Dirt and lumber was all that surrounded us as we cuddled in the deserted construction yard, a desolate, torn-up field that would someday be the home for tomorrow’s houses. With the frosty gusts the sky kept throwing towards us, it looked and felt like the sun had tucked itself in for the evening, leaving us to fend for ourselves for heat and light. The grubby birch playground was all that was alive in the mess of emptiness, so small in the grand scheme of the chaos around it.
But that’s where we stayed, keeping each other warm in the chilly, damp air of twilight. The cold was bitter on our ears and in our noses, and every time I moved I could feel the chill of it burn my skin in some previously unexposed area of ankle, or wrist. The air was rich with the scent of a potential downpour, but instead of getting it over with, the grim cloud-cloaked heavens taunted us with a soft but heavy mist, one that reminded us of March’s temperature just as it was beginning to feel warm. I shuddered with each breath of air that graced me with its unwelcome presence?The night kept the air calm and quite. I could hear was the crickets’ small words of wisdom, an eerie rustling in the bushes, possibly a small mouse or a large bear, and you. “What’s you’re favorite color?” you would say. “Hmm… yellow,” would be my reply.
“What’s you’re favorite band?” “I don’t really have one.” “Have you ever broken a bone?” “Never.” The inquisitions kept flowing. Time was running past faster than any cheetah or gazelle on the African plains. Only an instant had passed, but it had been hours. We both knew that at any second one of our mothers would call and beckon us back home, saying ‘its too cold to be outside’ or ‘its much too late,’ all the usual excuses mothers use to keep us indoors on dreamy nights like this.But the questions flowed on.
“How do you feel about this?” or “What do you think about that?” And then my stomach churned: “How do you feel about love?” Everything around us started to laugh as, out of a combination of nerves and bliss, I babbled something feeble and fleeting, and – most likely – irrelevant to the question, which I will never fully remember. Maybe its better that I don’t remember the words; knowing what I said might result in a loss of dignity. This way I only had to see the few trees in the area snicker and giggle and pray that your face wouldn’t do the same, but you didn’t waver in your words; you didn’t turn my juvenile ramblings and I away. Instead you looked deep into my eyes and turned the bitter-cold air warm.And then you disappeared, jogging through the brisk air; making haste so there would be no trouble. But the night was much brighter now; the sun knocked the moon out of the way so that the atmosphere wouldn’t be put to shame by our resilient glow. The dimness and the dust no longer covered the plow-eaten ground, and the rustle of the bushes no longer sounded natural, but almost glittery and musical.
I gave myself a few moments to look up into the twinkling blanket above and dream of whether or not wishes on stars could possibly come true. After all, that night, your words made one of my star-light-star-bright wishes real. You told me you loved me.