you shout in your sleep perhaps the price was just too steep is your conscience at rest if once put to the test you awake with a start to just the beating of your heart just one man beneath the sky just two ears and just two eyes you set sail across the sea of long past thoughts and memories childhood's end your fantasies merge with harsh realities and then as the sail is hoist you find your eyes are growing moist and all the fears never voiced say you have to make the final choice who are you and who am I to say we know the reason why some are born some men die beneath one infinite sky there'll be war and there'll be peace but everything one day will cease all the iron turned to rust all the proud men turned to dust so all things time will mend so this song will end --David Gilmour, "childhood's end" SR smiled as he honked the horn at the doe mesmerized just ten feet from the front of his vehicle. At that sound, she started, snapping out of her trance, then bounded in two great leaps into the brush to the left of the dirt road. Every time he drove out here, SR seemed to run into wildlife of one form or another. More often than not it was one of these cloven-hoofed creatures. Usually they were smart enough to stay well away from what must look to them like a loud, smelly thing with bright eyes. But if their escape path crossed the road in front of it, the cliche held true, and they would dumbly stand there, perhaps too terrified to move, until SR brought the Jeep to a complete stop and sounded the horn. He sighed and sat back into the bucket seat. "Thank you," he whispered. The mule deer was long gone now, yet he felt the need to express his gratitude for allowing him to disturb her midnight snacking. He stared a moment longer at the spot between the trees where she disappeared then let up on the brake and continued his journey down the wet and washboard-like track. Just how many times he'd traveled this path he didn't know. SR had stopped counting after his nightly trips became an every-other-night affair. But tonight was special. It was the 17th of November, and according to the information he'd gathered, it was the night on which the Earth was traveling through the debris left behind by comet Tempel-Tuttle. Unlike other meteor showers, this dust cloud was extremely dense, and astronomers were predicting the largest storm of falling stars human eyes had seen for the last 100 years. Even though the peak would occur later that day well after the sun had risen, there was no way SR was going to pass this up the chance even to see the beginning of a centennial event. He leaned over and pressed the "pause" button on the car's CD-player. In mid-sentence, Roger Waters and the rest of Pink Floyd continued to wail the chorus of "Comfortably Numb," obviously unaware that an interruption had occurred. SR didn't feel the need to apologize to them. He was still half of a mile from his destination. The Stargazing Spot, as he liked to call it, had actually been some farmer's field. It lay on a slight slope at the foot of the north side of Moscow Mountain. There were obvious signs that this clearing had been used for grazing, but the rusted and fallen-down barbed-wire fences attested to the fact that its owners had abandoned the area long ago. For SR, there couldn't be a more perfect place. He'd accidentally discovered it while four-wheeling with his friend Lester in Lester's new Dodge Dakota earlier that spring. They hadn't intended on bouncing so far over the mountain, but after narrowly pulling out of a much-too-deep mud bog on the track (which, by the way had only been attempted at SR's prodding) the duo decided that they'd best find another route back to the University of Idaho. When they reached the foot of the mountain, the trees pulled back and the truck was enveloped in an open expanse of grassy meadow. Without saying anything, Lester pulled to the side of the road and turned of the ignition. Both occupants disembarked, walked to the center of the field and stood-- for nearly half an hour-- gaping at the magnificent fireworks display overhead. They would come back to this spot a half-dozen times in the two months that remained of the school year. Lester graduated at the end of that semester, taking with him his truck. When SR returned the next fall, he'd acquired a moss-green Jeep Cherokee, and as his first act as an independent (and/or insane) rider of rough roads, sought out the Stargazing Spot. To his disappointment the trail had been overhauled and any vehicle could have made the trip. Still, there were no signs that anyone else had noticed or visited the place, so he assumed his sanctuary of solace was undisturbed. Rounding the last bend on the road, SR glanced in vain toward the east to see if Leo had yet risen. He saw his own reflection in the window due to the ambient light from the instrument panel. Frowning, he knew that it would take at least a half hour for his night vision to fully kick in. Despite this fact, however, SR remained sitting in the cab of the Jeep, engine running, until Pink Floyd had finished singing "Stop." SR doesn't casually interrupt artists in the act. The landscape was, as usual, simply stunning. A week earlier, a passing storm had shed and inch of snow on the rural university town of Moscow, Idaho. In the valley it hardly lasted a day. Here, however, the elevation was just high enough to keep most of it. Three inches had settled, and a subsequent drizzle had frozen to form a thin sheet of ice on top of the snow. Again, as he expected, SR's Stargazing Spot was untouched, and the white blanket crunched as he made his way to the center of the virgin meadow. It was well below freezing, but experience had taught SR to dress for the weather. With his large array of warm clothing, he could observe comfortably for several hours. Laying down facing east in a la-Z-boy-like depression in the ground, he glanced up to see Leo hovering about 25 degrees above the horizon. SR was late: the show was well under way by the time he'd gotten there. After a few minutes of acclimation