The Sky is Never the Limit ©Joseph D. Di Lella
“Read them and weep, gentlemen,” the youngest of the five space shuttle astronauts said proudly to his shipmates in the brightly colored recreation room located a mile and a half from the launch site on Cape Canaveral . “Kings over jacks.” “You've got the luck of the Irish with you tonight, Jackson,” responded Captain O'Leary as he wiped the flop sweat from his forehead all the way back across his shaved head. “Maybe it's your good luck charm over there,” he added and nodded to the avian perched on the wooden coat stand adjacent to the window overlooking the blast site. “Mighty Quinn – get over here – stop tearing my coat apart,” he shouted more in fun than anger to the mostly aqua blue Macaw with gold and red feathers adorning its eyes. The twelve year old companion tugged mightily until it pulled off a silver button from the Navy pea coat and lit over to his master like a dog bringing back prey to the hunter. “Thanks, but I'd rather have it attached to my coat,” said Samuel, as he nuzzled the bird's beak after the thief dropped the treasure into the man's hand. “Three days to go, and I usually don't like to throw compliments around, but you folks, each and every one of you, are the best damn crew I've ever served with in this space program.” The Questar's commander raised his alcohol-free beer above the center of the green-felt poker table. “Even though this mission has been scrubbed over a dozen times for bad weather, mechanical problems and issues with those darn protective heat tiles, I know we'll make this flight one for the ages. We have to – for our sakes, for our families, and for NASA.” O'Leary looked directly into Jackson 's eyes: “We can't afford another failure.”
With four mug clanks to the one held by O'Leary, the crew shouted out a loud marine chat of “Urrah” before calling it a night.
“Gotta get home to the old ball and chain,” said Flannery, the chief navigator on the space shuttle, as he patted Jackson on the shoulder. “And you?”
The African American nuzzled his forehead next to Quinn's beak. “My mother's flying here in a few days; but really, Quinn's the only family I need right now, Frank,” he replied before walking over to retrieve his coat.
On his way out, Officers Thomas and Williams made small talk. “I swear that bird sends him signals about our cards,” the shortest but most muscular of the group muttered to Thomas.
“Right – and Quinn shares our winnings in bird seed? Look, the guy has a special connection with the pet – like a horse whisperer does with colts, stallions, hard to manage critters.” Lionel Thomas looked back over his shoulder at Jackson and Quinn as they stared out the window. “Over twenty five years of marriage and I wish I were still that close to my wife.” Thomas shut the door behind him, but not before he smiled ever so slightly at the rookie and his pal.
“It's an amazing invention,” Sam said as he pointed out the large picture window like a child about to open presents on Christmas morning. “Something so heavy . . . incredible a thing like that ever gets off the ground. I wonder what Jules Verne would think of humanity's progress?”
Mighty Quinn made a noise, a screech, in recognition of the question – something that always bewildered Sam's friends.
“It's all I ever wanted, to fly like you – except I wanted the fancy astronaut suit instead of feathers.” Quinn cocked his head and peered out the window. “But no one dared share that sort of dream. When you're the youngest of seven Black children in a poor Los Angles neighborhood, it's like telling drug dealers in the neighborhood to go to hell. You just don't do it ‘cause your ‘fraid of getting laughed at or worst.”
Mighty Quinn stretched his one leg over his owner's shoulder and picked at his feathers. Afterwards, he bounced up and down as though he was dancing to his favorite tune – China Grove – by the Doobie Brothers. “You want to fly, too? Go ahead – fly, Mighty Quinn, fly.” Sam nudged the larger than normal macaw off his shoulder. The bird flew around the large recreation room two and half times before he spotted a shiny quarter left on the poker table. “Quinn – put that down – that's my pay phone change.”
Quinn, his heart still full of joy for his brief time in the air, returned to Sam and dropped the prize at his master's feet.
“Thanks for nothing, buddy.” The newbie astronaut placed his elbows on the windowsill and once again stared into the twilight and the shuttle that piggy-backed the multi-million ton booster rocket. “We have to get this right, cause if we don't, the Feds will probably cut half our funding. We can't have another Challenger disaster on their hands; bad for the morale of our country.”
