A Peace of the Stars

By Victoria Roberts

July 4th, 2050

I didn’t think my husband and I would qualify for the program. Things don’t usually go our way, especially since Gavin’s release from active duty and the months of trauma that followed. He sits next to me, his fingers playing with his ID badge. The word ARMY is emblazoned across it. Reaching into the glove compartment, I retrieve my military spouse badge and a wrinkled sheet of paper that I slip onto his lap. His fingers still. His brow furrows as he looks at the crayon wishes we wrote as seven-year-olds. At the top of each list is the misspelled word ASTRONOT.

“You kept this?” he asks.

“Of course. It’s how I knew we were soulmates.”

He frowns, holding up the badge. “Not what you signed up for, huh?”

“It wouldn’t be an adventure if we knew all the details now, would it?” I squeeze his hand. “Let’s go.”

I open the car door. Vehicles travel the road behind us heading toward the local Independence Day celebration. Distant explosions from early fireworks make Gavin jump, dropping his badge.

“Stella, wait.” Gavin’s grip on my hand tightens, tugging me back. “We should rethink this.”

“We already have. A million times.” I reach over, running my thumb across his freshly shaved chin.  “It’s time to take the leap.”

He exhales through gritted teeth. Hands shaking, he folds the drawing and slips it into his breast pocket before exiting the car. I retrieve his badge and meet him on the other side. Hand in hand, we walk into the newest NASA launch center.

Upon entering, we’re greeted by an employee who scans our badges. He offers Gavin a handshake, expressing gratitude for his service. Gavin shakes his head, moving past me into the building. With a sigh, I step back to thank the employee before following. Program families fill the center with IDs representing different branches of the military. Above us, the gentle voice that coached us through space training speaks over the intercom.

“Welcome to PTSIS, the first space program fully committed to helping our combat heroes navigate post traumatic and transition stress through low impact space travel. Our inaugural Independence Day launch, Mission Spacious Skies, will begin shortly. Please proceed to your designated pods.” 

Gavin and I follow the route we memorized during space prep. This time, we’ll actually enter our twenty-four-hour living pod for takeoff. My fingers tremble as I swipe my badge across the pod’s scanner. The sliding panel door whirs open, allowing us entrance into the place I hope will begin to mend us.

Two launch chairs are set up on our left across from a roomy living space. Warm lights panel the ceiling and framed potted plants adorn the walls. A viewing window takes up the other half of the pod with a projection of the American flag on the pane.

I grin at Gavin. “Pretty cool, huh?”

He steps to the viewing pane, squinting at the projected flag. “Dreams look different when you’re older.”

“We can get space suits if you really want some.”

He grimaces, sweat beading his brow.

I reach up, taking his face between my hands. “We’re going to be fine. We’re in this together.”

“I never wanted this for you.”

I reach up, kissing the tip of his nose. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

“Mission Spacious Skies is about to commence. Please prepare for takeoff.” 

“Here we go.”

I tug Gavin toward our launch chairs, helping him strap into his seat before slipping into mine. The lights around us dim as the pod begins to purr. The flag in the window disappears and we begin our ascent. As promised by NASA, a special impact shield protects us from the jarring launch typical of other rockets. The only indications of leaving the atmosphere are my sinking stomach and the world whizzing past the window. Ten minutes later, the pod stills as the voice of our space coach fills the room.

“Mission Spacious Skies has connected to the onboarding capsule. Enjoy your night in the stars. Thank you for your service.”

For a moment, we sit breathless in our seats. Then, I activate the room’s gravity button and unbuckle my straps. Gavin follows. I rush toward the viewing panel, gasping as Gavin joins me. Stars pepper the sky with a million pinpricks of light, blinking their welcome in a beautiful symphony. Below us, Earth floats close enough to see but far from the chaos that brought Gavin to his breaking point last year.

I glance out the side of the window where dozens of military families peek out of their pods to this new view of their country that, tonight, is rocked by celebratory noise and lights. Military heroes whose nerves are usually frayed by the explosions relax against an embrace of peace. A young boy in the pod next to us grins at me. When he catches Gavin’s gaze, he offers him a salute.

Gavin clenches his fist once, twice. Then slowly, he returns the salute. My breath catches. He’s refused to acknowledge any honor shown to him since his medical release. I blink back tears as he turns the salute toward the boy’s mother, who wears a Navy badge. She reciprocates then turns to the service member in the next pod. One by one, across the reflective pods, the brightest stars in the galaxy exchange greetings of honor.

“Now this is a celebration,” Gavin whispers.

He intertwines his fingers with mine.

I lean into his side. “You see? We were meant to be astronauts.”

He laughs then. A full-throated laugh that makes my heart skip a beat. I thought life had stolen his laughter forever. Letting my tears fall, I lay my head against his shoulder. No fireworks display in the world stands a chance against this night. Someday we’ll learn to endure the noise with our feet firmly planted on Earth. For now, we celebrate in peace among the stars, holding each other tight, while freedom rings below.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Victoria Roberts has been making up stories in her head for as long as she can remember. She writes uplifting Sonflower Stories that stand for the light. When she’s not penning or devouring a new tale, she spends her time adventuring with her husband, spoiling their poodle Beast, or creating book-themed cross-stitch patterns.

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