A Trip to the Moon and Back

by Paul Lumsdaine

This is a story in progress, please be patient and visit back often. I will make updates periodically (no way to tell how often), and you will be able to see the story unfold completely online. Occasionally, you will see footnotes and links leading to sites that might be of interest to the story. This is an attempt to create some hypertext fiction in the very loose sense of the word. This story is to be accompanied with an album I am composing by the same title. I will be releasing songs occasionally and linking them up. I offer this story free to the public, use and abuse as you wish, just don’t pass it off as your own. Unless you can think of a clever way to alter it (changing all the verbs, like in mad libs) then please send it back to me so that I may laugh heartily. Thanks.

1.

Theres nothing out there. It feels odd and the only thing I can compare it to is that song, “floating in a tin can.” I know thats not the name of it, but thats the feeling. There is the vacuum of space, a giant expanse of ether that I can’t breathe, can’t touch and I desperately want to be a part of it all. This is how it feels, to be floating, to be weightless. I’ve been trapped so long under the weight of my own skin. Its a nauseating pleasure, like doing somersaults under water (theres even the slight tingle of the nose). Thats most likely the oxygen pumping through this suit, the most uncomfortable contraption I’ve ever voluntarily stepped into. This is just about the dumbest thing I have ever planned to do.

And it took nearly two whole years of planning to achieve this uncomfortable state. Actually it was a lifetime of bad decisions and regrets that brought me here. I took retaliation on myself for all that wasted time. I sacrificed my health, gorged myself on wealth and came out far worse than I came into this world. And now I’m staring down at it through a small bubble window, looking at the lush green fields and gentle blue seas I once called home. It looks so damn nice from here. Too bad I’m never going back down there ever again.

They thought I was pretty crazy for wanting to do this. “Two billion dollars? Just to go up there and die?” Yes, I was that selfish, to spend nearly one-fifth of what I am worth to strap on this uncomfortable suit and propel myself onto that great big rock in the sky. It wasn’t like I had any other choice, I was not about to spend the few remaining years of my life sitting in some room, counting the dots on the ceiling while they poke and prod and prepare me for death. No, I’m taking control of my destiny. I always have. I’m not about to let anyone stand in the way of what I want to do, even if it is just to die alone. Damn. I’m going to die.

I cheated death. Not by getting treatment for my ailments, but by shooting my self so far into the sky that I could almost touch the moon. I’m sitting upon that crescent shape, feeling better with the lack of atmosphere. So far into the sky. He was up here, alone, preparing to die. He had been waiting his whole life for this moment only hoping it would be this beautiful. The last few breaths he had were better spent alone.

And thats when it really hit him. The feeling of loneliness he used to feel as a young child, sitting in his bed, at 9pm on a Sunday night. He would cry himself to sleep just thinking about it. What would it be like to die? He would ask himself this question over and over again. Sunday night was a particularly good time to think about this, considering it marked the end of the weekend; these thoughts would come immediately as he stepped out of Church, and continue for the rest of the day. His parents started to worry, they thought something was wrong with the boy. “George, whats wrong dear? Why are you crying?” The sound of mother’s voice only made the tears fall quicker. She would sigh, and sit next to him on the bed, gently caressing his head and give comfort that only a mother’s touch could provide.

I wonder what it would be like to give my mom a hug, just one last embrace. I stopped hugging her probably around age 30, as soon as I started really getting into drinking and politics. The two went hand in hand for me, somehow I managed to do both really well for a very long time. I was 42 when she died, and I wished I would have just hugged her one more time. To her how much it meant to me that she used to sit next to me, reassuring me that everything would be alright. I could really use that right now. Just to have someone next to me, holding my hand, telling me it was going to be okay knowing that it won’t be. God, the memories rush to my head like a jolt of caffeine, the family dinners, the holiday parties and all those times we went on vacation across country.

My parents bought an RV when I was 12, and we rode everywhere in that thing. The second I stepped out of school, we would take off and be gone the whole summer. It was wonderful and exciting. I used to not be able to sleep the night before, just thinking about the places we would go. That first summer we all piled into the sparkling white Winnebago and headed north to Canada. It was somewhere in Nebraska, we stopped at a rest stop to goto the bathroom. I told them I was going to stay inside, but after they all left I slipped out. I wanted to go look at trucks. I was beginning to think it was a bad idea when I lost sight of the RV, but I continued through the parking lot. These trucks were gigantic, and I dodged quickly past the cabs to avoid being detected by a half-awake driver. What would it be like to always be on the road? Pretty lonely, I supposed, and I remember telling myself that I never wanted to be a truck driver. I started walking back and noticed that the RV was gone. I started to panic a little, and my chest felt heavy. I drank some water that tasted like lead and chlorine. I calmed down a bit. They would come back, right? They had to.

I sat there for about a half an hour and then began to really worry. I saw about ten families come and go, all stopping off to relieve themselves or stretch their legs. They must have really forgotten about me. Or maybe they were teaching me a lesson. I couldnt decided. I grew very angry at them, either way, I wasn’t that special to them. Fuck them. I’ll do it myself, I’ll find a damn ride or hop in the back of one those trucks and go wherever I fucking want. I started crying a little bit. “Crying never does any good.” Thats what my Dad told me after my baseball team lost their final game. But thinking of it always made me cry even more.

