|
The Great Conjunction, Jupiter and Saturn ? December 21, 2020
I hug my elbows tight into my sides and slide my hands as deep into my pockets as they'll go. It's freezing tonight.
?I think it should be acclimated by now. We can start with the globular cluster in Lepus if you want,? he says.
I laugh. ?You always start with the globular cluster in Lepus.?
It's an eight-inch Dobsonian telescope, no frills, nothing fancy. Except the tube, which is a deep metallic red and glitters softly in the corner of our bedroom when it's not under the faint smudge of the Milky Way. It's the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn tonight ? the closest they've been in 400 years. To everyone else, they'll appear to touch. To us, they'll be keeping a cordial distance, like two strangers queuing at the grocery store.
?How much longer til we can see the conjunction?? I ask. My teeth knock against each other in a hushed, sustained drum roll.
?Maybe an hour? It's still pretty light in the west.?
The western horizon is toothed and uneven like the edges of a ripped piece of paper. Just above the mountains the sky is a melted creamsicle, and above that an expanse of sapphire studded with those first, brave stars. Our breath swirls around us in fleeting clouds, but the sky is otherwise clear and the stars unblinking. That's what you want, I've learned. Twinkling stars might be poetic, but the quiet ones ? the ones who stare back at you with unyielding intensity ? those indicate ideal atmospheric conditions.
?Good conditions tonight,? he says.
He swivels the telescope into position Lepus, the hare, hides near the southern horizon at Orion's feet. Canis Major snarls at its side. I shiver, imagining the hare, forever suspended at the panicked edge of attack. The springs on the telescope's base creak as he adjusts and checks, adjusts and checks, adjusts and checks again. He nods, steps back from the telescope, and gestures to the eyepiece.
The globular cluster fills the field of view, countless points of white and yellow and pink light suspended in a creamy cosmic stew. It slowly travels across the eyepiece until it disappears entirely, consumed by the black void defining the limits of the optics. I lift my naked eyes to the sky and try to make out the cluster unaided, but it's gone. An apparition that inhabits a separate plane of existence contained by the telescope.
The Perseid Meteor Shower ? August 12, 2010
Before I knew what Messier objects or globular clusters were, there were the Perseids. We made the ?bug box? that year ? a ridiculous enclosure of lath and screen designed to protect us from the onslaught of hungry insects. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, hand in hand, we sprawled across grass slicked with evening condensation, the screen rubbing our outside elbows and hovering just over our noses. The sky was thick with frustrated mosquitoes and the stars warbled above. Not ideal atmospheric conditions.
?When is it going to start?? I had asked him.
?I'm not sure,? he answered.
The dim glow of a waxing crescent moon had just peaked over the pines, sending fractured blue light across our legs. Spring peepers were singing from the creek down back and the screech owls' rejoinder provided a haunting, hymnal chorus. We laid there an hour, waiting for the meteor shower to streak across the sky, watching that faceted sapphire light color the shadows. The Perseids forgot to show up, but we didn't care.
Comet PanSTARRS, C/2011 L4 ? March 10, 2013
The bug box only survived a few seasons. It provided cover for our hens one year while we undertook repairs to their coop, but was effectively obsoleted by the telescope. As Comet PanSTARRS C/2011 L4 tore a run in the gossamer of the evening sky, it lay moldering under the last of the winter snow drifts. But the telescope was new ? a bright, shiny thing. He pulled me in toward it, warm hand lingering on the small of my back.
?If you squint really hard you might be able to see the ion tail,? he said. He tucked an unruly piece of hair behind my ear as I bent over the eyepiece. I squinted really hard. The nucleus of the comet fluoresced an eerie blue-green and a puff of gas whispered its trajectory across the Andromeda galaxy.
?Pretty cool, huh??
?Pretty cool,? I nodded.
?We could try to find the globular cluster in Lepus again,? he suggested, swiveling the telescope south. The elusive group of stars, bound together by its own gravity, had become his white whale.
?Or we could just watch the comet,? I suggested. ?The globular cluster isn't going anywhere.?
We stood, shoulder grazing shoulder, hip grazing hip, hands in pockets. Heads craned upward, unaided eyes straining. We watched C/2011 L4, like a fuzzy star, move imperceptibly across a field of inky black. A transitory, fleeting thing that would be gone before the first buds opened on the beech trees.
