I keep the ropes coiled under my bed for a clear night. They're the thickest I could find. I think they're made for tug-of-war or something. Ronnie from Severville Hardware didn't ask questions when I bought ‘em. Both of us pretended that me paying in nickels and quarters was normal. 

I watch the news every day over breakfast with Mama, just to see the weather forecast. This morning, the meteorologist said this would be a good night to see it in Severville. He was a decidedly flimsy man, and looked like he'd blow over in a strong wind. Mama remarked that he probably shouldn't have gone into weather science. But I trust his prediction. I wait in my bed until around one, until I know Gabe's passed out in his cruddy recliner, after the TV programming has deteriorated into nonsense. With the rope slung over my shoulder, I creep down the hall. The inane roar of some game show muffles my footsteps. 

When I ease open the front door, the floodlight snaps on, reflecting the snow in one bright wash. It must be at least two feet of snowfall, because Gabe's truck looks like nothing more than a white lump in the driveway. The whole yard is lit like a football field, but the night loiters at the edges. Gingerly, I pull the door shut behind me. It's achingly cold out here. The wind cuts right through my sweatshirt and into my chest cavity. It almost makes me want to sneak back to get my jacket, but I doubt my chances of getting past that sleeping Goliath twice. Thirty seconds of freezing silence slink by until the floodlight turns off. When I'm plunged into darkness again, I know the flimsy meteorologist was right, because the northern lights float above me. 

It's kinda like when you stare at something real bright like the bare bulb over our bathroom sink, then look away fast. You can still see the picture of it lingering. Mama said never to look right at the sun ‘cause it'll burn your eyeballs or somethin'. I figure the bathroom light ain't anywhere close to the sun's brightness. But I digress. The aurora are like that. They're like somethin' you weren't ever meant to see. It felt kinda forbidden, almost drunken. They're there, but only for those who know to look. 

Right above me, there hangs a shining band of silvery green. I try to imagine what it'd be like to be a person from five hundred years ago, coming up the Peshtigo River in a li'l canoe, looking up into the pitch darkness and glimpsing that color. No wonder they said the aurora were spirits. The whole sky blushes pink, if I squint. It's delicate up there, though. I have to be real quiet if I don't wanna scare it away. 
My girl laughed when I told her my plan. It's not like she didn't want to get out of "Sewerville" too, Jess said. She just didn't bet on fairy lights. I responded with something barbed, like "Well, I come from a long line of gamblers, so I'm just following tradition." 
 Her vague frown is the only image in my mind as I curl my fingers around the rope. It's not nearly as thick as I remember. It'll have to do. I've already been hangin' on by a thread anyway. 

The snow's light and powdery in the yard. I crunch over to the middle of the street and peer up, hefting the rope. It's a straight shot. Underhand would be best. Gulping in one icy breath, I hurl the rope upward. It stretches above my head, much longer than the hundred feet I'd bought, and pierces the sheets of color, disappearing into the blackness beyond. It doesn't falter when I give it a sharp tug, even though I'm sure there's nothing for it to have looped on. Somethin' must be conspiring to bend the laws of the universe tonight. I can only pray that it's on my side. 

With that stupid hope still trembling in my gut, I begin to climb. It's tough work, if you haven't done it, dragging yourself up to where you don't belong. Only a few feet up, my shoulders are pulsing with uneasy pain. My coach'd have a fit if he saw me doing calisthenics in the cold without doing warmups first. But I just keep rising, hand over hand. If I could have it my way, I'd never see him again. 
About fifty feet in the air, it strikes me that there is so much more upwards of me, miles and miles. I could climb forever, getting away from here. Away from the dingy strip of Main Street. From the chain-link fences. Gabe's stupid truck. Jess's I'm-not-judging-but-I-am face. Mama's hand on my arm in the morning, before Gabe wakes, while everything is still new and beautiful— 
My hand slips on the rope, and for a second of terror I'm dangling in the sky above my hometown. The wind scolds me as it rushes past. How dare you doubt. My legs flail, looking for purchase, but this dream's too thin to bear my weight, so I can only hang on to the rope and float upward. Severville shrinks below me. 
In the green glow, everything feels young and light. The cold knits up all my old wounds. All the scars from football practices and scaling fences and lost fights, all melting away in the soft glow. The nothingness is quite nice. I must be more than a thousand feet up by now. In the light of the aurora, Severville looks like a coupl'a little crumbs on a sad white plate. I find Jess's house, across the rail tracks. She's surely swaddled up in her nice pink duvet while I freeze out here. Her words still itch at me. It's always easier to be a cynic when you live on the nice side of town. However nice Severville can get. 
Far above, I pick out the lump that is Gabe's truck. I work up enough spit to launch a big gob at his windshield. I'm too far up to see it, but I just know it melts an inch-wide divot into the snow. One little jab I can make back, against all the wounds he and this town dealt me. I half expect him to come charging out in his slippers, roaring at me for touching his truck. From a thousand feet up, he'd be the size of a flea in my peripheral vision, and he'd never hurt no one again. 

For all the hoping I did, I didn't think about what I'd do once I got up here. I shoulda brought my fishing rod; then I could pluck birds right outta the sky or somethin'. The thin air up here does wonders for the brain. Every thought is so clear, I don't mind breathing shallow if it means I can stay a bit longer. 
 
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