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August 29, 2010
in fiction lonely beings
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Constellations

Once, I had a neighbor named Leo. He was seventeen while I was fifteen. We would meet outside my house at seven in the evening almost everyday. His father worked in a bookstore and would occasionally bring him stuff home. Leo liked to show me these things. One night, it was a map. He asked me to bring a notebook, a pen, and a flashlight. We walked quietly to the park that was only a minute away, but that night it felt longer. I was beginning to feel differently about Leo. I had been for a few days then. I started questioning—was he just a neighbor? Just a boy? Would there be other boys like him in the future?

He ran to our special spot that was marked by a tiny plant near the biggest willow tree and spread the blanket across the wormy green. That park was a filthy one, but we had nowhere else to go. Then he spread the enormous map. We laid flat on our stomachs as we tried to place ourselves in the world. We’re just like two ants, Ella, he told me. He brought tiny pins to mark places he’d been and places he dreamt of going. Red pins mean urgent, he said. It means I absolutely have to go there. Whether my parents like it or not! He took one red pin and pinned it on top of Alaska. I wondered for so long why Leo chose that place, one so cold and so white. It seemed so empty. But I never got to ask.

We got bored with the map and decided to examine the night sky instead. The willow tree blocked my view so he described what he could see for me. I’m right up there, he whispered as he pointed his finger to the vast expanse. Leo. If you need me, look up. I’m right there, see? I’m a common constellation. I read that in a book. My eyes were already closed then. I couldn’t see a damn thing so I resolved to imagine how Leo, the constellation looked like. I thought of stupid things: unicorns, hearts, maybe horses too.

 The next day, I woke up alone in the park. The white blanket was still there, covering me. But the map was gone. Then, a note: Emergency.

I called up his house and no one answered. All day long. I asked my mom, Where are the Tellers? She simply shrugged and said nothing. I never really found out why he left and where he’d gone. Just like that.

After my eighteenth birthday, I decided to visit the park. Our spot still had the plant, but it was dead. No matter. With a tiny blanket underneath, I laid down in the space he used to occupy. I realized the boundlessness of the sky and it made me sad. I studied the constellations without really knowing what I was looking for. The forms made no sense. All I knew was that I had to find one in particular: Leo.

That night I felt the saddest I’d ever been in my life.

I went home defeated. Constellations meant nothing to me then. They mean nothing to me now.  All I know is that once I loved a boy named Leo who disappeared and became one with the stars.

Notes:

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