My father’s favorite pastime always was to sit in the back of his truck and watch the stars. A pastime that continued even after us kids were born. I remember how my mother would wrap my brothers, sisters and me up in sweaters and send us out. We couldn’t fit in that old truck’s three-person cabin, so our father would put us older children in the flatbed and he would just drive. He would take us down that dirt road behind our house and drive until the trees were at their thinnest. When I close my eyes I can picture it all clear as day. The smell of oak trees around us, the sound of grey owls settling in for a night of hunting, the feel of the flatbed’s unforgiving metal under my palms, and the way the dewy night air seemed to sit on my tongue. Our father used to laugh and say that we looked out of place amongst the trees and animal life. Him, his rusted Ford pickup and his seven children. I never thought so. As children, we saw the forest as a second home. As adults, it became a fleeting memory of a time of which we thought we could never return.  Our mother used to pack our bags with blankets, hoping that we would be wise enough to use them. Looking back I can’t remember a time that we ever did, at least not while we were in that forest clearing. We were too busy listening to our father to notice the cold. We would all huddle in that flatbed as he told us about constellations, pointing out the ones that he could see. His favorite one was always Orion.

When Orion was in the sky my father was at his happiest. He would have this look of pure joy and contentment that no other constellation gave him. We always asked him why he loved it. He had told us the same things every time, but we didn’t care. We would always ask, if only to hear the wonder in his voice. He would tell us of Orion, the hunter, and in his eyes the protector. He always believed that we were safest when Orion was in the sky, that he would be there when we needed him most. We never understood it, but we loved it nonetheless. His voice would wrap around us like its own blanket, keeping us safe from whatever lingered in the forest beyond our clearing. The sound of his voice and the closeness of each other would keep us warm as we listened for hours. Sitting there gazing at the sky always seemed to make the world stand still, if only for a moment.
Once the younger of us slipped into the soft embrace of sleep we would cover each other with our mother’s blankets as he drove us home. The drive back was just as magical as the drive there. As sleep overcame me I would watch my sisters’ hair blow in the cold night air. I would watch my brothers do their best to fight sleep as if it wasn’t a battle they had never won.

Even as time passed and the whirlwind of teenage life consumed the older of us, we always let our mother wrap us in sweaters, we always got in that old truck and let him tell us about Orion.

I remember years later, when our father had fallen ill and he couldn’t watch the stars. We had all come home to see him. We would tell him about the constellations like he had for us all those years ago. Our father had said that finally seeing us together after all this time was better than any star. We were all with him when he passed, with a smile on his face as if he had seen Orion for the last time.

It was a few days later that our mother wrapped us in sweaters, with bags of blankets and sent us out. She gave my brother the keys to that old truck and we drove. We went along that old dirt road, still clear from years of use. We drove until the trees were at their thinnest. It was like driving into a dream. The oak trees smelled like they always had and grey owls still hunted amongst their branches. While it was more rusted than my memory served, the metal of the flatbed was still cold against my bare hands. My brother parked the truck and we all squeezed onto that flatbed. We had changed a lot since we were last here. We were older, wiser, we had separate lives without each other, but the stars never changed. Looking up at the sky, it was like we had never left, as if the stars were waiting for us to come back home. It was our youngest sister that saw it first, through the trees that had grown since we left. Bright as ever, as if he was expecting us, Orion. I can never remember if the tears were of pain, joy, or some mixture of both, but regardless they were there. I couldn’t tell you how long we cried, but I can say that cluster of stars showed up when we needed it the most. We spent the night sharing stories of constellations and stars. We spoke of a childhood long gone, of windswept hair and failed battles with sleep, of blankets never used. Orion had always reminded me of my father but after that night, when the weather was cold, I would look for him in the sky and I can’t guarantee it but I’m sure that my brothers and sisters do the same.

We lead very different lives but we’re all looking at Orion, knowing that he’ll protect us. Reminding us that even if our father was gone, Orion would look after us for him.