Chasing the Milky Way (5 page)

“M
AMA?”
I
ZZY'S VOICE BREAKS THROUGH MY
dreams and I pull my eyes open. It's not morning. I know that right away. The room is pitch black.

“Mama, is that you?” Izzy asks.

I shoot straight up and swing around so I'm facing the center of the room. Mama is in the doorway and she is pulling a long-sleeved shirt over her head. She flicks the light switch and I shield my eyes as the room flares to life.

“What time is it?” I say, trying to blink my eyes clear so I can see my watch. They finally focus and I groan.

“It's one thirty,” I say. When I drop my hand, I see Mama adjusting her sunglasses on her face.

“Burning my brain out,” she says.

“No kidding,” I say, pushing my covers off.

Mama walks to Izzy's bed and lifts her into an upright position.

“What's going on?” I ask, afraid I already know the answer.

“We're going for a ride,” she says, taking a sweater off of the knob on Izzy's headboard.

“It's the middle of the night, Mama. Izzy and I need to sleep for school tomorrow.”

She helps Izzy into the sweater and fumbles with the top button. “Not tonight. It's the only safe time to go out.” She shakes her head, stands up, and unzips her oversized pocket as Izzy puts her buttons together. Mama pulls out her notebook and slides something out of the front cover.

“It's what I've been looking for. It was there all along.” She stuffs the book back into her pocket real fast and zips it in, then waves the piece of paper in front of me. I grab hold of her wrist so I can see the print. It's that poem she pulled out of the book earlier today.

“Mama, we really need to get to sleep,” I say, tucking my feet back into bed. “We gotta get up in the morning. Clean up. Pack your bag.”

“Hey, please,” Mama says. She grabs hold of the blankets before I can pull them up. “Can you look at me?”

I keep my eyes trained on the blanket. “Can you look at me please? What's the harm?”

I look up at her masked eyes. “The harm is being tired for school tomorrow,” I say. Especially since I have to get the laptop back and program PingPing and everything. “The harm is not being prepared to leave for the coast. We have to rest up. We have a long weekend ahead of us.”

“We'll be fine.” She releases the blanket. “We have the rest of the night. We're just going to watch the northern lights. I happened along this poem and they're connected.” She sits down at the end of Izzy's bed. “Serendipity. Never let it pass you by. Would you like to see the northern lights, baby girl?”

“What's a northern light?” Izzy asks, putting her thumb in her mouth. She's too old for that, but I'm going to let it slide 'cause she's probably nervous.

“It's like the sky is being colored with all your favorite watercolors. You want to see it. Oh, Izzy, it's magic!”

Izzy giggles. “I want to.”

I groan. “No, no, no,” I say.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Mama says, singing the last yes so it echoes through the quiet of the night. I turn and slam my window closed. Last thing I need is everyone seeing Mama go off the deep end.

“I'm going to call Doctor Vincent,” I say.

Mama's smile slides off her face. “Nope. You're not.” She points at me. “You, party pooper, can go back to bed. Izzy and I'll go out and watch the northern lights. If you can't have a little fun, maybe we should stay home this weekend.”

“What?” Party pooper? Where's the party? I want to yell. It's obviously not for me. I groan and get out of bed. “Fine,” I say, pulling a sweatshirt on.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mama stands up and I see her step to the side and catch herself. I wonder if it's her brain or if she's been drinking. Either way, I don't think she should be driving us around.

“Let's go!” Mama staggers toward the bedroom door, then starts giggling.

We'll just go out and come right back. I'll get some sleep and be ready to go to school early. I'll call Dr. Vincent first thing in the morning and let him know that Mama's doing midnight rides again. But not so much that he'll worry about us going on the trip. It'll all be okay.

I pull some sweat pants on over my shorts. Mama is already bustling down the narrow hallway to the back door, and every few steps I hear a thump as she careens into the wall. We step into the hallway and Izzy runs to catch up, her white nightie billowing out at her heels. Mama starts giggling again halfway down the hallway.

“We have to be quiet. People are trying to sleep,” I hiss.
Please be quiet. Please don't wake up the whole park.

