We barely knew each other, but it was time to celebrate his birthday. So I suggested a trip to the coast? What location held more promise, energy, escape?
I hadn’t checked into a hotel with a man other than my ex in over 20 years. The atmosphere was so charged I could barely sign. There was a king sized bed, a hot tub, and the two of us for hours and hours.
Just after midnight we finally dragged ourselves out of bed and down to the beach. I’d heard something about the Leonid meteor shower. No one would count on a clear sky at Cannon Beach, but there it was, black velvet sparkled with stars everywhere–and then they started to fly. They shot from the foreground to the background, across the sky in wild arcs, low to high and back again. They fired at Haystack Rock in the Pacific. The trusty monument was surprised to hand over its glory to the coastal sky, finally free of her shroud and busy staging the best light-show in the world.
The half-dozen of us strung across the wide beach bonded in ecstatic exclamations. We spun around dizzily to catch the action. The sky wasn’t still for a moment. My birthday boy knew all the constellations by name, distance, and location. He was a fabulous guide to our sparkled travels that evening: twisting, turning and gasping in the excitement of it all. Some hours later, we finally gave it up, although the show went on and on.
I learned since that nature does not speak in signs, metaphors, allegories or favorites. That brilliant display had nothing to do with our brilliance, suitability, or the destiny of our love, however much I wanted to believe it. Romance, like everything else, looks for confirmation. And what could be better than this amazing night with my star stud. It was fantastic and for awhile, it sparkled our shiniest points.