The Deeper Meaning of Feathers

I'm waxing a bit nostalgic today. I'm not really sure why. It could have been that I woke to the smell of Spaghettios warming for the girls' lunches. I had a roommate that loved this dish for breakfast, much to the chagrin of others living in the house. It was usually Spaghettios or Bean Burritos, both of which are not my favorite smells, particularly in the morning.

Or, I could be thinking back on my childhood because today I had a lunch which I have not had for years. A can of Campbell's Cream of Chicken soup, made with milk and served with soggy Saltine crackers. You see, my husband thinks this soup is only for casseroles. So, I don't think I have had this soup since I was married. And let me tell you, I wasn't missing much.

But I think the real reason I am nostalgic today is my recent read. The Time it Takes to Fall is a coming-of-age story set in Florida, that coincides with the time of the Challenger space shuttle tragedy. While I felt the novel was fair (2.5 of 5 stars), it did have a way of making me think on my remembrance of the day the world watched the Challenger explode. Here is my story:

For some reason, on January 28, 1986, I stayed home because I was not feeling well. I was probably allergic to Middle School. :) My mom went on a quick errand, and left me to watch my little brother, who was about two at the time.

I'm not sure if I remembered the Challenger would be launching that day (I probably did, because everyone was talking about the teacher going) or if I was just looking for something to watch on TV and stumbled upon it, but I remember sitting in the Family Room of our house glued to the TV. I'd seen launches before, and felt the nervousness that usually accompanied my viewing. What could go wrong? Will they cancel the launch? Will everyone be alright? Just as the astronauts came out to board the shuttle, my brother wandered up the stairs. I was captivated by the astronauts. I forgot my brother, and stayed where I was.

As I watched the astronauts get on the shuttle and wave to the crowd, I marveled at how calm they looked. Unaffected by the awesomeness of the history they were about to take part in, they smiled and chatted. Even the teacher, Christa McAuliffe, was relaxed and comfortable. Their coolness and confidence lulled me into forgetting how dangerous and risky their mission was.

The take-off was like others I had seen. Loud, bright, and quick. I had just stood up to check on baby brother when the plume of smoke split in two and the announcer stopped talking mid-sentence. Then, it seemed, time stood still. Everyone seemed confused and the nervousness I had forgotten moments ago returned. What had happened? Had something gone wrong?

I vividly remember backing up to sit on the couch, as the television replayed the explosion from different angles. I couldn't believe it. It seemed surreal. I sat on the couch with my mouth hanging open, thinking of the families of the astronauts and the poor students of the "Teacher in Space" watching their loved ones' space mission go up in flames.

It must have been several minutes that I sat taking in the craziness of the moment. Some were speculating that the astronauts could be alive, others were sure they weren't. I knew they couldn't be. It was all too horrible. And then, I came back to reality, and remembered my little brother. He was being too quiet. Way too quiet for a curious, active, two-year-old boy.

I walked up the stairs and was met by a cloudy white hallway. Little bits of something white were floating all around. This was surreal. It was like the particles of the Challenger had somehow come into our house. I was bewildered and felt like I was in a dream.

I turned the corner and saw the reason for the mess. Baby brother had somehow broken open a down pillow and spread the contents in his room and hallway. It was everywhere! All over the carpet, in the air, even stuck to the walls were minuscule bits of feather. I didn't know how to start cleaning up this mess. I settled on a broom and dustpan and started to eliminate the big piles. I'm not even sure what I did to get little brother out of the way. Put him in his high chair? In his crib? The next thing I remember was cleaning for what seemed like hours, while thinking about the astronauts on the Challenger and their families. NASA had a big mess to clean up, and it was much worse than the one I dealt with. It didn't occur to me to yell at my brother for making this mess; his life was a new, precious one. And, even though his fun caused me a lot of time and stress just then, he was there, and that was enough. We were lucky.

I swept, I vacuumed, I picked at bits. And when mom got home, she did the same. I don't remember if she got mad at my inattentiveness. I do remember more and more solemn vacuuming and cleaning after additional feathers had settled. Looking back, it seems to me that as we cleaned, mom and I were both thinking of the fragility of life and the awesomeness of it all.

You know, for weeks we tried to get all of that feather down cleaned from the cracks and corners of the room and hallway. Little bits of it turned up everywhere. About three years later, we sold the house and there were still remnants of that pillow in the corners of the hallway, almost hidden between the carpet and the baseboards. And, it seems that anyone that witnessed the Challenger launching that cold January day, will find some remnant of it hidden in the cracks of their memories. For me, feathers and space shuttles can't be thought of without the other.

What about you? Do you remember that day?