The Stars In Their Hearts

1950

Ruth felt the soft drapery of her tea-length polka dotted blue and white dress flow softly across her calves as she sat with her knees pulled to her chest looking for the brightest in the sky.  In truth though, she had to push herself to look at the nighttime sky, pretending to be interested, when what she really wanted was to stare at Sam.  Never before had she felt so compelled to share herself with another person.

Maybe even her darkest secrets.  And she couldn’t help thinking that if her calculations were correct, which would be unlikely considering she had never completed the eighth-grade math, her alcoholic father had quietly asked her to leave her childhood home exactly 2,357 days ago.  

Her memory of November 18th, 1943 had not faded with time, which was what her house mother Dorothy said would help her “move on.”  Instead, the memory took over her sleep and pulsated in her thoughts as she completed her daily chores next to her house sisters.  The memory had festered and grown to the point that even certain smells or sounds would send her into a spiral of nerves and anger.  Each of the house sisters had their traumas too, of course, so the darkness was rarely spoken of.

When her alcoholic father had stood in front of the 13-year-old version of herself, he was nearly sobered up after another drunken night of embarrassment in the Cadet Tavern, and she could faintly see her new “stepmother” standing silently in the background.  A look of relief had washed over this woman’s face as her father whispered, “it’s probably best that you leave now.”

Ruth wanted to shout at her step-mother, “your selfish heart actually believes that taking away the shame of a blended family will stop my father from being a drunk?!  Eleanor, you are more stupid than when I first met you...you were such a cheesy and charmless woman, bringing over an overcooked casserole to my father’s home with the hopes of him considering you, all while his beloved wife lay in her death bed asking for release.”

So you see, how could Ruth share with Sam that after her father forced her from her childhood home, and that she’d been living at a women's homeless shelter?  Seven years had passed.  The only thing keeping her stay at the house was doing the dirty chores around...scrubbing toilets, peeling potatoes, weeding the garden, repainting the basement.   For 2,357 days Ruth had been watching other women come for one or a few days, maybe a month, and then move on.  She had made a homeless shelter her home.  How could she explain to Sam that her only secure relationship was with her house mother Dorothy?  A woman who it seemed to Ruth was very wise but said very little.  And that she couldn’t anticipate having any relationships with the other woman because they were always leaving.  Ruth knew she was going to have a hard time trusting her relationship with Sam, so it deeply frightened her that she felt compelled to share everything with him.

2020

A long parade of cars drove past and honked.  Some cars threw balloons out, while others had streamers, music, or yelled out their windows.  The birthday celebration had been thrown together very last minute, but somehow even a reporter from the Albion Press was taking notes.  

Sam had a bewildered and lit up expression around his eyes and mouth as his many friends, family, and neighbors drove by the 1951 house.  The home had been built from the ground up through Ruth’s dreams and by Sam’s hands.  The bones of the house held the memories of 68 years.  Everything from celebrating Ben’s graduation from high school to Janet’s graduation from college with her masters in speech-language pathology, to last year when their granddaughter Claire got ready to be married in their master bedroom.  And even now, their great-grandchildren drove by in merry as they wished Sam a happy 98th birthday.

There would be no family dinner, gift opening, or birthday cake this year since the State of Michigan was in a complete lockdown.  All around him were families securing themselves to their homes, working remotely from their computers, and reimagining activities for staying busy and away from the growing cases announced in the news.  A quarter-mile from their home had been a hotspot for the virus that shut down the world, and although they weren’t afraid of death, Sam’s family ached over the thought of grieving without being near the comfort of loved ones. 

Ben and Janet stood the appropriate six feet apart in the driveway of their childhood home as their father’s birthday was honored.  His family felt deep pride and admiration for the patriarch of their family.

And as the last of the cars drove away, going on with their own lives, the world was quiet all around them.  No wars, no pollution...even crime rates were down.  The noisy hustle of the normal world had muted across the community so that the forest crickets could be heard again.  Sam couldn’t remember the last time he could hear them but noticed at some point years ago that they were no longer singing.  The town had overrun the natural environment of the land, but in some kind of strange beauty, a world-wide pandemic had brought Mother Earth back.

Sam returned to his home and sat comfortably at his back porch looking up for the brightest in the sky.  He spoke gently to Ruth about how he could plainly remember the first night they watched the sky together back in 1950.  And now with 68 years behind them and the heaven and earth between them, he finally told her that he had choked back tears the first time she'd told him about her father and step-mother.  A beautifully intelligent and loving woman pushed out of her trusted home for the vanity of someone else.  

But together they rebuilt what she had lost.  And as Ruth watched Sam from the nighttime sky, she discovered that although they were apart, for now, they were no longer two people.  Her soul was entirely within him and his soul was entirely within her.  Both were still, and would forevermore, be at home.