When's the last time you looked up?

` I used to look through the telescope every night. When the sun set, and night fell over the sleeping houses. The entrapting sight of the universe would enlighten everything in my vision. Seeing the stars and planets dance just inches from my face. So different and mysterious then the world I lived in. 

That’s when we still had money, and I had time for things like that. Now, when I can feel my parents' bills heavy on the kitchen counter. And school grades became more important than a full night's rest. Well things were different, and a telescope look was the lowest of priorities. 

In fact, over the years dust began to settle on the glass, and it started to hide behind clothes. Forgotten, hidden. 

It all changed after my grandfather's funeral, when all I received was a note and a coin. 

***

The drive back from the church was stuffy, and hot. The air conditioning had been busted since April, and the August heat wasn’t sparing us much mercy. Rolling down windows would have been an option if the clouds of misquotes weren’t traveling in thick clouds. 

My sweet mother, Sirena, tried to grasp me back into their conversation. Something about the ‘gifts’ we had received from Grandfather, yet the little coin didn’t seem to hold much value then the ten cents portined on the bottom. My sister had only received a hat that had belonged to my late Grandmother. 

“Maybe there is something important about it. Your Grandfather never believed in coincidence, he thought everything had a purpose,”  my mother reminded me for the fourth time. The silence grew thick again, settling over us in waves.  “Sweetie, what does the note say?” 

I reached for the note from my pocket, it was wrinkled and slightly wilted. In the kitchen scratch handwriting, there was a message in the middle. 

‘Hope you’re still using that telescope. Love Grandpa.’ 

I repeated the note to my family, and didn’t hold much reaction. My sister, Amir, hidden behind her thoughts, death had been hard on all of us. She was still shifting in the uncomfortable black dress she had been crammed into, one of my mothers hand-me-downs. My parents were in the front two seats, each hiding their one sadness with concern for the two of us. 

Technically, we all should have known Grandpa would die at any moment. He was old, with little care for his own well-being. Eating what he wanted, staying up still while the birds sang, he was his own force of nature. 

Yet, it didn’t make the call anymore heartbreaking, and certainly not anymore devastating. Contemplation and guilt drove us from our home to his minisuacal form of a funeral. 

We weren’t even staying the night anywhere, just driving up in the morning and leaving by evening. Afterward driving back to the far country of Louisiana, with fat bugs, and fatter neighbors. There wasn’t much point to staying in the city. 

So, as the car traveled forward, I stared at the window. Remembering Grandfather, his cane, the smell of his collared shirts, and of course his note. Maybe, when we get home, I should look through the telescope.

***

The house was even stuffier than the car, with an off smell radiating from the cramped house. We shrugged into the house, dragging clothing bags, and our new items from Grandfather. 

The quiet followed me to my room, where the telescope mocked me from the corner.

I tried everything to avoid it, at least for an hour. Cleaning out my clothes bag, folding laundry, hell I even contemplated finishing my science project. Yet, the stubborn telescope remained in the corner, and not even the thick coats could cover it. 

I tried to stare it down, make it cower out of existence, but it was far too brave. Fine, I thought, Let it be brave. 

Then my patience wore out, and I took the dirty laundry off the handle. Vaguely nothing had changed, except maybe for a more intense layer around it. I trailed my hands back to the switches, the metal knobs. 

I was hesitant to look through it. It seemed so monumental, to race back to a small part of my childhood. Once I had tried to hide behind sweaty gym clothes and thick winter coats. Yet, curiosity won over, and I fixed myself right in front of the lens. 

Letting it fix on the stars, and some of that sweet childhood wonder shone through, just for a moment. The bright lights focused in and out, blurring them crystal clear. I peered down to trace the rooftop of houses as well, places I had never been but looked at throughout my life. 

When I was little, and the telescope still had the new shine upon it, I would imagine myself scaling those roofs, jumping, diving. It had been my slight escape when the world was too much, a little secret place. 

Now, it only brought up those same memoires, and some bitter resentment. When I was that little I had no real worries, they were only if my older sister would yell at me if I stole her Nintendo. 

I got lost again, tracing houses, the clouds, and smoke coming from one of the buildings. Wait, smoke! I looked again, sure enough, there were clouds of grayish tinge billowing from one of the houses. The window was slightly open, and I could smell the smoke. Panic rushed through me. 

