Countless stars fill the velvet sky in front of me, stretching on for an eternity. I take in a deep breath and smile. It reminds me of the last time I looked up at the stars. I mean really looked up at them. Not just a cursory glance – the last time I lost myself in the majesty and wonder of a starry night. How long has it been? Quite a few more years than I care to admit. You get busy, you turn your focus to what’s in front of you, you toil and work, and eventually … eventually you forget to look up. But there was a time when I looked up every night. And in this moment, I am that person again. The years of work, worries, and concerns melt away in an instant, and I’m there again: the last night I truly looked up at the night sky.
My toes clench the damp white sand. A half-moon drifts wistfully through darkness, leaving dappled reflections in the calm water. The sound of a reef break travels half a mile, softly accompanying the constant coo of coqui frogs, nestled in the leaves of banana and pan trees. I hear the sound of my own heartbeat quicken as I move my hand to my side and place it on yours, clasping my fingers between yours. I feel your heartbeat and breathe.
A cloud makes its way across the night sky as the first rain drops make their way to the ground. You laugh, a bit of nervousness mixed with your usual raspy chuckle. I look at you and smile – a smile tinged with a bit of my own nervousness. We talk about nothing for some time, both knowing there’s so much more that we need to say. Both knowing that there’s not enough time to say it. Tonight would just be like any other night, we told ourselves. Because it felt better to pretend we’d have a thousand tomorrows and ten thousand more.
Eventually, we run out of things to say and lie back, watching the moon and the stars, your hand in mine. Soon, the sound of my heart and your breathing are all I hear in the stillness of the night. Maybe the reef is still breaking, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t hear it. I turn my head and meet your eyes. I ask you how long you’ve been staring. You just smile.
I shift to my side and raise my left hand to your auburn curls, matted by the constant drizzle of rain. I trace my hands over your cheek bone and pull your russet lips to mine, closing my eyes. The taste of mangos and salt mix together as our lips meet. I feel the cool rain, the grainy sand, and the warmth of your embrace.
I open my eyes and I’m back. There are no clouds to hide the stars tonight. It’s far cooler. And I am alone.
I fight the urge to look behind me. Clenching my eyes, I try to return to that night, but the tides of memory have receded. I take a deep breath, and smile – tinged with a bit of my own nervousness. I drift wistfully through the darkness, the reflection of countless stars dappled across my visor. Ganymede moves along its path, and the sun breaks through. I lick my lips and taste mangos mixed with a bit of salt.
