When the computer flashed unbreathable atmospheric conditions, it confirmed our previous scan results that this was going to be another “full suit” planet check. I wished the computers would be wrong, at least once. It’s so nice to breath on your own and not use the air filtration tanks. The computers are never wrong, though.

The two of us suited up and waited for pressure equalization in the airlock. For a while now, months really, I’d been having a hard time believing in the mission like I used to. Once you are part of NASA, you become part of this religion; a cult that believes in looking upward to the sky and to the stars beyond. By our very nature, we NASA employees are inherently not down to earth. It’s funny to me that they call shamans or witch-doctors the kooks, yet revere astronauts as heroes. We are just as absurd in our beliefs as any sect. We search for celestial meaning and miracles, too, we just happen to have a bigger budget and more favorable press. But I guess my commitment to the “church” Eisenhower signed into existence hundreds of years ago was waning.

I knew that humanity was counting on me. They were counting on all of the teams that were sent to search for somewhere suitable for expansion. Yet even with thousands of teams searching, it wasn’t enough man power. I remember hoping Braxton and I would be the ones to report the good news, but odds were we wouldn’t be the ones reporting anything. Honestly, odds were none of the teams would find anything new. It’s not professional to feel discouraged, but that’s how I feel. I know all those “Dustys” back home that never go to space believe there’s an endless world of amazement out here. Ha! How sadly untrue. The more you explore, the more of the same you see, and the more boring the universe becomes. Humanity was plateauing. We desperately needed to discover something new.

I remember seeing these super old black and white film clips in the space museums with titles like “Star Trek” and “Star Wars”. The characters would go to all these incredible places, meet intelligent races, find anomalies, and every scene was interesting. If only reality was remotely close to those films instead of the cold dark I have been facing these last few years. At least I had Braxton with me. Out of everyone in the training program, I was lucky enough to get the most positive, smiley, brilliant red head of the lot. Shouting “Another day in the cosmos!” is how he started every morning. I hated his catchphrase, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t like having him around to say it every day.

I only had six more months before I could head home and collect my well-deserved paycheck. At least I could live comfortably when I got home. Well, what’s left of home anyway.

When the door hissed open from the lander, we hobbled out and stepped on the rocky. grey landscape. The color was different than many of the other planets we had visited. Many had been reddish, iron-rich planets akin to Mars if they had a solid surface at all. So many were easily written off as being uninhabitable because they didn’t even have a ground to step on. Like the time about a month ago, when we found another gigantic gaseous planet, Braxton conjured his most booming godlike voice and declared “Upon this rock, we will build NASA’s church. Only, I forgot to make this planet a rock!”

We walked out across the chalky surface. Our boots made pat-pat-pat noises as we displaced the white powder around our ankles.

“Go collect the samples. I’ll get the photos and we will be on our way. Let’s make this a quick one, Brax. There’s nothing to see here.”

I began to snap all the pictures protocol dictated. Wide landscape shots, close up surface photos, and some screen grabs of the night sky to aid in the GMI (Galactic Mapping Interface) all the teams were uploading into. Braxton opened his pack and scooped samples. He gathered 15 samples in total from a wide radius around the ship. Every sample looked the same. The surface looked fairly homogeneous as far as the eye could see, with some grey rocks scattered about to break up the sea of white. I was eager to get back to the ship.

Braxton was scooting around, dragging his heels into the dust and making lines. The markings of a giant smiley face materialized.

“Michelangelo himself.” I gave Brax a golf clap as best I could in my suit.

“He’s a happy little planet.” Braxton made way back to the ship and I followed.

“Hey, look at that big rock. It’s all scratched up. That’s weird.” Brax pointed to the rock in question.

It was noticeably bigger than any others at the landing site and it looked as if it had been put into a giant sack full of knives and shaken vigorously.

“You point out every weird rock on every planet, Brax.” I sighed.

“At least take a picture of it, won’t you?”

Relenting, I snapped photo #16.

We got back inside the ship. Brax went straight away to the computer to run the samples.

“Maybe this dust could be some kind of hiccup curing agent,” Braxon jested. “Cancer, dementia, ALS: we live in the era were all these are cured, but we still haven’t conquered hiccups!”

