Under Sun and Stars

Are you there, God? It’s me. I can feel myself coming apart once again. The threads being snapped one by one, the many pieces of my being unraveling and falling down into an abyss.

I saw the stars last night. In a vast sea of midnight black I saw the stars and thought maybe only something far above and beyond can save me now. I don’t feel you here, God. Not past, not present. I suppose my wavering faith is all I have.

There’s a cold chill in the air today. The wind brushing past my ears, casting tears into my eyes, prompting the goosebumps on my arms to spring to life. A red car drives by, then black, then white. There is never absolute silence in the streets here. Not even at four am when the sun has yet to rise and in the houses that line the streets, no signs of life.

I don’t have a desire to go home. I’m not really sure where home is anymore.

I slip into the 24 hour diner on Patterson street, the neon sign above the building buzzing and blinking, as if struggling to hold onto life. The patrons here are older at this time, mostly men, some still riding the highs of the previous night. Some grabbing a bite after a graveyard shift, others about to start their day. And what about me, was this the beginning or the end?

I take my usual spot in the back corner, the faded brown and red booth. Martha brings me a coffee without saying a word. Black with a dash of milk and one sugar packet. We’ve memorized this dance, her and I. With soft eyes and silver white hair, Martha had worked here as long as I could remember. Though we never shared many words, there was a sense of comradery between us. I sip my coffee and look around the diner making contact with a pair of dark eyes. A tall lanky man sitting at the bar to my right. Tousled brown hair, an unshaven beard. He wears a burgundy suit that creases and wrinkles as if he’s worn it to sleep. In a town like this, you rarely encounter people you don't recognize. There’s Mr. Connell and Brandy Johnson sitting at a booth at the front of the diner. Hughey Waltz at the center table digging into a large plate of pancakes. Parish and Martha behind the counter. But this man, I’ve never seen him before. Turning forward, he speaks soft words to Martha before leaving his place at the bar, taking meticulous steps towards my corner booth. My hands smooth over the coffee mug, my heart unexpectedly beating faster.

“May I join you?”

His voice is soft with a raspiness that resembles someone having just woken up, speaking their first words of the new day.

I hesitantly nod my head yes, his boldness causing me to pause for a second, and he slides into the booth, positioning himself directly in front of me. I sip my coffee as we regard one another. I’m waiting for him to speak. Martha comes over, setting down a pale pink plate with two slices of pie resting atop. One apple, one cherry. I feel her eyes linger on me for a couple seconds and I feel I know what she’s thinking, this is a dance we are unfamiliar with. Martha turns and walks away, and once again I meet the eyes of this curious stranger.

“Do you like pie?”

“Yes. The apple here is my favorite.”

My voice comes out quieter than I meant it to. The uncertainty of this situation casts nerves throughout my body.

“You’re not from here.”

“No, I’m not.”

His eye contact is startling, and though I would typically shy away, there is a desire to hold his stare, as if I have to prove something to him. To myself.

“So where are you from?”

He grabs a fork and cuts a piece of the cherry red pie, the fork lingering in front of his lips before he says, “Someone far and unimportant.”

I clear my throat, “I don’t think any place could be as unimportant as Vixen.”

“Whats your name?”

“Cecil. Yours?”

“Jasper”

“So Cecil, what brings you to the diner at this hour?”

His voice carried a sort of melodic cadence. I wondered what it would sound like to hear him sing.

“I was walking around looking for God.”

“Mmm”, he slowly chews another bite of pie and swallows, before pointing to the uneaten slice, signaling me to have some.

I pick my fork up and cut off a small piece.

“I always come to the diner around this time, it’s become a sort of routine.”

A slight nod.

“I can’t say I'm fond of routines. My life is a series of events that don’t necessarily connect”

“What brought you to Vixen?”

“I was just passing through, thought I may as well stop for some food before I’m on my way”

“Well where are you headed?”

“I’m not sure.”

“From somewhere unknown, headed someplace also unknown.”

“Precisely.”

Another beat of silence.

“Why are you searching for God, Cecil?”

I give him a small smile before going in for another bite of pie.

“Why is anyone ever searching for God?”

He was quite unlike anyone I had ever encountered in my 23 years of life. A face with sharp lines, creases on his forehead. It seemed that he was both old and young. Wise and naive. A sort of enigma that was causing me to hold onto his every word.

“The closest I got to finding God was when I was 12.”

He sighs a deep breath and takes a quick look around, as if about to dispose of some great secret.

“I was visiting Lake Marine with some family and I found myself in the middle of the large body of water, with no way to get to shore. I wasn’t a very good swimmer at that age. My body grew so tired that I floated on my back and stared up at the sky. It was a clear day. I remember the sun feeling so hot on my face. But I felt as if I could hear the whole choir of nature. Birds and bees, crickets and the fish swimming past my feet. The sound of the water lapping against my body, trees swaying slightly in the breeze. It was my first taste of peace.”

“Who found you?”

“My uncle and cousin. Apparently they had been riding their boat all over the lake looking for me. When I got to shore, everyone was confused as to why I just lay there. Not attempting in any way to rescue myself.”

“Well who would want to abandon peace?”

He gave me a sly grin as a response, and went to pick up another bite of pie. There lies an unsettling comfort between our conversation. Almost like I’ve met him a hundred times before.

“Have you lived in Vixen long?”

I nod my head, contemplating.

“I’ve lived here all my life”

“You don’t want to get out.”

“Oh I do. It’s my soul's desire to see something new. There are just circumstances that have kept me here”

“And what are these circumstances?”

I shift in my seat once again. I wasn't used to having to explain the current situations of my life to people. Everyone knows everyone in Vixen. Everyone knew each other's business, secrets were a rarity in a small town like ours. I didn't know where to begin or if I even wanted to.

