The Stars in the Sky

The little stars were scattered across the black sky, the breeze chilling the air around me. The constellations called out to me, drawing my eye. I connected the stars effortlessly. I knew these stars, after spending many nights looking up at them. 

On my right, I heard someone say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

I turned my head to the right. He was skinny and lanky. His dark brown hair was carefully cut and styled, just as he liked. His arms were supporting his head. His blue-green eyes took in the sky, and for a moment, it looked like he could see the entire universe. Then he looked at me.

My brother smirked, then sat up. “C’mon,” he said, then he began to walk down the hill. I got up and followed him, jogging to catch up with him. 

He was wearing a dark red sweatshirt and jeans. It was his favorite, that sweatshirt. I remembered my mom telling us that it was once our father’s.

Davis walked into the forest. I followed him in. He knew where he was going, but I did not. I trusted Davis, though.

We stopped in a clearing. I looked around. The trees were thick on the bottom, with long, winding roots. As the trees went further out, they got thinner. They reached far into the sky, dividing the sky like they were spiderwebs. It was quiet.

Davis broke the silence. “Dad loved this place.” He paused, looking around. “I’ve only ever gone three times, once with Dad, once with you, and once by myself.”

Davis and I walked along, silent. The forest’s peacefulness was so sacred, it would be almost criminal to destroy such a beautiful thing.

The forest kept stretching forward. I kept walking along, not feeling tired or sore. Eventually, I asked Davis, “What was Dad like?”

Davis stopped, tipping his head in thought. His eyes squinted like he always did. Then he smiled. Davis said wistfully, “He could make you feel like you could do anything.” He looked at me, his eyes bright. “He wouldn’t hold you back. He was right behind you, no matter what.” Davis’s hand rested on my shoulder. He wanted me to understand him. I looked up at him, and he stared back at me. The way he was talking and looking at me, you would think this was the Secret to Life. “He loved you so much. Even I knew that without a doubt.”

My heart swelled. All I wanted was to see my father. I wanted to get to know him, to understand him. I wanted to tell him, “I love you.” Maybe most of all, I wanted to hear him say, “I love you.”

Davis and I hugged, squeezing each other tightly. Then we let go, and Davis continued walking into the forest. We had no destination, I knew. This was us just walking. 

We came across a highway and stopped to look up. The sky was clear. The stars shined back clearly.

“You know, the stars are how Dad watches us.” I looked at Davis. He had no doubt. “It’s how all the dead watch us.”

Davis had told me this before. And just like before, I asked, “How do you know?”

“I just know,” was his answer this time, just like all the times before.

That answer was enough for me. Davis was right most of the time. So I learned early on to trust him. I learned to believe him. Davis loved me too much to lie to me so directly.

I admitted, “Sometimes I talk to him.” I paused, looking back up at the stars. “Does he hear me?”

“Of course. He’s always listening.”

We sat down in the grass. Davis wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. He looked down at me and smiled. I smiled back. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Davis squeezed me, smiling even brighter.

Davis was my best friend. He defended me when I couldn’t defend myself. He held me when I cried and laughed with me when I laughed. He taught me how to ride a bike, how to swim, and so much more. But he always told me that everything he did for me, Dad did for him. He was just passing it on to me. 

Possibly one of my favorite things Davis taught me was the stars. He taught me constellations, their stories, and how to find them. Dad explained the stars to Davis, and Davis explained them to me. 

I asked Davis, “When we die, will we join Dad? In the stars?”

Davis held me tight, wrapping his arms around me. I did the same, tucking my head into the crook of his arm and chest. 

“You and I and Mom and Dad will make constellations. We will be together, and our families will join us, and then their families will join, and so on.” He rocked me. I could hear in his voice, he was smiling. This wasn’t scary to him. Davis was never scared.

Davis said, “C’mon, let’s head home.” He stood up, helping me up. We came to the highway’s edge. No lights were shining nearby, and so we began to cross the two-way, two-lane road.

Lights rounded the corner, speeding at us. My heart pumped fast, and my senses stopped functioning. Suddenly, hands were behind me, pushing me forward. 

“RUN!”

I stumbled across the highway, then sprinted. A loud crash sounded behind me. I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t do anything. I turned around.

Davis laid there, on the road. Shattered glass surrounded him, the car crashed in a tree.

I screamed my brother’s name, then ran to him, getting on my knees. But he was already gone. I remembered the thought I had just moments before. Davis was never scared. I was wrong. Davis was scared, right before the car hit him.

My eyes flung open, and I was in bed. The bed was soft and cushioning me, a stark contrast to the hard ground that was in the forest. I was sweating, my heart beating fast and hard, and I was gasping for breath. I rolled over and drank some water, then saw the picture frame. 

Davis and I, both several years younger, looking up at the stars. Davis was pointing up at the stars, telling me something. I was smiling brightly, probably at whatever Davis was telling me. My mother had taken that photo and had given it to me.

I laid on my back, covering my face with my hands. That nightmare was new. I had never had a conversation with Davis like that, but it felt like one I would have with him. The only thing that wasn’t new was the end of that nightmare.

Dead. Davis was dead. If I had only just looked down the road and looked twice. 

I uncovered my face, looking up at the ceiling. Stairs, painted on with white and glow-in-the-dark paint, shined back to me. Davis and I had started the project, but I was the one who finished it. Davis had told me the brightest star was Dad, and so I labeled it with Dad’s name. The second brightest star was labeled with Davis’s name. They rested right over my bed, watching over me, just like Davis had once said. 

Looking at their stars, I whispered to them. “I love you.”