Helen pressed her leg lightly against Joe to get his
attention. However, her musical voice, just by itself,
always caught Joe's attention. "Joe, can I change the radio
station? It's not that I don't love classical music. I do.
However, I really do want to hear when my friend Melody
leaves the moon, and is on the way back to earth. She and the
other astronauts have beat Sam Raccetts 2066 record for how
long an astronaut has stayed on the moon." She felt energized
while sandwiched between her best friends Bob and Joe.

Joe divided his attention. While part of his mind
focused on driving them to their concert performance in his
ancient white camper truck, another part of his mind focused
on answering her question. "You sure can. I even give you
permission." He turned his head slightly so he could
alternately see the road and her reaction.

She laughed. "I'm sorry I told you about my fifth
grade English teacher and her 'may I' game." She reached
forward and swiftly punched the code sequence needed for her
favorite news station on the truck radio touch pad control
panel.

". . .waiting for the signal to liftoff. It's t minus 2
minutes and counting. Brad, while we're waiting, tell our
listeners why we gave the lunar module the name 'Grayjay'."

After a short period of static, Brad's monotonic radio
voice began. "We gave it the name Grayjay because of the
Canadian grayjay. The grayjay, a cold weather bird, adapted
itself to the cold weather in Canada and along the Rocky
Mountains in the northwestern United States. One of our
astronauts, as a child, lived in Canada, and we decided to
name the lunar module after a Canadian bird. The fact that
the grayjay also nests along the Rocky Mountains and this
lunar expedition will explore mountains on the far side of
the moon strikes me as an interesting coincidence."

"Sorry to interrupt, Brad. It's 15 seconds to liftoff.
Countdown will begin right away."

"10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1..."
". . . Grayjay failed to lift off. Grayjay failed to lift
off." The announcer's voice held the clear tones of tight
emotional control. "We know at this time only that the main
engines ignited and then immediately shut down. This station
will make special alerts as we receive them."

"What! Something went wrong. Oh, I hope they're okay."

Bob shrugged his shoulders. "Well. . . you can't do
anything about it. You should relax. Don't worry about it."

Joe laughed. "Bob, we all cope with anxiety differently.
Helen worries. Not everyone can be as rational as you."

Bob replied, "I don't want her to worry. I'm trying to
explain why she shouldn't worry." He shifted into his
objective mode voice. "Look. Either your friend is okay, or
she is not okay. If she is okay, then we don't need to worry.
If she isn't okay then we can't do anything about it, so why
worry about it? We should worry only if it will help us solve
the problem we are worried about. So, why don't you distract
yourself for now? Besides, I believe everyone can and should
be completely rational."

Joe shook his head. "My friend, you don't understand
emotions yet. Emotions motivate our responses to perceived
situations. After we become aware of our response we can
choose whether or not we should follow through with it."

Bob meditated silently for a moment before speaking.
"People can and should learn rational emotions. Your
emo. . ."

She interrupted. "Joe, you two will never settle
that discussion. So, don't argue with him now. Instead, tell
me what you think happened on the moon."

"Well I can't. We only know that liftoff failed.
That implies something went wrong with either the liftoff
engines, or with the fuel. Perhaps Bob does have a point this
time. Let's think about other things. Think about our walk on
the beach tomorrow. Think about how well Bob harmonizes his
guitar playing with your singing."

She glared at him for just a second, but then laughed.
"We can at least check the news after our concert
performance. I want to hear what happened with Melody and the
other astronauts. I need to know that Melody is safe."

She paused, then continued. "I know, Bob, you'll just
say it's so I can decide what I should feel. Well . . . I
can't help it. I have to know!"

Bob grinned. "You know me very well. But that's not
what I intended to say. I'm curious about Melody. Tell me how
you know her."

She looked affectionately toward Bob. "Thanks for
asking. During my high school years, I formed an anti-
nicotine organization. Someone in our small group found
out that Melody, already a famous astronaut, shared our
concern. We all believe that people should know the
difference between the real happiness that comes from
creative work and the illusion of happiness from maintaining
a drug addiction."

