Supernova on Ice

I stood with my hands in my pockets on the shore of the frozen lake where we used to walk. The sun was weak, watery. It drifted on its low December path, inching towards the horizon, hesitant to say goodbye to the year. I was alone. She had died yesterday. 

The air stung my eyes. They were painfully dry, shamefully dry. My nose had been numb for at least half an hour, but I didn’t shiver. The cold was a sedative. The world was peacefully lifeless, as if it had died in its sleep. 

The solemn sun fell further into dusk. When its bloody tendrils traced the hills, desperate fingers clutching at the twilight, I heard footsteps. 

Footsteps is not the right word. Neither is heard. They seemed to come from within and from behind, hidden somewhere in my chest or concealed by the naked trees. They were a second heartbeat, pacing my rib cage as if imprisoned in that skeletal cell. They picked their way through the forest, too faint to be detected, yet I could almost pinpoint the source.  

Darkness staked its claim to the sky. The final outpost of orange retreated to the rim of the star-specked bowl. Moonlight glazed the solid surface of the lake, silver on silver. Venus took her seat. 

The ‘footsteps’ were joined by a second stride. 

The newcomer walked side by side with the other under the frosty canopy. I felt their closeness, their hands brushing, their breath mingling in the air. Nothing between them, nothing but them. 

I wouldn’t intrude. I crept away parallel to the tree line and moved in between the trunks. Just in view of the lake, I sat down at the feet of an old, stooping thing. I didn’t mind the frigid forest floor. It was dry enough. 

I listened to the footsteps, somehow instinctively tracing their progress towards the shore. I could no longer differentiate between the first pair of steps and my own pulse. The companion was barely distinguishable. 

They came into view. I watched them approach the ice as stray shadows, features shrouded by the night. The pair reached the shoreline and passed it. 

I leaned forward. Something was happening to them. Luminous dust swirled around them, between them, a flock of tiny, iridescent starlings swooped, encircled them, flitted in and out of these two pillars. They walked further from land with no sign of unsteadiness on the ice.  

The two figures seemed to ripple, distorted by the glow. Still, I felt their footsteps as they moved away. The whirling light did nothing to illuminate them. Their darkness juxtaposed the dust, black silhouettes, the centre of a private universe. 

I got to my feet. Head empty, I gravitated closer, stopping at the border of the wood. 

The dust shimmered, wheeled faster and faster. It slowly drew into itself as its light grew, green and pink and purple and blue, unsettled on a single hue. It transformed the lake into a new night sky, a realized potential after a winter spent in frozen cocoon, danced on it like a fallen aurora, shone in harmony with the moon. 

The dust dwindled to a pair of pinpricks, nestled in the chests of the two shadows. They were far off, but their darkness set them apart in the glittering scene, bodies of coal nurturing single, celestial sparks. 

Transfixed, I watched as they began to circle. Hand in hand, they moved as if the water had frozen to serve as their stage. They accelerated. Their speed was dizzying, reckless. Simultaneously, it was undeniably logical. They danced because the laws of physics demanded it, as if gravity had set the tempo. This was their natural state, an inescapable fate. 

I left my place behind the tree. I felt somehow compelled to join the dancers. An imaginary line stretched taut between us, and I was caught on the hook.  

A foot from the ice, my legs stopped. I could only watch. 

The dancers widened their orbit, sliding over the ice at impossible speed. The stars in their chests expanded subtly, reddened, as if their blazing hearts were screaming, raging against bodily restraints. They could have been a whole constellation. Just the two of them. 

If that ephemeral galaxy had lasted a lifetime, I would never have looked up again. 

The blistering spiral finally slowed. The dancers wound back towards each other gradually. They embraced in the centre of the lake. Everything was still. 

One of the balls of light, rust red, swelled and throbbed. It hurt to look at. It emanated a violent, turbulent energy, palpable even at my distance.  

The little star exploded.

An invisible wave knocked me off my feet. A brilliant white blanket covered my eyes. I lay on the hard ground, waited until I could see again before I picked myself up.

The dancers and their stars were gone. The moon sang alone again. In the middle of the lake, against gleaming silver, a dark hole fractured the ice. I walked towards it. 

My imaginary line reeled me in. I was a doomed fish, wincing at the vicious tugs of the steel, and an eager horse clamped to the bit, foaming, frenzied. Desperate to look into that black water, yet I dreaded reaching it.

I rushed on, out of control, constantly on the cusp of crashing down. I glided to a stop on my knees, inches from the hole. 

My reflection joined the mirrored milky way. The attraction to the water persisted. I resisted the urge to dive in, to stay forever. In the still water, something moved below the surface. A cloud, drifting like fluorescent silt.

Without a second thought I rolled up my sleeve. I reached into the water, stretched towards the light.

A hand. Warm and soft and familiar. Unmistakably hers. 

The cold burned. It stung and stabbed at my skin, but my hand wasn’t numb. I felt everything. Hot tears wetted my eyes, dissolved in the darkness. Dull pain sharpened. I felt everything. 

Hollow cracks. Bursts of colour popped into the reflected sky. Fireworks for midnight. In the distance they were empty, superficial. 

Another tug at the line. I plunged my head into the water. Freezing teeth bit my face, and then her lips met mine. A second was an age. This age was far too short a time. 

She was gone. I pulled my drenched head out, shuddering. The fireworks continued their futile fanfare.

I lay back on the ice and stared at the sky. Constellations have never been clear to me. I just can’t picture them in the random mess. 

I picked out two bright stars close together. I still don’t know their names. 

I call them the dancers.