Clear Skies

by Jessica Scott Kerrin

  It was worth a shot.

  Arno turned on his flashlight and flipped to the new article about Pluto, a tiny planet so far away that no space probes had ever reached it. Arno read that when Earth and Pluto were on opposite sides of the Sun, there was so much space, it was hard to understand. To better appreciate the distance, the article suggested that the reader make a paper model.

  Perfect, thought Arno. If he read the instructions about how to make one, he would picture the steps in his head. That would keep his mind off other things, like how dark it was inside, how cramped he was sitting there, all those coats hanging over his head like —

  Arno shook it off.

  The article said to cut a piece of adding-machine paper that was as long your outstretched arms could reach. Then it said to write “Sun” on one end of the paper and “Pluto” on the other end. Arno could easily imagine completing that step.

  Got it, he thought.

  Next, he was instructed to fold the paper in half. At the crease, mark “Uranus.”

  Got it, he thought. He felt great.

  Fold the paper in half again, dividing the strip into quarters. Mark “Neptune” on the crease nearest Pluto. Mark “Saturn” on the other crease.

  Still following, he thought, picturing where the planets were landing on the creased paper.

  Fold the Sun up to Saturn and make a crease. Mark that crease “Jupiter.” Fold the Sun up to Jupiter and make a crease. That’s where the orbit of the asteroid belt is located.

  Neat, thought Arno. He knew all about the asteroid belt.

  The asteroid belt was occupied by numerous potato-shaped bodies called asteroids that circled the Sun. “Asteroid” meant starlike, and these rocks were too disrupted by giant Jupiter’s gravity to have ever formed a planet. Arno also knew that the total mass of all the asteroids equaled four percent of Earth’s moon.

  Arno braved a small smile at Comet. His head was filled with exciting astronomy facts, just as he had planned. He wasn’t thinking about the dark, tight space he was reading in at all.

  Except, as soon as he realized this thought, he felt a slight but familiar flutter in his stomach. Ignoring it, he quickly returned to his article to keep his mind busy with intriguing astronomy information.

  Fold the Sun up to the asteroid belt and make a crease. Mark this crease “Mars.”

  Got it, Arno thought. Still, he couldn’t help notice that his mouth had gone dry. He tried to swallow.

  Fold the Sun up to Mars but leave it folded. Fold the crease side up to Mars again.

  Oh, no, Arno thought. The air inside the closet had become stuffy and suffocating. He tried to read on, but the words on the page got wobbly.

  This will leave you with three new creases between the Sun and Mars: one for Mercury, Venus and Earth.

  Arno was no longer following. He could no longer think. He tried to chase the bits and pieces of instructions, but it was like trying to catch all the stars coming out during a new moon on a clear night.

  He felt dizzy. His heart started pounding hard against his ribs and he couldn’t breathe. The dark, tight space where he sat cross-legged pressed heavily against him. He grabbed the door handle and fumbled out of the closet, his flashlight and magazine spilling out onto the floor.

  Red-faced and humiliated, he lay gulping air. Comet scampered out and licked his face.

  Arno slowly picked himself up.

  His experiment was a complete failure.

  A complete and utter failure.

  And now he knew for sure. He had to get out of going to tomorrow night’s opening of the observatory.

  But how?

  He heard his dad’s footsteps on the front porch, coming home for the day.

  Comet scrambled to the door greet him.

  “What’s wrong?” Arno’s dad asked as soon as he stepped inside and spotted Arno on the floor.

  “Just horsing around with Comet,” Arno said, getting up.

  “What’s with the flashlight?” his dad asked, spying it beside the open closet door.

  Arno thought quickly.

  “I was checking the batteries. I might do some astro-drawing tonight,” he said.

  Pinned to the bulletin board in his bedroom were several of his charcoal-and-pencil drawings of the night sky as seen through his telescope. He was getting really good at drawing under dim conditions, with his flashlight covered in red film so as not to disturb his night vision.

  His dad nodded, then fished into his pocket to pull out his wallet.

  “We’re having your mom’s tuna noodle casserole for dinner,” he said, handing Arno fifty cents. “A tall cold glass of lemonade would be perfect to go with it. Can you run over and pick up a bag of lemons at Tasty Fresh?”

  Arno nodded, grateful for the distraction.

  * * *

  —

  * * *

  Arno lingered at Tasty Fresh Foods longer than he needed to while carting a bag of fresh lemons, just to enjoy the cooler air inside. He strolled up and down the aisles but stopped in his tracks when he turned the corner and came across the brand-new display of Sweet Cheeks disposable diapers.

  Sweet Cheeks took up almost half the aisle.

  Arno stood gobsmacked.

  Disposable diapers? What were they? He scanned the promises on the packages.

  Comfortable.

  More absorbent.

  No more washing.

  No more washing? What? Once they got dirty, you just threw them out? That didn’t make any sense.

  But its claim to use space-age technology to construct the disposable diapers offended Arno the most.

  “Blast it,” he said under his breath.

  Still. Would families really go for these newfangled no-cloth things, throwing them out after only one use?

