‘One more step Jack. One more step…Jack? Jack, is everything ok?’

It was another mundane day at Shady Lanes Nursing home; it had previously been a Californian hacienda mansion that was converted by a real estate tycoon as a way to extort money from the residents emotionally guilt-ridden children. It was set in acres of manicured green lawns stretched towards the horizon before plunging into the artificial lake that promoted ‘a sea of tranquillity’ for the residents — a name that Jack was reminded about on a daily basis.

‘Jack, sweetie, are you ok? Shall we stop for today?’ asked Rosalina, Shady Lanes resident physiotherapist.

Jack snapped back into reality. He was standing on the pristine lawn, holding onto two walking sticks, one in either hand, trying with all his strength to plant one leg in front of the other. He shook his head, signalling defeat to Rosalina.

‘Just too much today Rosie. Sorry,’ said Jack meekly.

Rosalina smiled, her pearly whites illuminating her dark Latina features. She walked towards Jack, taking hold of his arm and guiding him towards a wheelchair.

‘No problem. You did well.’

‘I know when you’re humouring me Rosie,’ said Jack with a grin as he gently lowered himself into the wheelchair.

Rosalina crouched down and placed his feet onto the footrests.

‘Must be all the training at the Space Agency,’ she smiled.

Jack shuffled awkwardly in the chair.

‘Take me back to my room,’ snapped Jack.

Rosalina stood up and looked Jack in eye, her hands on her hips. Jack knew this meant there was a scolding coming.

‘Now, there’s no need to be like that Jack. Don’t you want to go down to the lake?’

‘No! I want to go to my room. Now!’

Rosalina muttered something in Spanish and walked behind the wheelchair. With a click of the brakes, Jack was wheeled in the direction of his room.

Jack stared at the collection of mission patches, photographs and medals stuck to his dressing table mirror. He was an all-American back then; a blue-eyed, square-jawed space hero, or so he had thought. A fighter jet pilot that had flown in Korea, a man hand picked to advance the exploration of space; he had been on cereal boxes. Now, he was an old man, with grey, thinning hair, the square-jaw had jowls now, his all-American physique ravaged by age and the onset of Parkinson’s Disease; but the eyes…the eyes were blue but there was an emptiness. The years of lying to the American public, the world, his family and his wife had taken their toll. Deep lines and furrows inched their way over his face, each one a result of his and his government’s duplicity. Jack took down a picture of his wife, his beloved Evelyn. She had died five years earlier, still telling anyone who would listen about her astronaut husband. He had let her down the most. Jack opened the dresser drawer and removed an envelope. He looked at the stained manila paper trembling in his hands before casting his gaze to the mirror and seeing the picture of that eager all-American in his Space Agency flight suit. Jack felt his stomach growing heavy, a ball of disappointment and lies working its way up his throat, he gulped, trying to supress it like he had done for all those years. He placed the envelope back in the drawer and wheeled himself to the day room.

‘Tomorrow’s launch marks the end of an era, the last lunar mission for the foreseeable future as the Space Agency focuses on deep space exploration. These brave men on-board the space shuttle Caelus will join an elite group of alumni who have stepped foot on the moon.’

The television in the day room spoke to no one in particular as Ida Rosencrantz, the general manager and a royal pain-in-the-ass worked his way around, shaking hands with the residents as though he was a presidential candidate. He reached Jack, who was feigning sleep.

‘Hey, rocket man,’ chirped Ida, patting Jack on the shoulder.

Jack sighed and opened his blue, empty eyes.

‘Ida.’

‘Tomorrow’s launch must bring back memories,’ said Ida, pointing to the television. ‘Exciting isn’t it? We’re going to show it in the cinema room.’

‘Uh-huh,’ muttered Jack.

‘15ft cinema screen, Dolby surround…it’ll be like you’re actually there. Well, I suppose you were. Ha. Tell you what would be fun’ said Ida. ‘A little Q&A? How’s about it spaceman?’

Jack shrugged and tried to say something, but Ida cut him off before the words could leave his mouth.

‘Unless you faked it,’ cackled Ida, slapping Jack on the back before wandering off to greet the newest Jewish lady with a guttural ‘Shalom’.

Jack gulped the lie back down to the pit of his stomach and closed his eyes, feigning sleep once again.

‘Good evening and welcome to this special broadcast…’

Jack ignored the television as it spat out the Space Agency PR lines; he had become accustomed to the spin. He sat alone in his room with the lights turned off. The flickering light from the television crept its way around the room, wrestling with the shadowy corners and recesses. He was focused on the manila envelope in his lap, before the television grabbed his attention.

‘As we approach the launch of Caelus — named after the Roman god of the sky — let’s take a look at those heroic men who pushed human endurance to the limits in the name of space exploration…’

Grainy black and white 8mm footage appeared on the screen; the various astronauts who were part of the Luna Missions appeared on screen alongside a caption with their name. Jack saw old friends and colleagues, and his all-American younger self, his face hidden behind a black visor. Jack caught a reflection of his older, wrinkled self within the visor. He became lost in the image as his younger self saluted an American flag. The image penetrated the dusty and secretive corners of Jack’s mind; he gripped the arm rests of his chair, digging his fingers deep into the leather, causing little tremors of pain to pulse up his shaking limbs. Jack was jolted from his battle with his conscience by a thudding at the door.

‘Jack…Ida Rosencrantz. We’re all in the cinema room, see you there?’

Jack didn’t need to answer; Ida was already halfway down the hall.

‘Go time,’ muttered Jack.

‘T-minus 15 seconds, we are go for main engine start.’

He placed the envelope on the armrest of his chair and pushed himself out of the chair. His legs were shaking, his arms felt weak; the ‘right stuff’ that he had been so often told that he possessed, had deserted him.

‘T-minus 10 seconds, we have main engine start.’

‘One more step Jack, just one more step,’ he urged himself as he stumbled forward.

His right foot weakly landed on the floor, just like had done all those years earlier on the Nevada soundstage. As he lifted his left leg, something felt wrong, there was nothing there; just weakness, frailty.

‘5…4…3…2…1’

Jack fell forward, landing with a thud in front of the television.

‘And lift-off of Caelus, a mission that pays tribute to all those brave astronauts who dared to walk on the moon. As new era of space travel beckons, we close the chapter on lunar exploration.’

The pictures on the television showed a bright flame traversing through the sky, getting smaller with every passing second; Jack’s blue eye’s flickered and finally lost the sadness.