Star Gazing – a short story

The night I fell in love with star gazing was the night I fell in love with him

This short story, based on real life experiences and memories, was inspired by my boyfriend Tobias. A love story set in the current climate of the war on Afghanistan (also see Dear John).

With special thanks to my sister Maja and my dear friend Emma.

* * * * * *

“Is that a comet?”

“Do you mean shooting star?!”

“Think so…”

There was a soft tremor as he tried to contain his laughter-

“-What’s so funny eh?!”

“Is that a comet?” he mimicked in a silly, high pitched voice, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Oh shut up you dick!” I giggled, playfully throwing a muddy football at him.

”Okay, okay ha-ha…in all seriousness, I must have missed it.”

“No look, there it is again!” I gasped, tightly squeezing his hand.

That was the first time we touched. Our eyes also connected; transfixed, gazing in awe at the spectacular sight above us. We were engulfed, almost paralyzed by its vastness, its intangible beauty…we were stolen.

The night I fell in love with star gazing was the night I fell in love with him.

Before then, Morgan’s attempts to introduce me to his avid hobby of star gazing were completely lost on me…I would hopelessly try and identify something in the last minute to impress him – it was quite sweet really, looking back on it. My focus, however, was on other things; the way his blue, animated eyes flickered eagerly, how his large but gentle hands intricately moved whenever he spoke of his passion. I much preferred to study his landscape than the one above me. Yet who could blame me…-

-‘Lyra…LYRA!’

The grip on my shoulder was now growing firmer, the echoes clearer…

‘Lyra, are you all right? You were just muttering to yourself, looked as though you were in your own little world!’

Mannequin

‘Yeah I’m fine mum, just fine…’ I trail off, feeling my eyes glaze over again almost instantly.

After a few minutes, I come back to myself. After straightening out my dress and applying a dab of powder, I force myself outside and make an appearance. I’ve never liked being the centre of attention. Like a mannequin, I obediently stand at the entrance; countless hands pass me flowers whilst my cheeks go numb from the incessant pecking of cold, sticky lips.

Once inside again, inundated with bouquets and the scent of wood smoke lingering in my auburn hair, I glimpse figures lighting candles in the distance. If you blur your eyes enough they dazzle like a sea of stars.

Candles dazzle like a sea of stars

Before I know it, it is time.

As the imposing, wooden doors fling open, a cool, feathery breeze circles my legs and caresses my cheek, inviting with it a solitary golden leaf. I immediately sense him from behind.

The autumnal air was crisp that night but the warmth of Morgan’s broad torso radiated a protective seal over me – I felt happy, safe, impenetrable. It was as if nothing could ever come between us.

Autumnal leaf

As he goes down the aisle, a familiar song accompanies him – its breezy, uplifting notes instantly comfort me-

-“the sky resembles a black lit canopy with holes punched in it…”-

-I remember singing this under the stars last August. I had just seen Incubus live, the image of Brandon Boyd was fresh in my mind from the night before. I could still taste the adrenaline.

“You’re so beautiful. Your face is like a pale canopy with freckles punched in it” he mused out of nowhere; half smiling, half blushing.

Your face is like a pale canopy...

It felt as though the stars were smiling down at me that night.

“And in this moment I am happy…”

How refreshing it feels from the traditional, impersonal blasts of the organ music penetrating the church.

‘My dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, in the sight of God, to celebrate the –‘

-I feel the vicar’s words slowly slipping away, out of my control. As much as I want to be here with him and everybody else on this big day, the past consumes me;

‘Kiss me.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I said kiss me’, the adorable crease in his bottom lip disappeared, curling into an impish grin. The brilliance of the moonlight illuminated his perfectly chiselled jaw as it sneakily inched towards me. For a few seconds, frozen with anticipation, we watched the warmth and moisture of our breaths entangle, crushing the icy mist.

Kiss me

The pungent, musty bursts of incense and lilies are doubly intoxicating. Much like his gaze. His deep, sapphire eyes will never cease to pierce my heart.

We kept returning to that spot whenever we could – a secluded clearing in his densely wooded garden. I remember his mum thought we were mad; “You’ll catch your death of cold”, she scowled disapprovingly each time. Yet nothing disturbed our little bubble.

The vicar’s distant words suddenly capture my attention, cutting through my thick, invisible wall like a knife.

‘As most of you may know, Morgan’s passion for astronomy inspired Lyra to stargaze with him. Coincidently enough, both their names relate to astronomy; his meaning ‘great brightness’ in Welsh, whilst Lyra is a harp-shaped constellation. Some would call it fate!’

“You’re my girl, Lyra, you’re my favourite star in the sky”, he gestured towards my very own constellation, glistening in our view. I remember how proudly he announced that I am the fifth brightest star in the sky, the Vega or something, placed in the handle of the harp. “White-pale blue in colour.” Before then I had no idea my name had any meaning, I thought my mum had simply picked it out of a name book.

Lyra constellation

To the right of the altar, almost camouflaged by the foliage, I detect the unmistakable uniform of soldiers. I believe they are some of Morgan’s closest friends from his troop in Afghanistan. It is nice of them to come down especially.

That takes me back to the day he got the letter. He was being posted to Afghanistan. End of. It came as such a shock. I never thought he would qualify, or at least that’s what I had hoped.

“I will see you every day in the stars, my lovely Lyra. The stars you see at home will be the same stars I will be seeing in Afghanistan. That’s the beauty of it, space is timeless.”

His smile was kind, his words almost annoyingly sensitive, as if to ease my fear. But I could see through his smile and past his sugar-coated words. I could read the secret pain in his eyes. Those eyes, once teeming with passion, were now nothing but a dark void.

“We will all meet in the stars one day anyway – that’s where we belong – we’re part of the universe.”

Despite these unsettling words, he promised to see me at Christmas.

The vicar’s words drown out. It is my turn now.

I walk up the aisle; my hands secretly tremble as people’s faces burn into me, but I keep staring forward. As always, my focus is completely on Morgan as I edge closer to him.

As I reach the altar, I lay my star-shaped wreath on top of the coffin.

‘Morgan Jones, hero, beloved son, grandson and husband-to-be. R.I.P. Meet you in the stars.