to look up. I’m listening.

“I’ve never confessed this to anyone, but I know I can’t take this to my grave unless I want that grave to be an early one. I cheated on my wife. (There, I wrote it.) Just having written it, I feel better already. Looking at it makes it real, and not just a nightmare that gnaws away at my insides in the quiet hours of the night. Please don’t think ill of me for it—I was young, too young, and it was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake the moment I did it. I’ve spent the last 30 years making it up to her in my own way. I feel I’ve done all right, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let it go without confession it to someone. I’m not a religious man, so a priest didn’t seem like the answer. A man on his way to the sun, on the other hand… well, maybe you can take my crime with you and I’ll be able to rest easy knowing it will burn to nothing out in space. Sincerely, Emanuel Delorenzo.”

Alfred finished the message, rubbing the scruff on his chin and staring at the screen. In the absence of his master’s voice Helio returned to his assault on the bone.

“That’s six today. It’s becoming a trend,” Alfred told Helio, who gave him an enthusiastic snort as strong jaws made teeth squeak over the slick rubber surface.

Alfred picked up his notebook and pen to record the latest repentance. He would add it to the list of others: Sam Warner’s confession of throwing the baseball into neighbor Gimly’s window on purpose, Abigale Tracy’s admission that she’d actually stolen the main idea for her thesis, and Jim Hadly’s confession of murder (his hamster’s murder, that was. And Alfred would definitely call it hamsterslaughter rather than murder since he suspected Jim had no intention to sit on the poor fellow.)

It wouldn’t take many more confessions before this notebook was full too. In all likelihood he’d be adding it to the shelf with the other notebooks full of things people wanted to burn up in the sun.

Things like him.

Alfred did his best to dismiss the thought, like he always did. After all, he had wanted this position. He wanted to be a part of the most influential space mission this century. Besides, he’d be dead long before the Vector burned up in the solar winds. It was one of the benefits of starting the 80-year mission already in his sixties. All that would be left of him was the empty husk he’d inhabited during his days on Earth. That husk would burn up along with the notebooks full of atonements.

Having gotten impatient with his master, Helio made his way across the space station, bone in mouth, eager to solicit attention. Having spent the entirety of his life in space (save for the first 12 weeks), Helio was completely unbothered by the lack of gravity. It had no more meaning to him than the existence of other dogs. He glided through the air like a graceful clown, his slick hair dancing in the current of the air vent. When he was close enough he let the bone drop from his mouth and gave it a little nudge toward Alfred’s head. The bone floated by way of its own momentum as Helio waited, eyes glued on the unfortunately distracted man.

Alfred was staring at the notebook when the bone made impact. Wiping a fleck of drifting drool from his cheek he offered a chuckle.

“Feeling neglected?”

Helio whined.

Alfred grabbed the bone and held as if he forgot what a four-year-old golden retriever might want with such a thing. Helio cocked his head to the side as if asking, don’t you remember?

Alfred smirked. “Do you need something?” He asked.

Helio yipped.

“You are, as of yet, unphased by our journey to the sun. Isn’t that right, my friend?”

Alfred hooked his foot on the foot of the table and tossed the bone so that it drifted with satisfactory velocity toward the other end of the station.

Helio dutifully launched himself forward to retrieve the bone and Alfred watched, splitting his attention between Helio’s antics and the notebook. As the pup used the back wall to change direction and intercept the bone, Alfred tried to think about what he might put in the atonement notebook.

What did he want to burn up in the sun?

He would, of course, burn himself, but there was something to be said for writing out his admissions and clearing his conscience before it was all done.

Helio made his way back with the bone, his feet dancing merrily in the air to mimic running.

“What’s it going to be boy? Have I wronged you in some shameful way?”

If he had, Helio would never tell him. He was the happiest, and likely most forgiving dog in all the solar system.

No. If Alfred ever thought of something it would be from Earth. The tricky stuff always happened when other humans were involved.

