The Hero

I found my thrill,
Here on Blueberry hill.
On Blueberry hill,
When I found you.

The moon stood still
On Blueberry Hill.
It lingered until
My dream came true.


The slow, smooth beat of Fats Domino filled the room as he lay on the bed. Cigarette in his hand, puffs of smoke swirled up toward a brown ceiling fan. Each pass made a clinking sound as the pull-chain slapped against the blades.

The music came from a bright colored jukebox that stood against the far wall. Lit up in red, orange and an occasional flashing green it held a display of over a hundred different records as Blueberry Hill was laid to rest with a loud thump.

He sighed. Every day was the same.

Sitting up he stretched and walked over to the jukebox. Cigarette in his mouth he pressed a few buttons and promptly hit the side of it before giving up. Too many times had he tried but it never worked. Yet it was all too perfect, like a dream yet just failing in reality enough to be uneasy.

He drew one last puff before he dropped the cigarette to his feet, stamping it out while walking to a table at the other end of the room. It was a small dining table for one that rested in a disheveled kitchen. Unwashed pots and pans lay among the opened pasta boxes and rice containers.

He sighed at the mess and began setting up the coffee machine.


Good morning. Up so early?


He heard, or rather sensed the Voice. It had a cold feel that slithered in his head like an eel caught in a spillway. He twitched slightly, refusing to turn around.

He rested his hands on the counter and watched the coffee percolate. “Leave me alone.” His voice was tired and strained as if the question had been asked so many times that it had lost its meaning.


Come now. We’ve been through this… tell me about Ohio.


A bright green field as far as the eye could see flooded his mind as he stepped forward. The sun shone like a warm blanket coating the grasses with a yellow smile. It was a clear day with bright blue skies. His father patted his shoulder. “Reach for the stars son; you can do anything if you try hard enough.”

A tear trickled from his eye as he remembered how proud his pa was when N.A.S.A. had accepted him into the space program. So long ago, and yet it seemed like it was happening right then; his parents waving to him from outside the house with smiles on their faces.

“Stop it!” he yelled and covered his face. “Make it stop!”

The coffee sputtered and spilled a drop onto the counter. He softly blew on the edge of his cup and tried to remember. Those first few steps had been wonderful. He was so proud to be one of the chosen boys... all that training…


It must have been difficult for you to compete against your friends.


“Yes it was,” he sighed, still lost in thought, “But they were good boys, all of ‘em. Each special in their own way. After all it was a race against the commies and Uncle Sam had chosen the finest.”


Commies? What are commies?


“They’re,” he paused and looked around, catching himself. “I’m not tellin’ you anything. Figure it out for yourself.” He grew defensive and looked at his cup.

“…and I’m sick of your synthetic crap.” He threw the cup at the wall; shards of glass trailing behind the hot liquid as it fell to the floor. Running his hands through his hair he grimaced and slunk to the floor.


There is no need for theatrics. Janet would not improve.


There she was, standing just outside the steps to the great hall of the university. Her hair glowed in the morning sun. “You comin’?” she winked, clasping her books with a smile. It was all too perfect.

His eyes turned a shade of black as he remembered. This image wasn’t real and was just another attempt at control. Ever since they had brought him here, wherever here was, it had started. Every day was the same, the same music, the same routine.


We hope you will bring us an impressive show today. Are you ready?


He slumped in the chair by the table. How proud he had been that day, or night, whatever it was. The landing had seemed hopeless, at least that was what his mates said. Desperate to finish the mission, he dropped and succeeded. He was the first person in history.  Janet would have been proud.

A thin frame opened in the wall behind him revealing a large television screen. The opposite wall transformed to a shimmering translucent glass. On the screen a rocket launched with an antiquated voice announcing, “We have liftoff.”

He stood and watched. That was his finest day. The mission of all missions, the impossibility of the drop with the module in the shape it was in, and the greatest leap of mankind.

Tall shadows passed in front of the wall. Some stopped and were still while others moved by. He slowly turned and watched them. He had been here before and it never changed.

 

*                              *                                    *

Just outside, amidst the tall silvery beings that slithered by, a man stepped forward in a sharp suit with short hair and an ironic smile. Standing next to a sign on the window that read “First Man on the Moon” and with a voice that cracked with sardonic wit he said, “Picture a man; a hero in an age of communists and cold wars, space races and ambition. Now a specimen in a cage…in the twilight zone.”