THE LOT: Looking Up
The timing is perfect. I pack up the review copies of our new book, Cosmic Wonder, by Nathan Hellner-Mestelman, after lunch, and then — I have the scissors and tape on the kitchen counter, a pen, a sheet of paper, aluminum foil, and a pin in the drawer — make myself a cereal box viewer for the solar eclipse.
“I’ve made a viewer for us,” I say, when David comes into the kitchen.
He laughs at the flimsy contraption. “I can see that.”
David isn’t too interested; he’s planning to watch the eclipse on television.
It’s 3 p.m. when I leave him at his computer, put on my nice hat, and head outdoors. The post office should be quiet at this time of day, and especially today. The schools are closed for the eclipse, and others seem to have taken the day off work.
There are lots of empty parking spots on the usually crowded street, and only a few pedestrians lounging around on benches. I hide under the brim of my hat, avoid looking at the sun.
Three young men at the corner of de Maisonneuve are wearing the protective glasses I haven’t gotten around to buying. One of them looks up at the aun and says, “Ouaou !”
On the other side of the street, a young woman leaning against the wall of the TD bank is looking up, too.
She removes the protective glasses as I approach, and we smile at each other.
I’m pleased to see her enjoying the eclipse, and well-prepared for it, too.
And she’s enjoying the eclipse, and well-prepared, too.
Perfect strangers perfectly aligned.
Inside the post office, a woman passes is on her way out as I open up my mailbox. I’m a familiar figure here — I always have books to mail out — and I go over to the Haitian woman.
I’ve put my packages on the counter and hand her my Canada Post card when the manager comes through and announces, in French, that totality will be at 3:26.
“3:26,” I repeat, checking the wall clock behind her. It’s now 3:12.
My packages are measured, weighed, and labelled, new envelopes purchased, my debit card charged, pleasantries exchanged, and soon I’m on my way again.
“I must get home,” I say, “in time for totality.”
The number of people on the street has multiplied. There are now clusters of people on the corner of de Maisonneuve, groups of five, groups of seven or eight, people on every bench, every low wall, facing the sun.
The young woman outside the bank is at her post, removing her glasses again. We smile at each other, recognizing our moment of perfect alignment barely ten minutes ago.
“How’s it looking ?” I ask.
No need to explain. She knows what I mean. “It” can only be the sun.
Instead of answering, though, she reaches out her hand, offering me her protective glasses. “Would you like to see?” she asks me, quite shy.
“Oh yes, please!” I say, taking them from her.
I fumble, realizing I need to remove my own glasses, then get the protective glasses on and look straight up at the sun.
It’s partially obscured, like an orange someone has bitten into. Or like Apple’s apple logo, only orange.
“Wow,” I say. “That is amazing.”
She nods happily.
I give her back the glasses, thank her, and we smile again, even more perfectly aligned than before.
More people, more. Pouring out of buildings, moving to the street corners with a clear view of the sun. Loud exchanges across the street, joking, laughter, excitement.
Another throng, other throngs, as I make my way to Sherbrooke and around the corner to our building.
“It’s happening, David,” I call out, dropping my bag on the table. “This is it!”
“What’s it like out there?” he asks.
“Warm and beautiful.” Perhaps he will come, after all. “It’s simply beautiful out there.”
“I’ll get my shoes on,” he says.
“You’ll be so glad, there are crowds of people outside, it’s quite a scene.”
I pick up my flimsy cereal-box contraption, and David brings his cane.
“Where will we go?”
“Just to the corner,” I say. “We’ll find a bench, and if we sit with our backs to the eclipse, we should be able to see the sun’s reflection through this.”
Room is made for David and me, and the sky darkens.
We’re facing east, away from the sun.
There’s hardly any traffic on Sherbrooke Street, not a single bus.
My paper contraption turns out to be useless. I try every angle, take my hat off in case the brim is interfering with the sunlight. Still useless.
No matter. It’s only a minute before a roar goes up from the throngs up and down the street.
Birds shriek. Traffic stops.
All eyes are turned to the sun.
“It’s totality,” I say to David, then look to a woman in the throng closest to us.
“C’est la totalité?” I ask her, to be sure.
“Oui !” she says, “la totalité.”
“Then it’s safe to look, now, David, just for a minute.”
We turn and look up.
Cosmic wonder.
It’s dark, like midnight, suddenly cold.
The total eclipse of the sun.
In less than two minutes, the light starts creeping back, traffic starts moving again.
David and I stand up in the half-light.
“N’oubliez pas votre chapeau, chère Madame !”
Don’t forget your hat!
Sure enough, I’ve forgotten my hat.
“Ah oui ! Merci beaucoup !”
