Pt. 5 - New Constellations

In the days immediately after the city went dark there was a mixture of weeping and whimsy. The outage which appeared first as a suspicious novelty grew more insidious as the days and weeks crept on. At the onset though there was a general sense of comradery if not good will. Neighbors who had not spoken in years, if ever, met on porches and patios. Dogs were petted. Children played. It was as idyllic as could be expected with a forty percent vacancy rate.

The world aligned itself to the elements again. The midsummer sun kept the streets occupied with conversation late into the evening. Dusk brought its own merriment.

Still leaning against the brick exterior wall the ladder glinted dimly as here and there candlelight escaped from nearby windows. A thin, cold film of condensation was already forming on its weathered surface. The air was filled with the distant papery rustle of unseen cottonwoods while adolescent crickets tested out their legs. Night had come in cool, dispelling the memory of yet another sweaty day. Breezes unfelt from the ground brought a calming chill up on the roof where two figures lay.

“What’s that one?”

“The Big Dipper, come on dad.”

“Don’t come on me. I’m just making sure they’re actually doing something in school. Okay, what’s that one?”

“I don’t know.”

“That, my dear, is Fortinbras, noble god of the overweight.”

“Dad,” the girl of eleven said laughing as she elbowed her father who lay beside her, staring up at the sky. “Come on, tell the truth.”

“What? How do you know that is not the truth? You freely admitted you had no idea of what it was. And be careful, you almost knocked me off to my death.”

The girl giggled again and cuddled up closer to her father, nestling under his outstretched arm. Unconsciously he pulled her closer. They fell silent for a moment and gazed heavenward at the sky which seemed to have burst open, spilling ten million flakes of confetti into the stratosphere. With no light pollution to obscure them, the stars blazed with a glory even Declan hadn’t seen in years and only then on a trip to the Upper Peninsula. Now, the sky was a bowl of illumination stretching as far into endless darkness as they allowed their eyes to probe.

“And that,” he continued, pointing off to a southern region in the Milky Way, “is Scatalagorious, highly venerated by the Greeks as lord of bowel movements and soiled undergarments.” Tara chucked silently. He could feel here body twitch against his arm. “You can always find it because it’s just to the left of Uranus.” At this his daughter convulsed in laughter and he, unable to resist, laughed too. His mirth though sprung from some deeper well. He embraced it, letting the moment wash over him; breathing it in with each undignified snort. Then as riotous as it had begun, Tara’s laughter ceased. Just like the vast reaches of space, Declan knew the silence behind his daughter’s smile held burgeoning mysteries that he would never begin to understand.

Something ached within him.

In destitute quiet they lay watching the occasional landing lights of passing planes bound for more desirable shores. Here and there a wisp of cloud stole the moon. However never more than few moments passed before it reclaimed its luminous authority.

“How long do you think the power will be out?” Her question struck with such unexpected solemnity that Declan’s was briefly struck mute.

“Probably no longer than last time. A couple of days or so,” his voice spoke vapidly. “DTE says the storm knocked out power throughout the state. Some places will get it back sooner,” he paused, the words lingered, sticky in his throat, “some later.”

They lapsed into silence. Her arm entwined his. The shingles grated slightly against his shoulders and smelled sickly of petroleum.

“Good,” she said quickly, the vigor having returned to her voice. “we can play games and stuff. It’s kinda cool seeing everybody around and out.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Maybe we could ride own to the park tomorrow? Maybe we could ride to the park. Dad?” The question broke him out of a labyrinth of distant, indistinct thoughts.

“Yeah. Maybe.”