Remember Me (19 page)

I heard my father trying to console my mother by saying, “Honey, we tried. At least the astronauts didn’t suffer,” to which my mother cried even louder.

Over the coming days, and after media speculations had

settled, the official report would cause the space program to be shut down. What I couldn’t and didn’t tell my parents was barely enough for me to handle by myself. Everyone, including my parents would learn about it eventually. It would only come out after the severity of the explosion had eased with time. The crew had survived the separation. It was possible that some were still alive until their ship impacted with the ocean, and unceremoniously killed them instantly. In documentation released much, much later it would be shown that some personal air tanks had been used, and some switches had been moved. It was a clear indication that some were still alive, and the pilot was still trying to maneuver the shuttle as it raced downward towards the ocean.

What I didn’t want my parents to see was the anguish I was experiencing. The first time around I was like them. I curbed my overall sorrow by clinging to the thought that they died instantly. To know this time for a fact that they were in the ship and falling was more than I could take. Christa’s smiling photo from the paper haunted my tear-blurred vision. “God, I’m so sorry!” was all I could choke out. If I had a destiny here, then this was nothing but a poor offering at the expense of the shuttle’s crew. I cursed myself and vowed never to let it happen again!

The phone rang as I closed the kitchen door into the garage behind me. It would be Andrew calling to talk to his S 139 S

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mother. I walked out the man door of the garage and out to the driveway. I got in my Blazer. I probably shouldn’t be driving. A drunk would be in better shape than the state I was currently in. I turned the ignition key and started it up. I didn’t even check my review mirror as I backed out of my parents drive. I put it in drive and drove. It didn’t matter where. I rolled down the window and let the icy-cold air whip at the side of my face.

It hurt and caused my left eye to water. I welcomed the pain.

The past few days had already caused me to rethink my

actions and my affect upon the people I loved. It was time to travel along a different path. Today had only confirmed what I knew in my heart to be the right course of action. I needed to move away from the people I loved, and let them live their lives in their own time. I would hurt them the most by remaining here and staying involved with them. I couldn’t undo what I’d already done, but I could definitely limit my future exposure to them. This was their time and they should live it as such. They didn’t deserve to be influence by me.

It was too late to erase my existence from the lives of my parents. I needed to exclude them from knowing what the

future would possible entail. I saw what the effect of my existence did to my mother. I’m sure my sister was hurting more than she should as well. I hated myself. I‘ve never felt so alone.

I was a lost boat on a vast sea. Looking out my window or across the endless ocean waves, I saw nothing that offered me the slightest bit of hope. Time was the champion, and I would never win.

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Emily no more.

April 8th, 1986

My God, what
a whirlwind the last couple of months have been. Shortly after the Challenger incident, the newspapers worldwide ran headlines implicating an outside source who had predicted the disaster. Copies of the letter ran nonstop on every major news source for nearly two weeks straight.

You couldn’t get away from it. The world was in an uproar at NASA and at the government too. Congress planned on running an inquiry, and the FBI vowed to solve the case shortly. It was all pomp and circumstance…business as usual. Even the FBI stated from the outset that it would be unlikely to find the letter writer. They had already determined that it had to be more than one person, most likely a group who did it. In their initial statement they documented that four letters were sent simultaneously from four unconnected locations. They did contend that one possible center of convergence may have been Austin, MN. They based this assumption on the fact that all of the other letters were presumably mailed and stamped by post offices near airports.

For nearly a month my parents looked over their shoulders, waiting for the FBI or the flashing lights of the police cars, or officers to come bursting into their house. As February turned into March, the story began to subside and normalcy, or what could reasonably be assumed to be normal, slowly returned to my parents. We all went on with our lives, what S 141 S

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other choice was there. As far as the aftermath of the disaster, my parents never wanted to talk about it, at least not with me.

I never brought it up either. I only had to notice the perceptible change in my parent’s psyche to realize that just by being around I was a bearer of pain.

In February, I finally had “the talk” with my parents. I let them know I would be moving away from the area. I think my mother was relieved, but she put up a strong pretext for wanting me to stay. My father understood and eagerly blessed my decision. It was clear to him that our intended interference in the Shuttle disaster would have complications long into the future. It had put them and my sister at great risk. It wasn’t the principle of the attempt that he regretted, only the mental strain it had placed on everyone involved. I understood it was different for me…I basically didn’t exist. It was something my father would never say outright, but we both knew it was true.

I was not prepared to pick a location outside of the state—

not yet. It would still be sometime before I was ready to implement my plan, or what I thought of as a plan. I finally settled on the town of Decorah. It was a smaller area and had everything I could need. It was as close to, as it was far away from the bigger cities, which made it a burg of self-contain-ment. If it didn’t have what I needed, the drive would be a little over an hour to get to where it was available.

I kept to an inconspicuous route. I found a house to rent and took employment as a maintenance man at the local high school. The job was at nights and freed my time up during the day. I stayed in contact with my parents by phone. As April approached, I could tell my mother was finally settling down from our ordeal. The final word out of the White House on the

“Shuttle Letters,” was simply stated as, “Ongoing.” With information that was leaked to the press, it firmly put the light of the investigation as focusing on an internal link. It was believed S 142 S

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to have been done by an unhappy technician, whose personal observations of the O-rings had suggested a possible break-up of the booster rockets at cold temperatures.

In other words, nothing outside of NASA had panned out.

I smiled, but only with reservation. I knew that nothing was ever outside the scope of possibilities. For now, we could momentarily breathe. It was time to move on. On a happier note, my parents were starting to get excited; Tami’s due date was fast approaching. They were looking forward to Emily being born. Mom kept the secret secure. I’m sure it had been hard knowing what Andrew and Tami were going to have before

they did. She had begun buying little girl items for the new baby.I vividly remember the day Emily was born. It was early in the morning of April sixth when I raced Tami to the hospital.

