The day we saw the fireballs I was seven.

We had found a black dog wandering down the street, and my brother Tony went inside to get his phone to call the number on the dog’s tag. “Hold him, Marie,” he said. I knelt next to the dog and petted him. He kissed me, and he had very stinky breath. The dog was named Maxwell, and he was looking around like he was worried or late. That’s what it seemed like to me. I said, “It’s okay Maxwell, we’ll get you home.”

He turned and looked at me, looking directly into my eyes, and it felt for all the world like he’d heard me. Not just heard, but understood. I had the feeling he was saying something. It’s not like I heard words in my mind. It just seemed like he was saying, I love you, but you will not get me home. I am from this place, but other. I need to get back to the this place that I am from.

I had the image of two identical dogs leaving two identical dog houses, only one of them stepped through a hole in space and the other did not. It was clear, and weird, and made me a little dizzy. There was a pain in the left side of my forehead.

Tony was trying to dial the number on the gold colored tag on Maxwell’s collar when there was a flash in the sky. We looked up, and there was another flash, brighter than the sun. Out of a clear blue sky a fireball was falling toward earth.

Tony said, “Holy shit,” and started taking video with his phone.

I was scared, I remember that very clearly. I had to pee when we saw Maxwell, but now I forgot that I had to pee. Because I peed my pants, and I didn’t even notice.

Our mom came outside to see what we were doing, and she noticed the puddle under my sandals. I don’t know why I used to pee myself when I was little. She said, “Marie, honey, you … you peed …” By then she was staring at the fireball as well.

She was there when the second one came into view.

Its flames were purple.