Page 26 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
Great. She’s doing an interview.
Toeing off my boots and leaving them on the mat by the door, I turn the corner into the family room. With Jules being so tall, the back end of upper cabinets hanging between the family room and kitchen island cuts off most of my view, but I can see a red shirt tucked into khaki pants.
It reminds me of the first time I saw Jules, floating on television, being filmed while on the International Space Station. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen her wear such preppy clothes.
A different voice cuts through, and I wonder if she has some sort of conference call on speaker. “Miss Starr, did you face any challenges on becoming an astronaut as a woman?”
“Oh yeah.”
Quietly, not wanting to interrupt, but equally curious as to what sort of press conference this is, I step lightly on my socked feet.
“Luckily, at NASA, the road to becoming an astronaut has widened, allowing for menandwomen of all nationalities, races and creeds a chance at the stars. In fact, the next mission will include the first astronaut from the UAE, the United Arab Emirates.”
There is a bunch of murmuring, letting me know there is more than just one or two people on the line with her.
“My main struggles came from my younger years, before the culture shift of allowing women, not only in the work force, but in male dominated fields, like the armed forces, science and math.”
Carefully, I peek around the corner.
I’m stunned by what I see.
Jules’ laptop is raised up by a phonebook and a few boxes of cereal, so it is more or less at eye level as Jules sits with military posture in front of her computer’s camera.
And in the screen, on the other end of the line, is a classroom of teenage girls.
“So it’s better now?” a young woman asks.
Jules tilts her head, weighing her answer. “I don’t want to lie and tell you how great things are, how far society as a whole has come in accepting women into STEM fields. I mean, it has. The other female astronauts and I are proof of that. But it still isn’t equal.” Her face remains uncharacteristically serious. “If you go into a male dominated field, you’re going to have to fight twice as hard. You’ll be called a bitch and hardass for taking charge, whereas a man will be praised for his leadership skills. Your success will be questioned, wondering who and how many you slept with to get there, or with people saying you got the job because they needed a token woman and not your brain. If you start a family you’ll feel you have to apologize for time away from work to take care of your children or even to take the necessary maternity leave recommended by professional health care providers.Everythingwill be more of a challenge than if you were a man.”
The students all stare back at her with equally solemn faces.
I suddenly want to hug Rose.
“So,” the girl who asked the last question pipes up, “is it worth it, then?”
A smile I haven’t seen before from Jules spreads across her face. It’s large, genuine and almost heartbreaking.
“Abso-freaking-lutely.”
The tension passes with a laugh from the class and the students move on to less weighted questions. How much training is required for a spacewalk? How do astronauts wash their hair in space? What’s the food like? Is it scary or awe inspiring when looking at Earth from the ISS? What classes did you take at college to prepare for your job?
And with each question, Jules remains at the ready, standing tall, shoulders back, but with a smile on her face, taking time to answer everything they throw at her, even when the teacher interjects and says time has run out. Jules waves away her concern and keeps talking, telling the class there is nowhere else she’d rather be than talking to them.
And they believe her.
I believe her.
Finally, good-byes are said and Jules promises to send them some cool NASA gear.
When the picture blanks, Jules clicks the browser closed, letting her shoulders finally relax.
Still looking forward, she rolls her neck one way, then the other. “So is eavesdropping your thing, cowboy?”
Caught, face on fire, I come fully into the kitchen. “Uh sorry. I came in to make a sandwich and heard you in here.”
“Sandwich, huh?” She turns to me, her red shirt a polo with the NASA emblem over her heart. It’s tucked in with a skinny brown belt at the waist of her pale khakis that are cuffed at her ankles, her toes wiggling in her socked feet.
She’d taken off her shoes.
