Atmosphere

by Taylor Jenkins Reid

that every astronaut aches for: the gold pin. Evidence that she was one of the chosen few humans who have ever left this planet.

That is something Joan prides herself on. That she is an excellent team player.

Human intelligence and curiosity, our persistence and resilience, our capacity for long-term planning, and our ability to collaborate have led the human race here.

We are so determined to learn what lies beyond our grasp that we have figured out how to ride a rocket out of the atmosphere. A thrilling ability that seems ripe to attract cowboys, but is best done by people like her. Nerds.

They’ve looked through the window, but nothing quite prepares them for the sight of it now.

It was a brief moment, no more than a second. But Vanessa knew something bad had happened. And it was not by what her mother had said, but the silence that had preceded it. Vanessa thinks of that silence now.

The shuttle is not one piece of machinery. It is three. On launch, it is a rocket. In orbit, it is a spaceship. On landing, it is an airplane. This is what will allow us to usher in the future of space exploration.”

Once, when Joan was a teenager, her mother told her that she and her sister each had their own strengths. She said that Barbara’s were loud and Joan’s were quiet, but both were powerful in their own way. When her mother said this, Joan hugged her.

(she was a classically trained pianist, had run two marathons, was an avid reader and an amateur portraitist, among other things).

“I want to be an astronaut,” Frances said. What a time Joan lived in. To be able to tell her niece that she could be an astronaut.

“An astrophysicist studies the physics of space, whereas my focus is on space itself, the sun in particular. Then again, you can’t study space without studying the physics of space. And time. Or math. Or anthropology and the history of humans’ understanding of the stars. Or mythology and theology, for that matter. It’s all connected.”

“I want to make my niece proud,” Joan said when she remembered herself. “I want her to know that she can do anything.”

I hope I don’t do it with both elbows out, knocking everyone down. I hope I wait until I fully earn it instead of trying to steal the chance out from under someone.

‘You have to have something on the line, for it to be called character.’ ”

Astronomy was history. Because space was time. And that was the thing she loved most about the universe itself. When you look at the red star Antares in the southern sky, you are looking over thirty-three hundred trillion miles away. But you are also looking more than five hundred and fifty years into the past. Antares is so far away that its light takes five hundred and fifty years to reach your eye on Earth. Five hundred and fifty light-years away. So when you look out at the sky, the farther you can see, the further back you are looking in time. The space between you and the star is time.

To look up at the nighttime sky is to become a part of a long line of people throughout human history who looked above at that same set of stars. It is to witness time unfolding.

She had no desire to add her name to a list like that, in part because the idea that astronomy advances because of any one great mind struck her as simplistic. It was a collective pursuit, groups and cultures building upon and learning from what came before them.

Going into space is not for the faint of heart. Great men have died in the pursuit of space exploration. If you are not prepared to face the sacrifices that may be required in order to serve this country in this unprecedented undertaking, it is best that you realize that now.”

At NASA, we honor the people we have lost by referring to them as being ‘on an eternal mission.’ But please do not let the euphemism soften what happened here—and what you all risk, by being a part of this program.”

impossible. But there have been some days that we never see coming. Days that stick with us forever. That may cost some of us our lives. If you cannot accept that this risk lies ahead in all we do here,” Jack said, “now is your chance to make a different choice. To choose a different life for yourself. A safer one.”

“Hayman,” Griff had said as he walked into the room, “cut that out.” Jimmy shut up then. Joan knew she was supposed to be grateful, though she resented the need for it at all. “Thank you,” she whispered to Griff when she sat down. He shook his head. “Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum,” he said. “It does a disservice to us both.”

“Before you are allowed in the planes,” he shouted, “you will have to learn how to survive being thrown out of one. First thing tomorrow you will be leaving for water survival training.”

People say opposites attract, but Joan had found this to almost never be true. People just couldn’t see the ways they were drawn to exactly who they feared—or hoped—they might be.

Bravery is being unafraid of something other people are afraid of. Courage is being afraid, but strong enough to do it anyway.”

And then she looked up at the clouds, raised her hand in a thumbs-up, and smiled. My God, she thought, what else can I do?

The steady hum of the wind drowned out almost everything except the sound of her own voice inside her mind. Which was such a gift. She had always been her greatest friend, her greatest guide. Up here, all she could hear was that voice. The kindest version of her. Look at the clouds, take a breath, do you see how pale the blue of the sky can be?

