“Where?” Buddy asked half-heartedly.
Arno pointed to it. “The bright one that’s not twinkling. Planets don’t twinkle.”
“I knew that. Only stars twinkle.”
“Stars don’t really twinkle either,” Arno said. “It’s just that they’re so far away, they look like pinpoints of light. And because all that light is coming from a single point, when it goes through our thick, wavy atmosphere it looks as if the star twinkles. But planets are much closer. They look like tiny discs, not pinpoints of light. So our atmosphere doesn’t get in the way as much.”
Arno repositioned his telescope. “If Jupiter had been eight times bigger, it would have used its hydrogen to explode and become another burning star. But it stayed a planet. Right now I can see all four of its largest moons. One of them is as big as Mercury.”
“Really? Let me see!” Buddy said.
Arno moved aside.
“I can’t find Jupiter,” Buddy said, bumping the telescope again, then aiming it all over the northern hemisphere.
“Move away,” Arno said. He repositioned the telescope once more. “Now look again, this time with your hands behind your back. Don’t touch anything.”
Buddy did as he was told.
“I see it!” he exclaimed. “And I can see pinpricks of light in a line beside Jupiter. Are those moons?”
“Yes,” Arno said, happy that Buddy was interested for once. “Galileo was the first to see them with a telescope back in 1610. He proved that not everything orbits around Earth, which was what everyone thought. That’s why the telescope is the most important invention of all time.”
“Far out,” Buddy said.
“Galileo also discovered that our moon isn’t smooth. It has mountains and craters. And that the Milky Way wasn’t just a smear of light but is made up of billions of individual stars densely packed together. And that the Sun has sunspots.”
“It’d be cool to see sunspots.”
“Don’t ever look directly at the Sun, Buddy.”
Buddy moved away from the telescope.
“I’m color blind, Arno. I’m not an idiot.”
“Right. Neither was Galileo. He made more discoveries that changed the world than anyone has ever made before or since.”
“And now we have the Space Race,” Buddy said gloomily.
Arno solemnly nodded.
“And now we have the Space Race.”
They wallowed in the silence that followed, knowing that they wouldn’t be a part of it.
Still.
It was hard to ignore the glory right before their eyes.
“Want to see the biggest object in the night sky?” Arno asked.
“Why not,” Buddy said.
“Okay. See the constellation that looks like a big W on its side up there, opposite the Big Dipper?” he said, pointing.
Buddy followed with his gaze.
“That’s called Cassiopeia. The right side of the W makes a deeper V and it can be used as an arrow that points in the direction of the Andromeda Galaxy. Now hold your arm straight out.”
Buddy did.
“Move a fist and a half below that arrow. See the galaxy? Like a small pale puff of smoke?”
“That faint fuzzy thing?” Buddy exclaimed.
Arno repositioned the telescope.
“Hands behind your back. Have a look.”
Buddy peered into the eyepiece. His jaw dropped.
“Look near the center of that galaxy,” Arno instructed. “See how it’s brighter? That’s where there are the most stars. Now use averted vision to look at the outer regions that are less bright. It gives you a good idea about its size.”
Buddy stared at the galaxy.
“It’s spiral-shaped like our own Milky Way Galaxy,” Arno continued. “And it’s spinning, just like ours.”
“How far away is it?” Buddy asked, still hogging the eyepiece.
“About two and a half million light years,” Arno said. “So, it takes two and a half million years for light from that galaxy to reach our eyes. You know what that means?”
“What?”
“You’re now looking two and a half million years back in time. When that light started out, Earth was entering into the last ice age. Some stars you see right now probably no longer exist.”
“How does that even work? Buddy asked.
“It’s like an echo of someone shouting. Even though they’re not shouting anymore, you can still hear the sound of their voice.”
Buddy slowly pulled away from the telescope but continued to stare up at the universe.
“I never thought of astronomers as time travelers. You’re lucky. Tomorrow night in the observatory, you’ll see stars even farther away.”
Buddy’s words caught Arno off guard. He looked down at his unfinished sketch.
“I’m not going,” he said quietly.
Buddy whipped his head around to face Arno.
“Have you lost your marbles? Astronomy is all you ever talk about.”
“I have claustrophobia.”
“Claustro … what?”
“A fear of being trapped in small spaces.”
“That’s a thing?” Buddy asked.
“That’s a thing,” Arno said.
“Okay. But what does that have to do with the observatory?” Buddy asked.
“I’d worry that the giant telescope might crush me or that the dome might collapse or that people would crowd the exit and I’d be trapped and couldn’t breathe. I’d panic.”
“But those things won’t happen,” Buddy said.
“It doesn’t matter. The fear’s real,” Arno said. “So, I can’t go.”
Buddy thought for a minute.
“Astronauts have fear,” he said.
“Come on, Buddy. Get real.”
“No, listen. They do. My dad told me that many things can go wrong inside a rocket ship, and the astronauts know that. But they still complete their missions. Know how?”
