Read Sources of Light for Free Online Page A
Authors: Margaret McMullan
the bed. There was a pile of clothes in the corner, and shoes everywhere. The bed wasn't made and the blankets and sheets were whipped up like one of my grandmother's meringues. A catcher's mitt sat on a wooden bureau alongside a watch laid smooth. A bookcase beside the bed held volumes of the
Encyclopedia Britannica,
something I had always wanted for myself.
"Come on in," Stone said, popping up from his chair.
Standing there at his door, I jumped, terrified and embarrassed that he had caught me spying.
The TV was on with news about NASA's Project Mercury. The announcer talked about aero systems, satellite orbits, thermal and atmospheric systems, and secondary power equipment. The announcer reminded us that in May of that year, Kennedy had vowed that the United States would get to the moon first. "Now is the time to take longer strides," Kennedy had said. It had been five years since
Sputnik
blasted off from the Soviet Union.
He had a TV in his room! Never mind lunar conquests. Stone McLemore had a TV in his room!
He had posters of what he called space hardware: one was a TIROS 1. I looked at what he showed me and named. I tried to see the beauty in the hydrogen tanks, circuitry, fuel cells, and docking lights.
"See this?" he said, pointing to a map of the moon. "This shows the eight suitable sites to land. The Sea of Tranquility is the ultimate target."
"Makes sense," I said. Maybe I even liked him because of his name. I had never known anyone called Stone before, and it made him special, worthy of something.
He showed me a poster from Union Carbide, where he said he wanted to work someday to help manufacture aircraft and guided missiles. He pointed out the small print: "For reasons of security, the missile shown here is an artist's conceptionânot a drawing of an existing weapon."
When I saw Stone's profile, when I saw the little slope of his nose and the pout of his lip, I wished then that I had Perry's Pentax to snap a picture for keeps.
"Is it possible that the planets swirling around the sun eventually just swirl into the sun, like a whirlpool?"
Stone laughed, then he looked at me, considering. "Cool."
The TV news shifted from cooling systems and rockets to violent demonstrations in Alabama.
"It's all a Communist plot, you know," Stone said, turning toward the TV. "And these news people are making us look like rednecks. We're just trying to protect our people and our states."
"I know," I said, not knowing what else to say.
"This is a war."
I thought about that little word
war
and all the bignesses it caused, like my dad's death. I couldn't understand why or how Stone would use that word. I couldn't even understand the word.
"You might not know that yet," he said.
I didn't know what he could mean. Wars were fought in other countries. My dad had fought in two wars. Korea and then Vietnam. We weren't in any war here though. We ate sugared cereal and drank milk. There weren't even any rationings. Who was the enemy? The black people who lived down the street? Willa Mae? A war, here in Mississippi? Mississippi hadn't been involved in a war since The War, which was The Civil War, but that was over, wasn't it?
"You need protecting," he said. "We got to protect the women of the South, girls like you. That's what my mom says."
I had to smile. How could I not? Hadn't the handsomest boy I had ever talked to in my fourteen years of living on this earth just said that he was going to protect me?
We turned to watch the TV. The local anchorman was saying something about a boy named Virgil who'd been riding on the handlebars of his brother's bicycle when he was fatally shot by white teenagers.
"Oh, that's terrible," I said, putting my hand over my mouth, feeling sick at the news.
"It is." He got up and turned off the TV.
"Guess I'd better get back," I said.
Stone just nodded. He seemed distracted.
***
When I got back to Mary Alice's room, Jeffy had taken off his fish tank helmet and was whizzing around in
Encyclopedia Britannica,
something I had always wanted for myself.
"Come on in," Stone said, popping up from his chair.
Standing there at his door, I jumped, terrified and embarrassed that he had caught me spying.
The TV was on with news about NASA's Project Mercury. The announcer talked about aero systems, satellite orbits, thermal and atmospheric systems, and secondary power equipment. The announcer reminded us that in May of that year, Kennedy had vowed that the United States would get to the moon first. "Now is the time to take longer strides," Kennedy had said. It had been five years since
Sputnik
blasted off from the Soviet Union.
He had a TV in his room! Never mind lunar conquests. Stone McLemore had a TV in his room!
He had posters of what he called space hardware: one was a TIROS 1. I looked at what he showed me and named. I tried to see the beauty in the hydrogen tanks, circuitry, fuel cells, and docking lights.
"See this?" he said, pointing to a map of the moon. "This shows the eight suitable sites to land. The Sea of Tranquility is the ultimate target."
"Makes sense," I said. Maybe I even liked him because of his name. I had never known anyone called Stone before, and it made him special, worthy of something.
He showed me a poster from Union Carbide, where he said he wanted to work someday to help manufacture aircraft and guided missiles. He pointed out the small print: "For reasons of security, the missile shown here is an artist's conceptionânot a drawing of an existing weapon."
When I saw Stone's profile, when I saw the little slope of his nose and the pout of his lip, I wished then that I had Perry's Pentax to snap a picture for keeps.
"Is it possible that the planets swirling around the sun eventually just swirl into the sun, like a whirlpool?"
Stone laughed, then he looked at me, considering. "Cool."
The TV news shifted from cooling systems and rockets to violent demonstrations in Alabama.
"It's all a Communist plot, you know," Stone said, turning toward the TV. "And these news people are making us look like rednecks. We're just trying to protect our people and our states."
"I know," I said, not knowing what else to say.
"This is a war."
I thought about that little word
war
and all the bignesses it caused, like my dad's death. I couldn't understand why or how Stone would use that word. I couldn't even understand the word.
"You might not know that yet," he said.
I didn't know what he could mean. Wars were fought in other countries. My dad had fought in two wars. Korea and then Vietnam. We weren't in any war here though. We ate sugared cereal and drank milk. There weren't even any rationings. Who was the enemy? The black people who lived down the street? Willa Mae? A war, here in Mississippi? Mississippi hadn't been involved in a war since The War, which was The Civil War, but that was over, wasn't it?
"You need protecting," he said. "We got to protect the women of the South, girls like you. That's what my mom says."
I had to smile. How could I not? Hadn't the handsomest boy I had ever talked to in my fourteen years of living on this earth just said that he was going to protect me?
We turned to watch the TV. The local anchorman was saying something about a boy named Virgil who'd been riding on the handlebars of his brother's bicycle when he was fatally shot by white teenagers.
"Oh, that's terrible," I said, putting my hand over my mouth, feeling sick at the news.
"It is." He got up and turned off the TV.
"Guess I'd better get back," I said.
Stone just nodded. He seemed distracted.
***
When I got back to Mary Alice's room, Jeffy had taken off his fish tank helmet and was whizzing around in