Hi, the idea for this piece comes from my friend Evana’s gorgeous essay in honor of boygenius’ new EP. Happy boygenius release day to all who celebrate.
1.
We’re driving north to get away from the city lights. I had picked out a spot that looked ideal on google maps: a church down a side road with nothing around. I pull my car around and park between the small church and its graveyard. We climb onto the warm hood of my car and lay back against the windshield, looking up and looking out for meteors.
You can see so many more stars out here. I point out some constellations I know, the ones I’ve tried to find on clear nights since I learned them as a kid. The noisy thought of what it will be like when you move away is quieter now — it’s comforting being under the stars with you.
After half an hour, I had only seen one meteor despite the prediction for more. You hadn’t seen that one or any others. We slide down off of my car and fold up the blanket. I was hoping you felt like it was worth it, going all that way just to get bitten up by mosquitos and stare at an unmoving sky with me.
Now I don’t see you daily, and every night I see the stars before you do. Not as many as that night. More has changed than just our time zones, but sometimes I still need to hear your voice.
2.
I didn’t want to answer their call, but I picked up the phone anyway. They were somewhere a state away, calling from high up at the top of a fire lookout tower, the only place they could get service. I told them I didn’t really want to talk.
Can effort be turned down like a gift can? I’ve turned down bottles of wine that have been offered to me, refusing politely, except for a few times when I had to be firmer with my no. If someone climbs ten stairs or fifty or a hundred and they want something you don’t want, is it okay to say so? They never let me live it down.
I felt bad about it for years, until I didn’t have to anymore. Until I didn’t have to feel bad about so many things. I had been hoping for more — more trust, respect, and openness. More delight. I’d hoped for better because a quiet part of me believed I deserved it. And I’ve found these things since, over and over, from people who don’t even have to work at it to be good to me.
Despite the goodness of it though, there’s some boredom to stability. When I tell someone this they usually laugh, I think because they don’t know what to say. The same happens when I say I miss cigarettes and joke that I want to take up smoking again. But I don’t like to take risks like that anymore. I’d rather treat myself and be treated with care instead. I like my feet down on steady ground.
3.
She was dressed more warmly for our date than I was. I planned it but didn’t plan well enough for the cold that night — my dress, coat, and tights were all too thin. She said I looked cute, so being underdressed felt worth it. We started our walk and came to where the sidewalks were all lined with luminarias, the candles flickering in their white paper bags. She thought it was sweet, and a soft glow lit the way.
Three months later, I’m walking through that part of the city again. It’s warm now and we don’t see each other anymore. I think about our recent breakup and how I said I wanted more from her than I thought she could offer then. I accept less sometimes because I want things to work. I have a tendency to keep trying. Maybe it’s a good quality, the optimism fueled by what feels comforting about a connection and what I like having with someone.
I tried to read her mind when we were close — in her bed or mine, in a movie theater, on a walk. I believed I could, for a time at least. It’s not as good of a quality, especially because it usually confirmed what I didn’t want to be true. I’m starting to think I should’ve just been trying to read my own.
I don’t regret my hopefulness or the patience I had. I gave freely and I had more to give, so I could hardly be bitter even if I wanted to be. And I don’t want to be; I’m not. I’m making it all about me though, but what else am I supposed to do? It’s just me out here and so much space.
4.
Some of my strongest memories are of astronomical events and the awe I’ve felt from what I’ve seen far off in the night sky: galaxies and planets through a telescope in the backyard growing up; the path of totality for the 2017 solar eclipse in a rural middle school parking lot.
A different graveyard, a different meteor: walking across my college campus at night, I hear a hissing sound above me and glance up in time to see what looks like a green-tailed comet streak across the sky. A fireball. It disappears from view behind the trees of the cemetery I’m next to. I’m alone on the street so there’s no one around to confirm what I saw.
I was a little high so I didn’t fully believe what I’d seen. I had started smoking almost every day, trying to cope with ways I’d been feeling different from others and from myself. It only helped so much with those feelings. I would smoke on the soccer field by my dorm at night, and I liked to lie back and look at the sky while my anxiety and self-loathing faded out.
That trajectory was one I stayed on for years. Burning brighter maybe, but really just burning up faster. Believing that was better. It’s difficult to come down from self-sabotage and isolation. Having both feet on the ground though is feeling better than spinning out up there at a distance. Contact and closeness with other people and myself — I want this more than drifting away, more than being something bright that’s only seen and not felt.