The countdown was T-plus twenty minutes ago. The celebration back on Earth was winding down as people were surly filing to their cars cursing and spitting at the blazing hot Florida sun and how it made the leather fasten to the backs of their legs like molten temporary tattoos. Kids fiddling with their newly purchased replicas in the back seat begging for the air conditioner as sugary drink dries an orange halo around their youthful mouths.

Up here it is peaceful. I can still hear the chattering of mission control in my ear spouting off numbers and reports that cause my fingers to fly across the control board making the movements and calculating the formulas that are keeping me alive. But my mind is elsewhere. It is outside the shuttle sailing somewhere beyond the drift of stars that speckle my view. I now realize for the first time why there are training exercises and practice missions as my hands move deftly without my brain’s direction.

What use is focus when there is just so much to focus on?