Halley's Comet

The sunset was particularly pink that winter night in 1986. It was March 13th to be exact. A big snow storm had just passed through the coastal province of Nova Scotia. “A nor’easter’s on its way,” the locals had been saying; their own term for describing the winds from the northeast that create the often turbulent—yet commonplace—weather for that time of year in Atlantic Canada. The power had been out for well over a day but had finally been restored. 

Marjorie stood by the window above her kitchen sink, steeping her tea. She always had a cup of Red Rose with a splash of milk in the evening; a simple daily comfort she had looked forward to for as long as she could remember. Some days, it was the only thing she looked forward to. She watched the quiet, solid sheet of snow that remained in the yard at the side of the house. The calm after the storm, if you will. What had been white squalls and hissing gusts of wind a mere 24 hours before had turned into a crystal clear day. Good thing too, as it would have been a shame to have the sky obstructed for the celestial event that was about to occur. It’s really quite beautiful, Marjorie thought to herself, as the blank canvas of snow became painted gold by the vanishing sun, if only for a moment. She made her way to the sunroom at the back of the house, her hands cupping the warmth of her delicate mug. 

Marjorie rocked back and forth in her wooden chair as she watched the waves crash against the rugged shore. She had always grown up by the ocean, just down the road from where she now sat; the same home where she had raised her children. She had celebrated her 60th birthday that past November—her little ones long grown up—yet in many ways, she was still assuming her matriarchal role. Her daughter had become a mother herself a few years back, and Marjorie spent a lot of time there helping out. Sometimes the help was asked for, sometimes it was imposed. Often a mix of the two. Her husband, Arthur, had passed away only four years prior— a widow maker, I’m very sorry—the doctor told her. And just like that, the man who had endured the harshest of seas at the helm of a fishing vessel for the better part of his life, was gone in an instant. 

“I’m Arthur’s wife,” had been Marjorie’s greeting ever since they had gotten married at the tender age of 20, and in his absence she couldn’t help but ask herself: Marjorie, who the hell are you? Language she would only ever use in the privacy of her own mind, of course. Mothers and good church-going women didn’t speak like that. But fuck it, she would have liked to express herself in such a way at times. Nevertheless, the little girl who once collected sea glass along the very shore she now looked at from the comfort of her rocking chair, had now become both a widow and a grandma. Grandma. How times flies when you’re—what had she even done to make the time fly? 

Marjorie had never traveled much in her lifetime; not up until that point. And truth be told, she never would. She would daydream of such adventures, though, of hopping on a plane like they did in the movies. Jetting off somewhere—anywhere—other than here. This one-horse town, if you will. This quaint community in rural Nova Scotia, one kept thriving by the lobster fishery, where everyone knew your name…and your business. Going to the grocery store for a loaf of bread was always met with a parade of Hey, how are yous? Which was nice, in a way, that feeling of community. But at times, Marjorie would feel the truth bubbling at the surface. She felt that any day now, her real answer would leave her mouth—the truth of how she was really doing—rather than the standard I’m good, how are you? 

The sunset views in Marjorie’s backyard were astonishing. Each evening, looking completely different from the one prior. Depending on the wind, how overcast the sky was, if the tide was high or low; all of this and more would alter the color scheme, mood, and overall emotional experience of each sunset. She never took a single one for granted…other than the ones she did. Each night, she’d feel the alchemy of the fire, the warm hug, the magic, the beauty and the sadness of the sun disappearing over the Atlantic. She would never leave this small town, no, but the nature in her very backyard had sure taken her on many travels. And on that particular evening on March 13th, 1986, her backyard escape would be one that she would soon not forget. 

ATV Evening News: Live At 5 had been broadcasting the return of Halley’s Comet for several weeks now. Marjorie would often sit in front of the TV with whatever simple dinner for one she’d prepared, and listen to the program’s commentator and familiar face, Steve Murphy, say things like “It is the only short-period comet that can be seen with the naked eye!” and “Halley’s Comet only appears in our Solar System every 76 years!” It had last been visible from Earth in 1910, and Marjorie realized that this was two years before anyone even knew that the Titanic would meet its tragic demise on April 14th, 1912. She had not been around during those times, but she couldn’t help but think back to all the photos and footage of all the people of all varying classes and walks of life who boarded that majestic ship. What they wore, how they did their hair. What cars looked like. What telephones looked like, and how at that time, only the upper class had access to them to make room to room calls on the ship. Things sure have changed a lot since then, she thought. For better or for worse, she wasn’t sure. 

The anticipation of the comet’s return had caused quite the stir. It felt like something new and miraculous was coming. It captivated people, especially children. At school, kids were being educated but also filled with whimsy, learning about the comet’s composition and how it had been linked to appearances dating back 2,000 years. A silly (yet darling) drill was being done in phys ed, where the kids would run around the gymnasium in the shape of the comet’s signature elliptical orbit. This fun and exciting lead up was so good for them, those sweet souls who sat at their classroom desks not even two months prior, watching the Space Shuttle Challenger explode before their very eyes on live television. How could anyone really explain that event to kids, when no adult really knew how to process it themselves? Much like the return of Halley, the lead up to the Challenger launch had been a hopeful one too, looking back. 

