Termination Shock

[fizzawrites]

Tonight he saw beyond the earth.

*

They called it the heavens because they thought angels lived there.  Now NASA knows that it’s just exploding stars. Sam knows that it’s not angels with wings and trumpets that have taken up residence. Rather angels of death, who have no story, no wings to earn.

They gave the planets names of gods. Venus, Neptune, and now Mars, the god of war. This is another war, but the grotesque angels have taken the living, beautiful and perfect.

*

It’s a little warner than the last couple of nights have been, so he climbs the stairs lugging the telescope and the tripod. The cold makes his fingers lose grip on the telescope and he almost turns back. The capitol building is lit up like a sun god. He points the lens at nothing specific, and the milky way obscures some of the stars. Stars he doesn’t know the names of.

*

Cassie will get through this, she’s a strong kid. Sam knows, she was a strong kid too.
On any other day, Cassie would be glad for Sam to pick her up at school. She has been sitting on the granite steps to the door, looking at the cracks in the sidewalk. She snaps up when Sam slams her car door shut. Cassie pulls her backpack up with her and walks to Sam without saying anything. The skateboarders that have been busting their knees on the school railing stop and make a path for Cassie to cross. She climbs into the backseat and starts to cry.

She will get sympathy cards from her classmates. They are all so sorry her mom died in that terrible car accident.

*

Another circle full of nothing, except for twinkling stars. Josh can’t help but have this voyeuristic side effect . He is looking millions of miles away, thousands of years into the past. It makes no sense, these stars aren’t people. It’s not possible to spy on nuclear waste. There is something personal, though, and he is gazing into it, with all the sight of a blind man.

*

Cassie’s tears have dried on her sleeping eyes by the time Sam remembers the dishes are still on the table from dinner. She scrubs each dish and utensil with scalding water and looks past them, into the drain. She puts on Joni Mitchell, because she is sad and Joni will not make her feel better. She sings that we’re all stardust. The lady has no idea what she’s talking about, Sam thinks, we’re all probably decayed naquadah.

*

Donna’s number isn’t on speed dial, but he dials it faster from muscle memory anyway.

“Hello?”
“You know what’s a good thing about the Washington Monument?”
“Josh...?”
“Seriously, I’ve never realized it before.”
“What.”
“No building in the city is allowed to be taller than it...”
“Ah, yes, less light pollution.”
“How did you know?”
“Termination shock, Josh.” she hangs up.

*

The voice on the telephone in her lab is Pete and he’s saying something about the program he saw on the Discovery Channel ( he’s been watching it a lot lately) about how the Voyager probe will soon leave the solar system.

“Not a big deal anymore, huh Sam?” She doesn’t answer. He doesn’t notice. “Why do they call it termination shock? I mean, that’s a harsh phrase for a probe going past an imaginary line.”

She hangs up the phone.

*

Josh has been out on his roof for almost an hour when he finds the magnification button. He squints his eye into a slit and adjusts the preset to Mars. From his Georgetown roof, the planet is orange, not red. He can feel the jagged red rocks underneath his feet and hears the vacuum of nothing. And then a blue and green sphere reflects back into his eyes.

=
fin,yo.