Chapter 23
ROONEY
It’s not every day that people get to be strapped into a device attached to a crane that lowers them into a pool holding 6.2 million gallons of water. Unless those people are astronauts, of course. And yet, here I am. Wèishéme shì wo?
Today I get to do an underwater moonwalk at NASA’s Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory at the Sonny Carter Training Facility in Houston, Texas, in a real flight suit that the astronauts wear. It took an hour and a team of people to help me get into the suit, which was an endeavor that deserves an entire installation dedicated to it. I never thought I’d wear liquid-cooled underwear to prevent me from overheating, though honestly they’re not the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn.
I want to be fully present for today, but I woke up to a text from Talia this morning with news that’s hard not to spiral over. I’m in my underwater suit feeling cocooned and a little bit stuck.
“I can’t believe a place like this exists,” I say, trying to focus on the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity ahead of me. I’m speaking into a headset directly connected to Jack’s, who’s been helped into a suit of his own. The communications is set to always being on, resulting in me being able to hear him breathe, a level of intimacy I haven’t experienced before. We’re back-to-back on the platform that will lower us into the pool.
“What we’re about to do is pretty incredible,” Jack says, his voice directly in my earpiece. “The average backyard pool can hold about twenty thousand gallons, so this is significantly more. They don’t let just anyone in here. Or wear these suits. I still can’t believe they’re letting me join.”
“I’m glad you’re coming,” I manage to say on an exhale. I smile to myself, the feeling of weightlessness taking over even though I’m not yet in the water.
Another team of people hooks me up with more cords, video cables, and wires. “This suit has been in space, Jack.”
“Made specifically for it, too. Though ours are modified for underwater use. They’re three hundred pounds,” he says.
My eyes pop at this number. “It can withstand the pressure, right? How far down is it? Will we be able to get back up?”
“Forty feet deep,” he informs me. I glance over the edge of the pool.
“I don’t have a fear of heights, but to be determined about a fear of depths,” I wonder out loud.
The water is so still, it looks like glass, the mock-up International Space Station and lunar surface trapped underneath. Three divers in gray wetsuits file out from one of the side doors.
“We’re going to guide you around underwater and keep you safe,” one of them explains. “This is a weightless training environment and the closest we can get to microgravity, but the water drag in the pool is the opposite of what would happen in space.”
“Should anything go wrong, we’ll get you to the surface in seconds,” another adds.
Sandra Wilson, the test director who’s in charge of the day’s operations, joins our huddle. Earlier she introduced me to everyone, explained what happens at the Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory, walked me through what to expect, and gave me a crash course oneverything that goes into the usual six-hour dives for the astronauts. Magic happens here. That, I’m sure of.
“The moon has about one-sixth the gravity than we do here on Earth,” Sandra tells me. “This is good training for our astronauts to practice gathering samples, test new tools and suits, and execute the movements and motions they’ll do on the moon and in space. Hopefully this firsthand experience will be helpful as you learn more about how everything works together here at NASA.”
“I’ll be taking copious mental notes,” I say.
Jack agrees, sounding so excited that he’s practically vibrating through the headset.
The helmet is placed over my head, making me feel like a goldfish. The men who helped suit me up lower me to the bottom of the pool. Through the clear bubble, I watch as air turns to water, everything submerging with me.
“Tell me this pool wouldn’t be the most unique installation space ever,” I say to Jack.
“I’d agree with you there,” he says.
Under the surface, it’s a completely new world. I almost expect fish to swim by, but none do. I’m in awe. It’s the closest and, at forty feet belowground, the farthest away from space I’ll ever be.
Near the bottom, dry land is a concept, a glimmer of light from above. Upon touchdown, I clumsily take my first step into the lunar area intended for moonwalk training. My boots have weights attached to them to keep me grounded, but still I stumble through sand and chunks of rock.
I can now see Jack, his face peering through the window of his own helmet. He gives me two thumbs-up and nods frequently to remind me I’m doing great, his simple gestures calming me.
The umbilical that provides oxygen to my suit tugs at me from behind. I take a moment to look up and around. There’s such clearvisibility, I almost forget I’m surrounded by water. The underwater training facilities in the far end of the pool loom over us.
I want to sketch it all. In front of me, imaginary red strings cross the pool from one end to the other, stretching diamond formations. I watch as these nonexistent threads float in spirals, twisting and turning around the divers, above the American flag planted firmly into the sand pit.
I feel another pull at my back and look behind me. The imaginary string that wraps around Jack isn’t a fabrication of this underwater daydream. He’s actually tangled up in my umbilical with a small loop tied loosely around his ankle.
The moment lasts just long enough to sear itself into my memory. It’s an unusual visualization that I didn’t anticipate seeing at the bottom of a pool the size of a small building in a space suit on a mock moon. My heart pounds underneath the thickness of the suit.