I scrambled to the phone, this had to be something else, there was no way. But, it all seemed to be too real, and having the emergency services check it out would not be the end of the world. I dialed the emergency number, wondering as the phone rang if I should have called my family. 

“911, what is your emergency?” Rang through, interrupting my train of thought.

“Hi,” I paused. How the hell do you even explain this? “Uh-I liked to report a fire, roughly off Burbank and Blakey.” 

“Alright, and are you near the location sir?” 

“No, I’m in a suburban home a few blocks down, but I can see the flames from here.” 

“Alright, just stay calm and stay at your location. We’re sending a dispatch team now.” After more rushed questions, I got off the phone, waiting. 

I could almost hear the sirens from my building, and could see the reflection of the lights. 

I sunk underneath the window, letting my eyes heave close. Everything felt too close, the walls, my shirt was too sweaty, Grandfather note was too loud. Something was wrong. Of course something was wrong, there’s a fire not more than ten minutes away from me. 

The time passed quickly, and the hum of sirens, the pre assumed early ones, never grew any louder. After checking my phone I confirmed not a single news station was reporting it either. Maybe it just took a while, they had to get reporters to the scene. 

Then a call came through my phone again, almost making me bang my head on the windowsill. I scrambled to answer it, the 911 operator rang through the room once more. 

“Uh hello,” I answered confusedly. 

“Yes, is the number for the fire.” 

“Yes.” I jumped up, I didn’t even realize they would give me a follow up. 

“Right, well we had a dispatch team on the way. But while heading there, they found no sign of fire anywhere near the location.” she supplied heavy sympathy in my voice. She must have thought I was nuts. 

“No, you don’t understand. There was fire, I saw it, with my own two eyes,” I argued. 

“There was not, they checked the entire area,” The lady soothed. 

“Yes, there was.” I was growing frustrated. Why was she messing with me? 

“Sir, there was no fire, I swear by it. Maybe you need to go to a family member or friend, you seem to be quite shaken and might need help,” she comforted. 

“No ma'am. I know there was a fire. It just must have been put out. There were red lights, or something in the air, I swear. Something is wrong.” 

“Please calm down, Sir. There was no fire, or lighting. Whatever you saw wasn’t there, maybe a coincidence or some type of illusion. Have a good night.” a dial tone rang through my room. 

Yeah, maybe just a coincidence. Yet, when I looked back to the window, I swear there was  still smoke billowing in the air. 

***

“We’re just worried sweetheart,” Mom soothed, she was trying her hardest, it wasn’t enough. Of course, someone had called them about my mishap, it was a small town, and all morning I had been paying for it. 

First waking up to their worried questions, and my hurried answers. They were almost as confused as me about the situation. Their sweet, perfect son, why would he have prank-called the police? God, I really did sound like a joke. 

Then came more questions, accusations for attention or to impress some girl. All the explaining I did wasn’t enough, they just didn’t believe me. This continued for days, spreading into the week. 

Staring at the bedroom ceiling began to replace homework, with hundreds of new questions tumbling through my head. Why couldn’t anybody believe me? 

I could still see the crimson tendrils burning through the darkened sky. Hearing the sirens, smelling the smoke, it was all real. It just had to be, not an illusion or a dream, reality. Maybe a sick twist of reality, a horrible check of the impossible measures we face. 

I flipped the coin in the air, the gold glinting in the setting sun. Something was meaningful behind it, grandpa knew it was important, he would have believed me. It flipped around, falling to my hand, then my floor in a matter of seconds. Huffing, I sat up to grab it. 

I paused as the sun rested on the front of the coin, reflecting off the telescope. There was a small scribbled message written on the bottom, well worn but noticeable in the streaming light. I lifted the gold to my eye, making sure to note every inscription. 

It seemed to be a series of numbers, probably previously assumed to be the date of its creation. Yet, anybody who knew Grandfather should know better. He always had numbers become a hidden purpose, from messages to passcodes. Maybe the series of numbers were to a safe, or something hidden in his will. 

I scrambled to a notebook, drawing out the old code. Letter to number, ridiculously simple, and ridiculously underused. Tracing the letter, once then once more, all again for the final time. 

A FIT OF FLAMES WILL MARK THEIR ENTRANCE. 

Grandfather never believed in coincidence, and neither did I.