“Can you see it? The one…It blinks and moves. That’s a satellite,” she said. Then, more to herself than him, “For me anyways. I wonder what you see.” Mr. Fuzz purred, the vibration so close it sent a bolt of sparked nerves racing down her back. “Ah, you goofball, that tickled my foot.” She laughed.
The cool metal rail under her neck and calves had begun to warm. The rocks under her butt were pushed into a shape now comfortable. In the past two hours she’d seen three shooting stars. There was supposed to be a shower of them tonight. She’d brought her camera to try and catch one. After half an hour of looking through the lens she’d given it up and set it aside.
A brilliant line traced across the night. This one lasted longer than the other three, much longer. It punched into the atmosphere at the far edge of her vision and spanned the entire sky. “Oh, another one!” she lifted to her elbow. Mr. Fuzz squeezed next to her side and lay his head on her hip, oblivious to anything happening above.
When the meteor was gone she lay back down and bumped into the camera. Ah, the dang camera. That last one would have made a great picture. But it would never compare to my memory of it. Had I been looking at it through the camera I’d have missed the real thing. She considered that and knows what she has—the memory—is superior. Yes, it’ll fade, but better to have the real thing for a second than a pale reflection for years.