Constellations

Fairytale snow fell on us, between us, as we walked past the empty parking lots and darkened storefronts of downtown Galesburg.

And things are never more still than when it snows. But everything seems so alive, so patient. Everything is so quiet. The fat red bricked fire house held its breath as we passed by. I could hear myself breathe, and I heard our footsteps moving through the street that night. We walked slowly, sometimes in step, our hands just close enough to almost touch.

“This snow is unreal,” he said, reaching up to catch it.

It was a warm night, barely cold enough to sustain a snowfall. The flakes were thick, and they fell so close together. We’d only been out for a minute, and his black hat was covered. The snow flashing across his brows and lashes made him seem childlike, harmless. I hoped my hair was laced with it, that maybe I’d seem prettier that way.

We passed Dee’s Boutique, and I must have slowed a bit, stunned by how strange and outdated the clothes in the window were. A kelly green jumpsuit with white trim around the sleeves and wide white lapels. You could tell from a distance it was polyester. And a red plaid smock dress with a matching plastic belt. Even the mannequins, with Beatles hairdos and their knowing empty stares, were from another time.

“So young lady, you like?” he asked, pointing at the jumpsuit, copping a generic accent.

He knew how strange I thought Dee’s was. It was one of those things that just got to me, a nagging question I’d brought up once or twice with him and his friends over a couple of drinks at Cherry Street. “What’s up with those clothes at Dee’s?” If another woman was in the group, she’d always know what I meant.

He knew how I felt about Dee’s and his teasing surprised me, made me feel a bit grateful. I wanted to knock his shoulder, to push him. I wanted to touch him, the way I would have before.

I laughed and saw my breath. “Yeah right,” I said, as he tried to work up a skid on the sidewalk.

And it wasn’t so cold that night. There was no excuse for the way I was shivering. I looked down for a moment and focused on the sureness of my steps. The croup of the Zephyr whistle caught me by surprise. Its echo was faint, muffled by the falling snow. The station was blocks ahead, but I heard the metal wheels shriek before they settled. I heard the train waiting, exhausted, constantly exhaling as someone got off, as someone came on. And then the clean sound of the warning bell back and forth, as gates braced, then came down everywhere, through town, making way for the Amtrak to keep speeding past.

That bell kept me up at night. It’d wake me, and once it was gone, there’d be smaller sounds or sometimes only silence to distract me. Other times, the train became part of a dream. I’d be at the station with Ma, and she’d be looking like she did, smiling slightly, her eyes so soft, on the verge of tears. Eventually she’d get on the train, and I’d be alone in the waiting room sweating, drinking a Coke, with one of her plump overnight bags left at my feet.

People on board the Zephyr that night were probably laughing at the sight of all that snow. They wouldn’t know what they had missed. Next day, they’d wake up to summer sunshine, palm trees, and never mention a word about the night before.

The bell rang for a long time, but there was no use for it that night, no use for gates. The streets were empty. The Miller sign at the Corner Connection was flashing, but there wasn’t a soul inside. That room would be so much bigger empty—the jukebox down low, humming to itself, the thin felt of the pool table gone cold, and glasses...