A Dark Planetarium Read online

  Smashwords Edition. Electronic edition published by Flying Raven Press, December 2010. Copyright © 2010 by Scott William Carter. Originally appeared in Indy Men's Magazine, December 2003. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form. This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. For more about Flying Raven Press, please visit our web site at http://www.flyingravenpress.com.

  A Dark Planetarium

  Scott William Carter

  When they arrived at Portland's new planetarium, they found the clerk in the ticket booth affixing a hastily-written sign to the glass window. The storm had worked itself into a rage by this time, and a cold rain mixed with sleet crackled against their black umbrella. The gray, mottled skies had brought on an early darkness, and Jack could not read the window's sign until he was nearly up to the booth. No shows today. Equipment malfunction.

  The clerk, a boy with a fuzz mustache and bleached blond hair, put the last piece of clear tape on the sign, then glanced at Jack. He frowned and flicked off the light in the booth. This replaced the boy's face with Jack's own reflection -- a pale, gaunt face that did not match up with the image he had of himself. There was a time not long ago that he was a healthy, rosy-cheeked man, not this wasted thing lost in the folds of his trench coat.

  Next to him, bundled in his green parka, Travis held tightly to Jack's hand. Wherever they went these days, they always held hands. His son's balance was one of the first things to go.

  Inside the booth, a vertical strip of light appeared in the darkness. The clerk was leaving through a back door.

  "Wait," Jack said.

  There was a pause, then a voice came back: "We're closed. Sorry."

  "But . . . hold on a minute, will you? Can we talk about this?"

  The clerk's face appeared in the window. He was so incredibly young, Jack thought. He was trying to think of what to say when Travis squeezed his hand.

  "Daddy?"

  Travis looked up at him with vacant, unseeing eyes. His sight was mostly gone now -- only a vague awareness of light and dark remained.

  "Just a minute, son."

  "What's wrong, Daddy?"

  "Nothing. It's all right."

  "Are we going to see the stars?"

  "Yes, yes." Jack looked at the clerk, whose bland expression had not changed. "We drove over four hours to get here. Isn't there something we can do?"

  "I'm sorry, sir," the clerk said. "The equipment is broken. It should be working tomorrow."

  "We won't be here tomorrow."

  "I'm sorry, sir."

  Jack felt his anger rise at the nonchalance in the clerk's tone, but he suppressed it. There was no time for anger these days. He had long since proven that anger was only a hindrance to making their way down the list. They had seen the cobalt blue waters of Crater Lake. They had flown a box-kite on the Oregon coast. They had done so much in the last few weeks, but there was still much to do. The planetarium was one more thing, and he could not let his own anger prevent him from making the clerk understand how important it was they do this.

  He held up a finger for the clerk to wait, then took his son around the booth to the cast-iron bench under the overhanging roof. He seated Travis on the bench and handed him the umbrella.

  "I'll be right back," he said.

  "My head hurts, Daddy."

  "Is it really bad? Do you want to lie down?"

  "No, I want to see the stars. I want to see Saturn and Jupiter."

  "Well, that's what we'll do then."

  Jack returned to the ticket window, blinking away the rain that ran down his forehead into his eyes. The clerk, wearing a bored expression, had his arm on the counter and rested his head against his fist.

  "What's the ticket price?" Jack asked.

  The clerk sighed. "I told you, the equipment--"

  "I'll pay you the ticket price and give you twenty bucks. How's that?"

  This made the clerk pause. He pursed his lips, then shook his head. "I could lose my job, sir. Look, the stuff is broken. Seriously."

  "That's all right," Jack said. "We want to go in anyway."

  "But why?"

  Jack swallowed. He hated how the events of his life had conspired to bring him to this point, when he had to share the intimate details of his own pain with this stupid kid who had probably never suffered, who had never known loss or pain, who could not possibly understand why it was so important that Jack take his son inside.

  "What is your name?" he asked the clerk.

  "Robert," the kid said, sighing. "You want to know the name of my supervisor, I guess?"

  Jack shook his head. "Robert, my son has an inoperable brain tumor. This is one of the things I want him to do before he dies."

