“Sick Arabâbut harmless when not out of his head.”
Explosive Bolts
I.
May 3, 2002
Mr. Patrick O'Keefe, Head Administrator
National Aeronautics and Space Administration
Washington, D. C. 20546
Dear Mr. O'Keefe:
I am writing you from Waterville, Maine, where I am co-chair of the English Department at Colby College. I am not sure if you know much about Colby, but it is one of the finest liberal arts colleges in the nation. Doris Kearns Goodwin went here, and we are very proud of her, except for that recent business about her stealing some of her books from other historians. She didn't learn
THAT
at Colby, I can promise you.
I am writing to ask if I might become the first transsexual in space.
Although you may think this request is facetious, allow me to quickly state that my desire to educate the country about gender issues from the environment of zero gravity is sincere. I hope you will allow me to explain exactly how a transsexual in space would be something the whole nation might be proud of. A “giant leap for personkind,” as it were. I bet you have heard that phrase somewhere before!
First, I want to say I have been a lifelong fan of NASA and all of its brave enterprises. I was born in 1958, which means that I grew up during the Gemini project, and Apollo, of course. I do not understand why no one talks about the Gemini launches any more, unless of course it is because of all the trouble you had getting the Atlas booster off the ground. In particular I recall Gemini 6 which, at the moment of countdown, just sat there smoldering, and kids all across America were so annoyed with you. NASA tried launching Gemini 6 a few days later, and guess what: same result. In fact, if I recall correctly, Gemini 7 actually took off
before
Gemini 6ânow
that
was embarrassing. There were reports of Lyndon Johnson storming around the Rose Garden describing the administrator of NASA in very colorful terms. Aren't you glad it wasn't you?
Still, eventually you “had liftoff” of Gemini 6, and the astronauts orbited for a week or so and even got to wave out the window at the crew of Gemini 7, with whom they “rendezvoused in space.” I thought that was so cool, four guys in two Gemini capsules orbiting a few feet away from each other way out in space. I always figured it made them less lonely, having friends a few feet away, even though of course they still had to eat creamed spinach out of tubes and dock with the AGENA docking module, which (again, if I recall correctly) started spinning haplessly out of control only minutes after docking, forcing Frank Borman to land his capsule then and there, and catching everyone in the South Pacific off guard.
Anyway, I have here the printout from the NASA Web page concerning “Astronaut Candidate Training.” If I can read this material properly (and I have to admit that my eyesight is pretty bad)âthe position I am applying for is “mission specialist.” I would be in charge, I believe, of “Orbiter onboard systems, performing space walks, and operation of the remote manipulator system.”
Listen, Mr. O'KeefeâI'm an English professorâ“remote manipulation” is what I do best! Although I do not have, as you require (I think), a degree in astrophysics, I can certainly recite from memory a wide range of English Romantic poetry, particularly that of John Keats, who observed, among other useful things, that “truth is beauty, beauty truth. That is all ye know on earth and all ye need to know.” I think this would be true in space, too, but of course we won't know until we actually send an English professor up there, will we?
As for the usefulness of a transsexual in space, I think this is self-evident. We all know that the astronaut corps over the years has included many valiant
men,
including our first American, Alan B. Shepard. (Aha! You thought I was going to say John Glenn, didn't youâwell, I know all about Colonel Shepardâhe was my favorite of the Mercury Seven, in part because he was such a grouch, and in part because NASA told him to pee in his pants just before the launch of Friendship 7. Boy, I bet you guys were sweating that out! Weren't you afraid he'd cause a short?
I also know about Gus Grissom and how his capsule sank. Man, you guys have had a rough time of it, haven't you. First Shepard peeing in his pants, then Grissom sinking the capsule. A transsexual wouldn't have blown the explosive bolts off
her
capsule prematurely, I can promise you that! Most of us, alas, spend most of our lives trying to keep our explosive bolts from blowingâand as a result, are extraordinarily well suited at withstanding nearly unbearable pressure.
Anyway, so yes, you have had all these heroic men, and then twenty-five years later you allowed as how maybe it would be okay to send up a
woman,
and you managed to find an astronaut named “Sally Ride” to fly the shuttle. (Although very few Americans, I hate to be the one to tell you, actually believed that was her real name; surely this is just the chorus from “Mustang Sally,” a song that, by the way, I have played in all sorts of seedy bars with my rock-and-roll band.)
As I recall, Sally Ride had to wear a special electronic bra in zero gravity. Gosh, I bet your boys in R&D had fun designing
that.
They even, no doubt, had to try it on
themselves
first, just to make sure it wouldn't short out if Alan B. Shepard peed on it by accident (or, knowing Shepard, on purpose).
