Making History

No, you were not nervous.

Because to say that you were nervous would be an understatement.

You were downright petrified.

You looked at the little black notebook clenched tightly in your hands. You wondered if it was too late to back out now.

The task was simple, all you needed to do was to record your observations in your notebook. Some sketches here, a rendering there, and perhaps even a painting or two. Nothing out of the ordinary for you, and something as habitual by now as sleeping or eating.

You looked at the people around you, seemingly more at ease with the situation than you were. Maybe it was because they weren’t afraid of heights. Though, you wonder if this could even fall into that category anymore.

You felt like you didn’t deserve to be here.

You had entered your name on a whim one day, backed with the desperation of bills that needed to be paid, as well as the confidence that came with knowing that you weren’t going to get picked anyways, so there was no harm in trying.

Except as you sat down at your computer one morning, with a coffee in hand to check your emails, you were made to hack up your steaming drink as you saw the headline of-

“Congratulations! You have been selected.”

You had opened the email, eyes bulging as you saw that the committee had given you a grant of twenty thousand dollars for your project, as well as informed you of all of the necessary preparations and important dates before the event.

Everyone was amazed when you had told them. And incredulous when you followed the news up with “I think I’m going to give my seat up to someone else.” They told you that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, that other people would die to be in your place. That there was a reason that you were picked, because the committee had believed in your skills as an artist, in your ability to illustrate your experience down on paper. They trusted in your ability to communicate the event to the public, who weren’t as lucky as you to be able to personally witness all of this unfold.

As you watched how animated your family and friends got just by talking about it, how envious they said they were, your complaints and hesitations died in your throat. Because you knew you’d regret this for the rest of your life if you passed it on by. Though if you were honest, the financial incentive might have also been a motivating factor.

So here you were, feeling like you were very close to relieving yourself in your pants, though that wouldn’t even be an issue right now, since they fitted everyone into diapers for the ride.

You breathed in and out, slowly, and opened the notebook to the first page. Its blankness was taunting you. With a pencil in hand, you began to sketch your surroundings. There was the control panel, the seats to your left and right, each belonging to someone of the utmost prestige in their respective fields- a composer, a poet, a novelist. In front of you were the actual professionals who would be manning this journey. And who you’ll be trusting your lives with.

The drawings were coarse- it was difficult to grip the pencil while wearing such heavy gloves. It didn’t matter though; you’ll be able to add in the details once you’ve reached the destination. You also jotted down some notes for good measure:

Clean and efficient. Probably a germaphobe’s utopia.

I’m surrounded by talent! Crazy!

My hands are shaking.

Feeling inadequate.

Praying for the best.

You almost ended it there, but you decide to add on one last sentence:

Proud to be making history.

Because that’s what you were doing. Here, now, with the three other guests about to embark on the same journey as you. It’s the first time people with an arts background will be welcomed up there. And despite your nerves, you’re excited for what that might mean for the future: for science and the arts to blend together, for improved accessibility to the general public.

You and the other three were here to interpret this highly technical and specialized environment into something that everyone could enjoy and understand, from the elementary school student, to the disgruntled office worker, to the retired couple interested in gardening.

The thought was so awe-inducing that you almost started tearing up. Either that or it might’ve been because you just realized that everyone else who’s made this trip so far has had decades-worth of intensive training.

While you haven’t.

Either way, it’d be impossible to wipe the tears away anyways because of the helmet you’re wearing.

“Closeouts starting.” Says a voice through the intercom.

There’s a cheer amongst the guests. Even you let out a weak ‘whoop-whoop’. The three in front of you give a friendly snicker.

“It’ll get easier after the first time.” They assure you. You’re not so sure you want there to be a second time.

“FTS is armed for launch.”

“Go for Launch.”

You hurriedly put your pencil and notebook into a special pocket on the inside of your chair handle. You prepare yourself.

“T-Minus thirty seconds.”

Your heart is beating so fast you can hardly hear the voice counting down.

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

“Six.”

You grip your seat handle even harder.

“Five.”

“Four.”

What have you gotten yourself into?

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

Oh God.

“Zero.”

“Ignition...”

No No No No-

“And Liftoff!”