Changing Stars

Changing Stars

Sophie walked out onto the porch of the small cabin located atop a small plateau in Colorado, overlooking a vast field of yellow prairie grass. The sky seemed to intersect with the grass, creating a zipper pattern running with the horizon. In the far off distance, the city could be seen, a collection of short pencils and worn-down erasers, adorned with lights and place on the corner of the desk-like plateau. The porch was lighted only by a Chinese style paper lamp that hung down low, easily extinguishable from the rocking chair that moved back and forth slowly. Beside the rocking chair was a wooden table populated by several empty beer bottles, drained by the old man called Luke who sat in the chair and watched.

“You didn’t wait for me,” Sophie said, brushing past him and sitting down in the chair parallel to his. Luke’s wrinkled face remained unchanged. His head didn’t move from his shoulders. All that moved were his dull-blue eyes. They shifted over to Sophie, searched her for alcohol, but couldn’t find any. They then returned, slowly, to the prairie grass and the distant city and the stars above. “You really don’t hold anything sacred, do you?”

“I saw your brother today,” Luke said.

“Is there anymore beer in the fridge?”

“He was at the gas station. Driving a mini-van. I think it was a Japanese brand. Something like that…” Sophie stood and walked over to the fridge. She opened it and found it empty, save for a bag of refrigerated medication and a carton of sour milk. Neither had been opened. She closed the fridge, rummaged through the cabinets for a drink, but finally decided she’d best not, considering that she still needed to drive home. She returned to Luke, who had stopped his story a while ago.

“You need food.”

“I don’t eat much anymore.”

“You should. Food is a good thing. One of the few good things we have in this world,” Sophie said.

“Liquor’s better.”

“Only if you know when to drink it,” Sophie said, leaning back on the hind legs of her chair, keeping her arms crossed. She was thirsty. They hadn’t even started talking yet and already she was thirsty and wanted desperately to leave. “What else did you do today?”

“I saw your brother at the gas station.”

“What else?”

“I drove for a while. Drove to the gas station, then saw your brother, then I didn’t feel like driving anymore. So I drove back home.” Luke stopped his story and wheezed into the sleeve of his shirt. Out of the corner of her eye Sophie saw the red glimmer of blood on his sleeve once he’d moved his head back. “Been sitting here for a while. Just been watching the stars rise and fall.”

“It’s a beautiful night.”

“It’d be better without the city there,” Luke said, “The light from the city goes and ruins the view of the stars. Can barely see some of them because of it.”

“I know. I took a science course about pollution,” Sophie said, not expecting him to remember.

“Did they tell you how to stop it?”

“They told us it was up to humans to stop pollution. As a collective, that’s how we stop pollution. Can’t do it alone, that’s for damned certain,” Sophie said. She swallowed hard, her throat dry already.

“Most stars you can’t even see with the naked eye. Did you know that?” Sophie nodded. “I always liked looking at the stars. Carrie and I used to sit out in that very field and stargaze for hours on end. You and your brother were conceived in that field.”

“If we’re going to talk about this, I’m going to need alcohol,” Sophie said.

“Bottom cabinet, closest to the fridge I’ve got a half a bottle of whiskey. It’s all yours.” Sophie fetched it, returned, and began taking big gulps as Luke stared out at the field. When she’d finished most of what was left, Luke extended his hand. She placed the bottle in it and his hand retracted, pouring the last precious drops of liquid into his mouth. It tasted sour. “That bottle was old. You shouldn’t have had it so quickly.”

“I was thirsty,” Sophie said, “You mentioned seeing Will?”

“I saw him at the gas station, in a mini-van. He was talking with a guy, talking about selling the damn thing. He said he didn’t need it anymore cause all the kids were off in college, off on their own. ‘Birds leaving the nest’ is what he said. All three of them went on off into the world.”

“That’s what people do.”

“I don’t like this world. Too many things change too fast. I like the stars more because they don’t change. They just move across the sky and go to bed when the sun rises. But they always come back. They always keep going round and round this earth of ours,” Luke said.

“The stars change too. They’re born, they live, they grow old, they die,” Sophie said, “Did you talk to Will?”

“I should’ve.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I talked with my eyes.”

“What’d your eyes say?”

“Nothing important. Nobody says anything important anymore. It’s all mindless chatter. People used to talk with their eyes about lots of things. About the stars and the world and their kids who drive mini-vans,” Luke said. He scratched the side of his face with his long fingernails. He put his hands back down on the worn arms of his rocking chair. “How’s the war?”

“Which one?”

“Whichever.”

“Over,” Sophie lied. She pursed her dry lips, wishing she hadn’t given Luke the rest of the bottle to finish. Anxiously, she leaned forward in her chair and rested her elbows on her legs, then rested her head in her folded hands. She gazed out at the field, glowing golden in the starlight. “The war’s over and we all lost.”

“I remember fighting a war. And nowadays your brother drives a Japanese mini-van…”

“Everyone drives Japanese mini-vans nowadays, if they want to,” Sophie said, “Just the way things work.”

“I wish things would change for the better,” Luke said, “When I was your age they told me things would change for the better. I believed in that change. But things only changed for the worse. Carrie changed. Will changed. You changed…”

“Maybe it’s not the world that’s changing. Maybe it’s you that has changed,” Sophie said. She looked up at the twinkling light of Arcturus, the brightest star in the sky. It, too, was slowly dying. She’d stared at it through a telescope before, and seen it only as a morbid gray ball, devoid of any sort of life or personality. Sophie had learned that only after sitting back and admiring something with unaided eyes could on see something for what it was. She had learned it long ago, but it hadn’t made her any less thirsty, or any more at peace. Instead, she shuffled through her jacket pocket. “Do you want me to read to you?”

“Might as well…”

Sophie took out her book of poetry and held it beneath one of the Chinese lanterns so she might catch the candlelight. She flipped through the pages until she came to a page with a bookmark. Sophie read,

“I walked beneath the golden sun,
Alone amongst the grass,
Unsure of the place I was headed towards
Or even the direction…”

“Did I tell you, Sophie?”

“Tell me what?”

“I saw your brother at the gas station today.”