Listen, I want your engineers to know, there is
nothing wrong
with wanting to wear an electronic braâ
not if that's the way you feel! I did not choose to be a transsexual any more than your research boys choose to be pencil-protector-wearing, Band-Aid-holding-their-glasses-together, Neil Diamondâenjoying, Chevy Novaâdriving toads. It's just the way we are!
I believe that God makes us all a certain way, and that the adventure of life is largely the challenge to find the courage to become ourselves. For many of us, the challenge that is given us is to find that courage, to be brave, and to stand up for the truth.
This is a message that the astronauts of NASA have bravely sent since 1962. The citizens of this country have always taken pride in your accomplishments. (Although we
were
a little annoyed that the Russians got off the ground first. Be honestâ do you guys still wake up at night worried about Yuri Gagarin? I know
I
do.)
Anyway, I would like, should you honor me with your consideration, to join the chorus of courage to which the astronaut corps has given voice.
Were I honored with the pleasure of being the first transsexual in space (that we know ofâpersonally, I always had my doubts about Buzz Aldrin, but that's just me), I would perform the responsibilities of mission specialist with grace and aplomb. And I would also, if possible, say a few things to the young people of the world.
What would I say? Well,
Dare to be brave
, for one. For another,
Find the courage to become yourself.
And above all,
The three most important things an astronaut, a transsexual, or anyone can
have are dignity, self-respect, and a sense of humor.
I hope that you will give me the opportunity to share these insights from the rarefied atmosphere of the
Orbiter
's interior. It would be an honor to serve my country.
In the meantime, I remain, very sincerely
Your humble servant,
Jennifer Finney Boylan
Co-chair, English Department
Colby College
P. S. It also says here that in order to go into space I have to pass a swimming test, which if you ask me is a rather odd requirement, unless you're expecting the whole sinking-capsule problem to repeat itself. Quite frankly, I had hoped you had solved this back in 1962. At any rate, I can swim across Long Pond, here in Central Maine, in about ten minutes. Maine really is a lovely state, Mr. O'Keefe. I hope if you ever come up here with your family that you will feel welcome to stop in and visit.
II.
Ms. Jennifer Finney Boylan
Chair, English Department
Colby College
5264 Mayflower Hill
Waterville, ME 04901â8852
Dear Ms. Boylan:
Thank you for your letter of May 3, 2002, to NASA Administrator Sean O'Keefe expressing your interest in flying aboard the Space Shuttle as the first mission specialist “transsexual” and educating the country about gender issues from the environment of zero gravity.
NASA continually receives numerous letters from citizens offering their services to the space program. We hope the day will come when everyone will have the opportunity to go to space. For now, however, as with any rare commodity that is in great demand, NASA has the responsibility and obligation to maximize taxpayer return, in the form of scientific and operational knowledge, from both the Space Shuttle and the International Space Station. Therefore, flight opportunities are not available for persons other than NASA astronauts (pilots and mission specialists) and payload specialists.
You mentioned an interest in becoming a mission specialist. They are selected for a particular mission based on mission requirements and objectives and their educational backgrounds and skills. Before becoming members of the Shuttle crew, all of these individuals must meet certain medical standards, which are dictated by the existing flight systems training and operational constraints. The next opportunity to apply for the class of mission specialists will be released in the media as well as posted to our Web site: (http://
www.spaceflight.nasa.gov
or
www.edu.nasa.gov
).
Thank you for your interest in the space program.
Cordially,
Winfield Hooker
Associate Administrator for Space Flight
The Death of Houdini (Late Summer 2002)
We headed over to the Magic Shop, the four of us, Grace, me, Luke, and Patrick. Luke was reading a book about Houdini. “Boy, I'd like to do some of
these
tricks,” he said from the backseat. “Do we have a trunk, Maddy?”
“A trunk?” I said. I was looking out the window at the Boston suburbs. We were down for the weekend, visiting friends in Arlington.
“He tied himself up, then got locked in a trunk, and they threw it into the ocean. He was free in less than
one minute
.”
“Luke,” Grace said from behind the wheel, “you're not tying yourself up, okay?”
“It's just a trick,” Luke said.
“I
would throw you in the ocean,” Patrick said to his brother.
“Houdini could hold his breath for
five minutes
.”
“How long can you hold your breath for, Luke?” said the six-year-old.
Luke huffed and puffed, then held his breath.
“Ah, peace at last,” muttered Patrick.
We drove through Somerville, looking for the Magic Shop. I was wearing a blue skirt and a white T-shirt. Grace had on blue jeans and a turtleneck.
I looked over at her. Grace had always been the driver on family trips; she loved driving as much as I loved playing the piano. She had a number of superpowers as a driver, too, including 1) the ability to talk her way out of any ticket, and 2) the ability to parallel park in virtually any space.
Her face was still the face of the woman James had married in 1988, her eyes bright, her forehead crinkled with lines that seemed to come from equal measures wisdom, grief, and humor. Small star-and-moon earrings swung from her earlobes. I reached out for her and touched her elbow.