Quinn flew up from the floor where he had retrieved the coin, perched back on the man's shoulder, and dropped the quarter into the flannel shirt breast pocket. The mighty one tilted his head to and fro, trying to focus on the large object in the distance. The bird made a sound almost like a mother cat purring with its young before grooming the man's tightly curled brown hair.
Noticing a colony of wild green parrots in a nearby date palm, many of them younger than him, Quinn called out, but they couldn't hear their captive friend. The same group often traversed the locale this time of year, when the snow and rain blanketed the colder weather states. Noisy, gluttonous and amorous birds of a feather, the pet looked at his brethren with awe and jealousy.
His best friend noticed, too.
“Wanna go out there, huh Quinn?” Sam scratched the bird's crown – except this time, instead of leaning back for more, as was his practice, the pet pushed forward away from the human's touch and into the window pane until Quinn accidentally bumped his beak into the glass.
And Sam, once again, noticed the change in behavior. “I'd let you outside, but I don't think you'd ever come back if you had a taste of freedom again this time around.”
The astronaut gently closed the orange curtain on his friend, fastened a leg harness around one of Quinn's appendages, and walked toward the door. “I hope you don't see of me as your jailor, Mighty, but I just can't lose you now – not before the biggest day of my life.” The macaw raised his head up and down as if he understood the importance of the impending take-off. In an act of affection, the multi-colored parrot began to pick at Sam's moustache, a sign that told his owner that bondage to the one he loved was not a prison cell but instead a loving home for his recent bout of a restless heart.
The day before the launch, Samuel Jackson and his companion took a slow walk on the Florida coastline with the matriarch of the family, Loretta Jackson, who had flown in just the night before with three of her siblings.
“Bumpy flight you say?”
Miss Jackson shook her head and sloshed through the beach sand like an elephant tromping across a muddy jungle floor. “For a woman who's afraid of flying, it sure was.”
“I'll remember that when my crew and I hit 3 G's on liftoff,” Sam teased as two bikini clad teenagers waved at his shouldered companion. Quinn looked them over as if he recognized one – Heather, the young girlfriend of his previous owner.
“I guess you got your courage from your late father,” Loretta teased her son as she reached for Sam's arm for support in the soft, warm white carpet of sand. “No, not really,” Samuel replied as stared at the clear blue horizon. “Star Trek reruns.”
Loretta stopped her trek short, nearly pulling her son and the distressed macaw down with her. “You mean to tell me that TV made you the man you are today? That I refuse to believe.” The mother began her sojourn again, pulling her son and his pet at a steady, snails' pace.
“You have to admit – Uhura looked pretty darn cute in that skimpy red uniform,” her son joked as he shorted his gait to meet his mother's stride.
“Not too many Black role models on TV in those days – or in our neighborhood.” The fifty six year old stopped to catch her breath, wiped her brow, and gave Mighty Quinn a quizzical smile.
“What would you do without that bird, Samuel?”
“Who – this guy?” he replied and kissed the bird's beak. “I guess you could call us two birds of a feather, pardon the hackneyed expression.” The son spied the beginning of a stone wall adjacent to the beach and led his overly-tired mother towards it. “Sure, Quinn and I are close, but you should have seen John Terry, an undergrad at UCLA. This kid had a Golden Retriever that he took everyplace. In our intramural games at college, if John played shortstop, that darn dog sat right next to him on the field. No one much cared, the games were mostly for fun, but if the ball hit that dog in a critical situation in a big playoff game, people would go crazy mad until they shooed that animal off the grass.” Sam gazed lovingly at his pet for a moment. “I bet I could play shortstop in my men's softball league with Mighty on my shoulder.”
Loretta slapped her son's forearm and giggled like a little girl. “Don't even think about it.”
Uncharacteristically, the son's mood changed to that of candor rather than playfulness. “Do you remember the day I brought Quinn home?”