Trifecta: Super Blue Blood Moon Lunar Eclipse ? January 31, 2018
The night sky of the northern hemisphere hibernates through deep winter, and telescopes with it. Favored nebulae and star clusters and supernova remnants dip below the horizon with promises to return, resplendent, come spring. Only dramatic, generational events rouse the telescope from its slumber, and the trifecta offered that opportunity. It showed no sign of upset at having been prematurely awoken and readily shook off a film of grey dust dulling its glossy red tube.
We shoveled bare a landing pad for the telescope, snow arcing around us in untidy piles. The pines creaked and swayed overhead as he considered the merits of a moon filter ? the internet had been divided on that point. Turning the telescope south pre-umbra, I watched him deftly trace a line from Orion's feet downward toward the globular cluster in Lepus.
?Got it,? he said. ?First try.?
His hand hovered over my waist as he offered the eyepiece, stepping away from the telescope and I toward it. Two bodies pulled apart by opposing gravity. As the moon rose and darkened and retreated in the shadow of the earth, too large to be contained by its field of view, we stepped back from the telescope. Shoulders cold, hips turned, hands fidgeting hems and zippers.
The Great Conjunction, Jupiter and Saturn ? December 21, 2020
The sapphire bleeds downward toward the horizon, consuming the creamsicle in a final, yawning gulp. There are no mountains now, only little silver pegs scattered across the sky. Above the western horizon, Jupiter and Saturn appear to embrace, individual features dissolving into one glowing point of light. When I squint, they are just barely distinct ? the two celestial fingers of God and Adam on the Sistine chapel, stretching to meet.
He trains the telescope on the two gas giants and yields the eyepiece to me. I remember the first time he showed me Saturn ? how very like my childhood View-Master it felt. A perfect slide in miniature, rings and striations, even a coterie of white pinprick moons She's there now, Saturn. Jupiter too. But they're not embracing ? not even reaching for each other. The telescope magnifies the infinity between them as they drift, slowly, into the black void defining the limits of the optics. First Jupiter, then Saturn, until the field of view contains only empty space.
?Do you see it?? he asks, keeping a cordial distance, like a stranger queuing at the grocery store.
?Yeah,? I choke, ?I see it.?
Written by Maynard Maxwell?the credits of three record-breaking shows were quite familiar with these words. Millions of people had seen what a British scriptwriter living in California can do. Maynard himself had been doing fine with his wits and talent alone. He had a huge, two-story apartment; a smashing view; and a glossy BMW parked in his own parking spot. He, of course, had friends, but his hours of vacancy belonged to family time.
Speaking of family, one of them just walked out of the shower with a towel over her chest.
?Good morning, sweetie,? Allison said, smiling and drying her mocha brown hair with another towel. ?I didn't hear you come in.?
?You won't get to hear much when you sing your heart out in the shower,? Maynard said, squeezing out some minty paste onto his toothbrush. ?Beautiful voice as ever, honey.?
?Oh, good,? Allison replied. ?I almost thought a compliment was far from near.?
Maynard started brushing away, making his voice sound as if leftover food were on his tongue. ?I just love surprising you every day.?
?I'm sure you do, sweetie. I'm gonna go get dressed. Brush like crazy, okay. That slice of broccoli has overstayed its welcome.? Allison chuckled a bit.
He laughed as well, then said, ?Harsh.?
Allison was careful enough not to leave a wet trail when she walked out.
Down by the dining table, Maynard found a young auburn-haired girl who had the color of his eyes; she was cutting up some pancakes on her plate.
?Morning, Anya,? Maynard said, then kissed the girl on the head.
?Oh, hey, Dad,? Anya replied.
?Ready for school?? he asked.
?Almost there,? she said. ?The pancakes are a bit hard to chew.?
?I heard that,? said Allison, walking down the stairs all dressed up. ?You're welcome, by the way.?
?Thanks, mom,? Anya said in a not-so-heartwarming way, but she did giggle right after.
?What time should you come from work, honey?? Maynard asked.
?Well, Grant is having his retirement party today at the bank, so around eight o'clock most probably. I'll be knackered by then.?