  He wondered at first if the clerk would think it was a bluff, but either the thought had never crossed the kid's mind or there was no denying the conviction in Jack's voice. The boredom was gone. In its place was something Jack hated even more: pity.

  "Oh, I thought -- I didn't -- I'm sorry, sir," the kid stammered.

  "It's all right. Can we come in?"

  "Oh . . . well, it's not working. Like I said--"

  "My son is blind now," Jack said. "He wouldn't be able to see it anyway."

  Jack saw the question forming on the kid's lips: Then why? But the kid didn't ask. He just nodded and pointed to the glass doors next to the booth. Jack went back to the bench.

  "Are we going inside?" Travis asked.

  "Yes," Jack said. "They were closed, but they are going to make an exception for us."

  The clerk rattled open the deadbolt and opened the glass doors. Jack took his son's hand and led him inside. The entry room had a high ceiling, and the room was nearly as cool as outside.

  "Sorry about the temp," the clerk said, locking the doors behind them. "They turn down the heat when we're closed."

  "That's all right."

  Wet tennis shoes squeaked across the tiled floor. Jack had not told the clerk, but he had another, stronger reason for wanting to come inside. He had not yet told his son he was going to die. He was waiting for the right time. He did not how to break it to Travis, especially since Jack was an atheist who believed there was nothing waiting for them after death, but he knew he could only go on for so long pretending the headaches and the blindness would go away. And he refused to lie. He would not give the boy false hope.

  But how could he explain what the word oblivion meant?

  Walnut paneling decorated the far wall, and the kid led them to a double door that was wide open. In the dark, circular theater within, Jack saw rows of empty, felt-backed chairs. The kid stopped at the door.

  "I'd like to let you stay awhile," he said. "But we're supposed to be closed. My girlfriend, she's waiting for me outside."

  Jack smiled. "We won't stay long," he said.

  The kid nodded. "You want the door closed?"

  "If you wouldn't mind."

  "Sure, I'll wait until you get to your seat."

  Jack led Travis down the carpeted isle, taking a pair of seats somewhere in the middle. They had no sooner sat down when the kid shut the door, sealing them in darkness. Jack was sure that usually there were at least lights along the aisle, but the clerk had left them off. The darkness was so complete that Jack could not see his hand in front of his face, nor his son sitting next to him. High above them, he heard rain tapping on the roof.

  "I'm scared, Daddy."

  Jack squeezed his son's small fingers. He did not know if he could go through with this. It would be much easier to talk about the stars and the planets. He could talk about Saturn's rings. He could talk about Jupiter's moons. These were facts -- knowable, comforting, and easy. He could talk about these things and then they could go home.

  "It's all right," he said. "I'm here with you."

  "Is it starting?"

  "Yes, it's starting now."

  The boy squirmed in his seat, his pants rustling against the vinyl. "I can't see it, Daddy."

  "I know. "

  "What do you see, Daddy? What's the first thing you see?"

  Jack peered up into the darkness. If he strained, he could almost make out the stars. He believed he could see them. It had been a long time since his college astronomy, but he thought he could make out some of the constellations. There was Cassiopeia. On the left was Andromeda. Down below, Sagittarius. He remembered some stories about the constellations. He could talk about these stories. It would be something to do. It would pass the time.

  "The first thing we see," he said, "is heaven."

  ~ | ~

  SCOTT WILLIAM CARTER's first novel, The Last Great Getaway of the Water Balloon Boys, was hailed by Publishers Weekly as a "touching and impressive debut." His short stories have appeared in dozens of popular magazines and anthologies, including Asimov's, Analog, Ellery Queen, Realms of Fantasy, and Weird Tales. He lives in Oregon with his wife, two children, and thousands of imaginary friends. Visit him online at http://www.scottwilliamcarter.com.

  ~ | ~

  Authors Note:

  A writer never knows which stories will touch a reader or why. Of all the stories and I've written, I've consistently gotten emails from readers on "A Dark Planetarium." Since it's so short, I've made it available for free in the hopes that you'll consider buying my collection, The Dinosaur Diaries and Other Tal
es Across Space and Time, which contains 18 of my best short stories and is available both in print and electronically. By purchasing the collection, you encourage writers like me to continue to write short stories. Thanks so much!

 

 

  Scott William Carter, A Dark Planetarium

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