The hullabaloo of Halley’s Comet, yes, it was good. It was needed, really. It felt like a healthy distraction from all the other things in the world—and on the news—that were competing for everyone’s attention. Those who took notice were excited, and rightfully so. However, that night on March 13th, 1986, the first night the comet was expected to make its grand appearance, Marjorie didn’t feel much different. She sat where she always sat, drinking the tea she always drank, watching the sunset dance and shape shift as it so beautifully did, a thin line of burnt orange left over the horizon. She sat there waiting for the comet to appear—sort of—but mostly, she thought of her daughter. She thought about how their goodbye earlier that day had been rather pointed, rather abrupt. She wasn’t sure if she needed a break from her grandma duties, or if her daughter needed a break from her grandmothering, or if they both needed a break from each other. But all Marjorie knew for sure was that she was supposed to stay over for dinner and into the evening, but instead left around 3:00 p.m., neither of them saying much of a goodbye. The salt truck should go by once more, she thought to herself, as she drove home alone on the icy roads. 

Marjorie drank her last bit of tea. Although the sun was long gone, she could still see the white caps of the waves as they came crashing in. It was quite meditative, sometimes hypnotic, to watch the ocean’s neverending ebbs and flows, even in the darkness. Her home was only a stone’s throw away from where the land met the sea, so that constant hum—almost like static—mixed in with each incoming then receding wave, was always there. She thought she may sit there all night, the sunroom now dimly lit by a small lamp and the moonlit sky. She thought of both nothing and everything, an empty teacup in her hand. That was until something in her periphery pulled her straight out of her seat. She nearly dropped the mug onto the floor before placing it on her side table. She walked towards the windows, step by step by step, her eyes wide and transfixed on the vision before her. It was nothing as momentous as they had described it on TV or on the radio and in the newspapers. “It will cross the heavens and light up the sky!” They had said. In actuality, it was small, blurry even. Yet at the same time, it was like something out of a dream. A glowing white orb suspended in the sky, with its tail that followed, made of ionized gas and dust particles. In a way, it made it all the more mesmerizing, how anyone could so easily miss it altogether if they didn’t make a point to look for it. There it was, stunning and subdued: Halley’s Comet. Marjorie didn’t as much as put a sweater on as she slid open her patio door and stepped outside. 

She could taste the salt air on her lips. The temperature, well below zero as the rumble of the ocean became amplified. Standing outside alone in the dead of winter, a sense of wonder and humility came over her as this cosmic event occurred before her very eyes. A far cry from the usual mundaneness of her life that played out day after day. Marjorie had never known the difference and she never would, how in more urban centers, the millions upon billions of stars became nearly invisible each night due to the light pollution. How in other parts of the world, places she would only ever dream of traveling to, sunsets weren’t as spectacular as the ones in her very own backyard. And how in many of these places, they would not get to see Halley’s Comet at all, unlike where she now stood, in the only little corner of the world she had ever known. She felt an unwavering sense of hope as she watched the comet—one she didn’t even know she cared to see—silently blast through the sky. Soon followed by the deep regret: she and her daughter’s family should all have been experiencing this together. However, had she stayed at her daughter’s house, would they have focused their attention away from their differences long enough to even witness the comet at all? 

The temperature caught up with Marjorie, her teeth beginning to chatter as she pulled her body in closer. They’d been saying on the news that Halley’s comet would only return again in 2061. Marjorie’s little grandchildren would have the opportunity to see this event twice in their lifetime. She hoped they’d make it those golden years, anyway. Or that at the very least, that they’d outlive her. Her own kids would surely be gone by then; that was melancholic to think about. But one thing that was guaranteed was that Marjorie herself would not make it to 2061, not by a long shot. Humpback whales would still migrate every fall, the tide would still come in and out every six hours, the moon would still be full once every month. And similarly, in 76 years, Halley’s Comet would return right on schedule, suspended in the night sky. By then, Marjorie would be long gone, nothing but a collection of memories left behind. Unnerving thoughts loomed over her—I won’t exist one day—as she wondered how she would be remembered. She wondered if anyone would even remember her at all. 

Marjorie gave the comet one final look, feeling an unsettling kind of gratitude to have witnessed it. She wondered if her daughter was watching it with her husband and kids. Maybe I should call her and ask? Marjorie went back inside, slowly sliding the glass patio door shut behind her. She clicked off the lamp in the sunroom and went straight to bed. 

She did not sleep a wink that night, nor did she try. She watched the star speckled sky gradually morph into the blush hue brought on by morning, her head resting on her pillow. She squinted as the sunlight eventually cascaded in from her bedroom window. Her eyes burned. She stretched and yawned. As she allowed the energy of a new day to trickle back into her, she stared at the ceiling. She stayed that way for a long while. She looked forward to the cup of Red Rose tea that she’d be having, later that evening.