Cosmonaut

    It was on the day I turned twenty that I came home from university classes to find her sitting on my couch with an old red Christmas blanket she had given me years ago draped around her legs. I was surprised she was there-- though we had planned to attend colleges in the same state, our endeavors kept us from seeing each other too often. I called out to her and embraced her, a huge juvenile smile on my face. That changed as soon as I looked into her eyes, I felt something in me give out, and recognized a sadness there that probably only I could have seen. Without another word, I took her into my arms and held her.

... we weren't lovers. Just friends. I carried her-- because underneath the blanket was a broken and battered leg-- to my room which was furthest from the entry door, disconnected my phone, and skipped the rest of my classes for the day. My best friend cried into my chest and apologized for something that was beyond her control. Our little dream that we shared over a decade and a half ago was over, taken by a drunk driver at the wheel of a silver sedan. At least she wasn't dead. But her brother was. I could do nothing but repeat my condolences and promise her that she still had me and things would be okay. Meaningless things, but I was helpless.

"Take me outside." she pleaded after her eyes were puffy and dry.

I did. I lifted her outside into my car during a night more solemn than usual, and we drove to the edge of a local park at a river, where since our childhood days it had trickled down over time and a pathetic brook remained. By then I had run out of things to say-- what do you say?-- and we sat in silence on top of that same old red blanket, holding hands. We were both staring at the sky, and some child in me wished for a wishing star that could make the pain go away.

***
One fat little pinky wrapped around another. They were two spoiled brats with fake ideals; he wanted to be an astronaut, she was going to be a dancer. Two kids sitting under the stars at a time when it was still okay for a boy and a girl to sleep over together. A shooting star had passed overhead during the Perseids meteor shower. It was the only one they saw, just one out of about ninety they could have sighted the hour they were out there. Isn't it funny that the magic of the moment lived on, simply because the two didn't have the foresight to look up again? That's how kids functioned-- in naivety and ignorance, and they loved every second of it, for the moment the comet slashed the sky overhead, a little boy's voice had called out, "Look!" and demanded that a wish be made.

He wanted to be an astronaut.

She wanted to be a dancer.

Like there was nothing standing between them and the edges of the universe, believing wholeheartedly that they could take a single step forward and skip all the regret, heartbreak, tears, and blackness that make up life to reach a new haven where dreams come true with a promise and pure heart, the two clasped their little fingers and swore to each other. In that second there were no tears, no sadness, only the unbreakable resolve of two young humans, authentic, in the face of a fake world they knew nothing of.
***

"I feel bad." I said after a while, as if those simple words could convey the undeniable sinking of my heart. "I feel really bad." Her head landed sadly on my shoulder. "We were idiot kids, yeah? Making a promise back then. By the way, I'm failing my astrology course."

It was true. I hated the professor, hated going out a night with a bunch of kids who just used the stars to measure the light they gave off so they could do some blue shift equations in order to pass the class.

"Why?" I heard her feeble voice come from the side. I knew that she didn't really want me to talk about my failures; I just had to talk so she had something to listen to. So I did, and spoke much more than I knew I could in a single string.

"Kids looking at the stars with calculators, talking about how drunk they got the night before. I mean... yeah, it's class, I understand that. But there's no substance to it. Just a bunch of people with equations in their heads. 'Oh, look at that star. It's about 24 light years away and it might sustain life.'" I chuckled dryly. "Hell no. How can you look up to the night and see that? That one over there is Vega. That star's got one heck of a story. It's already prettier now that I've said that, isn't it? Well, the Chinese and Japanese look at that star and see hope, a dream. He-- Vega, I mean-- has got a lover somewhere out there--" I paused to sweep my hand over the sky, "-- or on the other side of the world, and her name is Altair. But they only get to see each other once every lunar year, on the seventh day of the seventh month. To them, the Milky Way is just the river that separates them. Uh, there's a festival for the occasion. People write their wishes on tags and hang them on bamboo or trees, and there's a big celebration with streamers and everything. 'Course, none of this happens if it's cloudy on that day because no one gets to see the two lovers reunite. So first everyone wishes for a clear sky."

"Poor stars..." she said, like she could feel the sadness of their separation. It wouldn't surprise me. She was the exactly the kind of girl you could never find on these gray streets; she was the splash of lime green and electric blue that redefined what could be called precious. With a dull forest green and dark blue before me, laid against the backdrop of a night we never should have spent in sadness, I couldn't help but want to cry myself. But there would be time later to cry, because there always is a time for that for everyone eventually.

"... yeah." I said.

"Oh."

"Yeah?" I looked at her.

"Happy birthday." Her breath rose like a layer of steam between us, rising up and becoming oblivion. I lowered my head into my hands, finally, and began to cry.