Page 46 of The Launch

“So you’re going to the White House, I hear,” Jeanie says one afternoon as Bill pours a packet of sugar into his black coffee, stirring it with a stick. “Sounds important.”

Bill tosses the flimsy stick into a trash can and sips his coffee in the empty cafeteria as Jeanie buys a coffee from the vendingmachine. “It’s mostly a chance to be with my son,” he says. “And of course it’s kind of a big deal to get invited to the Oval Office.”

“The president must love children,” Jeanie gushes. “I bet he loves seeing their little faces as they ask questions about our government. Twelve-year-old me is really jealous of those kids who get to go on this trip!”

“I’m pretty sure the whole thing is just about good optics,” Bill says. “I would bet that NASA actually arranged the whole thing. From the way it was presented to me, I think they wanted the children of astronauts on this trip—it feels very intentional.”

Jeanie looks disappointed at this less magical view of events. “Huh,” she says, pouring cream into her coffee and stirring it.

“I mean, Arvin North told me flat-out that we were getting a few days off to chaperone the trip, so now it’s me, Young, Trager, and Jameson taking our kids on a bus ride with a bunch of other sweaty sixth graders. It felt more like an assignment than an option, so obviously I got on board. Should be interesting.” He raises his cup in a mock toast and sips the coffee.

“Well, your son will never forget it,” Jeanie says. “Both meeting the presidentandgoing on this trip with his dad. I think it’s special.”

“Without question,” Bill agrees. “Hey, how are things going for you so far? You settled in here?”

Jeanie tips her head from one side to the other as she weighs the question. “For the most part. I’m sure it’s no shock to you that there are men here who are less than charitable about having women on staff. Not everyone is forward-thinking enough to realize that we have just as much education, just as much knowledge, and certainly, just as much right to be here as you all do.”

Bill blows out a long breath and rocks back on his heels. “That’s a mouthful,” he says, which is his way of agreeing. “ButI think you’ll wear them down eventually. Just keep doing good work, and don’t let them boss you around too much.”

Jeanie cocks her head and looks at Bill inquisitively. “Question,” she says.

“Shoot.” Bill sips his coffee while anticipating what she might say.

“Who wears the pants at your house?”

Bill blinks a few times. “Uhhh,” he says, flustered.

“I just mean, when you tell me not to let them boss me around, do you think most women live lives outside the workplace where mendon’tboss them around? Do you think your wife would say that she never feels as though she’s there to do your bidding?” Bill remains silent. “Hypothetically,” Jeanie adds quickly. “I’m asking you to consider it hypothetically. I’m twenty-six years old. That means until eight years ago, when I went to college, I lived under my father’s roof. I answered to male professors in college. I was hired to work at NASA by a panel made up entirely of men. And society tells me to obey a mostly male government, to stop my car when a male police officer pulls me over, to let a male doctor have full access to my body. And—if I choose to marry—I’m supposed to agree to ‘love, honor, and obey’ my husband.”

Jeanie stares at him pointedly for a moment that stretches on so long it actually makes Bill squirm. “So, I can assure you that while I do notlikebeing bossed around by men, every fiber of my being has been raised and groomed to do just that.”

“Point taken,” Bill says, appropriately chagrined. He clears his throat. “Then how about this: if anyone gives you grief—any of the guys I work with closely in particular—you let me know. I’m not a perfect man, nor do I fully understand this whole women’s liberation movement that seems to be forming right under our noses, but I don’t subscribe to the notion that women are inferior to men. I just don’t. I’m on your team.”

Jeanie smiles at him politely—almost with pity—and wraps both hands around her paper coffee cup. “Thank you, Bill,” she says. Her reaction nearly makes Bill blush with shame; has he explained his feelings incorrectly? Why does she look like his words have offended her? Jeanie backs away, grabbing a napkin from a dispenser as she does. “Have a good time on the trip to D.C., okay? Bring back lots of stories!”

Bill watches her go, wondering whether he came across as patronizing and not supportive. He can’t change the world, and he can’t change the way that society functions, but he knows that he can use his rational mind and apply it to the way he treats his daughters, his wife, and his female coworkers. Bill tops off his coffee with a shake of his head, forgetting it all for the time being as he thinks about the bus ride to D.C. that he’s about to take. Thirty twelve-year-olds packed onto a bus without air-conditioning will be an adventure. Or torture—it could also be very much like torture.

Bill laughs to himself, remembering the places he’s been deployed to and the situations he’s been in that trulyweretorturous, and he realizes that a few days of hormonal pre-teens on a bus is actually going to be a walk in the park.

“Now, we are going to take this very special, very important tour of the White House,” Miss Black says to the class, holding her index finger to her lips to shush them as they stand in the long, windowed hallway with its polished brick floors.

Jimmy stands at attention next to Bill, hands behind his back like he’s being graded on his stance. Bill smiles at his son as a small knot of kids on his other side fuss and shuffle with impatience.

“I want to see the First Lady,” a girl named Susan says, poking Bill and looking up at him. “Can we see where they sleep?”

It’s Bill’s turn to put a finger to his lips, but he does it with a smile. “We’ll go wherever they take us,” he whispers back, turning his attention to Miss Black as an example of what he wants the kids to do.

“Our tour guide will be here shortly,” Miss Black says in a voice tinged with the sizzle of excitement. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her tight bun has come loose on one side. She looks delirious with anticipation. “When we follow our guide, I expect you all to keep your hands to yourselves, your voices very, very quiet, and to raise your hand if you have a question.”

A boy puts his hand up in the crowd. “Miss Black?” he says.

“Yes, Sean?”

“Can we shake hands with President Kennedy?”

Miss Black looks nearly apoplectic at the mere mention of possibly meeting Kennedy. “We will do exactly what our tour guide tells us to,” Miss Black says, enunciating each word precisely. “It’s entirely possible that President Kennedy is in an important meeting, and that maybe we won’t get to meet him at all, but if we do, we will wait for instructions on what to do and what not to do. Am I being clear?” Her eyes skim the group of kids, landing on each one of them as she seeks confirmation. Heads nod all around.

Bill catches the eye of Trager, one of the astronauts whose son is also in the class. The four men are scattered amongst the group, each wearing their NASA-issued shirts tucked into dress pants. Bill is more aware than ever that this is a publicity opportunity for NASA, and that the kids are all benefiting from this event in ways they can’t possibly comprehend at the tender age of twelve. Sure, several of the kids took turns on the long bus ride asking Bill, Trager, Young, and Jameson what it would belike to go to space, whether they can eat in a rocket ship, and if they really,reallywant to go to the moon. But as adults, they’ll look back on this trip where they had astronauts as chaperones, to meet one of the most popular presidents in history, as a seminal event in their lives. There is no way they won’t realize the hugeness of this trip with the wisdom that the years will bring.

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