“I suppose there are people who depend on me.”

The creases between his forehead deepened and he gave me a long look of understanding. Suddenly, I had a strong desire to know every single detail of this stranger's life. He carried a quiet confidence that caused something in my chest to flutter. The tips of fingers to tingle. I wanted to smooth over the creases on his face.

“And who do you depend on?”

“Myself.” I answered quietly, eyes downcast.

After a stretch of silence, I looked back up at Jasper. His dark eyes less daunting now, more comforting. For the first time, I notice how tired he looks and wonder if I carry the same heaviness in the pools of my own eyes.

“When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me stories of her life. She was a performer, traveling to places all over the world. Sleeping in the back of vans and in random hotels littered with other performers. When I go through her things, old photographs and posters, it seems that she lived a life filled with so much wonder and beauty. After she met my father and got pregnant, she decided to settle in Vixen. Sometimes I stand at the doorway of her bedroom, watching her sleep, wondering how beauty can be stripped so severely from a person. How such an amazing life could become so incredibly bleak. I fear the same fate, while at the same time not knowing how to steer my life in any other direction.”

He nods his head and brings his fork back to the pies I forgot were in front of us. Then, seems to decide against it and sets his fork down.

“When I said I didn't know where I was going, it was the honest truth. Four months ago I decided to hop in my car and just drive. No specific destination in mind. First east, then south. I suppose you can say I too am searching for God.”

How often will we meet people in our lifetimes who quiet everything around us? The diner no longer existed. Vixen no longer existed. I felt as if we had entered a whole new dimension. As if this brown and red faded booth had transported us into a pocket of the universe where only he and I lived.

“What made you decide to start a conversation with me?”

My curiosity wouldn't let me ignore the question that loomed at the tip of my tongue.

“Something about you reminded me of someone I once knew.”

“In a good or bad way?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Neither good nor bad, just a way.”

I look out the window and could see the sky starting to become lighter, the darkness preparing to go back into its cocoon to make way for the day.

“I’ll have to head out soon.”

Jasper followed my gaze out the window and nodded his head in understanding. Whether it was my growing curiosity or the fact that I was thoroughly intrigued by the man in front of me, I had a desire to prolong our time together.

“Do you want to take a walk with me?”

He nodded his head with a warm smile, his dark eyes slightly lighting up. Before I could pull out the ten dollar bill from my pocket, he set some money on the table and stood up. Smoothing his hands over his burgundy suit as if the gesture would melt the creases away.

I stood and turned towards the bar, giving Martha a small wave goodbye, before following him out of the diner. I shoved my hands in my pockets and gave him a glance.

“There’s something I want to show you.”

We started walking down Patterson street in silence, making a left on Truant. It felt familiar, walking side by side with him. Nothing but the sounds of our feet on the pavement, birds chirping in the distance, the occasional car driving by. It wasn't until we reached the crowded junkyard on Pleasant Hill that I broke the silence.

“This is my favorite spot in town.”

He followed me through the opening in the large rusty fence, and we walked to the middle, where the busted up red pickup truck sat. The color so faded it displayed spots of a chalky white along the sides. I climbed up and laid down in the bed of the truck, Jasper following my lead.

“Why is this your favorite spot?”

“I suppose everything here once belonged to someone, meant something to them. Now it's all discarded and deemed useless to most. There's something morbidly beautiful about it.”

I turn my head slightly to look at him, meeting his eyes once more.

“This truck belonged to my grandfather. I don't really remember much about him, but I remember being 6 years old and riding in the bed of the truck across town with my mother. It's my favorite memory of childhood.”

There was a momentary silence between us before he spoke again, “What do you dream about, Cecil?”

I smile tensely at his question.

“Dreaming is meant for the night, and the sun is already starting to rise.”

“Humor me, what is your biggest dream for your life? No matter how farfetched or insignificant you think it may be.”

I look around the junkyard, the calm quiet urging me to spill to this strange man.

“I dream of growing wings. To be able to take flight and soar the skies. I want to perch atop trees and sink down to feel the droplets of water from the rivers shower my body. I dream of flying fast and far, high and low. Above the clouds and below them, over the stars and under. So you see my dream is insignificant, because no matter how hard I try, my arms will be arms, my legs will be legs, and I will always only ever walk or run, never fly.”

I can feel the bursting in my chest. I shut my eyes, afraid of being betrayed by his reaction to my words.

Suddenly his fingers are on my cheek, surprisingly soft. A whisper of a touch as he moves from my temple to my jaw. I open my eyes to meet his, and I find an overwhelming sense of emotion on his face. The creases that lined his forehead seemed to have disappeared altogether. The sun continues to rise somewhere beside us, the rays of the early morning casting droplets of gold in his pupils, lighting up his dark eyes.

“I will continue to search the skies, Cecil. Someday, you will grow your wings and fly. When that day comes, I hope to find you soaring right above me.”

I shut my eyes to his soft caress on the side of my face. Time passes by, and his touch disappears, leaving only the slight chill of the morning breeze. When I open my eyes it's to the blinding glow of the orange sky. The sun had finally risen. I was late, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The space next to me, empty and cold. For a second I wonder if I had imagined the early morning. It's as if Jasper had never existed. I pull myself out of the bed of the truck and look around the junkyard. No other signs of life.

I dust off my pants and make my way out, passing through the hole in the rusted fence. I start my journey back to the house on Hapern street. A silver car drives by, then green, then white. The only thing on my mind, the tall lanky man with a wrinkled burgundy suit. How many people will we meet in our lifetime who quiet everything around us?

Are you there God? It's me. For the first time, I felt a glimpse of you, but instead of the stars it was under the birth of light. God, I'm still searching, but my wavering faith grew sturdier on a random Sunday, under sun and stars, next to a man I sense I will never meet again.