Mama stifles her giggle as we get to the door, and she crouches down like she's sneaking out. Izzy giggles, too, and we head into the night air. The stars are full bright in the sky. We duck into the carport and Mama goes around to the other side of the car, the passenger side.

“Mama, I can't drive,” I say. This isn't true. Gram taught me how to drive the Mustang soon as she could after we were left at the general store. I glance toward the duffel bag where her picture is hidden, and hear her with me.

You stay in control. You have control of the car at all times. Go as slow as you need to.

I grab the handle and think how she made me drive up and down the lane of the trailer park over and over and over until I had it.

“Can you please,” Mama says, waving toward the driver's seat. She opens her side door and gets in. I sigh, slide in, too, and push the brake.
Press the brake, push the car into reverse. Always have the brake all the way in when shifting.

I open my hand and Mama presses the keys into it. I rattle the house key away and put the car key into the ignition.

The door slams and I give Izzy a glare in the backseat. “Let's keep it down, okay?”

Mama must not hear me because she raises her face to the roof and shouts, “‘I have been one acquainted with the night.'”

I snap a look at her, too. “Shhhh,” I say, but it's too late. A baby's wail sails out of the McKinneys' window, just beyond the carport. I see a light flick on, splashing a blue haze over us. A muddy halo erupts around Mama's head. I'm sure Cam's awake now.

“‘I have walked out in rain,'” Mama says, holding her poem up to her nose.

“You're going to wake the whole park,” I hiss.

“Then get going and stop being such a whiner!” she says. “I'll do it again, I'll dazzle Sunnyside Trailer Park with the perfection that is Robert Frost poetry.” She waves the piece of paper at me. I realize the carport is still closed, so I jump out and hurry to the back, grab the edge of the tarp, and roll it as quick as I can from one side to the other. I secure it with a bungee cord. Then I run back to the driver's seat and get in.

Make sure your seat and mirrors are in place,
I hear Gram say as I reach underneath the seat for the adjustment bar. I pull it forward until I can push the brake all the way in. I look over at Mama, who is rifling around in her purse. For a minute, she looks just like Gram. I picture us in our first driving lesson as we passed by Mr. Sikes's porch.

You're going to end up in the looney bin again for this one!
he shouted as we slipped by.

I'll see you there, Harold,
Gram said, adjusting her glasses on her nose. She didn't miss a beat. Not ever.

I turn the key as Mama pulls lipstick out of her purse and starts applying it. The Mustang roars to life.

“Buckle up,” I say quietly, and I look in the rearview mirror to see Izzy grab her seat belt and pull it around her. I do the same.

“Live a little, darling,” Mama says, leaving hers unhooked. I roll my eyes.

“Suit yourself.” I hold the wheel.
Ten o'clock and two o'clock.

“Where are we going?” I say.

“Head out toward 32 and then take a left on Trunkton Road, please.” Mama makes a pop sound with her lips and I hear the clip of the cap going back onto her lipstick.

I grab the gearshift and pull it so the arrow clicks into alignment with R. Reverse. Then I put my hand on the back of Mama's seat, turn around, and steer the car out of the carport. It's straight back so that's the easiest kind of reversing. Don't move the wheel at all, just release the brake a little and take it slow.

The car does a lot of jolting and jerking at first, but then slides smooth all the way out. I push the brake and take a breath. Then I move the gearshift to the D and go nice and slow between the trailers. A few lights are on, and I duck down in case people are peering out of their windows at this time of night. I slouch a little extra as we pass Mrs. Barlow's house.

“‘I have been one acquainted with the night,'” Mama says, resting her head on the seat. She takes a deep sigh like this is some special moment. I slow down at the end of the lane and turn right onto Route 5.

“‘I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light.'”

I keep my eyes on the road and concentrate on not grinding my teeth.

“That's where we're going,” Mama says. “Out past the furthest city light, to see the vastness of the sky.”

I squeeze the steering wheel and focus on getting us there and back safe. I take a right onto Fielders Lane and we drive through town. It's dead quiet and I wonder what it is like in some of these houses. I bet kids are snug in their beds, tucked in with stuffed animals and plush pillows. Hours into their sweet dreams.

