The October Meteor Shower

Rachel Rudi

In my experience, the best childhood memories are simple little ditties that are not milestones, just things that express the little pleasures in life, times with friends and family that will be treasured forever. This is where my story comes from. It involves a friend, family, cats, and hot cocoa – everything necessary for a successful childhood remembrance recipe.

It was in seventh grade science class that Mr. Carney announced there would be a great meteor shower that evening, and we should all go out and enjoy it. Everyone whined and complained, saying that they didn’t want to be bothered early in the morning to observe any celestial occasions. But when the bribe of possible extra credit came into play, people suddenly saw the light. Murmurings spread like wildfire, “Huh, that sounds interesting…” and “Hey, let’s sleep under the stars!” was heard, but reading through the lines, still no one wanted to do it for their own pleasure.

But I did. And so did Sylvie Daley, my long time friend and sidekick. It is with Sylvie that many adventures have formed, disasters have occurred, and trouble has thrived. Together, we have made tinfoil shoes and trampled in freezing mud, packed up doll carriages at the age of four with all necessary items for a four year old, preparing for the trip of a lifetime. Only when we were done packing did it occur to us that we had no idea where in the world we were going.

It was a frosty October night, and quite cloudy. It seemed as if no stars would even be in sight. Saliva and I sat inside, lamenting the cloudy sky. At about 10:00, the clouds started to part and there was a glimpse of the heavens. We went outside, and the gap widened as more stars became visible, shining down on us. We sat in the white plastic lawn chairs on the porch, shivering in our puffy coats. The stars were bright, and twinkled like they do in Disney movies. But it wasn’t long before we knew that our stocking caps and winter jackets were not enough to keep us warm.

So into the house we went, grabbing large blankets, and made our way back outside. We bundled ourselves up until we looked like little babies, and plopped down into our lawn chairs. We talked, about life, people in our class that we hated, and the stars.

For the stars had come alive now; every few minutes there were several shooting stars, dashing across the navy blue backdrop. Although we were warmer than before and the sky kept us occupied, we could still see our frosty breath floating from us as we shuddered.

The cats had come out, my two little pets Sophie and Tumble. We tried to get them to fall asleep on our laps, but they were too interested in the sky themselves to be bothered.

My parents emerged from the house with mugs of hot cocoa, with steam rising from the surface just like our icy breath. We sipped the liquid chocolate, which thawed our mouths so that we could talk again, and we did. We started speaking, telling stories and laughing. The stars became jets, whizzing through the sky like they were fireflies in July. The cats, although still aloof like always, would go as far as to rub their noses on our feet, and sit on our laps.

We sat like this until two, the pattern repeating itself - sipping cocoa and chatting, and when the mugs had emptied again, our mouths froze again and our heads turned to the heavens, eyes focused on the firefly stars.

And that was how it was. Just watching the stars with a friend, laughing. This is what childhood memories are made of.