I grabbed a packet of mashed potato flavored goo and sat at my work station. The photo files began to upload.

“Yeah Brax, what a disappointment humanity can be sometimes.” I began uploading the image files into the GMI database.

“All right, we got results coming up on in 119 seconds, 118 seconds , 117, 116…” Braxton fist pumped every number change on the screen.

I cut him off. “Braxton, shhh. Just tell me when they are done.” Scowling at me, he continued to mouth the countdown silently.

I threw myself in my bunk. “Let me know when you are ready for take-off.”

“Wow, this is new.” Braxton fetched his glasses from the cabinet and beckoned me without turning away from his monitor. “It says the composition of the dust is a type of collagen and calcium phosphate mix…..bone. It’s tiny fragments of pulverized bone.” Braxton turned and looked at me questioningly.

“Run another sample?” I asked.

He ran three more tests and all of the results were the same.

I put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself. “Brax … I … I think we found something.”

Our eyes met, and we both stood and walked over to the airlock window and to look out at the dusty, white planet.

“So, nothing still lives here, right?” Brax mused.

My computer gave a chime and a yellow “NOTICE” flashed on the monitor. The alien language translator program was reporting a hit on image 16. There were thousands of programs installed on the computers, but this was one we had never needed to use before. I didn’t even know how it worked. Something about encrypting and then decoding images that could resemble language. It crunched pixels millions of times over in billions of variations.

I clicked “VIEW REPORT”.

The computer’s suggestion for the rock markings were:

“Honor” – “Soldier” – “Eternity”

I looked at my suit hanging in the airlock, covered in the white dust.

We were silent.

Braxton finally spoke up.

“So this is like, a cemetery?” He queried.

I paced back to the window and peered out, confusion and excitement raced through my head.

“Yes, Brax. I think this whole planet is being used as a cremation urn.”

Re-negotiating my allowance was off the table. Dad was already reluctant to give me the extra 50 cents a week, upping my seven day take to $3.50. Maxing out my chore duties and mowing both the Nelson’s and Ford’s lawns on the weekends rounded me out to making exactly twenty dollars per month. It was March, and I knew summer would be here in no time. Hitting the 150 dollar mark by June would require doing something lowbrow. Something dirty. An act I would never speak of to my family or friends, and one that I would take with me to my grave.

Jeff and Carter had both gotten new bikes for Christmas and were waiting for the rain to end to break in their new rides. Of course I couldn’t blame my parents for not getting me one. It was Santa I was disappointed in. My parents never were ones to give big gifts. They always talked about working hard and earning what you want in life. Nothing is given to you for free. That’s why I asked my parents for a new basketball and St. Nick for a new bike. The man in the red coat had a philosophy 180 degrees from where my parents sat and I liked it. On the 25th of December, my folks pulled through on their gift, but the big Jolly man wasn’t nearly as reliable. I’ll be writing him a letter.

The 2007 Mongoose Pit Crew was the bike at Tyler’s bike shop I wanted. Everyone talks about the doggy in the window or the shiny dress on display in the front of department store as their impulsive push towards changing their life forever. The reality is impulsivity is a luxury for the rich. Besides, this Mongoose was not the kind of bike to be in the front of the store. This bicycle was in the back of the shop mixed in with a heap of others, but with all the features I needed. A downsized freestyle frame, Tektro alloy U-brakes, 115mm crankset, and, of course, pegs to carry another person on the back.  The research was done; I just needed a plan and some elbow grease.

But for a kid, a constant reminder was needed to stay focused. In my case, it helped me see what I was working for. Every Friday after school, I would walk from Breen Elementary to Tyler’s Shop, feel the bike frame, and then head home to start on chores and homework. Mom had gotten a ruler and a pencil January 1st, and helped me make a chore sheet with boxes to check off on a long sheet of parchment paper. The kind of paper she always uses for her art projects. When she finished writing out all the weeks, the paper draped down the entire front of the refrigerator and curled underneath where I always drop M&M’s and can’t reach to retrieve them.

Months passed. I’ll be honest. I was losing motivation. March and April passed, and it felt like I had lived a lifetime. Schoolyard banter had drifted to trading cards three weeks ago, and now the latest release of a new Ninja Turtles video game was the buzz of the blacktop. I remained stalwart on my quest for the silver Mongoose.

