glimpse of my green silk evening gown, flapping wildly in the breeze.
And then the most extraordinary thing happened. The stars came loose from their moorings and started chasing one another across the sky. One by one they shot through the night, trailing arcs of shimmering silver behind them. For a brief spectacular moment, the entire sky was afire, like a giant’s birthday cake. Then the sky was extinguished and the darkness reclaimed its own.
I knew there was probably a simple explanation for what I had just seen, but I didn’t want to hear it. I was in the mood for messages: I wanted to believe that what had just happened meant something. I couldn’t imagine what that might be. Between the surf and the chattering of my teeth, it was simply too noisy to concentrate. All I could think was, thank God I didn’t blink. And maybe that was the message all along: Don’t blink, never blink, or you’ll miss the whole show.
That’s all I had been doing: blinking. Closing my eyes to reality, refusing to see the truth about Rick and me. No wonder I’d been getting depressed again. The world was full of shooting stars, and I was settling for the blackness.
I was fully awake now and aware of the danger. I reached underwater and began rubbing my legs, rubbing my arms, rubbing all of me. Some feeling returned to my limbs, which hurt like the devil. Why, I wondered, is pain so necessary for survival? But then an enormous wave surged up and slapped me full in the face. I got the point: now was not the time to philosophize. Now, right now, was the time to survive.
I shouted for help, but there was no one to hear—and I didn’t necessarily want to be heard. Men had been rescuing me all my life. For once, I wanted to rescue myself. I plunged toward the shore. I advanced a few feet, only to be sucked back out. I pushed again harder, again, and again, gaining a little more ground each time. Trembling, gagging, spitting up seawater, I finally emerged from the waves and fell onto the beach.
I lay there until my breathing slowed and my pulse returned to a regular rhythm. Then I lifted myself up and over to the rock where my dress still hung, still flapping briskly in the breeze. It took me a few tries, but I finally snared it. It was damp but wearable. I slid it over my head and smoothed it out around my hips and I was suddenly civilized again, notwithstanding my wet and dripping hair. Then carefully, I climbed my way out of the cave and up toward the park, past where my shoes lay patiently waiting, past the Danger sign.
To my shock, the clock on the lobby wall said a quarter past three. Rick would either have called the police by now or fallen asleep. I bet on the latter. Rick could fall asleep anywhere and everywhere after midnight—in a movie theater, a play, my bedroom, his car. Rather than risk waking him up, I decided to ask the desk clerk for a key. He made no comment on my bedraggled appearance. He simply handed me the key and bid me a good night.
When I opened the door, it was just as I expected: Rick was asleep, one arm flung across my side of the bed. I wondered if I’d worried him. I wondered if he’d missed me. And I wondered what I was going to say when he finally woke up.
I went into the bathroom, dried my hair with a towel, and put on a robe. I stepped out onto the terrace, sat on one of the deck chairs and heard a sound from the bedroom. I poked my head through the door. Rick was mumbling and fidgeting in his sleep. I couldn’t make out what he was trying to say, but I did hear him distinctly say my name. Then he reached across the bed and grabbed the pillow, the pillow on which my head should have been laying, and he hugged it to his chest.
Did that mean he loved me in his dreams? Maybe I mattered far more than he knew; and maybe I was about to make a horrible mistake. I stepped back out onto the balcony and looked to the sky for answers. Orion had all but disappeared. I couldn’t see the Big Dipper,
And then the most extraordinary thing happened. The stars came loose from their moorings and started chasing one another across the sky. One by one they shot through the night, trailing arcs of shimmering silver behind them. For a brief spectacular moment, the entire sky was afire, like a giant’s birthday cake. Then the sky was extinguished and the darkness reclaimed its own.
I knew there was probably a simple explanation for what I had just seen, but I didn’t want to hear it. I was in the mood for messages: I wanted to believe that what had just happened meant something. I couldn’t imagine what that might be. Between the surf and the chattering of my teeth, it was simply too noisy to concentrate. All I could think was, thank God I didn’t blink. And maybe that was the message all along: Don’t blink, never blink, or you’ll miss the whole show.
That’s all I had been doing: blinking. Closing my eyes to reality, refusing to see the truth about Rick and me. No wonder I’d been getting depressed again. The world was full of shooting stars, and I was settling for the blackness.
I was fully awake now and aware of the danger. I reached underwater and began rubbing my legs, rubbing my arms, rubbing all of me. Some feeling returned to my limbs, which hurt like the devil. Why, I wondered, is pain so necessary for survival? But then an enormous wave surged up and slapped me full in the face. I got the point: now was not the time to philosophize. Now, right now, was the time to survive.
I shouted for help, but there was no one to hear—and I didn’t necessarily want to be heard. Men had been rescuing me all my life. For once, I wanted to rescue myself. I plunged toward the shore. I advanced a few feet, only to be sucked back out. I pushed again harder, again, and again, gaining a little more ground each time. Trembling, gagging, spitting up seawater, I finally emerged from the waves and fell onto the beach.
I lay there until my breathing slowed and my pulse returned to a regular rhythm. Then I lifted myself up and over to the rock where my dress still hung, still flapping briskly in the breeze. It took me a few tries, but I finally snared it. It was damp but wearable. I slid it over my head and smoothed it out around my hips and I was suddenly civilized again, notwithstanding my wet and dripping hair. Then carefully, I climbed my way out of the cave and up toward the park, past where my shoes lay patiently waiting, past the Danger sign.
To my shock, the clock on the lobby wall said a quarter past three. Rick would either have called the police by now or fallen asleep. I bet on the latter. Rick could fall asleep anywhere and everywhere after midnight—in a movie theater, a play, my bedroom, his car. Rather than risk waking him up, I decided to ask the desk clerk for a key. He made no comment on my bedraggled appearance. He simply handed me the key and bid me a good night.
When I opened the door, it was just as I expected: Rick was asleep, one arm flung across my side of the bed. I wondered if I’d worried him. I wondered if he’d missed me. And I wondered what I was going to say when he finally woke up.
I went into the bathroom, dried my hair with a towel, and put on a robe. I stepped out onto the terrace, sat on one of the deck chairs and heard a sound from the bedroom. I poked my head through the door. Rick was mumbling and fidgeting in his sleep. I couldn’t make out what he was trying to say, but I did hear him distinctly say my name. Then he reached across the bed and grabbed the pillow, the pillow on which my head should have been laying, and he hugged it to his chest.
Did that mean he loved me in his dreams? Maybe I mattered far more than he knew; and maybe I was about to make a horrible mistake. I stepped back out onto the balcony and looked to the sky for answers. Orion had all but disappeared. I couldn’t see the Big Dipper,
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