“Watchu mean the space suits?” Billy Bob asked.
“Well…” Jimmy John said, scratching his head. “Just on account’a the tractor breaking down. And having to trek through that there cornfield back yonder. Well… seems that the suits got tangled on some of the corn stalks. Tore the seams right open. Busted em. See here,” he pointed to one of the suits draped around his neck.
“Why didn’t you put them in the sack?” Cletus asked.
Jimmy John was silent for a moment, staring back at Cletus with a blank face. “And squish the sandwiches…?” he asked.
“No one’s squishing sandwiches,” Billy Bob said, stepping forward and raising his hands up, palms open like he was pleading a case for his innocence. “Those stay in the sack for our galaxy journey. Toss me a suit, will you? I’ll assess the damage.”
Jimmy John grabbed hold of one of the suits drapped around his neck, wadded it up, and threw it to Billy Bob.
“See there,” Jimmy John said, pointing. “Top of the right shoulder down the back. The others ones ain’t as bad.”
Billy Bob held the suit close to his face, examining it. It was covered in a variety of random patches stitched together with thick black thread. Some large red flannel squares. Some long beige corduroy rectangles. A few strips of light blue jean. A few circular patches of blackish-brown grease.
“Cletus, you got any of that duck tape? That gray industrial kind. None of that clear see-through crap.”
“Sure do. Got some in muh shed round front,” Cletus said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “You think that will hold the suits closed?”
“Course I do. We won’t need much. We got the ships shield to protect us,” Billy Bob said. “After we punch through the atmosphere and get to space, it’s smooth sailing all the way to the Moon. Jimmy John, toss the sandwich sack in the cockpit. Then let’s get to fixin’ these suits.”
Jimmy John strutted over to the ship and stepped onto the silver ladder tilted against the hull. Up he climbed. Higher, higher. Ladder rattling with each step. When he was about halfway up, he stopped. Shaky hands gripping the sides of the ladder as he peaked over his shoulder towards the spacemen watching from below.
“Why’d ya stop?” Cletus asked.
“It’s higher than I thought,” Jimmy John said.
“Psh!” Billy Bob said, flicking his open palms forward through the air. “You ain’t even that high up, Jimmy John. We are flying to the moon for heaven’s sake. Best get your nerves set straight before we take off.”
Jimmy John stared straight at the ladder. He mumbled something under his breath and struggled up the last few rungs.
“Now open the hatch and toss those damn sandwiches in so we can get to work on these suits. Don’t squish them now, you hear?” Billy Bob said.
Jimmy John slipped his right arm underneath the strap of the rucksack. His left arm stayed glued to his side with the sack hanging off of his shoulder. Veins in his forearm popped as his left hand gripped tight against the side of the ladder, its metal beams shaking all the way down to the gravel floor. Digging two small divots into the ground. Slowly, the sack slid down his left arm. With a handful of rustic brown cloth from the sack gripped in his hand, he snuck a few fingers beneath the handle of the hatch and lifted. The plexiglass clicked, the metal hinges groaned. With his left hand still clung to the side of the ladder, he raised his head and wedged it beneath the hatch as leverage. Keeping the hatch high enough to sneak the sack with the sandwiches beneath, dropping them into the cockpit. He removed his head from under the cockpits lid and hobbled back down the ladder.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Jimmy John shouted after his feet were planted back on solid ground. He turned and faced the other astronauts.
“Geez, Jimmy John. You’s covered in sweat,” Cletus said.
“Cletus, you got any’a that tasty rye whiskey?” Jimmy John asked.
“Sure do,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. He handed the clear container over to Jimmy John who twisted to cap and wiped the tiny mouthpiece on his sweaty shirt.
“No hard feelings, Cletus. Just taking the necessary precautions,” Jimmy John said.
“I get it. Go on then,” Cletus said, sweeping the air with his right hand.
Jimmy John tilted his head back and poured the brown booze into his mouth. His eyes watered, face puckered. Swallowing the liquid in one big gulp.
“Yeehaw!” Jimmy John shouted, flinging his head backward. “Makes my hairy arms tingle.” He handed the bottle back to Cletus who slipped it back into his pocket.
“Alrighty then,” Billy Bob said. “Let’s get to moving.”
The three rocket scientists trudged across the dry, crunchy dirt around the side of the farmhouse. Its windows hung wide open, casting out a strong fruity aroma like a mystical spell through the warm summertime air.
“Muh old lady’s whipping up some peach cobbler,” Cletus said. “Maybe she can rustle up a piece for each’a us. He raised himself onto the tips of his toes and stuck his head through one of the side windows.
“Betsy!” he screamed. “Betsy! Where you at?”
“What you want you old fool?” came a piercing voice from somewhere in the house.
“The boys here want some of your peach cobbler. Can you rustle us up a few pieces?”
“Oh shit!” Cletus shouted. He ducked beneath the window frame just as a slender black spatula whipped through like the blades of a miniature helicopter. It tumbled across the gravel and skidded to a stop about twenty feet away.
“I told you it ain’t gonna be ready until you get back!” she screamed.
“Well I forgot! Geez, woman,” Cletus said. He turned around and shrugged.
“Betsy means well. She gets a little angry when I forget about things though.”
“No problem, Cletus. We all forget about things from time to time,” Jimmy John said.
“That’s true,” Billy Bob said. “We’ll just grab us a piece of peach cobbler when we get back from flying by the moon. The sandwiches’ll hold us over. Now let’s hurry up.”
The three space travelers shuffled along the gravel the rest of the way to the shed tucked beneath the shade of a tall apple tree. A tire swing hung from a low branch, the inside of it filled with dirty green water. The tiny home of a small tadpole nursery.
The wood shed was a dirt dusted grey, covered in patches of water soaked brown. The front panel door slung half-way open without a lock or a handle. Each small gust of wind sent to the creaking, back, forth. Back, forth. Cletus reached behind the door panel and flung the door all the way open. Shepherding the light from the Sun to illuminate the inside of the shed.
“Go on, fellers,” Cletus said, shooing Billy Bob and Jimmy John in with his right hand. They stepped through the narrow doorway and stood by the entrance.
“What in God’s name!” Billy Bob shouted from inside the shed. “Cletus… what in the hell is that?”