Twenty miles from Milestone is a reservation. On nights like these when stargazers flee the city the locals open their gates and share the celestial wonder; that and, you know, bring in tourist dollars.
On the other side of the hills the city was a memory, and in its place was rolling plains, rivers and pine trees. If it weren’t for the shacks lining the highway and the string of traffic you might have forgotten about humans.
Tanya and I lounged in the back seat of the SUV with Angie, her little sister, strapped between us. We’d spent most of the trip playing ‘eye spy’, a game which is harder when one of you can’t spell.
Somewhere around nine we found a parking space and started to unpack. Tanya’s mom loaded my arms with folding chairs, picnic blankets and a grocery bag filled with snacks. Never let it be said that she wasn’t prepared.