The Icelandic Canadian - 01.03.2003, Side 35

Vol. 57 #4
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
171
The Shooting Star
by David Jon Fuller
The night I saw a shooting star was the
beginning of one of the greatest adventures
of my childhood, and despite what you
might think, Bird’s Hill has enormous
potential for such things when you are six
years old. That’s how old I was when my
parents decided that Bray Road East was an
appropriate place to raise us as healthy, sta-
ble young children. Trudeau was in charge
of the country then, although at the time I
still thought that the “Prime Minister”
meant something religious, similar to the
Pope. I suppose he did, too. I was not too
impressed with our new home at first, as
there were no movie theatres there; my
chances of seeing Star Wars yet again had
become rather slim.
I suppose my parents had not realized
that my siblings and I had already become
very much like what we were to be as
adults. Brian, the oldest, had what might be
described as a “superiority” complex. Lisa,
next in line, always expected us to notice
how beautiful she was. Tammi, third old-
est, was quiet, and always seemed to be
pondering the mind of God or figuring out
how to build a nuclear bomb. As for me, I
liked to wander around, watching people,
and making up stories about them for
myself and anyone else who would listen.
It was a cold, clear night in late fall
when it happened. I remember looking up
at the stars and wondering what God
would have said if Abraham had actually
been able to count them. I had asked my
Sunday school teacher about that, but she
said she didn’t know. As I was watching
the sky, I saw a shooting star. Then I
noticed another... but it wasn’t just passing
by, it was getting closer! I was afraid that
God was sending one of his angels to get
me, so I ran back to the house to get my
dad. He was in the kitchen, reading one of
Tammi’s Archie comics; I remember that
clearly, because for an instant I wondered
how Jughead would react to this crisis.
Nearby, my mother was baking, and in the
next room, Brian and Lisa were arguing
over what TV show to watch.
I rushed in, but I barely had time to tell
them about the star before it happened. My
mother was scolding me for wearing my
boots inside the house when there was an
enormous crash from the field where I had
just been. The whole house shook, and I
think a vase broke. I was so scared that I
lost control of my bodily functions. (I
think Brian did, too, and that would have
been some consolation, but he would never
admit it.) I started babbling about the angel
who was coming to get me, but everyone
was rushing to the kitchen window, and
they weren’t listening to me, as usual.
When everyone went outside, I quickly
went upstairs to change my pants. By the
time I got outside myself, my parents and
Brian were carrying someone back to the
house.
My father explained that a meteorite
had landed in our field, and they had found
the man nearby. He was tall, and hugely-
built, and seemed to be very heavy; he was
covered in scorch marks and dirt, and his
hair and beard were singed. The impact of
the crash must have caused the shooting
star to explode, because the man had a piece
of stone lodged in his head. He didn’t look
as if he would survive, but my mother said
that they couldn’t very well ieave him out
there, since it was already mid-November
and the weather was quite cold.
Nobody knew who he was, and since
he remained unconscious, we couldn’t ask
him any questions. My mother had him
settled in the spare bedroom and then
shooed everyone out, except me, because I
was six and hid under the bed. After the
lights had been turned off and the door
shut, I emerged. There was no moon out-
side, but the light from the stars came in