?Aw, that's fine,? said Maynard. ?I've got this bloody episode I need to finish at the café today. I might be free before five in the afternoon. I'm guessing me and Anya could get some milkshakes at the Lazy Fry till you get back?
?Dad, please, I'm not six anymore,? Anya said.
?You're not sixteen either, baby girl,? Maynard replied, stirring his coffee. ?Come on, I'm telling you, you're gonna bloody love it for sure. You need more of what Cali has to offer, missy.?
?Oh, fine. But I'll be ordering the curly fries I keep hearing about, all right??
?Of course. Let's share it.?
?Ugh! So cheesy.?
Maynard just laughed in reply.
?Well, I gotta run,? Allison said. ?You two have fun.?
An exchange of farewells came around. Maynard gave her a smooch on the lips while Anya just waved at her from the distance. When both of them finished the satisfying breakfast, Anya rushed upstairs to get ready for school. Maynard popped all the dishes into the dishwasher. Somehow, Anya's plate was already clean before it went in?Maynard did not notice.
He did, however, notice a four-foot-tall cabinet beside his stylish floor lamp. Its doors were sealed under lock and chain, and he wondered if it had always been that way.
The hours swept past Maynard in the café. He had finished the much-awaited script earlier than expected, then headed over to the Lazy Fry diner to meet up with Anya. When he saw her enter the glass door, he immediately ordered two milkshakes from the waiter.
?Hi, darling,? Maynard said. ?How was school today??
?Same old friends so far,? she replied, sitting down on one of the bench-like chairs facing her dad. ?But they're cool. They really fancy my accent, though. I guess everyone does. Still, I seem to annoy a few whenever they get a hint of it.?
Laughs and stories ran back and forth between them, and people couldn't help but stare As two glasses of milkshakes landed on their table, the waiter couldn't stop himself from flashing a weird look at Maynard.
?What's up with him?? Anya asked.
?It's my accent, darling,? Maynard replied. ?If yours is cute. I've got a horrible one You're in the big world now, missy. Sometimes, ugh, I wish to go back to London. Things were a bit easier back there.?
?I'll drink to that,? Anya said, raising her milkshake glass. ?Still, I'd hate not to give this place a chance.?
Their glasses clinked without the word ?cheers.?
The diner's door welcomed in a new customer?a boy with thick red hair. Looking like a ten-year-old kid, he slowly walked to Maynard's table with his eyes on their milkshakes.
?Hi, mister,? the boy said, shy to the bone. ?I, uh, I noticed two milkshakes on your table. I was wondering if you were gonna drink the other one. A few kids from my school took my lunch money. I'm just too hungry to make it home on foot.?
?Aw, dear boy... Sorry to hear that,? said Maynard. ?I'll buy you one. That's actually my daughter's milkshake you're pointing at.?
?Oh, okay. Where is she?? the boy asked.
?Silly. She's right over there.? He pointed to the opposite bench.
?Hey, I do that too,? the boy replied. ?Cool!?
?What?? Maynard asked.
The red-haired boy sat himself down beside Anya. ?What color is her hair? Is she cute??
Anya shrugged and gave her dad a confused look.
?Um, can't you tell by looking at her?? Maynard asked.
The boy leaned closer and whispered, ?I'm too shy to look.?
Maynard smiled and entertained the boy to the best of his abilities. He later shook hands with Anya. Maynard thought it looked cute. With another round of milkshakes and a full plate of clubhouse sandwiches on the table, the three of them talked until dinnertime was within reach. Maynard wanted to pat himself on the back, knowing that he was able to get along with the conversation of two youngsters.
?Well, I better get back to my mom,? the boy said. ?She must be worried sick by now. Thank you for the milkshakes, mister.?
?You're welcome, Colby,? Maynard replied. ?It was a delight meeting you.?
?You too, Mr. Maxwell. And you too, Anya. Bye!? Colby walked out the door, smiling from ear to ear.
Anya's cheerful eyes followed him.
Not willing to eat another bite, both Anya and Maynard simply watched a movie back at the apartment. Allison later came home and immediately spotted a scene from one of her favorite movies. After kissing both her husband and daughter, she sat herself down on the sofa and glued her eyes on the TV screen. All three of them started wiping their tears when the credits faded in. Maynard tried to be a little more subtle.