Halfway through town, Mama grabs hold of the knob on the radio. She flicks her wrist and music peels through the sky. I grab the knob as fast as I can while still trying to keep the car on the right side of the yellow line and silence it.

“Live a little, daughter,” Mama says, circling her hands around and around in the air. Her bangle bracelets click together and slide down her arms. I see Izzy in the rearview mirror. Her hands fly up, palms toward the sky. I'm not sure what is so fun about this, but she seems to be enjoying it.

We pass the sign that says Pendleton and on into Parkview. We're long past the last city light and Mama still hasn't told me exactly where we're going, when I see a lick of color on the horizon. I catch my breath.

“You saw it!” Mama says, grabbing my shoulder and shaking. “You saw it!”

“I don't know,” I say, as the horizon slides behind a hill and we descend into a dip. When we come back up, Izzy is centered in the middle of our seats. When I glance in the rearview mirror, I see her mouth open, eyes searching, hair flying out and up in the wind. We sail back up the other side of the dip. My stomach sinks and jounces. Mama makes a “whoooooooooo!” as we head up the hill. I cringe as her voice splits through the night, sailing into the wind and silencing the peepers.

I push the gas pedal down as we begin to lose momentum, rising up, up, up. The sky begins to come into view, a panorama slide show, unfolding before our eyes. For a moment, the only color I see is the yellow line in the middle of the road, but once I get to the top, there it is. Green, blue, purple flashes of light licking the belly of the sky.

I slam on the brake as I realize I'm paying more attention to the lights than to the road. The tires squeal on the asphalt. Mama jumps out of the car before it has completely stopped. We slide sideways.

“Mama, wait!” I shout, realizing we've pulled off right next to Sanctum Lake. I jam the car into park. We jolt to a standstill. Gram would be after me about not being at a complete and final stop for that one, but I don't have time to worry about it.

“Izzy, stay on my tail,” I say as I jump out of the car. Izzy falls in right behind me and we light out after Mama, who is running up a grassy knoll.

“That's a good place to stop!” I shout, trying to get my feet moving faster.

“Wait up!” Izzy shouts and I reach back to grab her hand. It's damp from her thumb being stuck in her mouth. I only look down long enough to take my hand out of hers and wipe the spit off on the hem of my shirt, but as I look back up, Mama's disappeared over the top of the hill.

“Hurry!” I hiss. We run through the grass, which bends and whips with the light breeze. I get to the top of the knoll, my eyes searching for Mama. She's a moving shadow, but then as the moon comes out from behind a quickly passing cloud, she appears like a lost patch of stardust. Her white nightgown ripples silver in the moonlight. Her bracelets pop, sparkling threads crisscrossing her arm. The gray streaks in her hair become shining cobwebs, holding her curls in place all the way down her back. She slows as she gets to the edge of the lake.

“Mama!” My heart hits my throat, wondering what she is thinking and if it's safe for her to be near the water. Dr. Vincent says evaluate the situation. Is she going to harm others? I don't think so. Is she going to harm herself? I don't know. If the answer is yes, then I have to call 911. Course, I don't have a phone. I look down at Izzy as she pops her thumb back in her mouth.

“You don't need to be doing that,” I mumble and she yanks it out, rolling her eyes at me. I watch Mama as she holds her arms to each side, and a shiver runs up my back as she lifts one leg straight out in front of her. Like a dancer, she slowly lowers her foot toward the water, and then through the surface.

“Mama, what are you doing? You probably should come back here!” I shout. The breeze lifts my hair and whips it in front of my eyes and across my cheeks.

But she doesn't answer. She just steps in. One foot, and then the other. And she turns to face me, and she falls back. For a moment, I panic and start running down the hill. The grass grabs at my feet, but I'm moving fast enough that the blades get pulled straight from the roots. I hit the sand and she breaks through the surface. I slide to a stop. Izzy crashes into me and I sprawl forward. A belly flop on the edge of the lake. Mouth full of sand. Mama sprays water into the sky and smiles. Then she bobs along on her back, clothes soaked through. And laughs. I pick myself up. Wipe the grit from my mouth. My insides feel like I swallowed a handful of bare, frayed wires. Sharp and stingy from the bottom of my ribs to the backs of my eyes.