12,000,000 Stars That Is You And I

“Could you hold my gaze and watch my eyes twinkle like the stars in the galaxy?” I heard her voice float through the atmosphere.

I lay on my back in the cold night and watched the stars between memories and light. I could hear all the laughter and the billowing divine that was her. She taught me everything and showed me what was really important. She held truth and belief, she held grace and charm, and she held a smile that could stop the world. She gave me the world and I couldn't save her from it. She would stare at me and say, “look at the stars, till you can see me.”

I met her at the museum in the winter, during one of the tours I led. I was taught the description of art and the dynamic in translating paintings. I knew the styles and understood the strokes, but failed to see the soul and deeper purpose they held. She sat so still on the concave stool, staring at a plain pitch black painting, at the last corner of the museum. As I reached the corner, I was intrigued by her stillness and focus. I wandered what she saw in a pitch black painting and how it held her focus to that extent. No one from my tour or any tour I've given, ever asked about the plain black image of nothing. I'm glad they didn't because I wouldn't know what to say. What was going on in the artist's mind? Most importantly, what is its significance and how did it end up in a museum? I never understood it. I prayed silently that she'd be there when my tour was over.

As soon as the tour was over, I saw her still seated unmoved. I silently lifted another concave stool to sit down next to her and I pretended to stare at the painting too. I didn't think she noticed me sitting next to her. Her focus made me flinch at the sight of her as I turned left. Her well sharpened jaw line and her cheeks that looked like she might have a dimple when she smiles with that blinding melanin glow. I never dwelled on any of this till now. Who knew then, that she'd change my life forever. As she stood up to leave, I summoned the courage to speak immediately.

“Hello,” I said, making her turn quickly and return to the stool.

“Hi.” She replied looking puzzled.

“I'm sorry for encroaching on your space, but you seemed quite fascinated with that painting and I fail to understand it.”

“Oh, I think I understand why.” She said in a deep alto that caused everywhere to find peace. “It's a plain black painting, it can easily be passed off as a black canvas right?”

“Exactly,” I seconded more enthusiastically that I presumed.

“Well,” She continued. “Its soul creates visions with colors and builds imagination in the mind that is actually the purpose of life. The sight of the painting gives you the ability to create your own dreams. It could be whatever you want it to be, as long as you keep imagining. The painting is the human mind before it is activated by the soul.” She held so much passion and knowledge of that misunderstood piece of art. She mentioned the “soul of the painting” which I never found in any painting. She saw a purpose for the art that seemed lost. That day, I knew she'd be something more, and make it even to the very definition of my existence.

“What do you see when you look at the painting?” I asked.

“The stars.”

As these memories flood through my mind, my fingers tremble terribly. I tried to reach out but I couldn't feel any hand. I just grabbed the grass. I remember the first time I tried to find a good night activity for us since we were both pretty busy during the day. “We'd make it our thing”; I'd said to her. She just looked at me and said; “We should go outside, find any surface we could lay on, and look up at the stars.”

“What would we be doing during that time?” I asked. I was so clueless as to why we'd spend our major free time looking up at the stars. It didn't seem like an activity to foster anything. I mean, a random insect could enter our eyes, and what happens in the winter?

“We'd be looking up at the stars.” I just stared at her; purposeless and after a brief moment of silence, she continued. “Just try it, if you don't like it, you'd never have to do it with me ever again. Plus you can have a juice box while at it, it's soothing.”

After reluctantly agreeing to her menacing persuasion, we lay back on the grass of my lawn and just looked up at the stars. She had the same focus as she did in the museum, and I just watched her watching the stars. She had a captivated nature that felt free. She looked like she didn't have any evil thoughts or harbor any hurt. She embraced nature and the feeling of it. I remember how long she took admiring and complimenting the flowers in my lawn and garden my mother had cultivated, the first time she visited. She understood my lack of knowledge for deeper things and the things of nature. She's always willing to explain in detail to make me understand whatever I didn't. She was also happy to learn from me whenever I described art, their style, and etymology. She was insightful so she saw more than the surface meaning, but she always loved hearing about their origin and historically approved reason behind their existence. As I stared at her, begging to be lost in her soul, she cancelled every knowledge of art I had and replaced them with her.

“Ace,” she said so quietly, still unmoved.

“Yeah.”

