Margot in the Park

Under the leaf shade, and without; with the moon's shine or clouds covering; a thought back to the optics I'd learned, and a question to ask a physics scholar later: She glowed, and I wondered how. Essence and luminescence aside, and she consistently beside. Bark on top of bark on top of bark. An impenetrable skin. She picked away one by one, on a hill, on backs. The sky was all, and as its stillness and ours joined I began to feel heaven breathe into the dead of my soul. The image above took millions of years to reach us, and it seemed to have taken me equally as long to reach this moment. Then it finished, and I could hope for it no longer.

I have no recollection of using any effort with which to stand. Our hands joined so that I might lift her, but failed to part after she stood on two feet. “The thing I think I like most about looking at the sky,” she told me, “Is that, in that moment, it's all I see.” I could have said the same about her.

The week leading up to this night proved the most exciting in recent memory. A month and one half prior, at the start of this school quarter, offered the only competition. However, as new turned to routine, I spent most time on my studies and reading; looking out my dormitory room window provided me with the little joy that my twenty years had taught me to expect from life. My father phoned on Sundays, and I would invent friends and stories for his sake. Not to worry though, father, Sundays are my days to catch up on school work, and your call is always a welcome break. My friends know that I'm always busy Sundays.

In truth, my Sundays typically consisted of a trip to the corner store to pick up a paper, and subsequent reading of said paper. The New York Times Sunday Edition always contained a healthy supplement that contained the top stories of the week preceding it. All news seemed to stem from the cruelty and dishonesty of my fellow man, and therefore nothing read ever surprised me.