Writer's note: This essay was written as a part of Spring 2015 Type and Authorship class at Art Center College of Design.
At first, there were just hums.
Then the sound escalated. It came off like a purr, followed by a low thundering sound that echoed in the space. Nobody had spoken a word when the sound started. There were just silence filling the air, lenses held up in frozen hands, overlooking the cape. Billion eyes were searching as the thundering sound was continuing to fill the space with its glorious echo. Moments of anticipation had started early that Thursday morning and it continued even after the countdown started. Hearts pounded as the number got smaller.
“How much longer?” I asked.
“Two more minutes.” a young man, who was standing next to me, replied. “The weather's clear. Everything should be good.”
The young man clasped an iPad in his hand. The screen showed a picture of the vehicle that everybody had waited to see. The object looked barely like a vehicle, if I may say. It consists of three, long orange cylindrical tubes attached to each other with pointy edges at the top. The middle tube was a lot taller and the other two on its side. A commentator's eager voice followed in the background. I caught some words that he repeated:
Orion, Mars, future, space travel.
I rubbed my palms nervously. Everyone had anticipated to have a different morning to kick off their normally-boring Thursday – those who had waited there on the Titusville bridge, and even those lucky enough to witness across the Space Coast. The morning was supposed to be a special one not just for the watchers who were waiting for the unusual sight, but for the future of mankind. That day, a history was about to be made.
“There it is.” I heard a lady's voice in the distance.
The voice was later followed by a faint orange flame bursting from afar, about five miles away and thick smoke that came after. The hum began at the same time of the smoke's appearance.
NASA didn't disappoint us that day. After a scrub the day before, the majestic being began to show its presence. Really, it was a lot smaller than I thought and I had seen in pictures. The smoke got thicker, and there it was, a small lit-up orange and white-colored object rose in the distance near the horizon.
The hum went louder, slowly transforming itself to be a thundering sound breaking through skies and through the grounds – the Earth bidding farewell. The sound invited everything in sight to join the celebration, wiping the concrete floor of the bridge, the metal railing, the rippling water to vibrate in its utmost abstract rhythm and composition. Everything fell out of place but it unified in harmony. The thundering sound was a celebration itself – lively cheers as the eagle launched itself towards the beyond, leaving a thin, bright flame contrail behind with an earsplitting sound that roared even louder as it went higher and shot its way up without even bothering to look back to the ongoing celebration down below. A faint 'woo-hoo' voice was heard in the background.
The anticipation on the ground slowly rose excitement. Anxious stares turned to outstanding awe. The words of the eager commentator on the iPad rang in my ears again: Orion, Mars, future, space travel. At the same time, I also couldn't get Hans Zimmer's iconic pipe organ that became a soundtrack of Interstellar that I saw recently. The combination of Hans Zimmer's pipe organ, the commentator's words, and the sight of the being breaking through the glorious rays of the Florida sunrise, sending chills to my bones.
As that happened, my thoughts lingered to Carl Sagan's words once mentioned in his book Pale Blue Dot (cue to Zimmer's Interstellar soundtrack)
“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.”
-- Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot, 1994
I just saw the recently hyped-up Christopher Nolan's masterpiece and I swear that was the closest thing I could ever witness to a journey to space (and it wasn't even real). Well, alright, the second closest one after Tom Hanks' Apollo 13. But the thought of seeing something close to what that movie has in person was almost surreal – the thought of how close I am as a tiny dot in this vast universe to an event that marked the future of humanity without really knowing what is out there beyond our layers of atmospheres.
The exhilarating view only lasted a few seconds. The rocket disappeared in the thick clouds, never to be seen again. Only the bright contrail, the thundering sound, and a shockwave that followed its disappearance was felt throughout the bridge. The railing, the concrete floor, the cars, everything in sight continued their cheers, rattling gleefully slowly transitioning to a soother vibration before finally coming to a stop.
The mesmerzing sounds was clearly unlike any other – less rough than that of an airplane, as if it was trying to convince us down here that a historic mission was being done and it was penetrating the atmospheres miles from where we stood. The NASA experts were clearly on to something that would change future of humanity, though we're talking about years from now.
A mark was being made, though it was just a small lit dot leading up to the sky miles away, though it was just a soft thundering sound that slowly faded. The eager watchers, now excited to start their day, dispersed to their cars. Before I drove away, from the distance I could hear faint conversation and laughter, in which a man said in between:
“So, do you want to volunteer for the first trip to Mars?”
* * *
Picture provided by: SpaceX. Creative Commons
The exhilarating view only lasted a few seconds. The rocket disappeared in the thick clouds, never to be seen again. Only the bright contrail, the thundering sound, and a shockwave that followed its disappearance was felt throughout the bridge. The railing, the concrete floor, the cars, everything in sight continued their cheers, rattling gleefully slowly transitioning to a soother vibration before finally coming to a stop.
The mesmerzing sounds was clearly unlike any other – less rough than that of an airplane, as if it was trying to convince us down here that a historic mission was being done and it was penetrating the atmospheres miles from where we stood. The NASA experts were clearly on to something that would change future of humanity, though we're talking about years from now.
A mark was being made, though it was just a small lit dot leading up to the sky miles away, though it was just a soft thundering sound that slowly faded. The eager watchers, now excited to start their day, dispersed to their cars. Before I drove away, from the distance I could hear faint conversation and laughter, in which a man said in between:
“So, do you want to volunteer for the first trip to Mars?”
* * *
Picture provided by: SpaceX. Creative Commons
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