It was close to six a.m. It had been a quick delivery, and everything went perfectly. We called my parents at five a.m. so they could come over and watch Samantha while we went to the

hospital. It was really strange to be on the outside looking in this time. I was both happy and sad. The memories stirred up the loss I felt for my own time, but still gave me some comfort in this time. I went to bed on the night of the fifth lost in my dreams. I relived all the wonderful childhood memories I had of Emily. I was extremely proud of both my girls, and I could not have loved them any more than I did. I was even entertain-ing the notion of sneaking into the hospital so I could catch a glimpse of her. It would be the first for a father getting to live through the birth of his daughter…twice.

At ten forty-five on Sunday morning, the sixth, my phone rang. I guessed it would be my mother calling. So far, she’d been the only person who did so with any regularity. I was also extremely careful to whom I gave my number.

“Andrew.”

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“Hey Grandma!” I said into the receiver.

There was a long silence on the line, and I began to get that awful tingling feeling at the back of my skull, “Not yet,” my mother said in a very hushed tone.

The silence suddenly became mine. “They haven’t had the

baby yet?” I finally managed to communicate.

“No! Andrew, what do you think has happened?”

I was now thoroughly panicked, “I don’t have a clue.”

“Do you think the space shuttle launch had anything to do with it? I mean, I know it had to be different, I was different.

Do you think I caused it?”

“No mom, I don’t think you had anything to do with it.

She is still pregnant and due to have the baby. I don’t think we should jump to any conclusions yet.” I said it, but I didn’t believe it! Something was dreadfully wrong. I could feel it gnawing at every fiber of my being. My mother knew it too.

“Do you think everything is going to be ok?” Mom asked,

speaking in a voice that reminded me of Samantha when she was seven years old: “Why daddy?”

“I truthfully don’t know the answer, Mom. We’ll just have to wait and see. Keep me posted!”

“I will. Bye Andrew,” she said into the phone. Her voice conveyed all the fear and dread from which I had wanted to shield her. If only I hadn’t spent so much time with them. I should have borrowed some money and left the country.

Better still; I should have become a mountain man and lived in the Canadian Rockies.

“Bye Mom,” I whispered back to her. My mouth was too

dry to create any volume, and my stomach was sending that acid sensation into my throat.

I hung up the phone and bolted for the bathroom. I got

down on my knees and flung open the lid to the toilet. I barely had the seat cover open when I started gagging. At first it was S 144 S

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the coffee from earlier in the morning that I threw up. Soon, I was racked with multiple dry heaves as my stomach tried to wretch the very heart from my chest. My head pounded and my eyes were blurred with tears of frustration.

I rolled over onto my back and lay on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. “What have I done now,” I repeated over and over in my mind. I prayed to God for the little girl I loved so much. “Please Lord, keep her safe. Please Lord…” No more words would come as they stuck in my throat. I couldn’t find my breath. All my strength had left me. It took every ounce of strength I had just to maneuver onto my side. My breathing was still erratic, but at least I could feel myself beginning to calm down.

I sat up and rested my back against the bathtub. A thought hit me, and I reached for the wallet in my back pocket. I opened it and took out the picture of Emily and Quinn. She was still there, smiling her beautiful smile at me. It was the day my baby girl got married and I no longer was the main man in her life. I don’t know what I was thinking. That old, “Back to the Future” movie scene crossed my mind. In the movie, when the future had been changed by the past, the people in the photographs would begin to disappear. I kept my eyes on the image of Emily and focused all my memories on her. It was a whimsical attempt at keeping her alive.

The photograph didn’t change and neither did any of the

other ones in my wallet. It was stupid, but I had no idea what to expect. Tami was still going to have a baby, but at what cost?”

I tried to talk myself into accepting it could still be all right—

but how could it. My Emily was born at nine twenty-two. This wasn’t my time though. I’d already seen how my just being here could impact things. So far, everything had basically gone on as it had before—albeit with noticeable modifications. Maybe life was preordained and destiny would ultimately prevail. I S 145 S

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didn’t know, but right now I needed it to be true.

I didn’t leave the apartment for two days, waiting and fearing the phone call, which never seemed to come. Finally on April eighth, the phone rang, and my answer would finally come. It was nearly four-thirty when my mom called. I hadn’t eaten anything in the last two days, and my head was touting one long continuous headache. I wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer. I took the last two aspirins from my now depleted bottle an hour ago. I jumped off the couch when the phone rang. I banged my shin on the coffee table as I raced to answer the phone in the kitchen.

“Andrew….” a long pause…”Tami had the baby an hour

ago.” I could tell by the sound of my mother’s voice that she was being careful with me. I could tell she was apprehensive about discussing the outcome with me.

“Is everything ok, Mom?” my voice could not hide the fear it contained.

“Andrew the baby’s fine. He’s perfectly healthy.”

There it was, and it hit me like a boxer’s punch to the

stomach. I lost my wind and fell to my knees. I dropped the phone and it clattered on the linoleum floor. My Emily had not been born. The Tami and Andrew of this time had a newborn son.“Andrew, are you there?” I heard my mother loudly calling out to me. I let the phone lay where it was and crawled to the table. I used a chair to pull myself up. The hurt in my head had gone way beyond physical pain. I was in a dark place mentally.

I opened the front door and walked away. “Andrew! Andrew, answer me…” my mom shouted from the phone lying on the

kitchen floor. My mother’s only reply would be the slam of my front door.

I walked, stunned and utterly without rational function.

My eyes were unfocused as was my heart. The pain I felt was S 146 S