Lost In Place Read Free Page A

of the Gemini program) I decided that I had to become an astronaut. I didn’t mean when I grew up, however; I meant right then, preferably by the end of the month. When I told my father this he said, “You’re tooyoung to be an astronaut right this minute, but if you keep working hard at your schoolwork, you could have a chance at it someday.” This advice discouraged me, but my mother saved the day by suggesting that I write a letter to NASA asking for information about the astronaut program; who knows, she said, maybe there was something I could do right away, even as a seven-year-old.
    “Oh, Martha,” my father said, shaking his head. “They don’t have time to answer mail like that.”
    “It doesn’t hurt to try,” she countered angrily, so I did write a letter, and three weeks later received a large manila envelope from NASA stuffed with color photographs from space and pamphlets about the space program. “You see?” asked Mom, who never seemed surprised when her long-shot suggestions worked. “You should never be afraid to try something!”
    Taking her advice, I began my astronaut training immediately. One of the pamphlets showed an astronaut tucked inside a cramped mock capsule, and the text below explained that the astronauts had to get used to spending many long hours without being able to move. In an early display of what was to become my trademark habit—the obsessive pursuit of unrealistic goals—I decided to set a record for sitting still in a cramped space. I was sure this would get NASA’s attention.
    I found a cardboard box that I could barely fit into, drew buttons and gauges all over the inside of it and outfitted it with a blanket, a thermometer, an alarm clock and a periscope made with two of my mother’s compact mirrors. I set up the space photo from NASA against the wall so I could look at them through the periscope and imagine myself on a real mission. My ground crew—Erich and Rachel—prepared Dixie cups filled with sugar waterfor me and passed them down through the periscope hole when I needed more energy. I began the program by sitting in the box for half an hour, and increased my time every day by adding ten minutes. When I got to over an hour a day it started to get boring, but I knew I had to push on. If I was chosen for the real thing, a trip to the moon, think how long I would have to be prepared to sit!
    I knew it was important that I not be comfortable, so I did not allow myself a cushion to sit on, and kept the box closed at all times so that it would get stuffy and overheated. Once a training session began I did not let myself out to go to the bathroom. After a week or so, when I felt my determination waning, I started pointing the box toward the TV so I could watch my favorite program—
Lost in Space
—through the periscope to counteract the boredom.
    I did this for several weeks, building up to over three hours per session before the training came to an abrupt end. I remember the last mission well:
    “Mission Commander—this is Mission Control in Houston. Prepare for Trans-Lunar Injection.”
    “Mission Commander here. All systems go. Preparing for the burn.”
    “Ten seconds until ignition.”
    The Trans-Lunar Injection would take me out of the earth’s orbit and send me toward the moon. It would increase my speed from seventeen thousand miles an hour to more than twenty-five thousand miles an hour.
    “Ignition!”
    There was no sensation of acceleration, no noise and just a slight vibration. Only my computer told me that I was picking up speed at a phenomenal rate. When the burn finished, the vibration stopped.
    “Burn complete.”
    After that, all was silent. I was in deep space now. The capsule was stuffy and hot inside; a look at the thermometer told me it was 95 degrees. The alarm clock indicated I had been inside it for three hours and five minutes. Suddenly I heard a pop, and felt myself shift in position. Another pop, but this was a little longer in