Chapter 23

ROONEY

It’s not every day that people get to be strapped into a device attached to a crane that lowers them into a pool holding 6.2 million gallons of water. Unless those people are astronauts, of course. And yet, here I am. Wèishéme shì wǒ?

Today I get to do an underwater moonwalk at NASA’s Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory at the Sonny Carter Training Facility in Houston, Texas, in a real flight suit that the astronauts wear. It took an hour and a team of people to help me get into the suit, which was an endeavor that deserves an entire installation dedicated to it. I never thought I’d wear liquid-cooled underwear to prevent me from overheating, though honestly they’re not the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn.

I want to be fully present for today, but I woke up to a text from Talia this morning with news that’s hard not to spiral over. I’m in my underwater suit feeling cocooned and a little bit stuck.

“I can’t believe a place like this exists,” I say, trying to focus on the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity ahead of me. I’m speaking into a headset directly connected to Jack’s, who’s been helped into a suit of his own. The communications is set to always being on, resulting in me being able to hear him breathe, a level of intimacy I haven’t experienced before. We’re back-to-back on the platform that will lower us into the pool.

“What we’re about to do is pretty incredible,” Jack says, his voice directly in my earpiece. “The average backyard pool can hold about twenty thousand gallons, so this is significantly more. They don’t let just anyone in here. Or wear these suits. I still can’t believe they’re letting me join.”

“I’m glad you’re coming,” I manage to say on an exhale. I smile to myself, the feeling of weightlessness taking over even though I’m not yet in the water.

Another team of people hooks me up with more cords, video cables, and wires. “This suit has been in space, Jack.”

“Made specifically for it, too. Though ours are modified for underwater use. They’re three hundred pounds,” he says.

My eyes pop at this number. “It can withstand the pressure, right? How far down is it? Will we be able to get back up?”

“Forty feet deep,” he informs me. I glance over the edge of the pool.

“I don’t have a fear of heights, but to be determined about a fear of depths,” I wonder out loud.

The water is so still, it looks like glass, the mock-up International Space Station and lunar surface trapped underneath. Three divers in gray wetsuits file out from one of the side doors.

“We’re going to guide you around underwater and keep you safe,” one of them explains. “This is a weightless training environment and the closest we can get to microgravity, but the water drag in the pool is the opposite of what would happen in space.”

“Should anything go wrong, we’ll get you to the surface in seconds,” another adds.

Sandra Wilson, the test director who’s in charge of the day’s operations, joins our huddle. Earlier she introduced me to everyone, explained what happens at the Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory, walked me through what to expect, and gave me a crash course on everything that goes into the usual six-hour dives for the astronauts. Magic happens here. That, I’m sure of.

“The moon has about one-sixth the gravity than we do here on Earth,” Sandra tells me. “This is good training for our astronauts to practice gathering samples, test new tools and suits, and execute the movements and motions they’ll do on the moon and in space. Hopefully this firsthand experience will be helpful as you learn more about how everything works together here at NASA.”

“I’ll be taking copious mental notes,” I say.

Jack agrees, sounding so excited that he’s practically vibrating through the headset.

The helmet is placed over my head, making me feel like a goldfish. The men who helped suit me up lower me to the bottom of the pool. Through the clear bubble, I watch as air turns to water, everything submerging with me.

“Tell me this pool wouldn’t be the most unique installation space ever,” I say to Jack.

“I’d agree with you there,” he says.

Under the surface, it’s a completely new world. I almost expect fish to swim by, but none do. I’m in awe. It’s the closest and, at forty feet belowground, the farthest away from space I’ll ever be.

Near the bottom, dry land is a concept, a glimmer of light from above. Upon touchdown, I clumsily take my first step into the lunar area intended for moonwalk training. My boots have weights attached to them to keep me grounded, but still I stumble through sand and chunks of rock.

I can now see Jack, his face peering through the window of his own helmet. He gives me two thumbs-up and nods frequently to remind me I’m doing great, his simple gestures calming me.

The umbilical that provides oxygen to my suit tugs at me from behind. I take a moment to look up and around. There’s such clear visibility, I almost forget I’m surrounded by water. The underwater training facilities in the far end of the pool loom over us.

I want to sketch it all. In front of me, imaginary red strings cross the pool from one end to the other, stretching diamond formations. I watch as these nonexistent threads float in spirals, twisting and turning around the divers, above the American flag planted firmly into the sand pit.

I feel another pull at my back and look behind me. The imaginary string that wraps around Jack isn’t a fabrication of this underwater daydream. He’s actually tangled up in my umbilical with a small loop tied loosely around his ankle.

The moment lasts just long enough to sear itself into my memory. It’s an unusual visualization that I didn’t anticipate seeing at the bottom of a pool the size of a small building in a space suit on a mock moon. My heart pounds underneath the thickness of the suit.

