![]() |
Enter your story of 300 words or less. |
Constellations WC: 282 Diamonds dot black velvet. I point toward the three bright stars of Orion’s Belt. “It’s best visible in the night sky in January and—” “Always with your head in the clouds, James,” my mother interjects. “Just like your father.” Mom can destroy me in two seconds flat; she hasn’t always been this way...just since my dad died. "—at around 9.00 pm," I continue, as calmly as I can. Though my mother has cut me to the bone, I measure my words. "I miss Dad too, Mom.” The metal chair scrapes on the concrete as she scoots her chair back from the patio table. “How about a snack?” she asks, changing the subject. “No, thanks.” “O-ka-ay,” she says and heads for her domain. Mom has always owned the kitchen; Dad and I had dibs on the shed at the back of our yard. Rube Goldberg wannabes, we ‘men’ would hammer, drill, saw and Jerry-rig our weekends away while Mom chopped and sifted and baked her heart out. “I’m making cookies.” “Twist my arm.” “Milk?” “Sure.” I have never turned down my mother’s peanut butter cookies. I spend the next fifteen minutes studying the constellations, the fragrance of peanut butter sneaking through the window screen, filling the patio. Mom pushes through the back door, juggling a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk. She places the tray between us. We munch cookies in silence. “Seven Sisters,” she says, suddenly, and points to the open star cluster in the sky. “Astronomers estimate it will survive for about another 250 million years.” She squeezes my hand. “That’s the rumor,” I say as I squeeze back, and run my tongue over my milk mustache. |