Debris 殘骸

by Mark Ivan Cole

Fifteen steps further and it would have hit me. As it was, I just got dusted.

I was walking away, this time for good. It was better than standing in the kitchen where Joe and I had our last fight. Dirty breakfast dishes lay in the sink, jam stuck to the floor where Nina dropped her toast, and coffee dried on the washing machine where Joe splattered it in his rush to get the hell out of there. He took Nina to his sister’s and left me with the mess. In my head, I could still hear our daughter crying.

I’ve always been fascinated by this big, empty field behind the house. Once you get past the gate, it’s just miles of dusty nothing. I’ve been opening that back gate for months. Go a few steps past the high tension lines and there’s nobody, no phones, no bills, no laundry, no dirty dishes. No fights. I’ve stepped out a few times and just wandered around a bit. Today I walked past the power lines and kept going. It was just the sun, the sky, the dirt and me now.

Thin threads of white streaked across the clear blue Texas sky, coming in from the west like contrails from a ragged fighter squadron. Joey would have pointed out that real fighters wouldn’t fly like that. I stopped and squinted up at them. Bits of stuff were falling here and there like tiny stars.

What was this? Probably nothing. I kept walking.

A shiny, round thing whistled over my head and smashed into the dirt with an explosion of dust fifteen steps ahead of me. I froze. It bounced several times before stopping some distance away. I looked up to see if anything more was coming. That was all. Dust drifted over me like smoke. I brushed it off and wiped my face.

The air smelled of electricity, burnt plastic and something else. I could see the round thing lying in the dirt and dry grass. Another quick glance at the sky and I headed over. Didn’t choose to go; just went. As I came closer, I got a better look. I had seen pictures of these things before on TV, in the encyclopedia, science books from school, National Geographics at my parents’ house, never in person. A space helmet didn’t belong in the East Texas dirt on a sunny day.

The shuttle was still up there, right? Couldn’t remember which one. Wasn’t it due back?

I was shaking but I kept going. The helmet had come to rest slightly face down, ashamed to look me in the eye. The dark bubble of safety glass was gone and the insides had burned away. It was as white and empty as the eggshells I’d rammed down the garbage disposal this morning.

I looked back. The white streaks in the sky were fading. Somehow, I knew.

Moments ago, this helmet had held someone precious. Up there where even small mistakes cannot be forgiven, all the hopes, plans and designs had somehow failed. Maybe one failure led to another, and another, until all that stood between life and death was this helmet. Then it, too, failed.

It ended here; missed me by fifteen steps. If I had not stopped to look around I would have gone too far. I couldn’t have turned back if I’d wanted to.

I’d gone far enough. It was time I went home to clean up my own mess.