"Brian Plante - The Astronaut" - читать интересную книгу автора (Plante Brian)

THE ASTRONAUT
by BRIAN PLANTE

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Inspiration doesnтАЩt always take the form you might expect....
In May of 2030, right after school let out for the year, my family moved from
New Jersey to Seguin, Texas, home of the worldтАЩs largest pecan, relocating us to
follow the company they both worked for. By June, I was bored to death. My
friends (all two of them) were back in New Jersey and I didnтАЩt know anybody in the
new place yet, and wouldnтАЩt until school started up in a couple of months. Each
morning, my folks would commute to their jobs in San Antonio, an hourтАЩs drive to
the west on Route 10, so I was alone most of the day, spending my time just staring
at the ceiling of my bedroom or watching the Mars Channel on the holovision. The
Romulus had been underway for three months, with another three to go before it
made its way to the red planet, and even that was starting to get a little boring.
Among the few chores my parents gave me to justify my miserable existence
during those long summer months was to keep the lawn mowed. That wasnтАЩt such a
big deal in New Jersey, where the grass only grew half the year, and the summers
were semi-bearable, but in Texas the heat was intense. It wouldnтАЩt have been so bad
if the house hadnтАЩt come with an underground irrigation system, since the grass
would have withered and blown away as the land turned back to the desert it
naturally should have been, but unfortunately for me this grass was lush and green
and it was my job to keep it that way. This was no small task in that scorching heat.
I had the lawn maintenance down to a weekly schedule, and one blistering day
late in June it was time to mow again. I was fifteen years old, and like a lot of boys
that age, I wasnтАЩt particularly industrious when it came to performing slave labor.
Instead of mowing the lawn in the cool of the early morning, like any sensible person
would have done, I went back to bed after my parents had gone to work. I slept a
little more, stared at the ceiling for a while, and watched the transmission from the
Romulus for a couple of hours. By 11:00, the sun was high and the heat was building
outside, and then I had the mowing to do. What a jerk I was, huh?
So there I was in the noonday sun, sweating bullets as I finished up the lawn,
pushing the loud, stinky mower back into the garage, when I first caught a glimpse
of her. It was my next-door neighbor, and she was a major distraction. She was
probably twice my age, but a real beauty, with a pretty face, strawberry blonde hair
and a body to die for, dressed in khaki shorts and a Vikings football jersey. A boy
my age with serious hormone problems couldnтАЩt have hoped for a nicer neighbor,
and I had struck gold.
She was sitting on a fancy riding mower, trying in vain to get the thing started.
A damsel in distress. I put away our mower and walked over to introduce myself.
тАЬHi, IтАЩm Davy Carson, your next-door neighbor,тАЭ I said. тАЬGot problems with
your mower?тАЭ
She looked flustered and startled when I spoke, then looked me over and
apparently judged me harmless. тАЬHello, Davy Carson. Pleased to meet you. IтАЩm
Rosemary Horton.тАЭ Even though she looked like your typical Texas beauty pageant
queen, her voice had a flat Midwestern accent, not the local drawl. It was a
wonderful, pleasant voice. тАЬYou folks just moved in a few weeks ago, didnтАЩt you?тАЭ
тАЬSix weeks already,тАЭ I said.
тАЬOh, that long? I really should have come over sooner and said hello. I mean,