JAN 19, 1986

Dear Bridget,

T-minus nine days until Challenger launch.

Tomorrow I start my new school.

I saw it today with no other kids in the building.

It seemed okay.

I liked the special education classroom.

When we walked in, the first thing I saw was the poster of the solar system.

I started to bounce and hum and hum and bounce because it was so beautiful. It was big and huge and shiny with all the planets from Mercury to Pluto, surrounded by stars. I could see Saturn’s rings and Jupiter’s red spot and cloud-dotted Earth and fiery Mars and gassy brown Venus and ice giant Uranus and cool blue Neptune. Neptune looks like the stone in the mood ring you gave me. You know Neptune is my favorite. Here are the reasons:

It is blue and I like blue.

It is cold and I like cold.

It might have rings and I like rings.

It has two moons and I like moons.

Plus it has huge windstorms and I like huge windstorms.

Last September, when Hurricane Gloria hit New England, we watched the news coverage on television until the power went out. We spent two days in the dark and you told me, “Just pretend we’re on Neptune, where winds rage at over one thousand miles per hour!” I wonder how long power would be out on Neptune if people lived there.

Only nine more days until space shuttle Challenger blasts off through the stratosphere to float among the stars, Bridget. Only nine more days until the First Teacher in Space gets to see all this for real. Real stars, real planets. Only nine more days until she sees the world from outside the world. You know what that means!

T-minus nine days until I see you again.

“We might have to be apart for a little while,” you said. “But when Challenger launches, I’ll be there. No matter what, I’ll be there. I promise.”

That’s what you said.

You promised.

While I was staring at the nine perfect planets, Billy bumped my arm and whispered, “Don’t forget to breathe!” which was a good thing because I think I did forget! To make myself breathe I had to cover my ears and close my eyes so I couldn’t look at it anymore, but I can still see cool blue Neptune in my head, round and bright and shiny and perfect.

The classroom walls are perfect too, decorated with shapes and colors. I knew most of the colors from our Crayola box but some I never saw before. I also saw triangle and crescent and circle and square and one shaped like a stop sign.

Do you remember when you taught me colors and shapes, before we went to foster care and I got sent to school? You would hold up each Crayola and say things like “Brick Red, for drawing buildings” or “Cadet Blue, more gray than blue.” I liked Lemon Yellow best.

Then you would cut my sandwiches special, hold up the pieces, and say, “Tuna triangle has three sides,” or “Ham-and-cheese circle, round like a ball.” Peanut butter jelly crescents were my favorite.

My desk is really a table, Bridget. It is a silvery color with a name tag that has my whole name on it, Nova Bea Vezina, black writing on a Crayola Maize background with a red apple in the corner. I love my name tag. I love my table. I even get to sit right next to the window and you know I love to look out windows.

There are lots of bookshelves. I didn’t get to look at the books yet so I don’t know if Beezus and Ramona are there. Above the bookshelves are posters of Mother Goose rhymes like in my elementary school classrooms except these all had sheep, every single one. There was a Baa Baa Black Sheep and a Little Bo Peep sheep and a Mary Had a Little Lamb sheep. You know I hate sheep.

On the drive to Billy and Francine’s house, I was thinking about how it used to be when you were at school but me and Mama stayed home and had fun. I only remember a little bit, like how she liked to braid my hair and kiss my forehead and call me Super Nova. We raked leaf piles to jump in. Sometimes we walked to the brook to skip stones. When I got tired, she carried me. We ate lunch on the couch while watching TV. I drank red-purple Kool-Aid. She drank red-purple wine.

After lunch, she turned on the radio.

I would try not to be scared.

I would tell myself, “Bridget will come back soon.”

I knew everything would be okay again once you got back.

Sometimes the radio brought good news.

“The value of gold hits a record high! Over two hundred twenty dollars an ounce! That’s why we bury it, Super Nova. The dollar keeps falling, but we’ll be fine with our gold!”

Sometimes the radio brought bad news.

“The USSR is testing nuclear weapons! They’re detonating neutron bombs! This could be it! The beginning of the end! And where’s President Carter?”

Sometimes Mama listened to static instead of the news. Those were sheep days. I wish you were there. It would not have seemed so scary if you were there.

“Communism prevailed when Saigon fell! It’s only a matter of time before they come for us! Your father knew the truth. That’s why he never came back from Vietnam. Missing in action, that’s what they said. He can’t get back to us. No place is safe. We need shelter! We have to hide!”

That was when she would lead me to the kitchen. Mama would have me crawl under the table, then she’d put the white woolly blanket over the top so it hung down to the floor on all sides. Once our shelter was ready, she would crawl in too. We would wait and wait while nothing happened, with woolly whiteness all around.

“You’re safe now,” she’d whisper. “You’re safe, Nova Bea.”

Safe, in the belly of the sheep.

After a long time passed, or maybe just a little, you would get home and take my hand and say “It’s time to come out.” Mama would come out too, except if she fell asleep. If she fell asleep, you’d put a pillow under her head and drape the white woolly blanket over her body. Then you would make me a snack.

The whole time in the belly of the sheep all Mama could do was hug me and worry. All I could do was wiggle my hands and wait.

Waiting for you was the worst.

It is still the worst.

I am trying to be on my best behavior here, Bridget. I’m trying not to scream or throw things and I will try to do my best job in this new school. If I am on my best behavior, I will get to stay, and that will make it easier for you to find me. Plus, when you come back, you will say, “I’m proud of you.” I will do my best job to make you proud.

Living with Mama, my happiest day was when you gave me the notebook with the crayons to keep with me in the belly of the sheep. Remember how you told me to write to you every day? Well, I’m still writing to you every day. Writing to you made me feel better when I was stuck inside the belly of the sheep. Writing to you makes me feel better now. Writing to you makes me feel like I’m not lost in space, floating all alone among the stars.

Are you writing to me?

I think maybe I could read your letters now, Bridget. I only pretended before, but at Jefferson Middle School there was a big long list of rules. One of them said “Happy Hands.” Happy Hands! What does that mean? I know happy means smiling but hands cannot smile. Hands are not one of Peter Pan’s happy thoughts. I wanted to tell this to Francine but I could not.

That’s when I got sad, Bridget. Not just because I don’t know how to have Happy Hands, but also because I read that sign. I read it all by myself, and nobody knows. Francine told Principal I do not even know my alphabet, but right now I can hear you in my head singing the whole song, even “Now I know my ABCs, next time won’t you sing with me!” I know every single letter. I know a lot of words.

I need you to come back so you can read my letters, Bridget.

I miss you.

Love,

Your Super Nova