She quickly pulled her arm away. “Don't,” she said, irritated. “Just don't.”
I looked out the window, saddened.
Luke, in the backseat, started making suffocating noises.
Grace glanced over at me. “Remember our rule for this trip, Jenny?”
“Which rule?”
“No pouting.”
“I'm not pouting.”
She looked at me and smiled. “The hell you're not.”
“It's just . . . ,” I said. “You shouldn't snap at me when I'm trying to comfort you.”
Grace looked back at the road. Her face darkened. She didn't say anything for a while. “There isn't any âshould,'” she said.
“Paahh!”
shouted Luke, gasping for breath. “How long was that?”
“Okay,” I said to Grace. “I know.”
“Maddy,” said Luke, “how long was that?”
“How long was what?”
“How long did I hold my breath for?”
“I don't know, Luke,” I said softly. “Was I supposed to be timing you?”
“Oh, man,” said the eight-year-old. “That's the whole point? Timing me?”
“I'll throw you in the ocean, Luke,” Patrick said again, softly.
“Where is this place?” Grace said, checking the street numbers. “It's supposed to be right here.”
“Maybe it disappeared,” said Patrick. “Get it? Disappeared? Magic Shop? Disappeared?”
“That's very funny, Paddy,” I said. “Both of you are very funny.”
“You take after Maddy, Luke,” Grace said. She didn't sound happy about it.
I had often thought this about my boys, particularly Luke, who in so many ways struck me as Jim without tears. On some level it took some of the sting out of my sense that I had stolen James out of the world, knowing that Luke was still in it. Yet Luke will be himself, not some nether-version of myself, and any adult who looks to her children to redress the losses of her own life should probably get out of the parenting business for good.
“Yeah,” said Luke. “I'm just not going to be a girl, that's all.”
I spun around. “You know that, right?” I said. “What happened to me is not going to happen to you.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “I
know
,” he said, and opened his Houdini book again.
“It's a very rare thing,” I said. “Boys turning into girls. It can't happen unless you want it to. You both know that?”
Patrick looked out the window and didn't say anything.
“Both of you know you can always talk about this, right?” said Grace. “It's okay to talk about. It's a hard thing for some people to get used to.”
“I got used to it,” said Luke.
“Tell me something, Luke. Don't you ever feel bad, not having a daddy like the other kids?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I'm sorry about that,” I said. “I know it's not easy, having me for a parent.”
“I don't mind,” he said. “I like you this way.”
He unbuckled his seat belt and climbed into my lap and hugged me. “I love you, Maddy,” he said.
“Luke,” said Grace, “can you get back in your seat, please?”
Then he snuggled over into Grace's lap and hugged her. “Lukey,” she said,“I'm glad you're such a loving boy. It's a wonderful thing. But when we're driving I need for you to be in your seat with the seat belt buckled.”
“Okay,” said Luke, and climbed back into his seat. We heard the snap of the buckle clicking into place.
“Why don't you hold your breath again, Luke?” Patrick said.
“You know how Houdini died, Maddy?” said Luke. “He got punched.”
“You can't die from punching,” said Patrick.
“Can so,” said Luke. “Look.” He pointed to a picture in his book, in which Houdini was falling to the floor, clutching his stomach. “These guys came up to him and asked him if it was true that people could really punch him as hard as they could without it hurting him, and he said it was true, and just like that they punched him and he fell onto the floor and died a couple days after that.”
“Boys?” said Grace. “I don't think we're going to be able to go to this Magic Store. It's not where it's supposed to be.” She looked at me. “The street numbers around here make no sense.”
“Then you know what, Maddy?”
“I see a digger,” said Patrick.
“What number are we looking for?”
“Maddy, you know what?”
“Eighty-seven. But it goes straight from seventy-two to ninety.”
“That's weird.”
“Maddy.”
“What is it, Luke, what?”
“You know what Houdini said to his wife, to Mrs. Houdini?”
“What, honey?”
“He said that if there was such a thing as life after death, that he'd come back from the dead as a ghost and talk to her.”
Patrick began to speak like Dracula.
“I am the haunted voice!”
he said.
“What should we do?” I said to Grace. “Should we just go home?”
She looked at me, her jaw set. “You know I don't give up easy,” she said, and I knew she wasn't talking about the Magic Shop anymore.
I nodded. “I know that, Grace.”
She drove around the block again.
“So Maddy, guess what. They all had this thing, a seenseâ”
“A
say-
ance,” I said. “It's pronounced séance.”
“A say-onns. And they like, waited for Houdini to come back? And they waited, and waited, but he never showed up?”
“I am the haunted voice!”
“But then, a little bit later, his wife claimed that she got this one word from him. It came to her in a secret code.”
