No Car Day on Commercial Street in Vancouver

Today was a lovely day. I went to the No Car Festival on Commercial Street. I met my friends Greg and Karen. I met my friend Alex. I saw Christine and Rass on their balcony. I bumped in to Jhayne, her brother Graeme, and longtime friend of the family Molly . I bumped into Don DeBrandt and Kate. I saw Sam Dulmage. I also ran into the secretary from work, underwear bowling fame and all around tattooed rollergirl Melinda. I took some pictures. I got a sunburn.
I raced to get over to meet my brother for a game of pool and dinner. Our first fatherless father's day. He won the tournament this week and won the silver metal superman ring. He will wear it until the next time we play when we will compete for it again. This was a tradition that my brother and my father and I had. Now it’s just my brother and I. It’s great.
I went back to his place for dinner and his wife and the two of us all had a great laugh.

Today was better than I could have hoped for. I feel exhausted and I connected with many of my friends. This more than makes up for last Sunday. Bring on Monday.



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The Long Walk Home

The helmet amplifies my own breathing and makes me feel uncomfortably confined. It’s like when you can hear yourself chewing and it sounds so noisy because of the bone conduction going on with the sound but outside of your head its fine. Except with me I can hear my own breathing coming through the speakers in my earpieces. All I can see through the faceplate is infinite space salted with Christmas-light stars. This is my first space walk.

Something interesting happens to the human mind when it’s confronted with this level of distance. Visually, there is no up or down and below your feet is an unknowable distance of nothing. The tallest building you’ve ever dared yourself to look over the edge of is nothing compared to this. Your brain tries to get a hold on it. It either gives up altogether or the monkey starts screaming and you go crazy. Right now I’m not sure which way it’s going to go. Am I going to blind myself by projectile vomiting against the glass? Am I going to claw at the catches on my helmet just to make it stop? My breathing is getting loud and ragged in my ears. My vital signs are rising.
Control senses it.

“You alright?” comes down the speakers.
I breathe back and manage a squeak. I feel like screaming but I can’t. I know I’m starting to lose it. Any second now the line is going to go tight, they’ll reel me in, and I’ll get shipped dirtside to a desk job or a training facility and my days in space will be done if I don’t get it together.
“McGavin! You alright?” comes down the tube again.
And just like that, like someone shooting out the part of my brain that’s not evolved, I don’t care. It’s like the monkey blew a fuse and just went dark. I look at the stars and they’re just stars. I look down and see my feet dangling and below them is just space. I’m fine. I can feel my little heart blink and start to slow down, relieved.
“Roger. I’m fine.” I say.
The instructor can hear it in my voice that I have it under control and I’ll be fine. He’s done this hundreds of times. He knows the signs.
“Copy. Five more minutes then we’ll pull you in. Enjoy it.” He says.

I start to hum a little tune that I heard a couple of weeks ago. I’m still humming it later in my bunk, going over the high fiving of my fellow successes and our uneasy shunning of the people who panicked and are going back to Earth tonight. I wonder for a while what the switch was in me and how it really didn’t seem like a conscious decision. I wonder if survival is different for some people, like we evolved from different apes. Some people panic, scream and run while some people just turn off and sublimate.
I drift off feeling mysteriously strong but not personally responsible.



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