Debi Moseley

I always miss him when he's not there.

Every morning that I can remember, I've gotten up and gone outside to look at the sky. These days, it's when I go to work or out for a jog that I see him, swimming across the sky. Orion is like an acquaintance that you see every day and, even though you don't really talk to one another, you miss him when he is gone. To be honest, I talk to Orion, tell him what's on my mind. He doesn't answer, but that patient, gentle presence serves as answer enough usually.

This morning I slid out of bed without disturbing my husband. A full seventy piece orchestra playing the '1812 Overture' is often not enough to rouse him, so it was a task accomplished without much difficulty. I pulled on my slightly stiffening jogging clothes. Thank God it was almost the end of the week. Then I could wash them instead of stubbornly donning the same exercise togs again. I'm not sure if it's laziness or simple refusal to put on fresh clothes only to get them soaked through with sweat. Banner looked up as I passed her, tail wagging hopefully. I sighed and snapped my fingers, giving her permission to join me. We exited into the cool morning air.

I took my usual route down the dirt road away from the highway, since the dog was with me. She is a sweetheart but not the sharpest pencil in the box sometimes, with the uncanny ability to become stone deaf when her name was screamed from five feet away. Trotting along happily beside me, she didn't care where we went, as long as she got to go. Looking up as I hit the road, I spotted him high above the trees, belt shining as he perpetually squared off against Taurus, the Bull. He was rising later and later, almost halfway across the sky by five am. Soon he would rise at sunset and set at dawn, a constant presence on the winter nights.

"Good morning, Orion." I greeted him and he seemed to acknowledge my voice, his stars pulsing. I settled down to the business of personal fitness and dog wrangling. Banner would periodically dart off, squeezing under the fence to harass a rabbit. My thoughts wandered off by themselves as usual, my mind conjuring up imaginary conversations, replaying scenes from movies, humming snatches of half-remembered songs. Immersed in such thoughts, I never noticed the low clouds scudding overhead in the dark pre-dawn sky, rushing in like fishing boats at the end of the day.

The first flash of lightning nearly scared me out of my socks. I yelped, as did the dog. Shying like a horse, I cast about, looking for shelter that wouldn't get me fried. Nothing but trees which were no good as refuge. I knew that one of our hay barns was just a little way up the road so I ran, blue-white bolts striking in a frenzy, making me wonder if I had inadvertently committed some mortal sin and God was seeking me out in full Old Testament fashion. Banner and I made it to the barn and rushed in.

As soon as I was under shelter, I felt fine. I just couldn't deal with being in the open with lightning. I sat down against one of the support posts and watched the rain, the dog finally settling down against me. David might miss me eventually; it was Saturday and he wasn't obliged to get up for work, though there were horses to feed and clean up after. So, until he decided I was AWOL or the storm let up, I was stuck here. Aside from being hungry and wet, the prospect wasn't so bad. I let my mind go back to its former ramblings while I watched the trees lash in the wind, only flinching when the lightning struck close by.

I thought about other storms I had seen, remembering a time when David and I had gotten caught out in a thunderstorm late one evening while riding. It was right after we had gotten married and moved out to this place. I remember feeling vaguely put out because I couldn't see my old friend in the evening sky because of the clouds. The horses and David seemed pretty philosophical about the storm, and so had I, at first. Then the lightning began in earnest, striking closer and more frequently. I had dismounted and was stripping the tack off my gelding, fashioning a nose rope to guide him with. David turned to see where I had gotten to and was laughing at my paranoia. It was a good thing that his horse shied, otherwise the tree would have crushed them both. There was a brief taste of ozone in the air, a feeling of an indescribable pressure, then all the hair on my body stood straight out. All this occurred in a millisecond, then the tree exploded and toppled over. David and his mare vanished for a second, then reemerged, wide-eyed from the other side. We wasted no time in getting home, the horses running at breakneck speed all the way back. It was sort of funny now, looking back, but I was still terrified to be out in the stuff. David no longer thought that my paranoia about lightning was unjustified.

My poppy was the person who had introduced me to Orion. It was a formal introduction and I was four years old. Poppy was always showing me things like constellations, a nest of baby mockingbirds in the backyard, wild strawberries at the edge of the creek. When Poppy died, I was nineteen. I had gotten up early, like always, and was on the back porch, drinking a cup of coffee, looking up at the sky. Orion was there, gleaming brilliantly and pulsing like a heartbeat. I watched Orion for a long time as the sky grew brighter; when he was almost rendered invisible by the approaching dawn, the phone rang. It was my mother, calling to let me know about Poppy. I always thought Orion was shining extra bright so Poppy would find his way up there.

It seemed like Orion had seen me through a lot. He was a reassuring presence when my brother told me scary stories in the tent in the backyard; he was there when my parents divorced. He kept me company through the long nights of studying at college and he was one of the few present when my daughter was born. I'm sure I could have thought of a lot more incidents he played a role in if I really tried, but the rain was beginning to slack off and the lightning had stopped. Glancing at my watch in the glow of the approaching dawn, I heard the truck rattling down the road. David had missed me, though I suspect that it is because he can't make the coffeemaker operate without copious cursing and slinging of grounds. I waved to him from the barn and started out into the drizzle. I looked up reflexively at the sky and caught a glimpse of my old friend peering down from where the clouds were beginning to break up before the new day's onslaught. David pushed to door open for me and Banner dove into the bed of the truck. I looked up one more time before I got into the truck.

"Good morning, Orion."