“Oh yes, from the pet store down the block, your first year in college.”
The son looked his mother in the eyes as if he were about to admit stealing money from a change purse. “I wasn't completely honest about where I picked him up that one day.”
Loretta looked at her son in a confused manner before saying, “So, come out with – I'm not getting younger.” Still overcome with the heat and exhaustion from the short walk, she dabbed her forehead with the pink, handmade handkerchief her late sister had sewed years earlier.
The son pulled out sunflower seeds from his jean's pocket and held his hand out to Quinn. The macaw crawled down from his perch and began to nibble on the crunchy bounty while his owner gently petted his ocean colored head.
“Remember the boy whom I mentored that summer?”
“The one from Big Brother? He was a wonderful child.”
“His name was Aaron Carter. Fifteen years old. He and his sister were in foster care for over ten years and about to be adopted into a great home.” Sam couldn't look his mother in the eye anymore and drifted his vision to the crashing waves and the small group of the wet-suited surfers. “Aaron and went for ice cream sandwiches to celebrate before we took off to the basketball courts. I didn't know it, but the boy must have had a heart condition, because one minute he and I were playing in a pick-up game on Mission and Pine, and the next, he collapsed to the ground.”
“Oh lord – like Aunt Maddie? One second she's eating her oatmeal, the next, she falls over right into the bowl.” Loretta quickly pulled her handkerchief to her eyes to draw away the tears.
“Next to the court, in the old maple tree, a colony of parrots made their home for the day. I had never seen them before – they must have had escaped smugglers just a few days earlier. I'm running with Aaron, collapsed in my arms, and the boy's hardly breathing. I'm screaming for on-lookers to call nine-one-one.” Sam paused for a moment, and petted Mighty Quinn affectionately as he continued his story. “This scrawny little macaw descends from that old maple and perches on the teenager's chest. I'm in a panic, the kid's dying, and here's this little guardian angel, sitting there, looking into the boy's face.” Sam stopped for a moment, took more seeds from his pocket for Quinn, and continued his story. “The paramedics arrived, they did their thing, and that bird just sat there on my shoulder as I cried.” “And Aaron?” she asked as she squeezed her son's arm tighter.
“He never came to.” The son stood up as his mother remained seated on the wall, still softly crying. “Maybe that old TV show somehow triggered something in my adolescent brain about space travel, but it was Aaron's passing that made me committed to the mission beyond the sky.”
“And why's that, Samuel?”
“That young man's dream was to one day enter the space program. Aaron had hoped to win a slot in NASA's high school summer camp program.”
Loretta stood up and hugged her son as she never had before. “And tomorrow, you're living that young man's dream?” “Yeah, I guess I am – but I wouldn't have without my little friend.” Sam took his mother's arm and headed down the beach boardwalk. “This guy could have flown back to his friends and family in the tree, but instead, he came down to Aaron and me. And even afterwards, when the ambulance pulled out, he stayed with me. It was as if the boy's soul passed from his body and has lived in Quinn's all these years.”
“Do you really believe that, Samuel?”
The son laughed lightly. “No, not really, but this magnificent creature of the heavens has always reminded me of sacrifice and devotion he made when he left his flock, his family. So when I take that big ride tomorrow, NASA's PR people are saying I'm a credit to my people, my race – which is partially correct. But truthfully, between you and me, I'm doing it not only for African Americans, but for Aaron and Mighty Quinn here most of all.”
“Where's my coffee?” Ground Control Chief Tommy Thompson grumbled at NASA's latest high school intern, Ginger Armstrong. The lanky redhead from southern California 's hand trembled as she placed the styrofoam cup into the chief's hand. While surveying his ground staff, all forty-two of them in the control room, Thompson opened the lid carefully. Taking in the coffee's rich flavor and then taking a gulp, he asked: “Didn't I ask you for double sugar, Armstrong?” “Um, I guess so,” she politely responded as she also watched over the group of men and women who had trained for their part in the Questar's liftoff for over a year. The chief patted the girl's shoulder and shook his head. “That's okay – I have a few packs in my desk. Go ahead and admire the view.” He smiled and shooed the sixteen-year-old off as he entered the middle of a brewing argument amongst his staff members.
