The Planets Part One

after Gustav Holst Do you remember when you told me that story of all the Planets in the sky and how they all had different jobs and had different people they were in charge of? (i) In the first hour of our road trip, when the first 30 minutes had passed into silence, you said that Uranus was a magician and he was friends with all the squirrels and mice and kindly rodents of the forest. They would climb on his shoulders or eat pieces of hard, white cheese out of his wrinkled hands. You said it was Heaven on Earth to be a rodent in Uranus’s company because as soon as the cheese ran out, Uranus would open up a little black book and cast a brand new dairy-oriented spell. (ii) We had to take our first pit stop 2 hours into the trip because you hate eating breakfast right when you wake up and your stomach was starting to interrupt your stories. The checkout clerk didn’t laugh at your 9 a.m. jokes and didn’t even bother to say you’re welcome after your second, emphatic thank you. When you closed the car door with all your strength you told me the story of Mars, the bringer of War and how he owed you a favor. You would send him in to shake all the racks of snacks until they fell on the floor, or to steal all the mustard packets from the roller grill. I told you that wasn’t fair to the other patrons and in your infinite kindness, relented and took a great big sip of your 64 oz frozen soda-pop. (iii) The road stretched out before us in a long, black and yellow runway. 64 ozs later we had to stop again. It was my turn to drive, which meant it was your turn to play the music. The sun was hiding behind the clouds like your little niece behind your sister’s skirts at family reunions so you played a few somber, sullen tunes to mimic the day. An hour into my driving stint the sun grew more and more confident, daring to peek around the cumulonimbus skirt and shed a little light for our humble journey. The music became joyous, upbeat yet serene. And you: you became inspired, telling me that Venus, the bringer of Peace sent the sun to light our way and break the melancholy landscape into transcendental scenes, as she had done for you a million times before.