This time Helio gave the bone an emphatic nudge toward Alfred’s hand. The game was afoot and just ramping up. Alfred obliged and threw the bone with (as he would have said at home watching baseball) a bit more stank.

The bone sailed through the air, bouncing with nearly perfect elasticity off the view port before shooting at a 45-degree angle from its original pathway. Helio scrambled to catch up with the precious toy, momentarily forgetting the lifelong lessons of momentum and succumbing to instinctual prey-drive. He twisted his body in a failed attempt to turn and found himself caught in an irreparable spin.

It had only happened half a dozen times in the last four years, but Alfred still felt badly when it did. While Helio was a good dog, he was subject to panic in these sorts of situations.

Alfred unclipped his tether to right the situation.

“Hang in there, buddy,” he soothed.

He clipped his tether to the other side of the table and reached out for the spinning pup. Grabbing the collar, he brought him down. Helio bucked at the change in direction, knocking Alfred back. Their bodies collided and the tether pulled tight, causing them to change directions and impact the table. Helio threw his legs back again, catching one of the water pouches and sending it airbound. Alfred grabbed it, not realizing the surface had been punctured.

Water shot out of the gash and made impact with the side of Helio’s face. From there it spread in all directions, soaking into Helio’s ample fur.

“Ah sh—oot,” Alfred said, forcing himself to refrain from cursing so he could use the footage later.

Hundreds of water droplets water danced around the station, threatening the electronic surfaces. He would have to deal with them, along with one very wet dog. The smell of wet fur wafted through the air…

Her name was Miss Barkstasia Fluffstuff, but Alfred always just called her Stuffy. She was Mrs. Peabody’s prized Shih Tzu, and a royal pain in the ass to pretty much everybody except Alfred. For some reason she’d taken a liking to the young boy and spent a great deal of time following him around as he got into trouble.

It was a warm summer afternoon, only ten days before school would start again and Alfred was intent to make the most of it. With an overstuffed duffle bag looped across his shoulder, a peanut butter banana sandwich in his right hand and a stolen matchbook in his back pocket, he set out across the back field to test his latest invention.

There was no way to know for certain if it was Alfred’s boyishly charismatic personality, the sandwich, or Barkstasia’s general interest in astronomy, but she had followed him that afternoon, curious what the boy was up to and hopeful he would lose interest in his sandwich along the way.

The two could be seen descending into the park basin. In fact, Mrs. Peabody herself remembered seeing them together and had pleaded with Alfred to remember some detail that might let her know what had happened to her poor baby.

Alfred stopped at the widest point in the basin and unburdened himself of the bag. Placing half-eaten sandwich aside he took a knee and unzipped the bag, revealing its contents.

“This is going to be a good one, Stuffy,” He said to the pooch, who sniffed the cylindrical tube he produced. Realizing the bag didn’t contain any treats, she made her way to the forgotten sandwich, settling in for a minor feast.

The sandwich was long forgotten as Alfred assembled the handmade rocket.

“There was an article in Scientific Today that talked all about the explosion at the old flour mill. If we use the principles of combustion and propulsion, then I figure we’ve got a pretty solid rocket in the making with nothing more than a bit of flour and a match.”

Alfred winked at Stuffy, who, of course, had no idea what he was saying. She wagged obligingly, licking peanut butter from her muzzle.

After several minutes of assembly and quite a bit of fuss over the candle wick he meant to use as a fuse, Alfred was ready for takeoff.

“Prepare for launch Captain Stuffy!” He said, striking the match against the heel of his sneaker.

Wick lit, Alfred turned and ran for the tall grass of the nearest hillside, but when he turned to check the progress of his accomplice, he realized she wasn’t there.

Stuffy was still sniffing for crumbs at the launch-site.

“Stuffy! Stuffy, come!” Alfred called frantically.

To her credit, Barkstasia paused in her crumblust long enough to give him a curious glance. In that moment the flame made its way into the carboard funnel.

Thankfully, the rocket did not explode—at least not entirely. There was a loud, whooshing sound before the top of the rocket popped up into the air. The little cardboard missile made it about three feet up into the air before the tip turned and began its trip back into the Earth’s atmosphere.

