It had to be said that for young, little Mel the moon was always something of a marvel. From her bedroom window she could see its subtle glow permeating through the purple sky and her mind would swift through all sorts of scenarios and imaginations about one day visiting the moon. It was an impossible dream. Mel was young and had very little experience in long distance space exploration. But yet the girl still held fast to the idea that the far off space rock processed a magnet that created an unbreakable connection between herself and the Earth’s accompanier. It was this connection that began the girl’s mission to reach the moon, this connection that convinced her one clear night that it was her destiny, nay, her duty, to reach the mysterious Moon.

Of course most of the work for her impending holiday was done during the Moon’s absence. It was the pit of summer when Mel began her project, the time of year generally acknowledged to be the worst bit of year to begin any sort of endeavor. However, the long day gave her plenty of time to accomplish her list of to-dos before beginning her ascent. She would have to build some sort of Moon friendly rocket, as safe and reliable as a space shuttle definitely but with a less conspicuous departure and smaller financial drain. Mel had to prepare food for her journey as well. She decided one night while gazing looking at the glowing orb that only tuna fish sandwiches would survive the adventure into space and much to her smell-sensitive mother’s disapproval, Mel began stirring up tuna fish every day, three cans a day. Mel put her tuna in the old basement fridge rather than the kitchen fridge in case her father fell off his anti-fats bandwagon before her trip and all her tuna salad would suddenly evaporate without a trace.

Once she had prepared the tuna and mapped out a reasonable blueprint for her personal space craft, Mel began the arduous task of revealing to her family that she was abandoning the life as a middle child in suburban Long Island for the stimulating world of International Space Travel. She had been dreading it all week but come Friday (take off was Sunday at 8 AM) Mel marched onto the side porch where her parents had bagels and tea in the summer.

When she first detailed her plan, Mel sensed there was some hesitation. Her mother was quite fond of her after all and Mel had anticipated some very heavy resistance from her. It was her father, however, who presented the biggest challenge. As soon as Mel spoke of her intentions her father was quick to illustrate the forty million other essentials for space adventures. Mel had completely forgone oxygen supplies, fire-proof wall liners and a computer system sophisticated enough to compete with the room sized processors more formal space programs had.

Mel explained her budget restrictions. Her lemonade stand business had been drying up ever since her mother had stopped buying the pink dust Mel used to create the perfectly balanced lemonade her customers had grown accustomed to. Mel was forced instead to squeeze lemons manually and balance out all sweet sugar and sour juices by her own estimations. Listening to her plight respectively her parents parted with 5 dollars and their hopes of seeing their daughter on planet Earth anytime within the near future. Mel was sorry to see her parents off but had decided that she was quite old enough to live on the moon even if the world didn’t think she was old enough to see PG-13 movies without an adult.

With her small fortune Mel was able to put the finishing touches on her rocket. She’d picked out a chic bubble bee yellow paint for her space craft and assumed that like most store bought paints it would hold up against the 3 million degrees heat of the atmosphere upon her reentry to Earth in three to six years. As she monitored her younger brother as he painted the cardboard walls of her space ship, Mel sucked into her lungs as much air as possible. It was crucial that she stock up on oxygen before lift-off. Her father had warned her quite explicitly what would happen if she found herself oxygen-less in space. The fears of implosion motivated her and Mel sucked in more air than the Big Bad Wolf.

Come Sunday, Mel felt quite at ease with upcoming trip. The yellow paint really popped against her green backyard green and the cushion she’d stolen from her family’s porch swing made the tight, unwieldy cockpit a little more bearable. Additionally, she woke up Sunday morning with her mouth open and just the tiniest bit of drool pooling at the base of her lips. She was glad that she had unconsciously absorbed more oxygen. Taking her body’s natural impulse towards inhaling air as a good omen, Mel donned her favorite white cotton shorts and blue tank top for her trip. Stepping out into the sun-soaked backyard, Mel felt the wet grass beneath her sandals and smelled the indescribable smell you get after a rain soaked winter night. Frowning, Mel thought about the night before. She had been so exhausted from all her planning and preparing that Mel had completely ignored the moon and the night sky in general. It was not like her to ignore the moon and begrudgingly Mel looked up at the baby blue sky. The faintest image of the moon was visible in the harsh morning light and Mel sighed quietly to herself quietly.

The moon looked awfully far away from her yard during the day. Mel had somehow not looked up at the sun throughout her planning. At night it seemed to be only an arm’s length from her bed, so close that it took no more than a few days to get a plan together to visit her nighttime friend. But now...in the light... it looked more like the jar of chocolates her mother had placed on the top shelf of the pantry. Or perhaps the American flag at Mel’s school that was on a pole so high that Mel would worry about planes slamming into it during her lunch break.

Briefly turning away from her rocket, Mel stumbled slowly back into her house. The sound of the television filtered through and Mel followed it. Her father was sprung out like a squished fly on the sofa and Mel squeezed herself into his arms. She was quite disenchanted with the moon and the feeling of her father’s arms made the whole ordeal a little less upsetting.

On the television there was a program on about dolphins. It was the type of program that used dramatic music to play up rather undramatic events. In awe, Mel listened as the deep voice explained everything Mel needed to know about dolphins and all their habits. The secret language that dolphins spoke (all scored to an impressively regal array of classical to and fros) impressed Mel particularly. It was then that Mel knew that she had misinterpreted her adoration for the moon. The sea was what was calling to her; it was the shiny gray dolphins underneath its waves that acted as the magnet.

Quickly pushing herself off her father, Mel began to formulate a plan to build an underwater submarine to visit her fin tailed friends. She decided that this time she would paint her vessel green.