Back on the space shuttle, the five crewmen checked gauges, lights, everything their control panels had to offer including shots from over a dozen exterior cameras. “How's it looking outside, Jackson ?” Captain Scot O'Leary asked the rookie.
Seated firmly in place in the uncomfortable chair positioned skyward, Sam replied, “Looks fine to me, Sir.” O'Leary double checked the camera shots that his subordinate had immediately gone over. “Appears okay by my eyes too, but take a few more close-ups of the thermal blanket on our right orbital maneuvering system pod? There are some concerns from ground that there might be a tiny tear on one end of the damn thing.”
Immediately, Sam tried to swallow but couldn't. Next, he felt his chest muscles tighten. The astronaut remembered the last time such anxiety overtook him: the night he reached for the door knocker of his high school sweetheart's parent's home before the Spring Fling. Flashing back to that night, he remembered loosing the car keys on the beach and taking his date back in a taxi. Since seeing a professional about his anxiety years earlier, Sam had a ritual of chanting quietly to himself the same mantra he always did whenever fear began to overwhelm him. After scanning the exterior of the pod for a few minutes, O'Leary reached from his station and squeezed Jackson 's shoulder. “You okay, son?”
“No problem with me, Captain, or the thermal sheet for that matter; at least nothing the cameras can catch from their angles.”
“Then we'll tell ground we're good to go,” the Commander replied and gave the thumbs up the other crewmen in the shuttle.
“Commander Thompson – they're not good to go,” stammered Selby Sullivan, the youngest of the ground officials assigned to the shuttle's camera crew.
Thompson, his empty coffee cup crushed between his forefinger and thumb, looked at the still photos that an errand boy had just rushed in from another department next door. “Selby, I don't see a thing.”
“I tell you, it's there. I know it is.”
The man in charge called seven of his most experienced men over to examine the photos. None of them saw a thing – except for the novice of the group. “There's no evidence, Sullivan, and you know it,” argued Terry Casey, Selby's supervisor. In a low voice he muttered in the newest NASA employee ear, “I'm sick of you making me look bad in front of Thompson. Give this up Sullivan or I'll fire your butt as soon as the shuttle returns home – are we clear?”
The twenty five year old with his dark hair all akimbo nodded. “Commander Thompson – I think I've made a mistake.” The MIT graduate looked down at his shoes before the elder statesmen of NASA replied, “No harm done. Everyone here wants to make sure those brave men on Questar return home safely.” As the chief walked away, the fifty five year old, slumped shouldered superior gave his subordinate a steer look. “Only real problems from now on or you're through – understood?”
Selby nodded, but immediately after his boss walked off, Sullivan looked more meticulously through the eyes of the camera lens to confirm his hypothesis.
“I bet you never imagined you'd see your brother flying into outer space,” Loretta said to Lisa, her only daughter, who stood besides her mother and the other family members and VIP's behind the wire fence around the Cape Canaveral compound. “No mama, I guess not,” the soon to be college graduate of UCLA replied snottily as she took a photo of the rocket with her cell phone for her cousin Cynthia on the East Coast. Mighty Quinn, taken by the girl and her equipment, crawled down from Sam's mother's shoulder and crooked his head. “Quinn old boy, get back on my shoulder,” the matriarch said sternly as she pulled on his thin red leash that was loosely attached to his leg. “You like this thing, don't you, M.G.?” Lisa asked, toying with the pet. “Here it is – something silvery and shiny – and you can't have it.” “Don't do that,” Loretta replied sharply as she tugged on the pet's tether. “Samuel would kill you if he knew.”
