by Taylor Meredith
I’m your twinkle twinkle little star, that sparkling bit of light high up in the sky, the bitch always at your beck and call. The other stars are giggling behind my back. Jupiter’s many moons are congregating by the Milky Way, gossiping. They think it’s sad but oh-so-funny how I’ve pined over you, only to be treated like your servant in return. Why don’t you ever ask me how I’m doing? Ask me what I want? My sole purpose in this galaxy is not to make your life easier, you know. I have my own dreams. But who’s going to grant my wishes? Not you, of course. You’re too busy fluttering your eyelashes at that slut down the street. You never look at me the way you look at her. When you look at me, it’s only because you want something. No matter how bright I shine myself for you, you only look long enough to make a request, like I’m a damn music DJ on a radio station. Then as soon as you think you’re going to get what you want, you turn your attention elsewhere.
Well just remember this, baby. Love is war. And I’ve got the entire sky on my side.
#
I remember the first time you made a wish on me. You gazed up into this inky blackness, and I could feel your eyes on me, opening wide with wonder. Those were the days when you appreciated my beauty, when I wasn’t just another speck above you. Back then you had never seen a star so bright, and even though you were just a boy, I was flattered by your admiration.
You recited a poem, you know the one. “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.” It usually drives me crazy when people do that. Most people whisper so quietly that I can barely hear them. I want to scream, “Speak up, dammit! I’m really far away, you know! Like, millions of miles, hello!” But still, they continue to whisper and I have to strain to hear them. I usually end up neglecting those people’s wishes. If they wanted it bad enough, they’d throw their heads back and scream it up to me, right?
Well that’s what you did. I didn’t expect such a loud voice to come out of such a small kid, especially one as timid looking as you. I thought you’d squeeze your eyes shut and speak under your baby breath. But no, you kept your eyes open and focused so intently on me that I began to feel a little self conscience under your cemented gaze. You opened your mouth and roared up into this open space, the voice of a lion coming out of a cub. You asked me to help your mom, to make it so she’s stop crying so much at night. She’d lost her mother six months before and was in a seemingly never-ending grieving spiral. You just wanted her to be happy again, you told me it made you sad to see her cry. It’s not often I have people wishing for other people’s happiness. You were such a little boy, making such a selfless wish. I knew then that you were different.
This continued for years, you coming out at night and looking up into the world above you. You always found me immediately. You didn’t need to search through the stars like you would shells on a beach, trying to find a good one. No, you always found me right away, and I was always waiting. Night after night, a different wish. You never had to repeat the same one twice because I was always quick to give you what you asked. You never said thank you, but I knew you appreciated it. The way you held onto me with your eyes, even after your wish was granted. I knew you loved me as I had begun to love you.
#
Now eight years later and she’s come along, that bouncy blonde down the street. The other stars warned me, told me you’d forget to look up into the sky every night. They said you’d find her far more interesting. Of course I laughed at first, told them they were crazy. You’d never forget me, never forget to look into the sky. And for a while I was right. Despite her presence you were as attentive as ever, always finding time once the sun set to come out and bend your head back at me. There were nights you wouldn’t even ask anything of me, you’d just stare, and I would feel a chill run through me. Then you’d turn and go back inside, and I’d feel like cozy for the rest of the night, content in the warmth you’d created around me.
Then came the night when you walked outside with translucent skin, the love within you vivid, bright. I could have died with happiness right then, stupidly thinking the love stamped on your face was for me.
You said to me, “I want Rachel to love me back.”
Time stopped. Even the melting clocks in Dali’s painting stopped mid-drip. The universe and all the hidden galaxies within it froze. Your words were a camera flash, sealing that moment forever. And my heart (yes, even stars have hearts) wasn’t broken. No. It was annihilated.
#
So now here I am, forced to watch the two of you, you and Rachel (I hate that name, I hate her, hate her.) Her blonde hair’s always glowing in a silver sheen, like silk thread reflecting the moonlight.
Right now the two of you are directly below me, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to taunt me, flaunting your newfound love right beneath me, like I’m a cross hanging above your bed. I don’t know how you got her to love you back. It certainly wasn’t a wish I granted. In fact it was the first wish you ever made that I didn’t grant.
You’re both sitting on the hood of your car, side by side, elbows touching. You’re sharing a can of something, I can’t quite see from here. It’s probably beer and she’ll no doubt pretend to be drunk after just a few sips. I can tell she’s that kind of girl. You’re telling her a joke, something that isn’t quite funny, but she laughs anyway, giving herself an excuse to touch your arm and lean into you. I feel nauseated by the pleasure that creeps into your lips, all from a simple touch. Is she really that special?
My light’s been consistently fading over the past couple weeks, and at this moment I can feel it dimming even more. I’m no longer the brightest star in the sky, no longer a star in love. If you were to look up, you’d have to squint to see me. I’m hidden now, the apple behind the leaves, the wedding ring buried in the snow and forgotten.
