It was a clear night but we didn’t recognize any constellations. We were always looking for constellations because stars are individuals in Philadelphia. It’s not like we could look up and see the Big Dipper or Orion or Cassiopeia from anywhere—not even the top of the Liberty Two skyscraper. Not unless there was some sort of blackout, I guess. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen a blackout. Bruce learned about constellations when he was young. He said, “That’s the Big Dipper. Or the bear. Ursa. That’s bear in Latin.” He squinted around the sky as if he’d lost his dog. “I can’t find any others that I know.” “They’re pretty,” I said. We sat in the sand near the water and I looked out and saw lights on far out boats. He said, “If you lie back and look at the whole sky at once, you’ll probably see a shooting star. They happen all the time.” “People never see shooting stars.”
