by Joshua Heineman
Thom pressed a kiss to Sandy’s lips and the two kids rolled over each other in the darkness, eventually coming to rest face up beneath the stars and sky.
It was nearly morning, the first day of February. Tall grasses hid the young lovers from everything but the constellations above, which the rising sun had yet to smother. Not one cloud stained their sleepy, happy eyes.
“All kinds of pictures in those stars,” said Thom, breaking a silence. “Gods and people, even a river just floating emptiness, I guess, from one end of space to the other.” He lifted his arm to stir the imaginary pictures as if they were alphabet soup. “Want to know a secret?”
“Of course,” said Sandy.
“I haven’t seen any of them. Not one. They’re just stars, just a bunch of pinpricks in black construction paper. My father would point them out when we still lived in the house on the river. ‘Look at them all,’ he’d say. ‘It’s like a picture book.’ I tried for a long time, but I never saw what he saw.”
Sandy kissed his cheek. “That is sad.”
“I used to think so too.” Thom turned onto his side, facing Sandy. “This afternoon, after I dropped you off at your parents, I was having a bowl of cereal in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. My father must have been expecting something because he hadn’t touched the sandwich mother fixed him. When it rang, he looked up from his newspaper and his shoulders slumped a bit. When he went to the door, mother watched him the whole way. We all did.”
“Who was at the door? Other family in for the funeral, I suppose.”
“No, it was a delivery. An organ, actually. I watched two men in white slacks unload it from behind the sofa. It’s smaller than the piano at your place, but seems huge sitting in the middle of our living room where my father left it. The keys are worn and the wood is cracked along the side. I’m not sure it’s even playable.”
“You didn’t try? I would have tried to play it right off. I love the sound old organs make - so haunting and lovely. I adore my piano, but sometimes I feel like pianos are too stuffy altogether.”
Thom laid his head back down. “It was my grandfather’s organ – ‘his first child’ is what grandma called it. Somehow everyone laughed, despite the tears, even my father and his brothers. She said they skimped and saved every penny as newlyweds in order to buy that damn organ. He’d seen it in a window display in Chicago when he was stationed there painting bombers after the war. Once he got it, he never let go. I think it helped him relax.”
Sandy placed her head on Thom’s chest and shut her eyes. “Beautiful.”
“My grandfather played that organ every night apparently. He’d excuse himself from the dinner table, pour a tall glass of scotch on ice and go sit at the organ for an hour or so before he put the kids to bed. Every night. My father said all the kids hated that organ.”
“And now?”
“And now it’s the centerpiece of our living room. Now no one in the family knows how to play, it’s old and probably out-of-tune, if it works at all, but there it is - the first thing you see on entering the house.”
“Your grandmother didn’t want it?”
Thom took a deep breath and spent it completely before answering. “She already has so many memories, Sandy. It was too much of a reminder, I think, that he wasn’t there. Memories are the reason she didn’t want that organ around anymore, probably the same reason my father had for wanting it.”
Several minutes passed in silence. When Sandy opened her eyes she saw the sky had brightened to a dull electric blue. The small desert town stirred to life beyond the grasses and out of sight all around them.
“I can teach you to play, if you want,” Sandy said.
“You can try.” Thom’s eyes were tired and blurred. He wiped them on his coat sleeve. “They sure are magnificent though, aren’t they?”
“What?”
“The stars.”
II.
Thom finished the last of the wine, his head set against Sandy’s with an open knapsack resting between them. A small amount escaped and ran red down his chin.
Sandy caught the stream with her lips. “Sad that it takes a funeral to get us back home for a night like this, Thom. Free from work and free to spend all afternoon with family. We haven’t spent the night out here in years. I forgot what these stars looked like.”
“Me too.” Thom tossed the empty bottle into the grass. “Do you want to know another secret? Do you remember our very first night out here, back in, what was it, senior or junior year? Several years back anyway.”
“Of course I do.”
“Remember that bottle of wine? Remember how exciting it was to be out here like that, drinking fancy wine like proper kids in the movies?”
“Yes, you made quite an impression with me that night.”
Thom laughed. “Did I? Well, I suppose I played it right then.”
Sandy laughed too. “You sure did.”
“Well,” said Thom. “Listen. That night I told my parents I would be sleeping at Neil’s so that I could stay out all night.”
“Ah, the days of living at home. Young love.”
Thom smiled. “I suppose it’s always been difficult to steal away for a night like this. That night, though, I had it all planned out for weeks before Neil got sick. He went home sometime after first period. That wouldn’t have been a problem, except my mother ran into him and Cathy, you know, his mother, at the drug store. When I got home after school, she mentioned it. She said it was too bad I wouldn’t be hanging out with Neil. She offered to take me to a movie so I wouldn’t get bored.”
“So how did you get out? Where did you say you were staying?”
“Nowhere. I didn’t say I was staying anywhere. I just snuck out through a window in the basement.”
“No, you didn’t!” Sandy pushed Thom away, then quickly pulled him back.
