loaded.”
        “You knew about that, did you?” I asked.
        “All my life,” he said.
    
Sam spoke briefly to Amanda.  I over-heard, “I helped him research.”  Then Sam moved away as the crowd shifted around us.
        Father’s friends shook my hand, reminiscing about how and where they had known him. Several mourners spoke of Mother’s passing two years before.
        During a pause, Amanda said, “I’m glad you made it.  Albeit at the last minute.”  She stood straight and tall, her face composed.
        “Shuttle schedules are still unpredictable.  Like the weather,” I said.
        “Always the space man,” she said.  “That’s all you ever thought about.  You and Father.”  A tear ran down her cheek.  “I wish he’d taken as much interest in my music.”
        “You had Mother on your side.”
        “That’s true.”  A short sob broke through Amanda’s reserve.  “I miss her.”
        She leaned toward me and I put my arms around her.  In that moment, we finally bonded.   I had understood my mother’s obsession with Amanda’s career.  But Amanda felt left out the many nights Father drove me into the country—away from the city lights—to see the stars.         I’d learned the constellations at his side, and the names of the stars in each.  Orion had been the first—with the red giant, Betelgeuse.
        He told me, “My dream was to, someday, go out there.”  He lifted a hand to the night sky.  “To venture into the void, as they say, to journey out among the stars.”
        An old classmate from my elementary school

he said.
        Father had spoken those same words to me when I told him I would be a member of the crew on the Einstein.
    
The “big ship,” as Peter called it, is fitted with engines that can take us as far as our probes have transmitted data back.  But even with the current technology, I’ll be an old man when we return.  Will the world change as much in my time as it had in my father’s?
        Father had speculated that, on our way back, we’d meet newer, better ships on their way out.  “Life goes on,” he’d said.
    
When only Amanda and I remained in the chapel, she lifted the urn and placed it into my waiting hands.  “This is what he would have wanted.”
        “It’s arranged,” I told her.  “When I reach the stars, he’ll be there.  As he said, ‘Along for the ride.’ ” 
 
 
                         About The Author
  
        Eleanor Michael’s stories and poems have appeared in a number of small magazines, including Calliope.  She has also had some short “fillers”—based on life experiences—published in several of these magazines.
        As a result, though Eleanor is working on a mystery story now, she has become interested in writing essays.
        When not writing, she enjoys sketching—some of her small black and white drawings have been published.

Articles, poems, and photographs lay arranged around the plain blue urn that held my father’s ashes.  A plaque on the table read, “James J. Milton-Tyler.”
        My sister, Amanda, took her place beside me.  “He named you James II.”  Whenever we got together, she would remind me of this.
        Sam, my father’s best friend, grasped my hand.  “His telescope should be here.  And the star maps he  down-

days touched my arm  and brought me back to thepresent.  “James, my deepest sympathy.”  He appeared ill-at-ease.  “Do you remember me?”
        “Of course, Peter.”
        “I just had to come—to see you.  We’ve heard so much about the big ship, the Einstein.  I wish we had time to talk, but I understand your schedule is tight.”         “There’s never enough time.”
        “I’d love to go along for the ride,”

Copyright © Eleanor Michael