R is for Rocket

She ran us through our breakfast, kissed us on the cheeks, and forced us out the door into the gang’s arms.

“Let’s not go out to the Rocket Port today, guys.”

“Aw, Chris—why not?”

Their faces did a lot of changes. This was the first time in history I hadn’t wanted to go. “You’re kidding, Chris.”

“Sure he is.”

“No, he’s not. He means it,” said Priory. “And I don’t want to go either. We go every Saturday. It gets tiresome. We can go next week instead.”

“Aw …”

They didn’t like it, but they didn’t go off by themselves. It was no fun, they said, without us.

“What the heck—we’ll go next week.”

“Sure we will. What do you want to do, Chris?”

I told them.

We spent the morning playing Kick the Can and some games we’d given up a long time ago, and we hiked out along some old rusty and abandoned railroad tracks and walked in a small woods outside town and photographed some birds and went swimming raw, and all the time I kept thinking—this is the last day.

We did everything we had ever done before on Saturday. All the silly crazy things, and nobody knew I was going away except Ralph, and five o’clock kept getting nearer and nearer.

At four, I said good-bye to the kids.

“Leaving so soon, Chris? What about tonight?”

“Call for me at eight,” I said. “We’ll go see the new Sally Gibberts picture!”

“Swell.”

“Cut gravity!”

And Ralph and I went home.

Mother wasn’t there, but she had left part of herself, her smile and her voice and her words on a spool of audio-film on my bed. I inserted it in the viewer and threw the picture on the wall. Soft yellow hair, her white face and her quiet words:

“I hate good-byes, Chris. I’ve gone to the laboratory to do some extra work. Good luck. All of my love. When I see you again—you’ll be a man.”

That was all.

Priory waited outside while I saw it over four times. “I hate good-byes, Chris. I’ve gone … work.… luck. All … my love.…”

I had made a film-spool myself the night before. I spotted it in the viewer and left it there. It only said good-bye.

Priory walked halfway with me. I wouldn’t let him get on the Rocket Port monorail with me. I just shook his hand, tight, and said, “It was fun today, Ralph.”

“Yeah. Well, see you next Saturday, huh, Chris?”

“I wish I could say yes.”

“Say yes anyway. Next Saturday—the woods, the gang, the rockets, and Old Man Wickard and his trusty para-gun.”

We laughed. “Sure. Next Saturday, early. Take—Take care of our mother, will you, Priory?”

“That’s a silly question, you nut,” he said.

“It is, isn’t it?”

He swallowed. “Chris.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be waiting. Just like you waited and don’t have to wait any more. I’ll wait.”

“Maybe it won’t be long, Priory. I hope not.”

I jabbed him, once, in the arm. He jabbed back.

The monorail door sealed. The car hurled itself away, and Priory was left behind.

I stepped out at the Port. It was a five-hundred-yard walk down to the Administration building. It took me ten years to walk it.

“Next time I see you you’ll be a man—”

“Don’t tell anybody—”

“I’ll wait, Chris—”

It was all choked in my heart and it wouldn’t go away and it swam around in my eyes.

I thought about my dreams. The Moon Rocket. It won’t be part of me, part of my dream any longer. I’ll be part of it.

I felt small there, walking, walking, walking.

The afternoon rocket to London was just taking off as I went down the ramp to the office. It shivered the ground and it shivered and thrilled my heart.

I was beginning to grow up awfully fast.

I stood watching the rocket until someone snapped their heels, cracked me a quick salute.

I was numb.

“C. M. Christopher?”

“Yes, sir. Reporting, sir.”