May 2nd was the day it happened. The day I earned my prize. I can promise you when I turn 97 years old, I will still remember that day. Not because it was the day I got the Mongoose, but because I learned if you are willing to do what no one else is (ditch your pride and sacrifice yourself) you can make it in this world.

It was Friday, so naturally I stopped by Tyler’s, said hello, sat on the coveted bicycle, and rubbed the grips. After seeing a few new summer model bikes rolling in, I was on my way home. It was warm now, and beautiful outside.  I could hardly stand my friends riding to and from school every day on their prized metal steeds while I was literally left to walk alone. While pondering my pitiful state this afternoon, I was yelled at by Mr. Carlson.

“Have a minute, my boy?” He called from his porch. Mr. Carlson’s Spanish accent was thick. He never spoke to the kids in the neighborhood unless he was upset about someone stepping on his lawn. I got ready to run. It was instinctual. Rooted in me from all the night games the kids played together in the neighborhood. We got used to running away from angry adults when we accidentally ran across their yards in games of cops and robbers or flashlight tag.

“Come here boy. I have some money for yeh”.

I put on a smile. My urge to ditch the area released me. “Hey Mr. Carlson. What can I do for you?” I replied.

“Oh, come on in. I’ll show you.”

I hopped up the front porch and swung the screen door open. Carlson walked inside and I followed.

The interior of the Carlson home was unpleasant. It was dirty in all the places old people can’t reach. The counter tops were clean, but the mold on the rafters and dirt on the baseboards had been there longer than I had been alive. The cats were nowhere to be seen, though the smell of their urine made them known. I tried to breath through my mouth as we walked into his kitchen where his wife was pouring a glass of water.

“You found our seeker did you?” she snickered. Mrs. Carlson got out a second glass and poured me some water with chunks of floating white bits in it. She passed it to me and took a big swig from her glass. With her head tipped back, I watched the white chunks cling to the inside of her glass for as long as they could before loosing their grip and sliding down her throat. I quickly sat my own glass back on the counter.

“So you need me to find something?” I asked.

“Oh yes! That’s the job really. You see, our backs just aren’t what they used to be, so bending can be cumbersome.” her husband explained. “We will pay you handsomely for your help. Say one hundred dollars? What we are looking for is of much more value to us.”

My mouth sat agape. I could turn around after helping the Carlson’s, go straight to Tyler’s, and ride the Mongoose home.

“Of course! Anything you need. I promise you I will find it!” I exclaimed. My heart beat faster.

“It’s my ring.” the woman demurred. “It’s in our backyard somewhere.” We walked to the back door and exited onto the patio. All I had to do was find Mrs. Carlson’s ring. No problem. Their eyes were so bad, they just needed a youngster like me to catch the sparkle of the gem in the sunlight. Yeah, that must be it.

I was only one step onto the patio before I was knocked onto my backside by Rupe, the Carlsons’ half St. Bernard, half Great Dane. I curse whoever invented the Saint Dane breed. Disgusting creature. Rupe started licking my face. His jowl-drool high-fived my cheeks.

“Ho ho, there’s the little thief now!” Mr. Carlson yelled, kicking the dog away. “So, erm, we think the ring fell in his dog bowl sometime in the last couple of weeks. We have been waiting to see if it turned up. It’s got to be out here somewhere.”

I looked at the dozens of gigantic piles spread across the grass. The yard was covered. Though the grass was healthy, there was much more brown than green. I looked up at Mr. Carlson for confirmation on what he wanted from me. Sensing my confusion, the old man bent down, his bones creaking and cracking the whole way. He picked up one of the piles and smashed it in his fist. He looked so intently at his hands you would think he was cracking oysters and looking for pearls. He flicked his hand toward the ground, slinging the Rupe pie back into the grass with a thud.

“Well, not in that one.” Carlson confirmed with a scowl. He wiped his hand on his pant leg.

“You got the rest of ’em boy. Get to work.”

Five summers ago, I fell for it. It wasn’t a call center or some pyramid scheme. It was the summer sales pitch that I fell for. For the last three months, I had been living on my own for the first time ever. I had grossly underestimated how expensive rent would be. I quickly signed some foreign guy from Hong Kong to the other bedroom next to me. I never saw him around, but that was fine by me.

