Ursa Major

Hazel fiddled with the temperature control knob as she waited for the volunteer to return to the van. 

Do you blast the window with heat or cold if it's fogging on the inside? she wondered again.  Not that the leak of air escaping the van's aging system would make much difference even if she got it right. 

The volunteer's bright Christmas sweater and step caught her eye as he moved past the front windshield.

"Done!" he announced cheerfully as he slid over the vinyl ribbing of the passenger seat and slammed the door.

She smiled at him briefly and reversed out of the driveway.  They still had a half hour's drive to the lot where they'd left their own cars.  She pushed the gas pedal down fully, without much reaction from the van.  She wanted to be resigned to the trip, but with no radio to break the silence she knew conversation would be expected, and she was tired.

"I can't believe how many kids that family has in there. That is so cool," the volunteer paused, probably waiting for her to ask the obvious, and finally continued, "I think there were three others besides the ones we had gifts for. Man, that is so inspiring.  What you guys do is so amazing."

She turned her head to look at him.  He was rubbing the fog off the passenger window and looking up at the night sky.  She shook her head, sighed and said "Thanks. We really appreciate your help.  I really appreciate your help."

The hiss of the old air system covered the next bit of silence.  The night sky and the road through the window began to shrink behind the faded border of fog created by their breathing and body heat.  She turned on the wipers, hoping somehow that she could wipe away the internal mist.  It made no difference.

He started again, "You know, I don't get it.  You're out here on Christmas Eve, working on behalf of foster kids and you didn't once go into a home to deliver one of the gifts yourself.  I mean, I appreciate the opportunity and all, but how can you do this without getting to see their faces light up, to feel the joy you're bringing door to door?"

She felt her lips pinch against her teeth.  She tried a light riposte, "Yeah, I know, I let the new volunteers have all the glory."

"Nah, man, I don't mean it's glory - I just - it's the reason I'm out here - to bring a little joy.  I don't understand why you're out here."

She rolled her eyes then reached for some receipts in the center of the dashboard and made a feeble attempt at the mist on her side of the front window.

"Roll down your window."  He advised, as he cracked his own.

She rolled hers down an inch or two and thought about not responding, but the window started to clear immediately and that made her feel strangely like she owed him an answer.

"I just don't feel joyful about dropping off a load of new crap to foster kids," she said, trying to keep her voice still, "I mean, the last thing they need is more stuff to cart between placements and all they really want for Christmas is a family.  So I really appreciate the volunteers who drop all the stuff off for us.  I see these kids all year long while we’re working to get them adopted.  At Christmas I'm reminded of our failure to do that."

They were at the exit for the adoption center before he responded.

"You know, I can see your point, but don't you think . . ." his statement was cutoff at the intersection by the jerking movements of the van.  The engine spluttered loudly a couple of times before it quit completely.  Hazel let the van coast to the curb. 

Of course it didn't start, she thought, as the two of them retrieved their things from the back. 

"Windows up, doors locked, good to go!" the upbeat volunteer exclaimed.

"You know," he continued, "We have a lot to be thankful for tonight."

She snorted out a little laugh.

"I mean it, Chica.  The van didn't stop on the freeway, or further than a 10 minute walk from our cars, and look up at that night sky.  Now that we're out of that old clunker you can see just about every star in the sky.  Sweet."

She raised her chin into the cold night breeze and saw that he was right.  The sky was so clear that the Milky Way was visible.  "Huh, that's nice."

"Look at Ursa Major," he pointed to the western sky, "You can really see the bear tonight, not just the stars in the dipper." 

"Yes, I can see it." She was surprised how easy it was to pick out the constellation.

"You know, you're a lot like a bear yourself."

She turned to examine his expression. He was grinning, his teeth glowing from his shadowed face, not unlike the stars in the sky.

"You've got this fierce exterior and thick skin and you're extremely protective of your kids."

She shrugged and smiled a tiny smile.

They continued on in silence until she asked, "What's your name again?"

"Miles," he answered. 

She didn’t expect to reach the lot in such good time.  Her shoulders relaxed in anticipation of the comfort offered by her own car.  Miles accompanied her to the door of her coupe.  She unlocked the car and turned to say goodnight and found herself wrapped tightly in the arms of his Christmas sweater, the red wooliness of his chest pressed against her cheek.  His hug was not the polite goodbye-hug of general acquaintance, it was the hug of a father to his prodigal child and somehow it melted the self-consciousness she normally had for physical contact with strangers.  He was so confident in his squeezing that she had to respond in kind, at least for a few seconds.

“Who’s the bear now?” She quipped.

His chuckle made the wool tickle her ear and his grip loosened.

"You just looked like someone who could use a little more joy." He winked at her and made her notice his baby blues for the first time.

"Goodnight, Mama Bear!" He raised his hand as he began to turn toward his own car.

She struggled to respond with something light and jovial - fitted for him and the evening they'd shared.  Her nose itched in response to the intensity of her thoughts and she tried to ignore it.  She wanted to let him know that he'd somehow restored a little tint to her rose-colored glasses.  That she'd felt the wonder of the stars again for a few moments, the kind of feeling that had driven her to this mission and then promptly left her to drown in the reality of her experience.

As he reached his car, she called across the parking lot.

"Goodnight, Papa Bear."

Waiting for him to respond, she felt embarrassment creep up her face.  But then he turned and waved, his teeth visible across the lot, and she waved too, in celebration of their momentary connection to each other and the universe.

[Word Count: 1,210]