#
I’ve got a plan. It’s not a nice plan, but oh such a good plan. The other stars are helping me. They even got the moon to join in. He controls the tides, you see. It’s really quite the magic trick.
You and Rachel are at the beach. I overheard you two talking last night, planning, deciding to sneak out after dark when your parents wouldn’t be up to interfere. The moon is full and strong, lighting up the entire shore, reflecting off the gentle movement of the waves. It’s beautiful, serene. All we stars are trembling with excitement. We’ve got front row tickets, but unfortunately no popcorn.
You’re the only two out there, laughing into your hands as you move sluggishly through the sand, like two kids sneaking into a toy store after closing. You stop a few feet from the shoreline, and Rachel lifts up her arms. You pull her shirt up over her head, and she does the same for you. Then you’re kicking off your shorts, throwing them into a pile with your other discarded clothes. She goes first, screaming giddily as the cold ocean water washes up around her naked body. You’re laughing, enjoying the sight of her. You don’t follow right away, but rather stand where you are, watching her as she wades farther away from shore, the silhouette of a mermaid.
When she’s far enough away, too far to simply splash back to shore, I give the signal and the moon nods at me. He controls the tides, remember. Lovers are at is at his mercy now.
The sweet calm of the ocean begins its gradual descent into madness. The tides turn, moving outward now. They rise a little higher each time, so slowly that neither of you notice at first. Rachel lets her body be carried a foot or two, rising and dipping. She laughs, thinking it’s fun. You smile and decide to join her, taking a few steps into the water. I give another signal and the stars around me begin to light up, one after the other, brighter and brighter, drawing your attention. You crane your neck and stare up at us as we glow like little balls of fire, an intense light you’ve never seen before. You watch, mesmerized.
You don’t notice the waves as they get higher and a little stronger; Rachel’s body is weightless under the surface of the water. She’s carried another two feet away from shore. All laughter has seized now, and she’s looking towards you with a blooming panic in her eyes. She tries to call your name but her mouth fills with water, silencing her. Up here we continue to glow, dimming only slightly just to brighten again like the twinkling lights on a Christmas tree. Again and again, and all the while Rachel continues to lose control in the inky black ocean below.
Finally she is able to lift her chin just high enough to scream to you. Her voice startles you back to your surroundings. You whip around and see her bobbing helplessly, so much farther out than she was originally.
“Rachel!” You yell to her, a tremble snaking through your limbs. “Rachel, swim back to shore now, OK? It’s getting a little wild out there.”
“I can’t” She’s trying to swim back, kicking her arms and legs but getting nowhere. She’s walking downwards on an escalator going up. She’s stuck.
Her arms and legs tire and go limp as she tries to catch her breath. Another wave swoops in then, crashing overtop her.
“Rachel!” She can’t hear you with her head submerged. She reappears a few seconds later, sputtering, gasping. She tries to yell your name but the water’s moving too fast around her, washing in and out of her mouth, drowning her words. She tries to raise her arms, to wave them, thinking that will somehow save her. Another wave collapses over her.
Now you’re running, splashing clumsily into the water, kicking and flailing your arms. Your body vanishes under the storming water, and then appears again father out. You’re moving quickly with the tide, your body being pulled outward toward Rachel. The two of you meet faster than I expected. You find her easily, the way you used to find me.
She’s crying now, not even a drop in that huge ocean. She clings to you, her arms tight around your neck. It’s useless, but you try to swim back. The two of you are powerless, being rocked and thrown, sinking and then coming up, only to sink again. Yet you never let go of each other.
A wave, the tallest yet, falls like a building, and the two of you are under for so long that I think you may not come back up at all this time. I imagine you spiraling under the surface, your twisted bodies moving like a bullet towards the ocean floor.
#
I look into your eyes, breathless. I have never seen you so close up. I see the scattering of freckles over your nose, like chocolate chips against your pale, glistening skin. So this is what it’s like to breathe the air you breathe, so close to your mouth. I had only imagined it before now.
“Rachel.” You grip the sides of my head, staring into my eyes with a panic that wants to be relieved. “Are you OK? Are you? Say something, please.”
Right. My name is Rachel now. There are a lot of things I have to get used to. I’m not up there anymore. I’m down here, a person, a body.
“I’m fine.” I say, my voice unfamiliar in my ears. I’ve heard Rachel speak before, but hearing the voice come from me sounds completely different.
You pull me towards you, my forehead against your wet chest, our naked bodies textured in sand. “Thank God. Thank God.” You rock us back and forth and I know I should feel cold, but I don’t. I’m the warmest I’ve ever been.
You won’t forget me now.
I won’t let you.
Taylor Meredith, twenty-one, originally from Richmond, California. Now living in North Port Florida, attending SCF with plans of transferring to FSU in the hopes of eventually getting a bachelor or masters degree in creative writing. During downtime, enjoys reading and taking photos.