I was committed to making it work alone. No way I was going back home. The fights with my dad (they were more like inebriated brawl sessions really) they weren’t healthy for anyone in the family. My poor sisters and mom. I don’t feel the least bit of remorse about driving dad away from the house. Good riddance. I know it was my fault he left, but I’m glad he did. I don’t want him around me or anyone I care about. I just couldn’t stand to look at the girls every morning. Sitting at the table before school, slurping milk and Cinnamon Toast Crunch with their pleading eyes. Begging me to make things okay again and bring dad back. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

So I was on my own, eating cheap noodles and hungry for something better. The guy that pitched me summer sales was a friend of a friend. It was out of courtesy for my buddy Gunther that I said I would go to lunch and hear out this “killer summer gig”. The pitch man was handsome, in great shape, and had a beautiful girl at his side as he clicked the lock button on his BMW fob and walked towards the restaurant where Gunther and I sat waiting. This guy clearly was doing something right in his life. I’ll admit, and I know the good book says I shouldn’t, but I wanted the life this dude had.

His name was Guy. The only flaw about him if you ask me. What kind of guy is named Guy? Other than that, he was dapper, charismatic, and funny. I mean, the Guy was smooth. The Guy was butter. It only took about 30 minutes, and I was signing papers he’d brought with him to sell insurance in some place called Fort Bragg, California. I’d never heard of the place.

“Kinda risky selling life insurance to soldier though, right?”  I asked.

“Oh, no no. Fort Bragg is just a coastal town full of rich people….. erm, I mean there is a huge opportunity not only to help those that need insurance, but also this is a unique opportunity for you.” Guy smiled at me with perfect, white teeth.

Turns out, summer sales blow. I’ll never do it again. I had been in Fort Bragg for two weeks without a single sale under my belt. I was actually losing Guy money by being there. I figured Guy would be calling again tonight and telling me to pack my bags. That my services would no longer be needed. To salvage this whole experience, I turned my focus toward checking out Fort Bragg. I found a place called Sea Pal Cove, a little dockside shack that sells the best fish ‘n chips you will ever slide down your gullet. I was eating there daily. I squeezed a dollop of ketchup on my plate, and asked the owner where I should take my dinner tonight. He directed me to a place called Glass Beach.

The story goes that long ago, sailors and fisherman of Fort Bragg would haul in their fish, tie off their boats and gather together on the sea cliffs to watch the sun set over the Pacific. They would laugh, tell stories about sea creatures, and drink. Ludicrous amounts of drinking occurred. Imagine drinking so much from so many bottles that if you were to throw all the bottles off the cliff, they would cover an entire beach with broken glass.

Well, they did just that. Through the months and years, thousands of bottles had tumbled and shattered on the rocks below, creating a beautiful scene of dazzling green, brown, blue, red and yellow. What’s more is that you could walk on it. Over time, the sea had smoothed out the sharp edges, leaving only soft colorful glass pebbles. It’s like every catholic church in the world sent all their stained glass window pieces to this very spot and scattered and mixed them in with the sand. If I had the time, I could make the Lord himself appear out of the fragments.

I took off my Nike’s and carried them in one hand, my fried fish in the other. The smooth glass and sand still radiated heat from the hot day, even now at sunset.  I found a spot to sit where the waves would dance just far enough up the beach to tickle my toes before retreating back to the ocean. It reminded me of the games of tag I used to play with my sisters growing up. I decided to play hide and seek instead and wiggle my toes deep into the sand. A sharp pain struck me right in my left sole. I winced, and drew my foot out of the glass. Blood dripped off my heel. The top of a bottle, mostly in tact, was the culprit. I ripped it out of the sand in frustration. A note written on pink paper was scrunched up inside. Figuring smashing the bottle further on this particular beach wouldn’t be an issue, I bashed it open.

To the Sea,

Why did you do it? Is it because he took so much from you? Your demand for recompense need not be so high. You were cold and cruel when he was only gentle and kind to the rest of us. Why did you take him? Please give him back. I’ll wait.

~  Sarah

I tucked the note into my front pocket, stuck my wounded foot into wetter sand, and dunked another fish stick into a blob of ketchup.