“There it is, across the street,” Grace said triumphantly. “I get it. The numbers switch from odd to even here.”
“What was the word, Luke?”
Grace parallel parked the minivan effortlessly, wedging us between two rental trucks.
“The word was
believe
,” said Luke.
“Believe what?” said Grace, shutting off the engine.
“I don't know,” said Luke. “Just
believe
.”
“I am the haunted voice!”
said Patrick.
“Come on, haunted voices,” said Grace, opening the door. “Let's check this place out.”
We walked into the Magic Shop, which felt like a movie set. There were posters from the 1930s on the walls, framed autographed photos of famous magicians. Expensive kits for various tricks lay in glass display cases. Every square inch of the store was covered with tricks, top hats, hand-painted vaudeville signs. A young man in a muscle T-shirt stood behind the counter.
“Good morning,” he said. He was a strong young thing; he looked like Sylvester Stallone in the first
Rocky
movie. Not exactly the magician type. “And what do we have here?”
“Two young magicians,” I said.
“Luke's reading about Houdini,” said Grace.
The magician looked reverential. “The greatest escape artist of all time.”
“He came back from the dead,” Luke commented.
The magician looked concerned. “Well, no one knows about that, do they?”
I cleared my throat. “We're looking for some simple tricks the boys can learn.”
“Excellent,” said the magician. He pulled out a deck of cards, fanned them before our eyes. “Pick a card,” he said. “Any card.”
Luke picked out the six of diamonds.
“Don't show me the card,” said the magician. “Put it back in the deck.” Luke slid it into the middle of the pile. Then the magician shuffled the cards. He had Patrick cut the deck. Then he pulled the six of diamonds off the top. “Was
this
your card?”
Luke smiled. “Wow. How'd you do that?”
“It's a special deck,” the magician said. He turned the cards over. They were all sixes of diamonds.
“That's nine ninety-five,” he said. “Then we have the levitating rope.” He put a length of rope in a small vase. He had Luke pull on it to show it could move freely. Then he waved his hands over the vase.
“Presto change-o,” he said.
Grace looked over at me.
He turned the vase upside down. The rope hung there, suspended in space.
Luke smiled. Patrick had already lost interest and was now exploring the rest of the store. He was gazing down a corridor at the back of the shop. Voices echoed from down the hall.
“There's a small ball in the bottom of the vase,” explained Rocky. “When you turn the vase upside down, it traps the rope.” He put this on the counter next to the trick card deck. “That's six ninety-five.”
“Luke,” Patrick whispered. He looked frightened by the thing he saw. He ushered Luke toward him with his hand. “C'mere.”
Luke walked toward his brother. The two of them looked down the long hallway toward the distant voices in the next room. I caught snatches of conversation. It sounded like two old magicians talking, a man and a woman.
“Boys,” Grace said. “Come here.” They didn't.
“Now this one is very popular,” said the magician. He stuffed a violet silk handkerchief into one hand. He waved his hand over his fist, then opened it. The handkerchief was gone. Then he closed his fist again, waved his hand. The handkerchief reappeared.
“Wow,” I said. “I like that one.”
Grace went over to where the boys were standing. The magician looked after her. “You two sisters?” he said to me. It took a moment for me to realize what he was talking about.
“Yes,” I said. “We're sisters.” I looked at Grace and the boys. The three of them stared down the hallway. A look of surprise crossed Grace's face, as if she were seeing something she had neither expected, nor desired, to see. She took a step forward, holding the children's hands, and vanished down the corridor.
“I thought you was sisters,” said Rocky. He looked at the wedding ring on my finger, the ring given to me by my mother.
“You want to know the secret?” Rocky said.
“Yes,” I said. “I want to know the secret.” I wasn't sure what we were talking about now. Rocky leaned in very close to me. It felt like a strangely intimate moment.
“Plastic thumb,” the magician said, placing a skin-colored fake thumb on the counter. “You stuff the handkerchief in here, then when you pull your thumb out of your fist, no one sees the thumb, they just see that the handkerchief is gone.”
“Wow,” I said. “I like that one. I think that's great! A fake thumb!”
“Four ninety-five,” said the magician. “A classic. The hanky's not included.” He got out a box from behind the counter. “Then there's the disappearing egg.” The magician put the egg cup on the countertop, put a small ovoid sphere into it.
“Whoa,” I said. “I remember this one! The disappearing egg! I used to have this when I was a kid! I could never get it to work, though.” I thought about Gammie and Hilda Watson and Aunt Nora, about the day I had stood below the boardwalk and looked at the rising sea and prayed that my life would be changed by the redeeming powers of love. I thought about Houdini, sending his wife a coded message from the place he had gone to.
Believe.
“Hey, Grace,” I said. “Look at this! The disappearing egg! I had this when I was a kid!” I looked over in the direction where Grace had been.
But my wife wasn't there anymore.