Hands on hips, Lisa shot back, “Sam this and Sam that – he's the only one you ever cared about in this family.” The defiant daughter grabbed Quinn's red leash from her mother's grip. “This bird isn't worth the birdseed.” As the two tussled for control, Quinn broke free from the tether and flew up on Loretta's shoulder momentarily -- until he spotted the colony of wild macaws. Before Sam's mother or sister could reattach the rein on the bird's leg, Mighty Quinn soared over the fence and towards his brethren.
As the countdown to liftoff spiraled down to three and a half minutes, ground control and Questar's crew exchanged strong opinions on the space shuttle's worthiness.
“Commander Thompson, all seems a go up here – has your crew confirmed anything of substance to that possible thermal blanket tear?” Captain O'Leary asked as he made one final check-up on the in-flight instruments.
Pacing the floor, Thompson replied, “No, no, not really.” He looked over to Sullivan who was keenly looking over photos and camera shots under Casey's watchful eye. “If we do in the next two minutes, we'll call it a day and round you folks back up in the barn just like last month.”
“I'm confident this bird will soar through the heavens,” Samuel Jackson interrupted. “I can't find anything wrong, the computers can't, your staff can't – please don't scrub us again.”
Collectively, Ground Control members paused, many of them following Thompson's every syllable over the room's intercom. “Hear that, ladies and gentlemen?” Those are the words of first timer, an astronaut who isn't afraid of his own shadow.” Several members of the group nodded, and with it a swell of vocal support from everyone present – except Selby. “Let's not let him or his fellow crewmen down.”
In the hundred year old oak tree that was near the recreation room over a mile away from the launch pad, Mighty Quinn gingerly moved towards the feathered strangers. Up on one of the tallest limbs, Quinn eyed a young, all green female who looked him over from beak to claw. Within a few minutes, the two were cuddling against a backdrop of rumbling noise from the launch pad.
“Here's another one, Sir. This one has two sugars,” said the female high school intern as she handed Thompson another steaming cup of coffee.
“Thanks, kid.” He sipped it and replied, “Just the way I like it.”
“Commander Thompson – are they going to be okay? People are talking about a problem with the thermal pad.” The sixteen year old with a worried look on her face sidled up next to the towering Texan.
The Ground Control Chief, keen to the girl's concern replied, “Sure they will, honey.” He looked her over again and added, “You come across as if you have family going up.”
The bright and opinionated teenager, who was gazing at the large broadcast screen of the launch bay, replied, “In a way I do, Sir. Astronaut Jackson , he's a long time friend of mine.”
As the countdown approached seventy five seconds, Questar's crew said their last words to each other before blastoff.
And from Canaveral's compound, a colony of macaws took off towards the west, anticipating sundown and a cool night in Florida – except Mighty Quinn and his new mate. Flying in staggered sets of five, Quinn's curiosity got the better of him as he broke formation and steered towards the space craft and his master.
Back on the space shuttle, Samuel Jackson took one last piercing look into a camera lens as exhaust from the booster rockets nearly blinded his view of the thermal pad.
Then he saw it, as the wind swirled upwards up from the ground – an innocuous one-by-two-inch piece of flapping metal dangling around the tiniest edge of thermal blanket. If that thing flies off on blast off, it could tear into the blanket – and jeopardize our safe return to Earth .
But before he could alert his captain or ground control, he noticed a bird, a wild parrot, pulling wildly at the shiny slip of metal. In a few moments, the piece and the bird had disappeared from camera view, and Sam closed his eyes and said a prayer for himself, his shipmates, and his mother, wondering if he had imagined the whole incident.
As the countdown headed toward twenty-five seconds, Commander Thompson asked the student, “ Jackson , is he a neighbor of yours?”
“No, Mr. Thompson. He knew my adopted brother, Aaron, a long, long time ago. Astronaut Jackson 's the one who championed me into this program.”
When the rocket pushed upwards into the twilight sky and the G-forces began to force him downwards into his seat, Samuel Jackson sympathized with his mother's bumpy flight earlier that week.
And in a safe distance away from the launch pad, Mighty Quinn flapped as hard as he could to rejoin his new family and give his mate a shiny gift – a piece of tattered tin.
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