One Small Step

On July 20, 1969, Celia's family had a special visitor in their living room: a television. It belonged to Mr. Rivas, their neighbor. He was visiting his sister that week, so he lent it to them. "On Sunday, people are going to land on the Moon," he said.

That afternoon, ten people were sitting in front of the small screen. Celia was sitting on the floor with her little brother, Tito. Her grandmother was sitting in the best chair. She was born in 1895, before the first airplane. "People on the Moon? I'll believe it when I see it," she said.

There were no pictures of the landing, only drawings and voices. Far away, a small spaceship called the Eagle was going down to the Moon. Inside were two astronauts, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin. The computer was taking them to a place full of big rocks. Armstrong had to fly the Eagle by hand, and he was looking for a flat, safe place. And the fuel was running out.

In the living room, nobody knew about the rocks. They only heard short words and numbers. "Sixty seconds," said a voice from Houston. "Sixty seconds of what?" asked Celia. "Fuel," said her father. Then the voice said, "Thirty seconds." Nobody moved.

Then they heard Armstrong's calm voice: "Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed." Everybody in the living room shouted. Tito was jumping on the sofa. Even Grandmother was clapping.

The astronauts didn't go outside for more than six hours. They ate dinner in front of the TV, and Tito fell asleep on the floor. Late at night, a gray, shaky picture appeared on the screen. A man in a white suit was slowly coming down a ladder.

Celia was holding her grandmother's hand. Grandmother wasn't saying anything now. She was only watching, with her mouth open. Armstrong put one boot on the Moon. Then his voice came again: "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."