My eyes eventually dried. The sun started sinking and I became scared of the people pulling into the rest stop. All those people looking like they were in a hurry made me want to retreat into the trees that lined the parking lot. I walked past the trucks, my pace quickening as the sun was setting in my eyes. I walked into the grove of trees, and immediately it was dark. I kept walking deeper into the forest, and when I looked behind myself, all I could see was trees. No trucks, no rest rooms, no family forgetting you. Fuck them. I found my place. I’m gonna live here. Right in the middle of all these trees.

Soon I came upon a clearing. That sight nearly took my breath away. The trees receded into small brush and there was a giant field that stretched as far as I could see. The sun was setting on the far end of it, and I knew I was facing somewhat westward. It was so damn beautiful I began crying again. I guess I cried a lot when I was young. Crying for no reason, and most of it never did any good. My eyes dried again and I enjoyed the last few moments of a picture perfect sunset. I told myself that day, that it was alright to cry for happiness, to weep for beauty. I promised not to cry unless I was moved by something so deeply that it could not be described through words and needed tears for expression.

They eventually came back, and I heard them yelling my name and ran running back to my mothers arms because I knew she would comfort me. I was mildly scolded by my father who said something about “going off and trying to run away”. But my mom just held me close and rocked back and forth. I fell asleep in her arms and when I woke up, I was in another state.

We stopped off in Montana to visit Aunt Janice and Uncle Ted. They lived on a farm, and were proud to be in the middle of nowhere. They were happy to be free from the bustle of the city, the burdens of “modern life”. They had no TV, only a small radio. There was only one bathroom for a four bedroom house, and no electric appliances (even though they had electricity). My parents thought they were insane, and I learned quickly that eventhough they were related to us, we had no obligation to think highly of them.

When you looked into Uncle John’s grey eyes, you would feel yourself slipping into a tempest of thoughts. He hardly spoke, but he read constantly. Mom told me that when he was 7, he stopped speaking until the day he turned 12. Grandpa thought it was strange, but never questioned it since he always scored high on aptitude tests and could past any written exam easily. All of my Uncles and Aunts were home schooled, except for Uncle John, who they sent away to boarding school when he was 13. When he came back home after four years, he met my Aunt Janice. They were married within a year. They had Joey first, then Bobby and lastly Elizabeth (Lizzie).

They were smart kids, most likely because they were home schooled and my Uncle had one of the largest collections of books I have ever seen. They were smart, but seemed to be withdrawn from the “real world”. At that age, I could never imagine them living a “normal” life, where they would goto baseball practice after school and have pizza parties for their friends’ birthdays. They were their own friends, and they played together and looked after each other better than any family I’ve ever seen. The three of them were inseparable, until that time we visited them, when I saw something I will never be able to forget. Even now as I stare into the darkness of space, riddled with pinhole light from stars, I can still see clearly in my mind that night on Uncle John and Aunt Janice’s farm. I can hear Lizzie whispering into my ear, “Don’t be afraid, it will be over soon.”

I can feel the fire, burning away, the heat of the fireplace they tend to each night. Its warming my cold leg. My Dad is prodding at it with the poker and most likely he’s just trying to look busy. This night is just like any other, dull as their wooden floors and stale like the summertime air. Bobby comes over to me and taps me on my shoulder.

“We’re going to play hide and seek in the barn, want to come?”

“Sure, anything.” And I mean that because I was really bored. Lizzie and Joey are already waiting outside when we step onto the front porch. “Alright, now the rules are: no hiding in or around the house, and no going into McTurney’s fields.”

We all nod in serious agreement with Joey’s instructions.

“Ok, safety is the barn door, I’ll be the finder first. You have one hundred seconds, starting……. NOW” Joey starts counting and we scatter across the grounds, like field mice scurrying away from the predator. Lizzie grabs my shoulder as I start heading towards the barn. “He always finds you in there, don’t go in there, follow me.”

I watch Bobby go into the barn and wonder why he doesn’t go where Lizzie is taking me. I guess Joey will find him first, probably because he’ll be guarding the barn door. It makes sense now, yet somehow it didn’t when Lizzie first dragged me away.

Lizzie grabs my hand so tight, and leads me through the rows of corn. She starts running, almost at full speed, and I want to turn back now, but somehow I can’t let go of her hand. I look back and there is no sight of the house or barn, just darkness. I look up and I can’t see the moon or any stars, just stalks of corn. I begin to worry and I want to cry. Then I remind myself of my promise and I feel Lizzie grab my hand even tighter. “We’re almost there, hold on.”

And she dives downward, somewhere I can’t see. I’m still holding on and I tumble down with her. I fall on her. She stops breathing.

Is she dead? I don’t think so. She is still moving her eyes from side to side in a panic. I realize I knocked the wind out of her. Its dark in this hole and I only can see when the sky lights up bright enough. I shift my weight off of her and roll over onto my side. It hurts. She starts breathing again. “Its a lightning storm,” she says.

I can feel her hand, still clasped to mine, now shaking. It must have scared her, to fall in, as much as it scared me to follow her. Maybe she was scared even a little more. She hugged me and it felt good to have that comfort of her holding on to me. She whispers in my ear, “This is where I come to get away from my brothers.” I don’t know what she means by this. I’m confused and distracted by the lightning and thunder simultaneously going off in short bursts above our heads. I want to get out of this hole. I want to get out of this. I want to get out. I want to. I want. I.

The barn is on fire. Its burning to bright