  Arno knew how many diapers a baby was expected to dirty before being fully toilet trained. It was a fun fact that his dad often told customers, to startling effect.

  Six thousand!

  When they learned that staggering number, they gratefully hired his dad’s service.

  Arno set down his bag of lemons. He pulled a package of Sweet Cheeks diapers off the shelf for closer examination. The package featured a toothless smiling baby, one who was particularly adorable with its pudgy legs and naked chest, the words Sweet Cheeks arching in jolly letters above its round, bald head.

  Arno pictured his dad’s company name on his fleet of white vans.

  Stinky’s.

  The name was no longer funny. He didn’t think his dad would be laughing, either.

  Arno set the package back on the shelf. He slowly stooped to pick up his lemons and slunk to the nearest checkout. He felt like a traitor for even considering that Sweet Cheeks might put his dad’s diaper-cleaning service out of business.

  Back at home in the kitchen, which Arno’s dad had tidied without too much scolding, Arno cut up the lemons and did his best to avoid squirts to the eyes.

  “Hey, Dad. Tasty Fresh is selling disposable diapers.”

  His dad was pulling the casserole out of the oven. He stood to face Arno while holding the bubbling hot dish with oven mitts.

  “I know,” he said.

  “I didn’t think there was such a thing. Sounds kind of crazy to me.”

  “Well, it’s the Space Age after all. People want things that are modern and easy.”

  “Are you worried?” Arno asked.

  “About disposable diapers eating into my business? There might be some impact,” his dad admitted. “But my customers are loyal. They want the best for their babies. And I’ve been in this business a long time.”

  “You and your father before you,” Arno chimed in.

  It was Arno’s grandfather who had started the family business. Arno’s dad smiled.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I
’m all for new discoveries. Take the Space Race. I think we should constantly look outward, beyond our horizons, to advance. And something interesting always happens when we do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like no matter how far we travel, we always turn around to look back at where we’ve been. When we do, our perspective changes forever.”

  “I guess,” Arno said, not really following.

  But then he thought about all the times he had spent looking through his telescope. He was constantly on the hunt for something new — a comet or a double star, depending on the season. But after every session, he’d return to one of his favorites: the Andromeda Galaxy, the Orion Nebula, the Beehive Cluster.

  “Like astronomy,” Arno said. “I keep a list of what I’ve seen but I always go back to the ones I already know. And it reminds me. The more I know, the more I don’t know. I realize I’m nowhere close to the edges of the universe.”

  “Precisely. When we finally get to see what Earth looks like from the Moon, I imagine that our perspective will change forever. Only then will we understand just how small and fragile our planet is, and that we each need to do our part to protect it.”

  Arno had never heard his dad talk to him like this. Such deep thoughts! It was wonderful.

  While his dad slipped the hot casserole onto the stove and took off the tinfoil, Arno opened the dish cupboard. He set two places on the table, then turned to study his dad.

  His dad had changed out of his uniform, but his Stinky’s van was proudly parked in the driveway, a van he drove day after day after day. It was as unglamorous a job as Arno could imagine, picking up dirty diapers from neighbors, then washing and replacing them with soft folded cotton that smelled sweet, like sunshine.

  Arno didn’t want to spoil the mood, and he didn’t want to be mean about it, but still. He had to ask.

  “Dad, what’s your part?”

  Arno’s dad was rooting through a drawer for a serving spoon.

  “Disposable diapers may be easier,” he said, “but I guarantee that they’ll cost more money in the end, and they’ll certainly create way more garbage. More garbage can’t be good for the Earth. I think my service will stand the test of time.”

  Arno nodded. He pictured Stinky’s van. He liked those bold boxy letters. He liked the dizzy fly and the poop-tone flames. It was still funny!

  “How come you never talk to any of us about joining Stinky’s once we grow up?” Arno asked.

  “I’d be happy if that’s what one of my sons wanted. But mostly I hope that each of you make your own way doing whatever it is you love to do. Like astronomy.”

  Arno frowned.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Arno said. “I could help you instead.”

  It was a desperate offer. Arno knew it even before he said those words out loud.

  “Arno! Nobody I know understands more about astronomy than you. You’re going to do great things, make huge discoveries that I can’t even imagine.” Arno’s dad paused. “Is everything okay?”

  Arno swallowed the lump in his throat.

  “Yeah. Why?” he managed.

  “I phoned your mom today. She said you called her.”

  “Yeah, to say hi.”

  “She said you sounded … troubled.”

  Arno turned away to stare out the window. He wanted to tell his dad, he really did. The words were there at the tip of his tongue. What was stopping him?

  If he admitted his fear of small, dark spaces, would his dad be disappointed? If he admitted his fear of being crushed by surrounding walls, would his dad be embarrassed for him? If he admitted his fear of suffocating, would his dad tell him that everything would be okay, even though they both knew it wouldn’t?

  His fear was real and there was nothing anybody could do for Arno.

  “I miss Mom. That’s all.”

  “She said you mentioned that you were worried about the weather. That there might not be clear skies for tomorrow night.”