to the dark, bright trails were streaking across the sky every ten to fifteen seconds. Most of them were short, barely making it out of the lion's mane. Some lived longer, screaming their way into Lynx or the Big Bear. In a few minutes, SR saw one that even had the audacity to go through the Big Bear and Draco, dying just short of Polaris, at the Little Bear's tail. SR lay silently this way for a half hour before the inevitable happened. When it did, it brought another smile to his lips. Somewhere in the woods to the south a skunk was announcing its presence. Shortly thereafter, the mephitic mustelid's cry was joined by faint noises of other creatures, great and small, living their nocturnal lives in the adjoining forest. Grinning broadly, SR laid his covered head back into the snow acting as his pillow, basking in the flashing lights and their accompanying orchestra. He closed his eyes. Life was perfect. He would have been content to die at that moment. What actually did happen that moment, however, startled SR beyond belief. The moment his eyes were closed, SR found himself observing the most realistic flashback he'd ever had. Actually, SR had never before had a flashback. But the things he saw were as realistic as life could be. Further, he instantly recognized the scene playing before him as an episode from his own life which had occurred almost three months previously.... SR was driving down the "tame way" to the Stargazing Spot, singing along with Pink Floyd playing "Welcome to the Machine." This route was the "tame" (or "lame") way because it was the second way off of Moscow Mountain that Lester and SR had been searching for that first night they'd discovered the Stargazing Spot. It was a longer method, but all of the roads, except for the last half-mile, were either paved or improved gravel. When one's cargo is expensive optics, this route is much preferable to the "wild way," the route over the mountain that was sometimes not even suitable for a Jeep. Upon arriving, he wasted no time pulling out his 4.5 inch reflector telescope and setting it up on its equatorial mount in the center of the clearing. SR smiled at himself while looking up at the wide belt of the Milky Way overhead, proud that he'd been able to find the way along the curving roads after the three months he'd been away for the summer. Tonight was the monthly anniversary of the new moon, so viewing the stars would be perfect. It was all as he remembered it: the broad, black sky, untouched by any light pollution; the low-lying horizon, completely free of obstructing trees; and above all, the silence. The silence was, well, deafening. The times he'd been here with Lester, there was absolutely no sound. The place seemed even to be immune to the slightest rustle of the wind. Only the swishing and crunching of their shoes on the grass and their light breathing could be heard. When they stopped and looked upward, the silence was an unending ringing in the ears. Under these conditions, even the softest whisper was coarse and harsh. Of course, except for that first night, neither Lester nor SR had stayed for longer than ten minutes. SR hadn't thought to bring his telescope that semester, and after that short interval, they had both gotten their fill. This night, however, was much different. After a half hour, SR was admiring the rings on Jupiter's belly as that god watched over nine of his subjects when it happened: Quite innocently, a fox in the woods to the west began to whine and yip. SR froze. At first he was afraid. He had naively become accustomed to the idea that he was the sole occupant of the world. But his fear didn't last long. Something deep within his gut began to churn. He felt... yearning? He stood upright, knees wobbling. Barely managing to turn to face the noise, tears formed in his eyes. Shuddering, he drew in a great gasp of air. As abruptly as it started, the fox ceased its melody. SR let out a small cry and reached with his right hand in the direction where the sound had originated, willing it to continue. But it was not to be. The SR watching the flashback knew that he would hear that fox on only one other occasion. A short while later, SR lowered his hand and his head. He didn't know how he knew, but it was most certainly a fox. A vixen, to be precise. A few moments later, he had regained his composure. But his actions and feelings confused him in the extreme. Brow furrowed, he looked upward to the stars. SR gasped and sat bolt upright. Looking upward, he could see that the meteor shower was as active as ever. Leo had risen another ten degrees in the sky. The orchestra of animals continued its song without interruption or inflection. Blinking, SR considered what had just happened. This was so surreal! He couldn't have seen what he had seen. Yet everything was exactly how it had been-- from the swishing of the grass as he walked through it to the faint scent of pine from the trees to the stubble he'd had on his face that day. What's more, SR realized that he'd watched the whole scene from far above the earth. The gaze that he'd received from himself at the end of the flashback was unnerving. He sat pondering for a moment before deciding that he must have imagined it. SR vaguely remembered reading somewhere that a person's subconscious records every event that occurs in that person's life. These memories can sometimes come back in dreams, as deja vu, or flashbacks. Dismissing the whole affair to a malicious subconscious, SR tried to shake the feeling that accompanied the flashback. Forcing himself to smile, he again laid back, returning his gaze to the Leonids. He was almost relaxed when he closed his eyes again. He nearly choked when he found himself once again staring at himself from an indeterminable distance from the Earth. He tried to will himself back to the snowy meadow, but the vision continued.... Copyright © 1998 by SR Foxley. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you have questions regarding the publication of this document.
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