knocking the stars out of the night sky
for you
I spent all summer long sneaking off into the yard, thinking of ways to steal the stars from the night sky. Tried knocking them down with a broomstick that couldn’t reach. Threw rocks at the universe to shake loose just one of its golden clusters. But I was too small and my aim was no good.
I came close. After trying about forty or fifty times. I made some real progress, I saw the black stones I hurled come within inches of the celestial ornaments. Just kept missing, but barely.
The night before I’d dreamt of my love, wrapped in light. He was the sun. I bathed myself under the moon to prepare for him. Tried tried and tried to adorn my waves in stars.
How else would he know it was me?
“We should have let her go to fucking Barcelona.”
Everyone, wiping away tears after the somber service, even dad, broke out into laughter. I was only half kidding.
Six months ago, my 94 year old grandmother hitchhiked her way to the Tampa International Airport, overnight bag and passport in tow, with every intention of boarding an international flight to Barcelona. For a 5th (6th?) shot at love. She would have gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for those “good for nothing” TSA agents.
Story was, as Nana told it, she’d met a man online. Facebook, if I had to guess. Over the span of one summer, she fell in love. Did you know even after 94 wretchedly blessed years on this earth, you can still fall in love again? Nana did.
Trouble was, this gentleman who had bewitched my Nana was overseas. In Barcelona no less. Nevermind how my elderly grandmother managed the time difference for weeks on end. Nevermind that she didn’t speak a lick of Spanish. Nevermind that she was willing to board that flight without a word to either of her children. The other grandkids, all eleven of them, chalked it up to her having gone senile and reckless in her old age.
I knew she was perfectly sane.
For women like my Nana - women like me - not meeting love halfway isn’t only against our nature. It’s a sin.
“Yeah… I really think we should have let her go to Barcelona,” I sighed.
Six months after my father stopped her from boarding that international flight, my Nana passed away. Doctors said it was a heart attack that got her. That’s just the medical term for a broken heart.
I steam my brand new black dress. Smooth my hair, wear it down the way Nana would’ve. Gently open the pack of silver star barrettes. Clip one on each side.
See, grandma.
I finally got to knock some of those stars out of the night sky.
how you make something tragic/fun/romantic at the same time, i do not know. master
Beautiful. And proof you were always a dreamer.