One day Gladys Goode was all kicked back, watching TV in her family room. She loved daytime soaps, romantic novel movies, and “Desperate Housewives.” As she was channel surfing to find the newest  Lifetime movie, the remote stuck for a moment on CNN—just long enough for her to hear “Satellite on collision course with earth; 26 pieces of falling satellite likely to survive plunge, NASA says; could land anywhere; falling at a speed of 18,000 mph; there won’t be time to warn anyone.”

“Oh, no!” said Gladys. “A satellite is falling. I must warn my family and friends.”

Gladys grabbed her iphone and tweeted her husband, “6ton satellite falling 2wrd us. Will hit anytime now. I <3 you.”

George tweeted back, “Must warn golfing buddies. R on course right now. <3 you back.”

George called Pete and said, excitedly, “Watch the sky. A satellite is falling toward you. Get in the clubhouse if you can.”

Unfortunately, the reception wasn’t very good for Pete and he heard, “Waterski. Sadie fell. Girls’ clubhouse called.”

Pete dropped his driver and began to run, then ran back and gathered his clubs. (Hey, they were expensive. If a satellite was going to crush him, he wanted his clubs to be there, too.)

Just as he got into the car, his phone rang. It was Sadie. “Pete, Gladys said we are about to be hit by a falling satellite. It’s all over the news. Six tons is going to fall right on us. Right here. Soon!”

“Sadie,” Pete cried, “are you okay? What about the waterski? I’m on my way to the clubhouse now.”

“The clubhouse! All you think about is golf. I’d think you’d want to be with your wife in your last moments.” Sadie slammed up the phone.

Meanwhile, Gladys had just finished calling, tweeting, texting and FaceBooking everyone she loved and sat back in her recliner to wait for the end.

“Might as well know how much time I still have,” Gladys said.

The TV blared, “The 20-year-old Upper Research Atmosphere Satellite will be the biggest NASA spacecraft to fall uncontrolled from the sky in 32 years. We know where it will hit—Earth—and we know when—sometime between Thursday and Saturday. We just don’t know exactly when or where.  NASA says most of the satellite will burn up as it re-enters the atmosphere, but more than 1,000 pounds will make it to the ground somewhere. There is a 3,200 to one chance of getting hit. That’s better than your chance of being struck by lightning, which is a million to one, or winning the lottery, which is one in 195,249,054, but so far no one has ever been injured from re-entering space objects. NASA also says that the risk to public safety is very small, and that since the start of the space age in the 1950s there have been no injuries from re-entering space objects.”

Gladys thought and thought. “Maybe I reacted too strongly and soon,” she said.

Just as she reached for her phone so she could call, tweet, text and FaceBook everyone back, she heard, “Here are tonight’s winning lottery numbers…”

She grabbed her lottery ticket.

“…and the PowerBall is…”

“I won! I won!” she screamed in excitement as she ran outside to greet George who was just pulling up in the drive. She slipped in a puddle of water and reached for the flagpole to steady herself and keep from falling—only to be struck by lightning from the rapidly developed thunderstorm.

When the paramedics arrived, they found Gladys still alive, but glaring distantly into the sky. Her hand clutched a burned up piece of paper of some sort and she was murmuring, “3,200 to one. 3,200 to one. Only 3,200 to one.”

Moral of the story: Keep looking up. You may not get hit by a falling satellite, but like Lee Martin said in The Bright Forever, “There’s nothing on the ground but your feet.”

Author: GlendaCameron
Author, writer, radio host, and educator Glenda Cameron has been co-host of TownTalk since 2006. In addition, she serves as Media Producer and contributing writer to www.towntalkradio.com. She began her radio career in Littlefield, Texas, at KZZN, later moving to KJAK and KFRE in Lubbock. Glenda’s hobbies include guitar, piano, and scanography.