First there’s love… then an explosion…

Driving out to the Cape for a launch in a big RV. Maybe five of us. The launch has been delayed several times, tech glitches. We may be here awhile.

So it’s evening, we’re inside the trailer. Couple of pizzas, case of beer. There’s a pull-down bunk that hangs over the front windshield. Bob, the guy in it, used to be a political front-man, the guy who arrives a few days before the candidate to set up appearances, logistics.

His real creds: He used to drive a taxicab.

Now he’s a writer. Gonna see his first launch.

The thing we do not know right now is that the bunk is not locked into its supports. It’s just resting against the front windshield visors, which are almost the size of the front windshield and which are sticking out, when they’re supposed to be tucked outa the way before – you get the picture.

Sitting in the passenger side chair is a young lady who thinks Taxi is pretty hot stuff. Evening goes on, she has more beer than is good for her, she begins to think Taxi is Real Hot Stuff.  She’s working herself up to the big moment.

It arrives. She climbs up on the arms of the chair, launches skyward and, for the briefest moment, she’s suspended there, in bed, alongside the man of her dreams.

WHHOOSH.

Windshield explodes.

Screaming.

The launch goes as scheduled. Bit of luck.

Next day, I’m driving this thing down the interstate, no windshield, just bits of glass occasionally flying back into the vehicle. I get back to the office. I’m telling my boss about the 18-wheeler that careened passed us on the highway, about the big old chunk of gravel that flew up into the windshield as we drove down the road.

Good guy. Sense of humor. Let’s me wax. Tragic event, I say. Insurance will have to cover it.

He pats me on the arm.

She’s already been in, he says. She confessed.

But that was a good story you told.