Gone

Tiny pinpricks of light scalded my eyes making them water. Grass prickled the back of my neck and forced its way through my hair. 

It was almost as if my lungs had stopped working for a few moments. Thousands of galaxies— universes hidden just before my eyes. Apprehension mixed with joy in my stomach, creating a potent feeling of adrenaline. The minuscule orbs of light grew larger and larger until they filled my vision. My eyes swam with tears and long forgotten memories. 

My legs itched as I sat up in the grass, blood rushed to my head, making my eyes throb. Crescent moons had carved themselves into my palms, tiny reflections of the tips of my fingernails. The bitter cold of the night seeped through my old jacket, without the insulation from the grass keeping it at bay. My hair fluttered in my eyes as I mentally corrected myself. Your jacket, not mine. Worn threads rested against my fingertips, tempting me to pull them, I had just about convinced myself that you would never notice one more hole, when footsteps crunched through the dead grass behind me. The off-white rubber from your old shoes appeared in my peripheral vision. The tension in my body released its grip for just long enough to breathe. 

You groaned as you flopped into the grass next to me. Your face was already tilted to the stars when you spoke. Each word was infused with laughter, but quiet. So quiet, because some irrational part of you always wondered that if on a night like that, you could scare the stars away. 

“I always thought it was a little ridiculous that you water a single square of your lawn.” I could picture your face so clearly that there was no point in turning to look at you. As these words left your mouth, I could see you smiling, staring at the profile of my face, taking in the stars. 

“A little ridiculous, but mostly smart.” You said, still watching, waiting for my response. I sighed a little but didn’t say anything. We sat in our little corner of the universe without saying anything. Surrounded by dead weeds, in a tiny oasis of heathy grass.

“Can you imagine what could be out there?” My own voice surprised me a little when I spoke. “Can you imagine?”

“I don’t need to imagine,” you said, “I know. I know that even though we can’t see it, there is so much more… there are thousands of possibilities. There could be millions of universes just like ours.” I turned to look at you surprised. You looked back. Determined. Maybe a little bit scared. Your eyes open wide, filled with wonder. Lips gently parted into a soft smile. I could see you mentally preparing for an argument. 

“I want to believe that there really is something else. That there is a purpose or a reason. I want to know what else could be out there, whether is it aliens or something else entirely. But there is always some part of my mind that says no. It tells me that I have no proof. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop it.” My eyes went wide and I hoped that you could explain it. That feeling of knowing that I needed. “How can you have so much faith?”

You smiled for a moment and laid down. I rolled back into the grass next to you. The stars above us winked and smiled, and in the blue glow of the night I saw them in you, tears sparkled in your eyes as you sat up, fingertips stretching towards them, trying to get closer. A smile pulled back my lips as I tore you back to Earth, back to me from whatever reality you started slipping off into. Landing in the soft grass, the smooth scent of dirt rolled over us. Carefully, you reached over and gripped my hand. The soft pads of your fingertips pressed into my skin. A blindingly white smile flashed against the dark sky. To this day I don’t know if it came from you, me, or if the stars were truly smiling. 

Then you were gone. Hurtling through the atmosphere. I never told you not to go, and you never saw what you left behind. That’s how it always works though, isn’t it? The people left behind are the ones who have to clean up the mess. Pick up the pieces. I watched you up there, through the fuzzy black and white television. I heard your words through the static, “That’s one small step for a man, but a giant leap for mankind.” I could see your smile through your voice. Pure, exquisite joy flooding every molecule of your being. 

You made it to the stars. I bet you reached out your hand to try and touch them, just like you did that night. Once all of the cameras were off you, and your footsteps were behind you. Or maybe you reached your hand out to Earth. To me. 

I know that you came back, but you were never the same. How could you have been? You had seen the unimaginable. How could you go back to normal after that? How could you go back to that small town in Ohio, where everyone knew everyone? To the stereotyped community where the high school football games were the biggest events. How could you come back to me? A nobody who never made it out of that town. I know that I wouldn’t be able to. 

              All I ask, is that if you go back up there, to the moon, to the stars. Please look for that part of your heart that held me in it. Try to find that small corner of the world that we lived in. Even if you can’t find it. If it’s gone, or lost, I am here. I still think of you.  

              The light begins to grow and dissolve as tears flood my eyes. My teeth cut into my lower lip, refusing to let them fall.