"We were also concerned about the growing power of United
Tobacco Company. I contacted her and she actually came to our
high school to speak to us. She and some guy named Grant
encouraged us by keeping in touch with us by video phone the
rest of the year. They taught us some history about tobacco
use. Cigarette smoking rates had fallen to about two percent
of the population due to the Allen Carr clinics that appeared
in cities all around the world. However, the invention of
the electronic cigarette and nicotine patches enabled many
people to feel that nicotine addiction had become safe.
Nicotine addiction gradually became a significant health
issue again. It became worse after the tobacco companies
merged into United Tobacco Company."

"Did they tell you how to re-open clinics like the Allen
Carr clinics?"

"No, they knew students would not have the time to run
such a clinic. I'm sure they hoped that later we might work
with them to help. But I'm still a student. Perhaps I'll
contact them later, if there is a later."

"Oh, I do hope Melody can safely return to Earth!"

Joe, having listened closely to their conversation,
glanced at Bob as if to ask what he should say to help.
Bob's answer was only a shrug of his shoulders. Joe was on
his own for this. "If I were you, the first thing I would
have said to Melody is that I liked her name."

Helen looked puzzled. "Why?"

Joe grinned. "Aren't you telling me all the time how
much you like melodies?"

Both his friends laughed at this.

"Thanks guys. Now I feel better. We must be close to
the concert hall. Oh, there it is!" She pointed straight
ahead through the window. "Oh, I hope we do at least as well
tonight as we did last time."

Joe made a sharp turn into the parking lot."Plan on it.
You'll keep getting better and better until you perform
perfectly almost every time."

Bob spoke up then. "But, if you don't do better tonight,
please don't let it bother you."

"Thanks, guys."

Minutes later, she leaned against the heavy door of the
large concert hall, slowly pushing it open. Once inside,
she looked around the room. Pulling a small black box from
her pocket, she pointed it at the far walls. Bob, following
her in, very carefully placed their beloved instruments on
the floor next to her. "How does it look?"

"It looks good, Bob. My sounder box tells me that we'll
have great acoustics."

Bob nodded and pointed to his right. "There's their
stage. It's perfect. We walk up only two steps and we are on
stage across the room from the doorway. Where's Joe?"

"Right here. It's not easy to keep up when I'm lugging
this heavy archaic sound equipment, and you guys only have to
carry one double oh eighteen sized guitar, my fiddle, and the
basket containing the donation jar and flyers."

Bob turned to Joe. "After we get rich, you could buy
some ultra-light quality modern equipment. That is, unless
you are having fun showing off this hundred-year-old stuff
that you inherited from your ancestors."

"Well, I'm only keeping it now for sentimental reasons.
Besides, it's better quality than anything we can afford."

She tapped Joe on his arm to get his attention.
"Well, Joe, you are the tallest and strongest of us. I
thought it made sense for you to carry the heavy stuff." Her
admiration clearly showed in her smile.

Joe looked directly into her blue-gray eyes. "Is zat so?
Well, I may be strong, and exactly 188 centimeters tall,
which is at least a centimeter taller than both of you. But
I'm no Superman. Which reminds me; I have in my truck the
Superman comic collection you loaned me. Ask me after the
concert about it."

Bob laughed. "Joe, you too? I knew that she gushed
over Superman, but I didn't know you cared. Did you try to
fly when you were a kid too?"

"Huh! Well. . . Before kindergarten, I jumped over a
log trying to levitate. Because of that, I got a grass reed
stuck in my throat about a centimeter from my windpipe."

"Bob, don't you ever dream of flying?"

"Sure. One time I dreamed I built my own airplane and
flew it all over town, and people looked up and said, 'Look
up in the sky. It's a plane!' "Bob grinned in spite of his
intention to look serious.

She smiled in return. "I never said I thought I really
could fly. It's just that when I'm asleep I forget it's
impossible."

Bob shook his head. "I see." He briefly clapped his
hands twice. "Well, enough of this. We need to set up."