Vestigium

I bought the mug in Oxfam. It could have belonged to anyone previously. It was a mid-century modern affair, orange and black geometric pattern; alternating stoneware and glaze feel beneath my fingertips. I always wanted to live in a house that looked like The Jetsons. Sleek curves, hairpin legs, real wood, turquoise accents and Starburst. Perhaps a sprawling bungalow with a sun terrace… a private spaceship docked outside.

I took the mug back to my flat to sip coffee and dream of my alternate life. Eyes closed, head back on the sofa, sun filtering through the dirty net curtains. Warmth on my face, orange light, aromatic steam rising. 

Sip – crisp military uniforms, polished shoes, the sound of lapping water, the open ocean. Flight training, dials and wings, manoeuvres and engineering. 5,000 hours in a cockpit, the aircraft carrier looking small below in a sea of blue. Exhilaration and hope.

Sip – training for the big time, a tragic crash and now the backup crew is prime. Steady hands, excited gut. A walk in space, my God! The majesty of it! Had I thought the aircraft carrier was small?! Splashdown and back down to Earth with a bump. Journalists and flash bulbs.  Gazing up at the moon from a patio, a warm night, beer and hotdogs. Camaraderie and the spirit of adventure.

I know my intention was to relax and day dream, but this is an unexpected corner of my mind to have landed in. I was thinking the more usual fantasy you know? What I would do if I won the lottery? That kind of thing, but I'm enjoying it. Its vivid.

Sip – The moon is in my sights. Lunar orbits and lunar modules, lunar dreams and lunar ambitions - achieved. Heading home at 11 km/s, the highest speed attained by any crewed vehicle. Command is next, I will go back.

Sip – Three days on the moon. Three days! Exploring the Taurus–Littrow valley. Luna rovers and geological samples, a rock named after my daughter. Tracey’s Rock, her initials written in the lunar dust as I leave my last footprint. Man’s last footprint.

That’s strangely detailed. I don’t even know a Tracey. I must be more tired than I thought. Half asleep really. What kind of coffee was this?! Did Michelle slip me something? 

I drain the mug - “We leave as we came and, God willing, as we shall return, with peace and hope for all mankind. Godspeed the crew of Apollo 17” …. The last words spoken on the moon. The last person to walk on the Moon.  A scrap book open on my lap. News articles, clippings, Gemini and Apollo, a mug of coffee in my hand. The mug has an orange and black geometric pattern; alternating stoneware and glaze feel beneath my fingertips.

Shit. I stare at Gene Cernan’s mug. My new mug. My new, favourite mug! I put the kettle on again before the magic fades. This is better than what Michelle has!