I saw Orion for the first time of the season tonight. I love Orion. He’s like an old friend come back to visit for a while. I was an adult before I knew constellations were seasonal. I learned it right along with the students in my adult literacy class when we were on a trip to the Hayden Planetarium. In case you’re not familiar with him:
One reason I like Orion is that he’s easy to find. No, not because his stars glow in an other-worldly way as they do here, but because of his belt, those three right-in-a-row stars that are always easy to find in my Brooklyn sky. We don’t get a crazy overload of stars the way I see in Jamaica. Orion’s one constellation that’s always on show when he’s in town, and I like that constant, like having him around to come back to and wish on.
(Sometimes, little bits of things happen. They’re not enough to make full posts on their own, but I like them and want to share them. I tried that with Men of a Certain Age and my confusing cookie fortune, and those posts felt thin. So tonight I’m going to lump a few of those little bits together and see if I like it any better.)
I walked past my house one night and looked over to the surprise of seeing someone at my door. It was an early Sunday evening and I had just given up on both of the buses that stop close to my house and had decided to walk to the third, not-quite-as-close bus option.
At my door was G, one of the girls who live upstairs, the daughter of my landlords. So I crossed the street to see what was up.
“I’m guessing you’re looking for me,” I said as I closed the gate behind me. “What’s up?”
“Can we have an egg?”
“Of course. You can even have two. Or six.”
“No, just one. We’re making apple crisp, and we need an egg.”
So I unlocked the house and we went in and I gave her an egg and then continued on my way to the bus stop … with a big, silly smile on my face. I was loving the discovery that I lived in the kind of house — and maybe the kind of neighborhood? — where someone would come to ask for an egg, or a cup of sugar or whatever. I really do love that. I haven’t often lived in houses or neighborhoods in which that was true. It feels good.
In class today, Julissa said something that elicited a slightly sharp response from David, her boyfriend.
“You’re so touchy.”
“I am not touchy.”
“You are. It must be the testosterone.”
And no: I did not refrain from laughing out loud.