Joan so loved the beauty in this world:

“So my not liking this party is my crooked nose?” “When somebody’s too smooth, there’s nothing to grab on to. Now that you’ve got a little edge to you, I can hang on.”

Joan tried to ward off the sadness that always came when she pictured a marriage—any marriage.

You could develop your personality your entire life—pursue the things you wanted to learn, discover the most interesting parts of yourself, hold yourself to a certain standard—and then you marry a man and suddenly his personality, his wants, his standards subsume your own?

She has been through enough in her life to know that there is no value in long-term thinking right now. In a crisis of this magnitude, you are best served by evaluating second by second.

The commotion around her is distracting, but the din of murmurs and whispers within Mission Control forms a calming reminder that NASA is not merely a collection of individuals. NASA is a team. Joan had never before in her life felt the sense of belonging that she has with the people here at NASA.

She closes her eyes and begs the unfolding cosmos: Please. Please don’t take Vanessa.

“I’m a pilot who applied to NASA because I want to fly out of the atmosphere,” she said. “And I’m willing to learn anything I have to in order to do it.”

as look at her the wrong way, she might just say the worst things you can think of. And mean each and every one of them. We all just tiptoe around her. We always have. I am not…I am not honest with her. Maybe ever. I don’t even know what that would look like. And I hate it about myself.”

That’s part of what I love about astronomy. When we learn about the constellations, we also learn how earlier generations made sense of the world. The stars are connected to so many other elements of our life. It’s the gray areas that are most fascinating: ‘Is this astronomy or history?’ ‘Is this time or space?’ ”

“That’s what made me fall in love with astronomy as a kid,” she said. “That the night sky is a map, and once you know how to read it, it will always be there. You’ll never be lost.” Vanessa smiled at her. And it made something in Joan want to keep talking. “I’ve always felt like, when I look at the stars, I am reminded that I am never alone,” she said.

“Well, we are the stars,” Joan said. “And the stars are us. Every atom in our bodies was once out there. Was once a part of them. To look at the night sky is to look at parts of who you once were, who you may one day be.”

And what was kinship but that? Comfort and responsibility.

Because the world had decided that to be soft was to be weak, even though in Joan’s experience being soft and flexible was always more durable than being hard and brittle. Admitting you were afraid always took more guts than pretending you weren’t. Being willing to make a mistake got you further than never trying. The world had decided that to be fallible was weak. But we are all fallible. The strong ones are the ones who accept it.

Bravery, Joan suspected, is almost always a lie. Courage is all we have.

“Your commitment to the world around you. How much you care. You are so thoughtful. About everything.” Joan suspected that liking the view of herself through Vanessa’s eyes was dangerous. She just wasn’t sure how.

“I will never be Jimmy,” Joan said. “Or Marty. Or Teddy. I don’t want to tell jokes at other people’s expense, and pretend I’m never afraid, and refuse to ask for help. I don’t want to hold in how I feel, or hide it if I’ve been hurt, or try to prove to anyone that I don’t cry. Because I do cry sometimes.”

Griff nodded, appreciatively. “Have you ever been in love?” he asked. Joan could not look at him. “No, I don’t think so.” “Well, it’s like a bad cold: it’s miserable and then, one day, it’s gone.” Joan laughed. “All I’m saying is, let’s put it behind us.”

“You aren’t happy for her?” Vanessa said. “I…they just think they’re very cute, don’t they? Two astronauts in love.” Vanessa laughed. “Yeah, how awful. Two astronauts in love.”

The amber of Vanessa’s eyes was almost gold when the light hit it. The look of them, especially in this moment, was so complex that they reminded Joan of what her mother always said about her favorite landscape painting, which hung above the dining room table at their house. It “rewarded your attention.” Joan could stare into Vanessa’s eyes for hours and still never tire of all that they held.

“How is it so much better with just a little bit of salt and pepper on it?” “I don’t know but I…I want to show you every good thing I’ve ever found,” Joan said.

Joan had given in to Vanessa in a way that still surprised her. Joan had not lost herself to Vanessa, but found herself in her. She had not cut off parts of herself to fit so much as learned to make room for someone other than herself.

Joan had not ever believed that God sent down two halves of a soul in separate bodies, destined to meet. She did not believe in a God that could. But she did believe in a God that had led them here. That led their lives to intersect. That led Vanessa to need what Joan had to give. That led Joan to have what she needed.

But to love Frances was to be always saying goodbye to the girl Frances used to be and falling in love again with the girl Frances was becoming.