How Do You Write the Stars

How do you write the stars?

I laughed as he mouthed the words. He placed a finger over my mouth, silencing my mirth. We lay on the grass, staring up at the dark sky. I had told my husband that I was at a friend’s house for the night. He was not to know.

“I don’t know,” I said, after a silence of indeterminate length had passed. I had never known silences like these before: long, weighty. They draped over us like a blanket, thick, warm and familiar. I revelled in the comfort of them.

He paused before answering. “Are they really ours to write?”

I rolled over to face him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Of course they are. Everything is ours to write. This warm October night is ours for the reaping. All we have in front of us is the rest of our lives.”

He giggled. “You’re so serious.” I joined his laughter, giving in to the drowsy dusk of the evening.

“I’m right, though, Luther.” I turned onto my back and gazed at the stars once again.

Now, I sit at my wooden kitchen table, thinking of that night. Stan sits across from me methodically devouring his meal. The way he eats spaghetti makes me want to scream. Every inch of my body wills me to let out that shriek, to curdle his blood with my howls, to break this awkward silence with a yell that might startle him so much he falls out of that chair. Maybe then he’ll become that guy from years ago that I fell in love with. But I suppose I’m no longernot the girl he fell in love with either.

Our marriage is bad. I know it. He knows it, and yet we cling to it as if to a life raft. After all, how do you give up everything you’ve ever known?

How do you write the stars?

We used to say we were each other’s moon and stars. I remember looking into his eyes and seeing a solar system;, a galaxy all my own. Now Stan’s eyes are dull and faded and I’m… disinterested. The life raft has split and we each cling to a shattered half. I was slowly drowning, but now I’m afloat again. I’ve stumbled across an oasis of an island in the middle of the sea.

The silence stretches between us until it seems viscous. I try to summon the effort to break it, but I am unable to. It’s been too long. I feel a wave of sudden sadness wash over me, but I remind myself that it’s for the best. Neither of our lives is worth anything like this. I need to leave, to save both of us. In a way, I’m setting him free.

“Is your meal good?” I ask, in an effort to conjure some semblance of conversation. Stan nods. Nonverbal communication, I note, has become his default of late.

Then, suddenly: “Why aren’t you eating, darling?”

Darling. I hate that nickname. “Oh,” I lie, “just not hungry.”

How do you write the stars?

I’ve written his fate in swooping cursive. He’s almost finished his meal. This chapter is ending. As I stand, I’m able to get a good look at his face. It’s looking a little green. I take a deep breath and brace myself, using the kitchen bench to support my quivering mass.

“All right, dear?” My voice rings high and bright with false cheer.

I watch his eyes roll back in his head as he struggles to get the words out.

“I’m… not… sure… darling.”

Then I calmly call for an ambulance.

The police will come, but my research was thorough. Luther and I planned it all meticulously, down to every minute detail. He assured me that the autopsy will reveal that he died of a heart attack. Besides, he said, no one suspects a little old lady. I expect that’s right. Once you reach 75, you become harmless. No one expects murder from a grandmother.

After a month has elapsed, I’ll elope with Luther. We’ll move to a tropical island somewhere far, far away. There will be many more starry nights. I didn’t want a divorce: too messy, too time-consuming. It’s better this way. Stan had nothing left to live for, anyway.

How do you write the stars?

I can write constellations in my eyes, in the folds of my skin, in the recesses of my heart. I can write suns with burning, fiery passion and distant twinkling lights in the sparkling dots of is. I will write the entire night with Luther by my side.