Thom looked satisfied. “I did. I went out through the window.”
“You were smooth. You should have told me, I would have been impressed.”
“Well, sort of.” Thom bit his lip, hung up on a thought. “I did sneak out, but …”
“But?”
“My father caught me.”
“Oh. Not so smooth. But you were there that night. How’s that work?”
“Right as I was about to close the window, the old man caught me. I was looking for something to jam in the bottom so I could get back in again in the morning. Finally I found the perfect thing, a small woodchip, under by my shoe.” Thom laughed. “I remember feeling so satisfied at finding that stupid woodchip. When I turned back to the window, there he was on the other side.”
“I would scream.”
“I almost did. Inside I did. I felt sick in my stomach.”
“What did he do?”
“That’s the weird thing. He just said, ‘Hey Thom.’ He was completely calm. I was trying to think of something to tell him - why I was there, why I was sitting outside the basement window after dark in the winter with my knapsack in hand. It was like a bad dream, I couldn’t believe it was happening.”
“So what happened?”
“In the end, I didn’t say much of anything in the way of an explanation or an apology. My father just said that he had thought Neil was sick, and I nodded. Then he asked me if I was going to see you. I nodded again.”
Sandy waited for Thom to continue. He didn’t. “Oh my god. He let you?”
“He told me to use the front door next time, said I was old enough to go out when I wanted, as long as I was truthful with him. ‘Be smart,’ he said. ‘Be careful.’ I didn’t say anything. I just stared at him.”
“Well what could you have said at that point? I can’t even imagine. My parents would have grounded me for life for something like that.”
Thom stood, pulling Sandy to her feet along with him. He gathered the blanket and handed it to her. “‘Thanks, dad.’ I could have said thanks.”
III.
“Thom! Look! A shooting star.” Sandy pointed to a small white fireball moving east across the sky.
“Oh yeah, there it is. Jesus, it’s beautiful. I was hoping we’d see one. My grandfather used to point them out at his old house all the time when I was a child. He said you could wish on them and your wish would come true, no matter what. Later, just before I left for college, he started saying they were angels from heaven coming down to perform miracles.”
“Your grandfather was wonderful.”
“He was. Every time he talked about angels, my father would start blathering on about asteroids and orbits and atmospheric frictions. He’s never been sentimental, understand. I remember one time in particular my grandma got angry and told them both to be quiet. She always kept such a calm face. We were visiting them for Thanksgiving then.” Thom took Sandy’s hand. He used her finger to trace the glowing tail of embers. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because your wish won’t come true otherwise. Now close them. I’ll close mine too. Let’s wish for big things. Great things.”
“I won’t waste it.” Sandy bowed her head, her hand still entwined with Thom’s. The sky popped and fizzled like a far off firecracker. When she lifted her head again, the fireball was gone. “My, that one was something, wasn’t it?”
“It really was. I feel like maybe the universe tipped its hat to us, you and me, just now. Like all that light was just our private show.” Thom kissed a line up Sandy’s neck to her mouth.
Sandy laughed, twisting her neck in response. She sighed. “I feel like the heavens opened their arms to us.” She spoke in a whisper now. “We’ll remember this moment for the rest of our lives, won’t we? We’ll never let it go.”
“We will. That was our star.”
“Our star,” Sandy repeated. Thom kissed her, and face-to-face they stared into the vast spaces of each other’s eyes. It was the most passionate kiss of their young lives. “Seeing our star was worth every moment of my life to this point. I love you, Thom.”
“I love you.”
“I really love you,” Sandy whispered.
They stood embraced for a long time, swaying softly back and forth as the sun pushed above the horizon. Sandy could hear morning birds singing and the faint sounds of traffic on the freeway. Thom listened to her heart as it beat.
“Come on,” said Thom eventually. “Let’s head back.”
As they pushed through the tall grasses, the dew made their hands wet.
“Thom, what did you wish for?”
“I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”
“I hope our lives are always this beautiful, Thom.”
“Is that what you wished for?”
“No.” she said. “Sort of.”
“You shouldn’t worry so much, ok? Life is beautiful. It just is.”
“I know.” Sandy said, smiling now. “Your breath smells like wine and I like it.”
“That wine was good, huh?” Thom pretended to down a glass, pinky to the sky. “Only the best for you, my darling.”
“You are a romantic fool. Tell me, how are you always getting your dainty little paws on such nice bottles of wine anyway? You’re not exactly the fancy type.”
“Tonight? I bought it. That first night? That first spectacular night? My father,” Thom said, shaking his head in disbelief. “He handed it to me through the window.”
IV.
The front door was unlocked. Thom pushed it open after peering briefly through the window that ran along its side. Sandy came in behind him on tiptoes. She could see the organ sitting in the living room just beyond the entryway. The house seemed quiet and put to bed.
“Is it alright that I’m here so early?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Thom. “I think so. Let’s try not to wake anyone. I don’t smell coffee. Mother must be sleeping still. I’m going to drop this stuff off in my old room. You’ll be ok out here?”
“Yes, hurry.”