“Stop looking at me, look up at the stars.” She almost sounds dictating.

“But I am looking at the star.”

“I didn't get that right Ace, you can feel your eyes on me the entire time.” She thought I said ‘stars’.

“Nyara, look at me,” I said in the deepest baritone I ever heard from me, and she turned to face me. “You are the star that I choose to see.”

“Look up at the stars, till you can see me in them.”

She just held my hand right after the exchange, till we were ready to go back indoors. Sometimes, I found her silence very puzzling but her actions were always an assurance of what was truly there. After that day, we spent every night of summer and spring stargazing and I figured out why she went to the museum in the winter to stare at a pitch black canvas. We'd talk about the future in our theories and work. She didn't believe in the future. She called it ‘the next present.’ She only saw now and appreciated the joy she had. I never understood why she chose me, but I saw the appreciation she had for my adoration. Her one friend Shaman, was a yoga instructor and spiritual guide. She seemed in touch with the forces of nature, and her teas were always calming and healing. Whenever she came over, she'd talk about foresight and what she'd learnt from a Buddha in China. I feel like Nyara’s party motivated the way she thought and spoke. When I asked Nyara about her obsession with the stars, she'd told me; “All our realities are written in the stars and the more presents that manifest, the more controlled our actions are. Six million stars is the number of presents one person holds”

“I don't see how an astronomer and philosopher would think so much past reality and facts, into the abstract,” I'd said in a chuckle.

“Philosophy is about truth and belief, and the process of determining truth is from your personal beliefs and what is true to you. So, while I may do astronomy, I could see the philosophy in unexplainable matter.” Most times I didn't understand what she said or her direction in viewing things, but I loved hearing her speak on them anyway.

I remember when we became two and a half looking up at the stars. She'd talk more and tell the half about the universe and the love that awaits her. She and Shaman dedicated time to more yoga and meditation. She'd wanted the half to be more in touch with nature and the comfort of exercise. Soon after, my mother and brothers flew in for the summer, she'd enticed them into her healthy habits and communication. I loved how easily everyone fell in love with her. She always wanted everyone to feel safe and welcomed, I guess that factor resonated well with spirits. I think back now to a hundred laughters as she made the full house jog in the woods, before the half came. I'd never seen Nyara so scared and in pain, not even on the day it happened. She had so much anxiety about the right thing and for the first time, she looked like she didn't want to screw up and disappoint her. The next day, our daughter was born, we called her ‘Lamara’. I'd never been happier.

I now think back to the day I lost my soul. Nyara was out jogging in the evening, when I got a call saying she had been shot. I felt a sharp pain in my chest as I found my way to the hospital. She'd rushed in front of a fourteen year old teenage boy, who’s about to get shot by a policeman, after a wild group chase. The policeman left immediately after the shooting and the fourteen year old called the emergency number. Who'll care about a black woman with dreads lying next to a black fourteen year old covered in her blood? Everyone just watched from afar, nobody helped till the ambulance came. I selfishly wished the boy was shot instead, but Nyara wasn't like that. She was the type of person to take a bullet for a stranger and not regret it. As I saw the boy Nyara saved sitting on the floor of the hospital, my heart melted. He was so harmless and small. He kept apologizing and asked to see Nyara too. He seemed smart but scared. What kind of policeman would want to kill a child? But that was the reality of the country. I never found out who he was, or got justice for my wife. Her final words will stay with me forever. She said; “Kiss Lamara for me everyday, tell her she's special.” And, “Find me in the stars, I'll be in one of the presents.” She knew the end but she still smiled and comforted me. I never cried so much in my life. She didn't make it out of surgery. Lamara was five when we lost her mother.

As I lay still, with my trembling fingers still holding the grass, and letting memory invade me, I felt a hand hold mine.

“There are a million stars and just like us, they are different. They hold infinite presents and those presents are reality. Mommy is living in one of those presents and she is watching over us.” I heard my baby speak breaking my trance held by memory. Lamara is now nine and strong. She truly is special. I kissed her on the forehead and whispered her mother's words to her; “You are special.”

I didn't understand Nyara’s words and obsessions till the end. I lay everyday looking at the stars and understanding my truth and what really matters. I wasn't left alone, I had my soul restored with the piece of her she'd left. I had a reason to live, heal, and thrive. I now lay on the grass looking up at the stars with her.