Jack pulls his boot through the loop and is free within seconds. He’s graceful in the water, even in a 300-pound suit. I refocus on the replica of the planetary surface beneath me. The sound of Jack’s breathing inside the suit relaxes me.

In the past few days since the hotel room incident, we’ve kept our promise by maintaining a distance. Being suspended underwater in suits, behind the clear plastic of helmets, reflects the new normal of our relationship. I wish we could keep them afterward. It would be a much easier way to prevent us from touching.

Light from the surface trickles down to the bottom of the pool in fragments. Jack is a watercolor painting of navy blues, gray, and the brown of his eyes. Even with every color on my palette, I wouldn’t be able to capture the exact shade of him in this moment.

I push forward through the water, bouncing with each step. All divers’ eyes are on me, watching my every move. Meanwhile, I’m watching every one of Jack’s.

We’re given a task to pick up rock samples in the lunar area so we can experience what the astronauts do. There are a variety of tools at our disposal, and this generation of suits apparently have greater mobility. My heart nearly stops pounding when Jack kneels in front of me and lifts a rock up in front of him. He looks at me and grins. I laugh to myself. That is a very different type of rock than what his stance typically calls for. Our gazes catch as we both take deep breaths in. It’s too intimate hearing someone breathe like this.

I attempt to lift a mock space rock of my own with one of the tools. I’m able to pick up a few but the water slows down my movements and I can’t get a grip on my fifth rock. I sigh with frustration and have some choice words for this task.

“How’s it going over there?” Jack’s voice crackles into my ear.

For a second, I forgot that Jack can also hear me.

“I’m not as nimble down here,” I say, trying to wiggle my fingers.

“You’re doing great. Is that all, though?” Jack asks. “You’ve been quieter than usual today.”

Am I that obvious? “Oh. I’m fine.”

Jack’s back on his feet and testing out a new tool. “Rooney, the clean room strips us down. The pool washes us clean. Tell me what’s going on.”

I look back up at the surface. It’s not like I can swim away from this conversation.

“There are rumors that a museum in Europe wants to buy the video,” I share. “Apparently, they may be trying to put together a permanent exhibit that showcases nostalgia. They want pieces that are conversation starters. Baby Being Born checks off both of those boxes. The range is officially twenty-five to thirty-five thousand dollars. That’s slightly higher than I anticipated, which was already too high for what I can afford.”

“Wow,” Jack says, walking in slow motion toward me. “That blows my mind, and I’m in fake space.”

I huff out a laugh. “I don’t have museum competition money!”

“Hmm. The museum may want it, but it doesn’t mean they’ll get it.” He points toward the handle of my tool. “Angle it like this, and you might have an easier time using it with your gloves.”

I adjust my hand positioning as Jack instructed. “That’s easier. Thanks. But yeah, this adds more pressure to the showcase.”

“It certainly does. But having an installation will help,” Jack says as he bends down again to touch the sand. “There will be a lot of press on opening day. That’ll be good exposure. Exposure will drive sales. It has to. And don’t worry. An idea will come. Give it time.”

For a brief moment, Jack’s words comfort me. Sure, we’re underwater, but talking to him in a mock lunar area is as easy as it was at the hotel. Not just in the hotel. In his room. Me in Jack’s shirt, in Jack’s bed, after having kissed him in the Rocket Garden. I can totally survive off two, almost three, Jack kisses in my lifetime. That should be plenty. It has to be.

Stay present, Rooney.

I place my tool back on the metal table connected to the bottom of the pool. “Will it be enough sales? is the question. I’m in way over my head.”

Jack slowly stands and turns to face me. It takes him a moment to turn all the way around. “Would you say you’re feeling underwater?”

He says the unexpected comment with such a serious face that I burst out laughing. “Even after I save up just to spend it all on this piece, how will I stay afloat?” I counter.

Jack raises an eyebrow. “You’d think that down here, the weight of the world would be off your shoulders.”

I attempt to throw up my hands, but it’s more of a slow raise because of the water drag. Still, it captures the dramatic effect I was aiming for. “It was poolish of me to think this would be possible.”

It must be because I’m smiling that Jack takes it as a sign that he can laugh because it’s exactly what he does. Behind the plastic of his helmet, he’s amused, but the sound of chuckling only comes through in my earpiece after a short lag. It’s like watching a movie when the sound doesn’t match the actors’ mouth movements.

I exhale slowly and take in my surroundings of the pool, of the divers, of Jack. Of everything I’ll see and experience today, the one thing I’d want to bottle up is this moment right here, the feeling of weightlessness that takes over when I’m around Jack, and maybe most of all, the sound of his laughter.