“The first concussion cut the rocket up the side like a giant can opener.”
Black, the color that absorbs all others, is the one that gets the worst rap. Yet, it’s the most powerful of them all. It’s the color of death, of dying, of nothing. Yet, in its absorption of all light, it’s also the color of everything. It’s a kaleidoscope of color, but no one can see it. Black holds that color in, like a dirty little secret never to be told. Black is a Kaleidoscope, just like the short story by Ray Bradbury. And it represents the totality of death, as exemplified by all the astronauts in the story.
The story begins with an explosion that comes out of nowhere, and all of the astronauts fly into space without any way of regrouping. Much like them, in the face of death, all humans go through a sense of rebirth. It’s as if, in those last seconds before everything fades away into an endless sea of black, one begins to realize what it means to really live. The astronauts all go through this moment, right after they all ”were scattered into a dark sea; and the ship, in a million pieces, went on, a meteor swarm seeking a lost sun” (Bradbury). At that moment, as they all hurtle through space, the colors of life blend together in an infinite moment, and they can see life for what it truly is and for some, what it could have been. They see the totality, and finality, of life. That’s why so many people feel angry and act out as though they’ve been robbed. Hollis, in the short story, was able to acknowledge his anger at the realization he was going to die. It was easy for him to “ recognize the meanness, the senseless meanness of dying” (Bradbury). The same thing happened with Applegate when he lied to Hollis about blackballing him. They knew they were being mean to those around them, but, honestly, who could blame them? Wouldn’t we feel the same way if, for a brief second, we saw the true meaning of life, surrounded by all of life’s colors, only to have it taken from us like a train rushing through the station before we have a chance to hitch a ride? Wouldn’t you be angry at the thought that you’ll have to make the trip to the endless beyond with nothing but a memory of that beautiful moment, floating alongside the countless others?
I know I’d be angry. But then again, who knows? Death does some amazing things to people. Think of Stimson, who, once he realized he was going to die, lost his sanity to the point where Hollis had to end his suffering. He had to punch in his facemask and end his life because if he hadn’t, they all would’ve spent their last moments listening to his screaming. Stimson was a good man who in the face of death, become someone else completely. He lost his sanity, and therefore lost himself.
“Falling, falling, falling…”
Death, like the color black, is made to be representative of so much. Finality. The Unknown. The dark tunnel you have to make your way through before reaching the other side, wherever that is (or whatever that is, if your one to doubt its existence at all). But what people don’t realize, until they’re coming right up on the start of that tunnel, is that it’s not really dark at all. It’s not dark, scary, final, or unknown, come to think about it. It’s not something to be feared at all. Hollis recognized that once he lost contact with the others and made his way toward Earth. He thought his life had been boring and empty, a life he hadn’t had a chance to live yet. He felt as though he failed, and he was scared of of the fact that his life was over before he ever had a chance to change that. Perhaps that’s why he was making his way back to Earth. It was poetic, in a way, for the man who felt he had wasted his life without making any contribution, to be the one to have his ashes scattered amongst the planet. He would contribute to something, even if it was in death.
See, we know death much more than we think we do. It’s around us every day. That dog we loved so much as a child is now gone, our great grandma who taught us to walk up those steep stairs, she’s gone too. Eventually, they’re all gone. We see death; we see black, all around us, yet we choose to hide from it. Why?
Because it hurts. It hurts to remember the ones we loved and lost. It hurts to think that they were here, and now they’re not. And it's scary to face that totality and finality of everything. It's scary to accept the fact that it's all over and we're moving on. The astronauts, as they said their final farewells, understood this better than anyone, simply because they realized they would become one of those people whom we will mourn and eventually let go of. We’ll forget about them as they fade into blackness. It hurts to think we’ll not see them, or anyone else, again. But one day, when it’s our turn to make our way through that black tunnel, across that bridge, and into the great beyond, we’ll have to face that reality too. Lespere faced it as he hurtled through space. He felt calm once he realized he was on his way to greet death, stating that “ [He’s] resting easy…. [He’s] had [his] turn” (Bradbury). So, much like those men who are sent flying into space toward their own tunnels, towards the finality of the end, we’ll find that the darkness we feared all our lives isn’t darkness at all. It’s a kaleidoscope of color, surrounding us with its memories of life. We’ll remember everything, and for once, we won’t fear anything at all. At least that’s what I believe. I have to. Because if I don’t, then what’s the point at all?
What’s the point of living? I don’t know. You don’t know. None of us know. Not yet. But we will. We will know when we make our way through our tunnels, through our Kaleidoscopes, and we face not the totality of death, but the beauty of life. We will face not the end, but the beginning of something better, just like the astronauts. Will we be remembered?
“'Look mom, look! A falling star!’ The blazing white star fell down the sky of dusk in Illinois. ‘Make a wish,’ said his mother. ‘Make a wish.’”
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