“No. How?” Arno asked.
“They learn tricks about how to get the job done even though they’re afraid.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Like focusing on something that’s not threatening. Like breathing slowly and deeply and counting to three on each breath. Like picturing something happy, maybe their home or their kids. And they tell themselves over and over that the bad thing they’re afraid of is not going to happen. That way, they don’t bolt. They stay put and keep working until the panic passes.”
Arno blinked.
Maybe he’d been on to something with his experiment in the front hall closet. Maybe he quit too soon.
The boys stared up at the night sky.
“Oh, look,” Buddy said. “A shooting star.”
Arno was about to say, “You know it’s not a star, right?”
But he stopped himself.
Instead, both boys said nothing for a long time. The Earth continued to orbit the Sun. But when Arno stared up, slowly tracing the universe’s constellations with his eyes, he thought he caught a glimmer of hope.
* * *
The weather broke in the middle of the night, cracking the air in half.
Arno woke to a loud clap of thunder, followed by lightning that filled his bedroom with a jagged flash. He sat up on his elbows in bed, enjoying the cooler air that rushed in through his open window. The curtains billowed. He looked at the time on his sun-shaped alarm clock.
It was 2:15 in the morning.
Another clap of thunder roared so deeply across his neighborhood, Arno could feel it in his chest. Then came the first sounds of rain spattering against the roof, waves of tiny pings.
Arno turned on his lamp. The instruction booklet he had long memorized for his Moonscope lay dog-eared on his night table.
> Oh, no!
He had left his telescope outside!
What would happen if it got soaked in the rain? Arno did not want to find out.
Blast it!
He kicked off the covers and hit the cold floor with his bare feet. He didn’t stop for slippers. He bolted from his room and headed to the back door as fast as the speed of light. The rain was starting to come down hard.
Arno tramped across the spongy grass to where two lawn chairs were still positioned in the middle of the yard for nighttime viewing of the heavens. The telescope stood dripping on its tripod between the chairs.
Arno scooped up the works and turned back just as Comet streaked past him. Comet, who slept on his bed in the kitchen at night, must have followed Arno out the door.
“Here, Comet!” Arno called while patting his thigh, a hand signal that Comet knew well.
Another bolt of lightning blinded the sky, followed by a round of thunder even deeper than before. Arno knew it was dangerous to be standing out in the open. He could be struck at any second.
Comet yelped. Wild-eyed, he tore around and around the yard, as if he was looking for an escape hole in the wood fence. He seemed too scared to see Arno, let alone listen to him.
Arno was getting soaked. Rain streamed down his neck. His pajamas stuck to his shoulders, back and thighs. His telescope wasn’t getting much protection tucked under his arm.
“Comet! Comet!” he called, but it was no use.
Terrified, Comet kept orbiting Arno in wide circles, yelping and yelping and paying no attention to anything other than his own cosmic-sized fear.
Arno didn’t know what to do. Comet was bolting way too fast to catch.
Then Comet spotted his doghouse, a homemade shed with a pitched roof and painted siding that matched Arno’s own house.
Comet scampered inside.
Arno did not want to leave him there. His little dog was clearly terrified, and the storm had only just begun.
He needed to rescue Comet. But how?
TEN
The rain teemed down. Still hugging his telescope under one arm, Arno crouched in front of the doghouse door, which wasn’t a door at all. It was a small archway cut into the front of Comet’s house.
Arno peered inside. He couldn’t see a thing. Comet must be huddled at the very back where it was as dark as shadows on Pluto.
“It’s okay, Comet,” Arno called out in a soothing tone.
Comet whimpered.
Another clap of thunder shook the ground.
There was more whimpering from the back of the doghouse. And then Comet howled. It was the most pathetic sound that Arno had ever heard. He couldn’t leave his little dog there. He couldn’t! But Arno was soaked now, and he was starting to shake from the cold night air.
“Come here, Comet,” Arno pleaded through the door. “Let’s go back inside. It’s safer there. And you can sleep in my bed. You can even have the pillow!”
Comet still didn’t budge. Why would he, what with the horror that was going on outside?
Arno thought some more.
“Do you want a cookie?” he coaxed. “Come, Comet, and I’ll give you a nice cookie.”
Nothing.
“Two cookies.”
Nothing.
Then Comet made new sounds, forlorn sounds, as if he was weeping.
Arno gulped. He would have to keep Comet company until the storm was over. But now he was shivering uncontrollably. He had no choice but to climb inside the doghouse where it was drier, where he could scoop up Comet and hold him until he could calm down.
Arno stuck his head through the door. His stomach tightened. What he saw was his worst nightmare.
The inside of the doghouse was an unbearably cramped space and as black as a cave. But it was an unbearably cramped space that smelled of a sopping wet, terrified little dog.
Arno thought back to his conversation with Buddy, the one about how astronauts must finish their missions even when they were afraid.
What were the tricks they used?
