Chasing Auroras

     I was riding with him one night, he was quiet, and so was the street. The air trapped in the car was dense and comfortable, like it would feel after having a small disagreement with someone. Nothing big. The road taking us back to his house was immense and extremely straight. I was hoping the lights we were facing would not turn red; there was some sort of anxiety inside me to get to nowhere. I get the same anxiety in lines at the supermarket; also, I get it when I’m walking back to my car in a large parkade. He was still quiet.

     I open my window to let the air in. The air rushes in and it feels almost sweet as it hits my face, just like they would describe it in some old summer movie. A park besides us defines the street on one side; the other side is full of young trees that are starting to turn yellow prematurely and for the first time in their lives. I can see his house at the end of the street finally appearing under a streetlight. But he doesn’t pull out to the garage; he turns right unexpectedly, onto the entrance of the park. The park has been closed to the public for a few hours now as the sign indicates. He stops the car facing the sky and he starts trying to look up pass the edge of the windshield, he was searching for something. His face was more analytical and puzzled than ever. I just sat there, like the girl who is not surprised anymore. I didn’t move a finger.

With a cut smile on his face he turned to me and said:

“I think those up there are northern lights... you know, auroras”

     I think at that moment I was the most sceptical and hopeful that I have ever been about him. When I had just met him we used to go out on long drives often. Sometimes we would go when he had read some notice of increased solar activity, this phenomenon often resulted on appearances of aurorae this far south of Alberta. We would drive to places like Sundree or Cardstairs and others like those. We never saw anything. I would often hear people say that they had seen the auroras from their living room window. People that are used to taking things for granted. Those kinds of people.

And now, here I was, in front of a green lit sky, and nothing more than an unsettled companion next to me.

“Are you tired?” He asked.

“No” I replied because I knew exactly what he was thinking.

     He started backing out and driving out to the south highway. I stretch and grab my forgotten coat from the back seat and put it on my legs to cover me. I open the window all the way. I start looking west and the sky started unveiling a sharper green haze. He is driving quiet but fearless through the windy dark street. He seemed overpowered by a hunch, or maybe just inertia.

     We get on to the open highway and next to us there is still a beautiful sky, but nothing is defined yet, as if it’s taunting us to keep looking. He mumbles something about looking back out the window and I listen. My head contours out the window facing the angry wind. Suddenly, I see them. They are there: Auroras in the sky. The trail of the deceiving haze lead up to them. They are spread all around and behind our car. They are like a moving sheet of surreal electricity. They are like a neon extravagance coming out of an 80’s rock concert. They are like a perfect ruler guided brushstroke that is moving secretly, just for me. I cannot even spit out a cliché acknowledgement. I simply say:

“You were right, they are there”

     He keeps driving, now he has turned to another highway. I sit back again and close the window. My face is freezing cold. I cannot help but think that I absolutely love his instinct. He might be effortless sometimes but he does manage to give me the whole sky as a gift on a middling night. I can imagine what he is thinking now, he is thinking of the scientific reasons explaining this phenomenon. He is thinking of electricity particles. He is thinking of solar showers and pressure changes that result on cloudless nights. He is thinking about the moon that could ruin everything but he also thinks about the moon that could be on our side. He is thinking about north and south, left or right. He is a commander in an aimless ship. He’s taking us to Bragg Creek, I think.

     We arrive to an empty concrete parking lot that usually contains tourists. The might has wrapped it all and made it forgotten. An old shed in the middle of the site serves as an outhouse. The pond where people usually fish, hang out and eat barbequed goods is showing through the tree branches. The water lets sparkles of light escape as we drive slowly and park for the big show. Throughout the drive the auroras had gone dim and they had mockingly disappeared, leaving just a broken idea stained in the midnight sky.

“The will come back”, he says quietly.

     We sit and wait; we are filled with a glorious and calmed happiness. He tells me stories about his childhood mountain trips and the cold nights he spent sleeping under the northern trees. I tell him about my home land and the southern starts I grew up watching. He keeps spying on the firmament line and he listens gently. The minutes pass and I am not anxious anymore. We are chasing auroras, I say to myself. The sky twists and troubled as it was, lets out a glimmer of a soft blush glow.

“They’re back”. He says.

And we watch them until the dawn of the next day robs us of the spectacle. “aurora” is supposed to be the goddess of dawn, I think.