A Constellation called . . .Max?

Folks who have followed me for a while know there are few things I like better than stepping outside on a cold winter’s eve. I like it when the air is so cold; it seems to shiver. Truth is, you’re the one doing the shivering.

The water vapor has frozen out, and the sky is on fire with stars.

I raise my eyes, and there’s Orion marching across the sky.

Off to one side, the bright star Sirus marks the nose of one of his faithful dogs. The other dog, Canis Minor, doesn’t really have any bright stars to mark it, and you must hunt for it.

But Orion is simply glorious. I always look at Betelgeuse. Any day now, it could explode into a supernova. The star would transform from bright to incredibly bright, becoming easily visible during the day. Venus will pale compared to it. It will dazzle like a full moon, but all the light and glory in a pinprick of light impossible to miss.

I look up at it and say, “Come on, dude. I don’t have much longer. Thrill me!”

Then I find the Sisters. Without a telescope, I can still see only six stars. People with exceptional eyesight can easily see seven and many upwards of eleven. Some of the old star charts show the Sisters count well into the teens and twenties for the number of stars that make up the group.

As I look, I remember the stories of old.

My favorite concerns seven Native American maidens who went out and were dancing for the Great Spirit. But a bear interrupted their dancing. The said bear was intent on having them for supper. In desperation, the girls climbed up on a large rock, and as the bear tried to climb up after them, they pleaded to the Great Spirit to save them.

And the stone grew up and out of the Earth. All the while, the bear continues trying to climb, but keeps sliding down, its claws cutting into the stone. But when the stone got so high, the Great Spirit lifted the girls up and, as a thank you for the dance, placed them in the sky where they could dance forever.

The rock the girls took refuge on is now called Devil’s Tower and was the centerpiece for Close Encounters of a Third Kind.

Orion and the sisters have always been the draw for my eyes. When they reappear in the sky, I greet them like old friends. When the summer skies come in, I bid them farewell until next year.

And sometimes I look at the sky, and I wonder how we started naming them. Where did the stories come from? Did they place their loved one’s up there so they could look down on them and remind their family of their stories?

In my next novel, Sheriff Will Diaz explains he hasn’t looked at the stars since the day he shot and killed Max Laurie. Max was one of his best friends. They were blood brothers, even. And Will killed him.

And for almost eight months, he’s never allowed himself to look at the sky. Every time he does, he remembers killing his friend.

So, he just stopped.

But then, one night, he looks at the stars and enjoys their beauty and links to eternity. In his group, he tells his fellow members about that experience. He wonders out loud if people didn’t toss the memories of their loved ones up into the heavens.

And he talks about waiting to see Orion and the Sisters again.

That’s when Pastor Robert Morgan cautions him by saying, “Somehow, I don’t think the world will let you change the name of Orion to Max.”