August 1969

My eyes open right before my mother sticks her head out the window, a valiant attempt by my subconscious to wrest me from dreamland.

A smidge too late, as usual.

“I warned you, Beth.” Her voice shatters the quiet space between us. “I told you that if you fell asleep on the fire escape again, I’d nail your window shut.” My vision is doubled, blurred from the shock. I squint up at her and watch as all four of her cheeks jiggle furiously.

“Not sleeping,” I slur. “I’m up.” I rub the night away from my face with my shirt sleeve.

She points a finger in my direction. “I’ll do it. You watch.”

The heat’s already up, sunbeams kissing my forehead, which means I’ve missed it all again. Dew fell, the birds woke, the sun rose, and I slept through it, arms clasped tight around my knees, my back up against the brick wall. I blink, trying to remember how I’d gotten here.

It had been past midnight the night before and I was searching for air, as usual. The sticky heat of the bedroom had been stagnant and thick — I couldn’t breathe. I’d climbed through the window only to find the outside nearly as bad as inside, as if the whole world were sealed in a Tupperware container. All the windows in the apartments surrounding ours were open wide, the curtains statue still, silently beseeching the air to move, a whole universe of snores and radios and bickering and babies crying and people sweltering.

I’d closed my eyes and pictured space. Large, open space where a person could inhale deeply, stretch her arms and without banging into anything, float around in nothingness. Then, evidently, I fell asleep.

“Third time this week,” Ma continues. “It’s not safe, Beth, what with vagrants wandering around. All sorts of unsavory characters in these parts. I’ll let Benny nail the window. He’ll be thrilled. Heaven knows the boy needs a project.”

“There’s no air, Ma,” I say. My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “We’ll suffocate.” I stand up, and the fire escape groans in commiseration as I stretch.

“Must find a hammer and nails, first thing,” she continues, examining the bones of the window with her fingers as I climb back in.

I shake my head and wander to the bathroom, stepping over my two sisters still fast asleep in their own sweat.

How is it that in a family of seven I’m the only one who values air?

“We’ve got a fireman coming down to open the fire hydrant today!” Norman’s already dressed in swimming trunks. He seems awfully sure of himself for a six-year-old.

“Baloney! Whoever told you that’s a liar.” Benny lets out a muffled yell, his head squished deep inside an empty Kellogg’s box. A straw’s been poked through the middle of the box as a crude sort of breathing apparatus.

I sit down next to him at the breakfast table.

“Hey, Buzz Aldrin.” I knock on his cereal box helmet. “Ma’s gonna ask you to nail my window shut, I need you to try to convince her it’s cruel—”

“Name’s not Buzz.”

I let out a sigh, trying to stay calm. “Well, it was yesterday.”

“Today’s not yesterday.”

I rub my forehead, thinking. “What’s the other guy’s name?” I ask Norman from across the table.

Norman shakes his head slowly, a look of exaggerated disappointment on his face, then stuffs a spoon of Apple O’s into his mouth.

“The other guy? Other guy! Neil Armstrong, dummy.” Benny rips the box from his head in disgust, then quickly replaces it. “How dare you! You deserve to have your window nailed shut.”

“That she does,” Ma says firmly as she comes into the kitchen and grabs an apron off the hook.

“How is this fair? I just needed some air! I couldn’t breathe. Imagine… imagine the fellows on the moon with no oxygen, Benny.”