“Damn! You think a hurricane’s comin’?” Clay asks, worried and pullin’ leaf bits from his hair and off his clothes.
I stare at the ground just ahead of us. I can’t move. Clay follows my gaze, and I know I’m not seein’ things, cuz he goes silent. The leaves have fallen in such a way that they perfectly form the words “HAPPY HAPPY.”
13
Cyclone
LATE. LATE LATE LATE. THEY said on the radio there’s sposeta be big deal meteor showers tonight and we might be able to see ’em around two forty-five this morning. I know I shouldn’t be going out this late, but I figure this might be one of those once-in-a-lifetime things, so I decide to take my chances. Mama sleeps like the dead once she’s out. The twins are more of a concern, but if I make it all the way out the house without wakin’ ’em, they should stay asleep till I get back.
I slip on some old pants and my flats and pull a jacket over my nightshirt. I creep down the stairs as slow and quiet as I can be. Lifting my house key from the key hook is the scariest moment. I hold my breath and one, two, three… got ’em. Not a sound. I sneak out the door and close it gently behind me.
Next hurdle. I bear down, and using all my strength, I hoist my bicycle from the back porch and carry it, clamping down on the chain and all, out into the street. I set it down to take a brief rest. Then I pick it up again and carry it to the end of the block. I make sure I’m well on my way before I finally put it down and ride.
Free. I know it ain’t the safest time to travel, what with rednecks out at all hours, but there is something fun about wheelin’ around town in the middle of the night. The streets are empty. Nobody’s around, thank Christ Jesus. It’s like the meteor showers are happening just for me. Wish I could share this with Clay, though. Hell, he’ll be gettin’ up to go to work in a few hours, since his dad keeps makin’ him open up the shop.
Takes me about forty minutes to get out to the edge of town and just under ten more to get myself up to the lookout. That last mile is all uphill. I’m huffin’ and puffin’ when I’m done. I know I couldn’t have used it tonight noways, but someday, I do hope we get a car. Mama says who needs it when I got the bike and we both got the city bus? But I bet it feels different to have your very own car. That might be why Clay feels like a man compared to the other boys his age. Technically it’s his dad’s car, but still. Close enough. Probably closer than I’ll ever get.
I watch the sky. I use the binoculars that Uncle George gave me last Christmas—a thoughtful gift until he made sure to let me know how much they cost him. They’re not the best quality, but it’s what I have, so they’ll have to do.
I focus them. A few clouds drift by, but for the most part the night is clear. When I was younger, I dragged Mama and the twins outta bed to look for Comet Arend-Roland from our back yard. They were still babies and screamed the whole time and Mama complained, and we could hardly see it at all. I made up my mind then not to share this stuff with the family anymore. So even if I’m a little lonely, at least it’s peaceful.
I see something. I adjust both lenses to get a better look, and I see movement growing in intensity. So bright, I don’t even need the binoculars. Then they all start to fall through the sky. Dazzling streams of light. I can’t believe how many there are. How beautiful this sight is. When I don’t think I can handle any more beauty, they start to swirl in a circular motion. A cyclone of light. This is a rare atmospheric phenomenon that has to be seen to be believed. Because I know what magic looks like, I know this is pretty damn close, but it’s not magic. It’s the elegance of the universe.
Without moving my eyes, I reach down to make sure the bike is securely leaning against the tree before I edge closer. I know moving a few feet closer can’t possibly make much of a difference, but it feels like I’m nearer to touching the sky when I do. I take a few more steps, and when I’m convinced my view can’t possibly get any better, I plant myself and stand, still in awe.
I stare as long as I can. I try not to blink. I want to sear this image in my mind so I can always remember it. If I was artistic, I would try to draw what I see, but I’m not so good at art. I wish I had a camera, but there’s no way a photograph could capture the motion. I just wanna be able to always recall this picture. I’ll do my best to describe it to Clay and Anne Marie. And Daddy. Maybe one day, well into the future, I’ll describe it to Mama. Maybe my own kids, if I ever have any.
After a while, my head starts to hurt a bit. Not like the dangerous headaches, but from eyestrain. Truth be told, since I discovered that connecting with my red-orange band makes ’em go away, I haven’t had any bad headaches at all. I think that can only be a good thing.
I know it’s about time to go, so I soak it in for one more minute, feeling lucky and smart and part of a cosmos too vast for any of us to
