20 years ago
Sicily was cold that winter. Ice on the steps and slush in the gutters. The kind of cold that cracked your lips and made your hands hurt.
The apartment was on the third floor, all concrete and peeling paint. Pipes rattled when the heater kicked in, which wasn't often.
Inside, a boy sat by the window with a flashlight in one hand and his knees tucked under his hoodie. He couldn't see much of the sky, just the slice between the roofs. But he could trace the constellations anyway. He had them memorized.
The flashlight wobbled as he pointed.
"Orion. Then Gemini. And that one's…" he squinted, "dang, what's that one again…"
A pause. He leaned over, flipped the page of the poster that was taped beside his mattress. NASA. Torn corners. A coffee stain on Saturn.
"Cassiopeia," he mumbled, satisfied.
