The Neptune of You

Triton is the largest of Neptune’s 13 moons. It is unusual because it is the only large moon in our solar system that orbits in the opposite direction of its planet's rotation -- a retrograde orbit. Like our own moon, Triton is locked in synchronous rotation with Neptune -- one side faces the planet at all times.

It was a snow globe of an evening, the white dancing bits alighting in the wind, caught in the dull yellow of the porch lights, irregular shapes against the blackened tree line and twisting their way down to softly settle like children cuddled to sleep.

It was cold, a very cold that was like an absence.  Like a day of sun had been kidnapped and buried in a hole, leaving no trace of any previous indication of warmth. 

He had his boots on, although pebble-like bits of snow had found their way over the tops, warming against him and dampening his feet in icy slices.  He had trudged to the truck, clumsily using his arm to remove the snow from the hood and the top of the cab, again snow sliding sneakily into his cuffs, now bringing cold to his wrists and his forearms.  Not quite as annoying as his rapidly freezing feet but a damn sight not too far off.

He had turned on the engine, made sure the tailpipe was clear, and he could see red check engine lights on his dashboard.  The truck was dying, slowly, but was at least warning him.  He was either too poor or too lazy to get some things fixed.  It was how he was.  The truck didn’t matter much to him, it held way too many attic-scented memories of slammed doors or tears seen shimmering in the dim cast shine of a half-broken dome light.   The truck was their child from a broken home…he had just happened to keep it.  And it was dying on him.

From his driveway he saw no other cars, no other headlights.  It looked like the street had been attempted to be plowed.  It looked a little flatter, maybe not as deep.  He couldn’t really tell though.

He got in, pulling the driver’s door shut and it cascaded a dusting of snow into the interior.  He could still see his breath, against the red warning lights on the dashboard, and when he turned on the headlights the snow globe exploded as thousands of bits reflected back at him.

This is stupid, he thought.

Instinctively he glanced in the rearview mirror as he pulled the gear shift into reverse, watching the red taillights reflected against the falling snow.  There was nobody behind him and he edged back, threw the shift into drive and pulled slowly out.  He kept the accelerator on a slow steady pulse, could feel the balding tires grabbing as best they could and he seemingly crawled onto the main highway.

It had been plowed, awhile ago, but he could make out the lumps on either side of the highway so he could stay on the pavement.  

The headlights carved a keystone white against the gray road, and the flakes pilloried his truck like they were trying to get inside.  

The heater was starting to work, and he wasn’t as cold in his wrists and feet.  He had worked to get the radio on, and he found a jazz station that faded in and out.  It was not appropriate music but once he found it he left it alone.  Again, it was how he was.

Ahead a lone snow plow was coming in his direction, yellow warning lights on top of the cab, its bulk visible as it straddled the highway.  A slew of road snow was being thrown to the side and he tapped his brake a little bit to make sure he passed slowly as the plow converged on him.  The back end of the truck was a little loose and he felt a slight slide to the right but he quickly steered in that direction and he got straight again as the plow went by.

The road returned to being dark again in front of him.  

The trip wasn’t very far, really a few miles yet in the dark and in the snow and the cold it made for a much longer ordeal.

In a way it was like the orbit of a cold moon of a distant planet.  He traveled the seemingly infinite distance in a gravitational pull.  Sometimes nearer, sometimes farther, but never touching.  Never colliding.  Although his moon was pockmarked with numerous collisions, numerous impacts, touches, glances, blows.    

He pulled onto the street where he knew that she lived.  The snow had taken a break.  So had the snow plows apparently because the street was barely discernible…the ground flat from the front of the houses in a smooth plane to the other side of the street.  He slowed, the wheels crunching, turning slightly against the soft white, his high beams revealing a flat planet of snow.  

He stopped the truck a house or two shy of hers…the engine idling, the sky opening up again with the flakes and as he glanced towards her place he saw a light turn on upstairs.  He smiled a tired smile, a relieved smile as he realized she was inside, she was warm and she was safe. 

 He didn’t continue to drive until he was in front of her house.  Rather, he carefully backed up, found the driveway of another house and reversed his trek through his own tire prints.  

The return trip seemed shorter.  Like a retrograde orbit.