Sandy stood alone in the entry. She soon grew antsy, counting boots on the floor and inspecting the pairs she liked best. Eventually she wandered toward the main room, studying photographs hung in a row down the hall. They were family photos. She followed them, watching Thom grow a little older with each picture as she progressed along the wall.
When she came to the last photo, she heard a voice behind her. It was subdued, almost a mumble. Her heart trembled. Turning around, she saw a figure silhouetted against a television set on the far side of the room. It was Thom’s father. Not wanting to startle him or explain herself, she froze.
He hadn’t noticed her. He seemed transfixed by the television. The screen was mostly monochromatic with text streaming relentlessly along the bottom. Sandy took a step back toward the entry. The floorboard creaked beneath her foot, causing her to duck behind the wall in a panic.
She looked into the room again. Thom’s father was still there, staring into the television screen. Sandy could hear him muttering under his breath, but she couldn’t make out any specific thing he was saying. He was unshaven with a toothbrush jutting from his mouth, holding a remote control at arm’s length. Suddenly the television was off and she quickly returned to her hiding place behind the corner.
Just then a hand touched her arm. She jerked back.
“Easy, it’s only me,” said Thom.
Sandy steadied herself on the wall, relieved. “Your father,” she said, pointing into the living room.
“Oh,” said Thom. “It’s ok. Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so. He was watching something on TV. He just shut it off.”
Thom poked his around the corner. “He’s not in there.”
“He was. He’s gone?”
“I don’t see anybody in the living room. He might have gone upstairs. He was watching television? My father hates television.” Thom stepped into the living room. Sandy peeked in and then followed after him.
“Nope, he’s not in here,” said Thom, checking the stairwell.
Sandy sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the organ bench. “I’m happy he didn’t see me. What would I have said to him? I’m sure he’s overwhelmed with everything right now. I just wouldn’t know what to say.”
Thom saw the remote control sitting on top of the television. He picked it up. “Let’s just turn this thing on for a second and see what he was watching.”
“Then you can come over to my family’s house for muffins. My mother always bakes on Saturday mornings.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Thom said. “I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” He sat on the bench beside her.
Sandy put her hand on Thom’s arm as the television flickered on. The screen was almost entirely black, and what points of light they could see wobbled like an amateur film. Thom turned up the volume:
… over Texas. Reports also coming in from New Mexico, Arizona and even California. All across America, our hearts and prayers go out to the families of these seven brave men and women. A tragedy for our country, and for all those who, in the face of great danger, seek to place human beings among the stars. Once again, breaking news, space shuttle Columbia has apparently disintegrated upon re-entry this morning. Residents report seeing debris and explosions over Texas. All aboard presumed dead.
V.
The romance of the evening somehow changed, if not vanished, two tired children sat uneasily on an organ bench in the early light. The newscast played on, projecting like a sound check into an empty auditorium.
Eventually the sounds of the television brought Thom’s father and mother down into the living room, where they stood shaking their heads at the screen. Thom’s mother threaded her hands around his father’s waist. She had tears in her eyes.
“Unbelievable, isn’t it?” said his father. “To actually see that… to see them up there, part of us, all of us, just streaking across the sky like poor Icarus or something. I tell you it’s amazing and horrifying at the same time.”
Thom’s grandmother came downstairs and gave Thom and Sandy long, slow hugs. “Oh it’s so good to see you both,” she said.” Then, with his mother, she went into the kitchen.
Thom shut off the television. Nobody spoke for a few minutes, lost in thought and tangled in meaning.
“Anyway,” his father said. “Hey kids, I’m really glad you’re home. Make yourself comfortable, there will be coffee on in a second.”
Thom looked at his father. “Thank you, dad,” he said.
“Thank me? For what?”
Sandy turned toward the organ, smiling meekly as if half asleep, the weight of the morning pushing her face down toward the keys. She picked out the opening chords of Clair de Lune. The old instrument was only slightly out of tune.
Thom watched her hands glide over the keys. His father sat down nearby as his mother and grandmother reappeared with five coffee cups, setting them on the table. “Keep playing,” said Thom. “Just keep on playing, Sandy. I told you life was beautiful.”
[ Another: The Last Works of Egon Schiele ]
![The Impossible Ladder
The elegant plan, the simple inarticulate hopethe incessant dusting, the uncovering that hovers herethe unremarkable rungs of the impossible ladderthat you think of these things at all.The cups that are clean, then filled, then cleanedthe nowhere fear, the terror of arrivalthe sad spaces in front & above, the sap of happinessthe matter-of-fact alleywaysthe proper thing to do or say at the wrong time & placethat you think of these things at all.The honest beggar, the blinding white lie of languagethe stubborn smokestacks & on-ramps, the dull ache of staticthe bored understanding of traffic patternsthe unspent plea, the common cold openingsthe nature of torn pockets, the multidimensional smilethat you think of these things at all.
[ from love letters to saint francis, a collection of poetry i’m writing ]](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l0onls1n4O1qz7avgo1_500.jpg)