It was a school night, so Maynard escorted Anya back to her books after the movie. Allison scolded him with a gentle tongue for prioritizing entertainment over their daughter's homework. They kissed and made up before bedtime. Anya had filled every blank on her assignment and went to bed with a clear conscience. The apartment sure was comfortable, especially the bedrooms. But having a loving home was more than enough for the talented writer; he went to sleep, holding on to that thought.
The next day flowed like clockwork. Not much of the unexpected popped up. Deep into the evening, a lovely family dinner was burning precious seconds at the apartment. All three of them were present along with smiles and tasteful food. Anya kept checking her phone; Maynard told her to put it away. She apologized and obeyed. The writer in the family ate while facing the living room. The four-foot-tall cabinet in chains later caught his attention and sustained it. Then Maynard heard a whisper.
?Let us go...? It sounded like Allison's voice.
He turned to his wife. ?Sorry, what was that, honey??
?I said, ?Did you know that Austin's Watches is now on sale.'? Allison replied. ?I could definitely use one of their rose gold watches for formal events at the office.?
Maynard nodded and smiled. Anya then opened up about a slumber party this coming Friday night. Her dad asked the address of the sleepover and expressed how proud he was that she had been making friends.
The usual routines sped up the hours of the next day, but the evening slowed things down. Back at the apartment, Maynard shuffled through all the pages he had just written. The apartment buzzer beside his main door sounded.
?Mr. Maxwell, we have a Ms. Paula Stone looking for you,? one of the guards said. ?Well, she didn't have to say her name. My goodness... I knew who she was right away! Should I send her right up??
It had been forever since any of the actors on any of his scripts last came to visit him. He was surprised and grateful that it was Paula, the Miss Congeniality of the set.
?Of course, Julio,? he replied, holding the button. ?Send her right up. Thank you.?
A gorgeous blonde who didn't look her age later entered his apartment. They hugged after an enthusiastic greeting.
?I brought you a milkshake from that Lazy Fry diner,? she said, her voice fanning out a luxurious sound. ?It's the closest one here.?
?Whoa, I appreciate it,? Maynard said. Then he invited her to sit down. ?So, to what do I owe the pleasure??
?Glad you asked, Max,? she replied. ?I'm here to discuss my part for this coming episode and ask you to clarify something on the script. Things have gone a bit complex.?
He was more than happy to give her a hand. After spilling all his pointers, they started a quick catch-up session. Like most celebrities he knew, Paula seemed to be living the dream and never once looked at any price tag.
When it was Maynard's turn, the actress's expression zigzagged to a decline. The writer had mentioned that his daughter was at a slumber party and his wife was on the way home from work, adding that she would be ecstatic to meet Paula.
?Max, are you... are you talking about Anya and Allison?? the actress asked.
?Oh, you remember them,? he replied. ?Good.?
?It has been... almost two months, Max.?
?Yeah, since they arrived from London.?
?No... ugh, Mr. Wesley has told us not to ever mention this again, seeing how you've been taking this pretty well.?
?Mention what, Paula? I'm quite puzzled at the moment.?
?Just know that I'm your friend and I would never intend to hurt y??
?Paula... mention what??
?Max, their plane... it crashed two months ago. No one survived.? She tried to be soft and careful to the best of her abilities.
Even if he could feel the goosebumps inside him, Maynard just laughed. ?That is insane I just saw them this morning. I just...?
?I-it might be your mind that's keeping them alive, Max. They're gone....?
Sweat peeked out of his head. ?No, no... NO! They were just here!?
Paula was starting to tear up. ?I'm sorry.?
A few memories of him mourning blinked inside his head. Sweating like crazy, he held Paula's shoulders. ?Why? Why are you doing this?!?
?Because it's the truth,? she replied, her voice cracking.
?Go,? he whispered.
?What??
Maynard couldn't stop his jaw from shaking. ?Go... leave me alone, please. Please.?
She slowly headed for the door, wiped a few tears, and told Maynard to reach her if ever he needed anything. The writer didn't say a word; he just stood there with his back facing Paula. The actress wrote a prayer in her head as she let herself out.
Another whisper came from the four-foot cabinet. ?Let us go....? This time, it sounded like Anya's voice.
The main door opened. Allison entered.
