Chasing the Milky Way by Erin E. Moulton

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.
    â€œBuckle 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.
    â€œLive a little, darling,” Mama says, leaving hers unhooked. I roll my eyes.
    â€œSuit yourself.” I hold the wheel.
Ten o’clock and two o’clock.
    â€œWhere are we going?” I say.
    â€œHead 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.
    â€œâ€˜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.
    â€œâ€˜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.
    â€œThat’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.
    â€œLive 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.
    â€œYou saw it!” Mama says, grabbing my shoulder and shaking. “You saw it!”
    â€œI 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