Let The Stars Allign

I yank the red plaid quilt from the trunk of my jeep firmly, and shake it over the grass to get rid of any excess dirt or dust. The air is crisp and clear with no sign of any clouds, which is perfect for this night in particular. I lay the picnic blanket on an empty patch of grass, making sure that no trees or buildings interfere with my view of the sky. I slide off my shoes and set them next to the blanket, then lay down and prop my head up with my hands. As I look up at the sky, I inhale deeply, breathing in the scent of nature. 

Sierra Greens is a deep and monstrous forest that rests north of my home in Sterling Heights, Michigan. The drive here in my beat up jeep usually takes thirty minutes, but tonight I took the scenic route which winds around the city instead of cutting through. This cost me an extra fifteen minutes, but the calm and desolate roads were worth it.

I know this route by heart, due to the fact that I have come to this exact spot for eleven years in a row. I dread this time of year when it comes around, but at the same time look forward to it. Every single year I park in the field, then take a stroll through the forest. After about half a mile, the dense trees stop, revealing an opening that looks up into the starry night. 

I am alone. The one thing I love about the open air is the quiet. It seems as if for this one night, everything stops what it's doing. The bugs stop buzzing, the birds stop chirping, and sometimes it even feels as if the wind stops blowing. But I am alone. At least, for the past few years I have been. 

I look up at the stars that decorate the sky. They are sprinkled here and there, leaving specks of glitter in their place. The deep and black night set a calming background, giving me a glimpse of their mysteries that are yet to be uncovered. 

I grew a love for outer space as soon as I learned to talk. I have always adored the way that there is no end to space, that the expanse stretches to infinity and back. As a toddler, my parents taught me about the stars. They showed me the constellations, and how if you concentrated hard enough, they would morph into shapes and configurations. My childhood, just like the stars, would never end. That’s what I thought. 

I close my eyes, recalling those moments that I hold so dear to me. I remember my mother, most of all. She shines through each memory, being the teacher and best friend any child would dream for. 

“Come on, Nova!” My mom giggled. “Sit still!” 

I squirmed on the blanket, chuckling as she pulled and pushed my hair in multiple different directions. “I can’t help it! It tickles!” 

Mom threw my braids over my shoulders and sighed. “All done.”

I flopped back down onto the blanket, resting my head onto Mom’s lap. She caressed my hair, her gentle hands giving me a sense of protection in the clear night. 

Pointing up at the night sky, I seek out constellations and name them. “Big dipper, little dipper, Aquarious,” I read off, continuing to guide my finger across the sky like a map. “Orion, Leo, and Scorpious.” I finished. 

“Very good,” Mom whispers. “And then there is us. Right in the center of it all.” She grabbed my hand, and pulled me closer. “Do you know why I named you Nova?”

I shook my head, still glancing at the constellations.

“When you were brought into the world, you were a giggling, shrieking little ball of joy.  You brought your father and I happiness, even when we were going through tough times.”

“You were our Nova,” she laughed. “If that makes any sense. A Nova is a star in the night sky that becomes thousands of times brighter than its original self. Nova, these stars have always helped me through tough times. And you did too. You were our Nova. You shone bright when we needed it. Never change.” 

“This was fun,” I said through a yawn. “We should do this again. Just you and me.” 

She smiled. “Just you and me. Tradition.”

I open my eyes, letting the tears that have been welling up in them stream out onto my cheeks. The rest of those years leading up until now flash before my eyes. The ambulance sirens wailing.The tangy smell of latex gloves in the hospitals. The nurses. The coughing that rang throughout the vacant house. The dark room. The orange bottles that line the bathroom wall. The tears that scarred my face. The empty house. I shake those memories from my head. 

The moon shines bright above me, illuminating my patch of land with a dazzling glow. I have no idea what time it is, or what my family is doing, but I know that the only thing that is important is right here with me. 

I snuggle up underneath my blanket just like I have done for each and every year in the past. I peek at the stars in the sky again and watch as they seem to rearrange themselves into a different constellation, a new constellation. They twinkle and flicker, playing peek-a-boo with the moon. I watch as they settle in their spaces. Tears push at the back of my eyelids as I see the gift the sky has given me. My mom looks down on me, her hair falling over her shoulders. Her eyes droop, the color fading with her age. As her lips curl up into a smile, the sides of her eyes crease, telling her story and the trauma she has been through. I finally understand. Looking at this form of art, I am able to let go. For a few seconds I am relieved of my pain, but it returns shortly after. I let the tears flow onto my face and down to my mouth. The salt stains my cheeks, and as I smile, I swear, it seems as if she smiles back.