  “Well, there’s no point going if it’s cloudy.”

  “No. I don’t suppose.”

  Arno peered outside once again. All he could see was a blindingly blue sky.

  NINE

  After the dinner dishes were washed, Arno’s dad asked if he still planned on doing some astro-drawing.

  “Looks like clear skies,” his dad said, peering out the kitchen window at Venus, the evening star making its early appearance.

  Arno didn’t have anything better to do, and besides, it was a great way to practice his observation skills and forget about his troubles.

  He gathered the things he would need.

  His Moonscope was propped on its tripod by the back door. His astronomy notebook was in a drawer of his desk, along with his pencils and smudging tools. His pocket star atlas was in the same drawer. He had left the flashlight on the table by the front hall closet. He wrapped red cellophane over the end of it. That was held in place with an elastic band.

  Then he took everything outside and dragged a lawn chair to the middle of the backyard. He set up the telescope and pointed it to the Moon.

  Arno sat back and waited for it to get darker. Venus was now very bright, and there was Mars with its red hue. One by one the stars came out, the brightest summer ones making a beautiful triangle. Vega. Altair. Deneb.

  As the sky grew its darkest, he could see the galaxy. He could even make out its dust lanes when looking straight up, the dark cloudy areas with even more densely packed stars behind them, their light blending together like spilled milk.

  Arno adjusted his telescope and scanned the Moon’s terminator — the line between the lit part and the shadowed part. He stopped when he spotted an interesting X shape made from the ridges of a cluster of craters that were still lit by the Sun.

  It was so striking, he decided to sketch the scene.

  He got out his B pencil and drew a circle in his notebook. Within that, he started to outline the peaks, the borders and the internal walls of the craters. He drew in the shadows with a softer, darker 8B pencil and erased where the sunlight hit the tops of the craters to bring out the whitest of whites.

  The X shape was starting to pop off the page and then —

  “Whatcha doing?” a voice called out from Arno’s back door.

  It was Buddy. He swept his bright, unfiltered flashlight beam across the yard and locked in on Arno.

  “Turn that thing off!” Arno barked while covering his eyes. “You’re ruining my night vision!”

  “Oops.” Buddy fumbled with his flashlight to turn it off, then dragged another lawn chair over to where Arno was positioned.

  “Are you drawing?” Buddy asked.

  Obviously, Arno was drawing. He had a pencil in his hand and his notebook on his lap!

  “In this light?” Buddy asked.

  Obviously, he was drawing in the dim red light he had created with his covered flashlight to protect his night vision.

  “Why?” Buddy asked.

  “I’m practicing my observation skills.”

  “Can I see?”

  Arno sighed. He moved away from the eyepiece to make room for Buddy, but in his haste, Buddy knocked the telescope so that it was now pointing somewhere else in the universe.

  “Whoa!” Buddy said, looking through the eyepiece. “I never knew there were so many stars. You can’t draw that!”

  Arno nudged him aside to see what Buddy was looking at. It was the constellation Hercules, near the bright star Vega.

  “Yes, I can,” Arno said. “I use something called triangulation. I draw the locations of the brightest stars that I spot within my eyepiece, then use their locations to see where I should add the next brightest stars. Then I use those to draw the next brightest ones until I work my way down to the dimmest ones, the ones I can barely see. I have to use averted vision for those last ones.”


  “What’s averted vision?”

  “It’s where you don’t look directly at something because it disappears if you do. You can only see it if you look slightly away. It works for things in the night sky that are very faint.”

  “So, you have to have good eyesight to be an astronomer,” Buddy said.

  “Yeah,” Arno said, looking at his sketch. “Of course.”

  “Like an astronaut,” Buddy said.

  “I guess.”

  Arno paused. He stared at Buddy.

  Buddy stared back. He gulped. It looked as if he was fighting back tears.

  “What?” Arno asked.

  “I can’t see the color red,” Buddy said so softly, Arno could barely make out his words.

  “You can’t see red?” Arno repeated. “Like on apples or Stop signs?”

  Buddy sat down, his head in his hands, staring glumly at the grass that was black between his feet.

  “So that’s why you didn’t recognize Mars,” Arno said.

  Buddy did not even look up.

  “You’re color blind.”

  Buddy gave a small nod.

  Arno realized that Buddy was having trouble speaking. But why? Color blindness wasn’t so bad, was it?

  Then he understood the awful truth. Astronauts could not be color blind. They would need perfect vision for all those instrument panels in their space capsules. Any confusion about which button to push, which warning light to read, which lever to pull could mean explosive disaster.

  “And you didn’t know until today?” Arno asked.

  Buddy glanced at Arno. He wiped at his eyes.

  Arno had no words for Buddy. Buddy’s career as an astronaut was over just as surely as Arno’s astronomy career.

  There they sat, the telescope between them, silently staring up at the glorious heavens where both their dreams exploded like supernovas.

  A lonely dog barked in the distance, bringing Arno back to Earth.

  “Oh, look. There’s Jupiter,” Arno said, always glad to spot that familiar friend.