Alfred sighed a breath of relief and Stuffy let out a startled sneeze. She was covered, snout to tail in flour, but that could be solved with a bath.

Alfred shoved the safety glasses he’d snagged from his father’s workbench onto his head and rushed back to the launch site. Giving the pooch a rough pat, he admonished, “We’ve talked about this Stuffy. You’ve got to follow safety protocol!”

Barkstasia wagged her tail and sneezed again, completely unaware of her brush with death.

Not wanting to suffer the wrath of Mrs. Peabody for soiling her best-in-show pup, Alfred coaxed the flour-drenched Shih Tzu into the downstairs bathroom with a syrup-soaked pancake leftover from breakfast. He had never given a dog a bath, but he figured it couldn’t be that different from giving a person a bath.

Oh, how wrong he had been. Barkstasia fought him the moment he turned the faucet on. Flour caked into the fine tendrils of silken hair and turned to plaster. The bar of Dial soap did little to combat the cakey mess that got worse with each pass of the shower nozzle. The stench of wet dog soaked into his mom’s hand-stitched decorative towels and floor mat.

Alfred tried desperately to work up a lather. He used his legs to hold the dog in place, but she squirmed and fought for her freedom.

In the end it was a showdown. Alfred blocking the shower door, nozzle in hand and Barkstasia in the corner, more dough than dog.

“Come on, girl. We both know you can’t go home to mommy like this,” he pleaded.

Barkstasia gave an emphatic shake in response. Little globs of mess sprayed the walls and splattered the logo on Alfred’s new shirt. He took in the mess they had made, knowing he was in for it. The dog saw the break.

She dodged left, squeezing past him and breaking out of the shower. The bathroom door was open—a bad habit Alfred would never again repeat after the fateful incident. She tore through the house and out the back door. Alfred left the shower running and bolted after her, but he was no match for the little cake-ball with legs.

Sweaty and defeated, Alfred made his way home. He’d lost sight of the dog some hour ago and was forced to give up searching when the sun began to set. He was likely already in a whole lot of trouble and didn’t need to add breaking curfew to the list.

But when he got home, there was no trouble. The bathroom was clean and his mom was making dinner. The whir of the bandsaw made it clear that his dad was in the workshop again.

“Hey Alfie, what have you been up to?” His mom asked.

Alfred was stymied by her cheerful tone. Was it a trap?

“Building rockets,” He said, not daring to lie but not willing to admit the whole truth just yet.

“That’s my boy, Alfie the astronaut,” She cooed.

He blinked, not sure what to make of her. When she went about her business without further mention, he shrugged and decided to help himself to a giant glass of milk.

“Oh,” she said, making him jump. A white splash of milk hit the countertop. “You won’t believe what your sister did!”

Alfred bit his lower lip and turned. He brought the glass up to cover his traitorously twitchy lips. “What’s that?”

“She was baking—she had to have been baking, and made a complete mess of the bathroom,” She said.

Alfred swallowed the milk.

“Why was she in the bathroom?” he asked into the glass, then promptly took another gulp.

“I have no idea.” She shrugged, “But you know Fae.”

“Yeah,” he said, sheepishly.

Was he really getting away with this?

“Anyway, she’s grounded until school starts. Can you take this plate up to her room?” She handed him a hearty helping of spaghetti and meatballs and Alfred obliged.

Helio whined and gave Alfred a meek lick on the cheek. Alfred shook his head, stunned at the remembrance.

“You’re okay, boy,” He said, busying himself with the task of drying him off.

Helio held still, like a perfect gentleman as Alfred soaked the water from his fur. The smell lingered.

“I guess it was only a matter of time before you got your first bath,” Alfred said.

Helio yipped again. Alfred caught the bone as it cruised through the air and offered it to the dog. Satisfied, Helio retreated to his crate to gnaw on the prize.

It was a good start.

Alfred returned to the desk and opened the notebook.