Arno could barely think because of the deluge of rain, a white noise that sounded like what he imagined space would sound like if it could be heard. Also, his shivering and the rising panic from the pit of his stomach made him feel as if he might throw up, pass out, or both. He was breathing hard, gulping at the damp, heavy air. He desperately wanted to bolt back inside his house, into his safe, cozy bed.
“Astronauts don’t bolt,” he said out loud. “They stay put and keep working. They remind themselves that the panic will pass.”
Arno glanced around the yard once more, still bucketing with rain. He steadied himself.
“I’m coming in,” he announced to Comet, straining to keep his voice calm.
Arno decided to back in on his hands and knees. Slowly, he inched his way inside — first his bare feet, then his legs, his hips, his back and his chest. It was a tight squeeze when it came to his shoulders, but he pushed on. He ducked his head through the door and pulled in his telescope.
He sat up.
He was inside.
Comet leaped into Arno’s lap. His little body was shaking with terror, but he licked Arno’s cheek all the same.
Focus on things that are not threatening.
“Good dog,” Arno said to Comet as he always did whenever Comet gave him a kiss.
Then Arno heard his own labored breathing.
Breathe slowly and deeply and count between breaths.
Arno forced himself to slow down, to suck in air until his lungs were completely full and then slowly let it out. He repeated this again and again, counting between breaths until he had a nice steady rhythm.
Picture something that makes you happy.
Arno could see a sliver of the backyard from the doghouse door, where the lawn chairs sat under the night sky. He remembered the time with his mom when she discovered Polaris, the North Star, and then bought him his most prized possession.
That thought made him feel warmer.
Tell yourself that the bad thing will not happen.
Arno studied the cramped space surrounding him. He was getting his night vision so he could now make out the walls and the roof that was merely inches above his head. He reached out and touched the sturdy walls. He touched the solid roof. He could feel that nothing was about to collapse.
When Arno came to the end of Buddy’s advice, he went back to the top of the list and repeated his thoughts.
Comet is with me.
Breathe in. One, two, three. Breathe out. One, two, three.
My telescope is out of the rain.
The walls are sturdy. The roof is solid.
How many times he chanted this string of thoughts, he could not say, but when he eventually paused, he noticed that his heart was not pounding as hard.
“It’s okay,” Arno said to Comet on his lap. “I’ve got you.”
And then he repeated his chant. Again. Again. And again.
The rain poured down, drumming off the roof above their heads and forming puddles all around. But inside, Arno and Comet were in good company. When Arno paused from his chanting once more, he could feel that his heart was beating normally, that his breathing was soft and easy, that his mouth was no longer dry.
His panic had slipped away.
After that, Arno just sat, stroking Comet’s head.
Time passed. At some point, Arno heard his name. It was his dad calling from the back door. A flashlight beam was frantically sweeping the yard. Arno popped his head out of the doghouse.
“I’m in here!” he called back.
The rain was slowing down. Arno also noticed that all the lights in the house were on. His dad must have been madly searching for Arno in every room.
Arno’s dad ran across the yard and crouched in front of the doghouse. Water was dripp
ing off his face.
“What are you doing in there?” he asked.
“Rescuing Comet,” Arno said. “He got scared in the storm and wouldn’t come out. I didn’t want to leave him alone.”
“See if you can hand him to me,” his dad suggested, holding out his arms.
Arno scooped Comet from his lap and shoved the squirming dog through the archway.
“Come on inside,” his dad said, and he turned back to the house, sheltering Comet against his chest.
Arno grabbed his telescope, crawled out and made a dash for the back door.
Everyone stood dripping in the kitchen.
“I’ll go get us some towels,” his dad said.
He set down Comet, who trotted over to nudge his food dish now that the danger had passed.
Arno gave him a cookie, then a second one like he had promised.
Once they dried off, Arno’s dad offered to make hot chocolate. Comet curled up in his bed in the kitchen, and Arno covered him with his blanket.
“You really gave me a scare,” his dad said, heating the milk. “How did Comet get outside, anyway?”
“I remembered that my telescope was in the backyard when it started to rain. When I went out to get it, Comet made a dash.”
“Does the telescope still work?” his dad asked.
Arno dried it with a tea towel, then peered through the eyepiece out the window at a distant light. He used the dials to focus.
“Yup,” Arno said with relief. He set the telescope in the corner near Comet’s bed. Comet lay there, his eyes shut tight, his chest slowly rising and falling.
“Don’t worry about the weather,” Arno’s dad said. “These dramatic summer storms come in the night but they always pass quickly. You’ll see. You’ll have clear skies for the observatory.”
The observatory! Arno was about to make excuses, but he caught himself.
Didn’t he just work through a panic attack in the doghouse? Didn’t his chanting do the trick? If he could do that once, maybe he could do it again. The fear might always be there, but even so.
He had rescued Comet. Now maybe he could rescue himself.
He would go to the opening. He would brave that mission.
Clear Skies Page 8