?Honey, did I just see Paula Stone near the elevator?? she asked, excited as ever.
Tears were heavy on Maynard's eyes when he turned to his wife. Another memory of him mourning flashed in his mind. The existence of Allison glitched a bit, growing a bit unstable.
?I-I need to drink some water,? she said, walking to the kitchen. ?Gosh.? From her hair down to her heels, she struggled to stay visible.
?What's going on?? he asked himself.
Another whisper came from the cabinet. ?Let us go....? It matched Allison's voice.
?What's going on?!? he asked again.
?Honey, are you okay?? Allison asked after chugging down a glass.
?Are you real?? Maynard asked, reaching out to her. A tear ran across his cheek. Before he could land a finger on his wife, the main door opened again. Anya rushed inside.
?Sorry, sorry, I forgot Mr. Grizzlocks,? she said, referring to her stuffed bear. ?You guys don't need to move. I got this.? Just like Allison, there was something wrong with her. Her existence was stuttering as well, showing the walls behind her every now and then.
?Let us go...? the cabinet whispered again from behind its chains, mimicking Anya's voice.
?Dad?? said the same voice.
He turned to Anya.
?Are you gonna drink that milkshake,? she asked, still holding on to both face and body. ?Whoa, you don't look so well.?
?I sensed the same thing, darling,? Allison said. ?Maybe you need to lie down, honey.?
Maynard looked at the cabinet and its lock. ?I need the key!? He raced past the stuttering images of Allison and Anya and looked through every drawer, nearly panicking. Not a single shelf could hide from him. Every corner caught his eyes. ?Where is it?!? he shouted.
?Honey, please, you're scaring us,? said Allison. ?Can we talk about this??
Maynard ignored his dearly beloved. He swung open a dwarf's door and looked under the kitchen sink. There was still no key, but bolt cutters were present inside. He grabbed the pair and sprung up. Walking to the cabinet, he could hear his wife and daughter begging him to stop. Sobs were mixing in, weakening his knees, but Maynard carried on.
?Let us go...? the cabinet whispered again, sounding like two voices in one.
His bolt cutters bit the chain. Then the padlock and all the steel links fell to the floor. Both of his hands pulled the double doors. A batch of newspapers fell out, and under the headline about a plane crash, the printed names of Allison and Anya Maxwell glowed in Maynard's sights. That was not all. Deep in the cabinet were two cremation urns of dark wood and gold that barely shared a contrast. The full name of his wife was on one, and the full name of his daughter was on the other. Devastated, the writer fell on both knees.
Then, from the open cabinet, an angry supply of air blew against him like a storm at sea. The voices of Allison and Anya crowded him nonstop.
?Let us go...?
?Honey, let us go....?
?Let us go...?
?Dad, please, let us go....?
?You have to...?
?Let us go...?
?Okay,? Maynard replied, the wind suppressing his voice.
The voices went on.
?Let us go...?
?Dad...?
?Honey...?
?Let us go...?
?All right, ALL RIGHT!!? Maynard shouted with everything he could pour.
The wind and the voices stopped. All was silent, and no one was around. The writer dropped to the floor and cried with the weakest sounds.
?I love you both,? he whispered.
A gentle breeze swept through him; it sure felt like a beautiful reply.
He knew what must be done, and it was the hardest thing ever.
At nearest the city park, the two urns sat beside Maynard while he stared at the man-made lake. Only the trees, the birds, and the four-o'clock-sun kept him company. His phone buzzed. Someone had sent him a voice message.
?Hey, Max, it's Paula,? the recording said. ?I'm really sorry for messing you up the way I did last night. I know I can never know what you're going through, but as an actor... I might know a thing or two about wanting a different reality. It's never easy?losing things, going through storms. I hope you can believe with me that things in this world will get better. Try not to go through this alone, okay? Just keep your doors open for those who want to be a part of your life. That's all I can say. Um... bye.?
The writer slid his phone back into his pocket, picked up Allison's urn with a calm touch, then faced the lake once more.
?Mr. Maxwell!? a young voice shouted from afar. ?Need some help?? It was Colby, the red-haired boy he met a few days ago.
Teary-eyed, Maynard smiled at him and nodded. For some reason, the boy's face made him think of milkshakes at the diner, and such a daydream would gladly be invited.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment